"They consulted each other," Sunny charged. "They gave each other strength."
"Bravado," Kate added.
"That, too," Susan said. After touching the tag a moment longer, she looked up at her friends. "I'm forever telling parents that they have to be involved. They have to know what their kids are doing. Kids aren't bad, just young. Their brains are still developing. That's why sixteen-year-olds are lousy drivers. They don't have the judgment--actually, physically, don't have the gray matter to make the right decision in a crisis. They don't fully get it until they're in their early twenties."
"And in the meantime, it is our fault?" Sunny asked.
Susan didn't answer. She was suddenly wondering what all those parents to whom she had lectured would say when they learned her daughter was pregnant. Given her age and what some saw as a meteoric rise in her field, she had always been on shaky ground. Now she feared for her credibility.
She must have looked stricken, because Kate took her hand. "What our daughters may have lacked in gray matter, they made up for in parental influence. We taught them right from wrong, Susie. They've never before given us reason to doubt them."
"That's what makes this so absurd," Susan wailed. "I could give you a list of girls at school who are at risk of doing something like this. Our daughters' names would not be on it."
"Now there's a thought," Sunny said, sounding hopeful. "No one expects it from our girls, so no one will know for a while. That gives us time to figure out what to do." She looked from Susan to Kate and back. "Right?"
Susan was thinking that time might not help, when Pam came striding back from the front of the barn. "Hey, guys," she called when she was barely halfway past the stalls. "Were we supposed to meet?" She was unwinding a large scarf as she reached them. "I bumped into Leah and Regina at PC Beans. They said you kicked them out, Kate." Leah and Regina were Kate's assistants that day, two of eight part-timers who helped get PC Wool out in the quantity dictated by recent demand.
"I gave them money for coffee," Kate said after only a second's delay.
But Pam caught it and looked around. "What's up? You all look like someone died."
"No one died," Sunny said brightly. "We were just taking a last look at the holiday yarn. It was a great colorway. People are raving about the freshness of the colors--very holiday, but not totally traditional. I told you that we're giving the spring line a major Mother's Day push in Home Goods, didn't I? Do we have colors, Susan?"
"We do," Susan said, trying to hide the horror that the mere mention of Mother's Day brought. Lily would be in her ninth month then and would be huge. Picturing it, Susan could only think of pink and blue, not PC Wool colors at all.
She couldn't say that, of course. Going along seemed the safest thing. But Pam was a good friend, and her daughter was very possibly pregnant or trying to get pregnant. Tell her, cried a little voice in Susan's head.
But no one else spoke up. If Susan did, she would betray the others--and Lily.
So she said, "I'll work out the dye recipes Saturday. Do we have a deadline for the catalogue?"
Pam was their mail-order link. At least, that was what she called herself, though on that front she did little more than pass data to a manager. More crucial to the operation, she was a lobbyist for PC Wool, the women's link to the powers-that-be. If there was a conflict of interest, given that she was a Perry herself, no one cared. PC Wool had shown a higher percentage of growth in the last year than any two other departments combined.
"End of January," she said. "That means we need samples painted and photographed by mid-month." She lit up. "Can we do another spa weekend before Christmas to write copy? I loved that last year."
They had driven an hour inland to Weymouth Farm. The spa there had a reciprocal arrangement whereby Perry & Cass would provide them with PC bath soaps and gels in exchange for free use of vacant rooms.
"I may have trouble with that," Kate hedged. "My Percy State four have finals then. They'll need extra care."
Sunny shook her head. "Dan has every weekend between now and Christmas planned."
Susan was silent. In another month, Lily would be showing. Word might be out. Pam might hate them for not telling her sooner. Worse, Abby herself might be pregnant, in which case Susan would feel doubly guilty.
But Pam looked so eager that Susan dredged up her only excuse. "Rick may be coming," she said apologetically. "He's waiting to see how his assignments pan out for December. Until he knows, I don't dare commit."
Pam was crestfallen. "What fun are you guys?" she pouted. "So I have to settle for Saturdays here? What are we doing this week?"
"Tagging skeins," Kate answered. "And looking at Susan's magic notebook to see the colors she's picked."
"Bring your WIP," Susan told Pam, referring to her work in progress, a cashmere sweater coat that only Pam had the time--or money--to tackle. "How's it coming?"
"The back's almost done. The yarn is exquisite. We need to add cashmere to our line."
"Too expensive," Sunny warned.
"But wouldn't you love to have it in the store?" Pam asked.
"For me? Yes. I just don't know how many people off the tour bus will buy cashmere."
"Maybe not tourists, but diehard yarnies? Online buyers? Bloggers have asked for it." She looked at the others. "A cashmere shrug or a lace-weight scarf would be perfect for spring. Can I research where to buy it undyed?"
"Sure."
"Definitely."
"Great," Pam said. "Let's talk more on Saturday. And on Sunday," she added, turning to Sunny. "What time did you want us?"
Brunch at eleven, Susan thought. It was Dan's birthday.
"Actually, Dan changed his mind," Sunny said, looking pinched. "All he wants is a quiet breakfast. He's feeling old."
Dan was turning forty-three, not old by any standards.
It wasn't age, Susan realized. He blames us, too.
Sunny didn't make it to the barn on Saturday morning, and, given that she was their ear to the ground when it came to Perry & Cass customers, Susan was hesitant to discuss colors without her. Fortunately, Pam didn't stay long anyway, so they spent the time alternately affixing tags to skeins and admiring the sweater Pam was knitting. The minute she left, though, Susan said guiltily, "That was bad. We have to tell her."
"How can we?" Kate argued and ran through the arguments about loyalty to the girls.
"But if we can save Pam from facing this--"
"Abby'll do it anyway."
"Maybe not if Pam gets to her first. What if I made her swear not to tell the world?" Susan tried.
"And you trust she wouldn't?"
No. Susan did not. Pam wouldn't tell anyone intentionally, but she was so desperate to be relevant that it might just spill out. "The problem," Susan said, making her final argument, "is that she'll find out sooner or later, and when she does, she'll be hurt."
"She'll understand."
"And in the meanwhile, we have to suffer through Saturday mornings like this one? I don't know if I can do that, Kate. It's bad enough that I'm not calling Rick, but Lily wants to wait. Am I using her as an excuse? I'm such a coward."
Kate put a comforting hand on her arm. "You are not a coward. You're respecting Lily and Mary Kate and Jess by not telling Pam. Besides, there's a reason why Lily wants to wait to tell Rick. The first trimester is crucial. What if she miscarries?"
Lily didn't miscarry. She passed most of the next week as she had the eleven previous--going to school with no one the wiser, falling asleep at night with her books open and waking later to study, texting often with Mary Kate and Jess, though Jess was at their house more now, escaping her own.
Susan struggled to come to terms with her daughter's condition. She alternately obsessed over Lily's future and refused to think about it, but all the while, there was a pain in her gut. She felt betrayed.
Naturally, Lily sensed it, which perhaps explained why her morning sickness continued. At least, that was what Susan concluded guiltily
when she got a call from the school clinic on Thursday morning. Leaving a meeting in the center of town, she quickly headed there.
Chapter 5
The clinic was in the basement of the school. Susan's preference had been for something more open and bright, but with so little available space, the basement was a necessary concession. Its proximity to the locker rooms was a plus; sports injuries were a fact of life in a school that fielded fiercely competitive teams. A direct entrance to the back parking lot also helped when a communicable disease was involved.
Using that back entrance now, Susan passed two students at the nurse's desk and checked the cubicles. She found Lily on a bed in the third cubicle, looking pathetically young. Her knees were bent. One hand lay over her middle, her other arm covered her eyes.
"Sweetie?"
Lily moved her arm and, seeing Susan, immediately teared up. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
One look at her and Susan's heart melted. "What happened?"
The words came in a breathy rush. "I was feeling sick, so I went to my locker for crackers, and Abby was there and announced, I mean, in a big, loud voice, that what did I expect, being pregnant. It was a nightmare, Mom. There were kids everywhere, and they all stopped walking and stared. I wanted to tell them she was wrong, only I couldn't. I was so upset--I mean, how could Abby do that? I've never actually thrown up before, but I did it then, in front of everyone."
She looked green enough to do it again, but Susan didn't care. Sitting on the edge of the gurney, she pulled her into her arms. Lily was going through what she personally knew was trial by fire. A good mother didn't feel anger toward her child when she was in this kind of pain.
Besides, Susan blamed herself as much as Abby. She had been distant and cool when her daughter needed support. Rocking gently, with her chin on Lily's head, she tried to think.
Just then the nurse opened the curtain. Amy Sheehan was in her mid-thirties, attractive in sweater and jeans, and soft-spoken. Eminently approachable, she had been Susan's first choice for the job, no concessions there. Her voice was gentle now. "Lily told me. She said she saw a doctor."
Susan nodded, but her mind was racing. She had hoped for time. Now what?
Lily looked up. Her eyes were haunted. "I had last lunch. I thought if I got something in my stomach, I'd be able to make it 'til then. I didn't expect to feel so sick. The books said it would stop after twelve weeks."
Susan recalled suffering from nausea well past the magical date. "What do books know? But it is what it is. Time to go to Plan B."
"What's that?"
"Beats me." She eyed the nurse. "Any thoughts?"
Amy was apologetic. "You really can't deny it. Not if Lily's keeping the baby. It'll be obvious soon enough."
She didn't have to go on. Deny the pregnancy now, and when Lily begins to show, the denial itself will be an issue. Especially for the high school principal.
Lily looked at Susan again. "What did you do?"
Susan didn't have to fill in Amy on her history. Her age and Lily's, both, were a matter of record. Besides, Susan had laid it out when she hired Amy to head the school clinic. I hid my pregnancy for five months. I risked my own health and my baby's because I didn't know where to turn. I want our students to have a place to go when they can't go to their parents. I don't want any sexual problems ignored.
In answer to Lily now, she smiled sadly. "I was lucky enough not to throw up in public, so I had a little more time. My sport was track. I wore my top loose. But it's hard to hide things in a locker room. My teammates saw it first. They were my Abby."
"Why did she do that?" Lily cried, but Susan could only shake her head.
"It's done. There's no going back." She took the car keys from her pocket. "I think you should go home for the day. Let things settle. We'll have more perspective later."
What she was hoping, of course, was that Abby's announcement hadn't actually been heard. It was pure denial on her part, the mother in her. With her emotions seesawing between present and past, a part of her just wanted to hide.
But she had barely returned to her office when the questions began, first from the teacher whose class Lily had just missed, then from another teacher wanting to report what her students were saying. By the time she reached the lunchroom, the looks she received said that word was spreading fast.
Mary Kate and Jess avoided her--but they generally did at school, and with Susan's approval. They had discussed the issue of their relationship when Susan was first named principal. Her closeness to these girls was almost as tricky as her being Lily's mother.
The fact that Mary Kate and Jess were with other friends now--and that none were looking at them strangely--told Susan that Lily was the only one who had been outed. For now. Knowing Mary Kate and Jess as she did, she figured they were stressing about that.
Abby never made it to lunch, which wasn't unusual. A student whose schedule was tight often wolfed something down while running between classes. Not that Susan would have been able to talk with her here. What could she have said without making things worse? How could you do that to a good friend--and knowing about this all along--and trying to get pregnant yourself?
She couldn't possibly be objective, not with her heart bleeding for her daughter. Lily would be on display, all alone, when she returned to school tomorrow. Susan could only imagine who else would know by then.
It was a long day. Only a few other direct questions came, which made Susan nervous. She knew her staff; news like this would fly through the faculty lounge. Friends might be keeping their distance from Susan out of understanding or perhaps respect, but others--her detractors--would be gloating.
She met with two teachers after school. Both, new hires, were in her office for evaluation conferences. Neither mentioned Lily--but, of course, they were more worried about their jobs than about Susan's pregnant daughter. After the teachers came a pair of parent meetings, one about a drug problem, the other about an alleged plagiarism. They, too, had greater worries.
It did put things in perspective, Susan thought, but by the time she got home, she was discouraged. She wanted to protect her daughter but couldn't, and though she knew that the girl had brought this on herself, her own heart broke.
Lily had been studying, as evidenced by the scatter of books on her bed, but she was sleeping now. Letting her be, Susan went to the den and turned on the TV. She had to wait through stories on the economy, a celebrity murder, and a report on global warming before Rick appeared.
He was covering post-cholera Zimbabwe, in as sobering a report as Susan had heard. Poverty, homelessness, hunger--more perspective here. Lily wasn't poor, homeless, or hungry. But that didn't mean they weren't in crisis.
Remote in hand, she waited until he was into his sign-off before freezing his image on the screen. Then she tossed the remote aside, picked up the cordless, and, with her eyes on his handsome, sunburned face, punched in his number. There was one ring, then another of a slightly different tone as the call was transferred. After five more rings, he picked up.
"Lily?" he asked with endearing hope, his rich voice remarkably clear given how far away he was.
"It's me. That was an amazing piece you just did."
"Sad that someone has to do it," he said, but he sounded pleased to hear her voice. "Hold on a sec, hon." She imagined him pressing the phone to his denim shirt while he spoke to whomever--his producer, a cameraman, the WHO agent he had just interviewed. When he returned, he spoke in an uneven cadence that suggested he was walking, probably looking for privacy. She imagined that he stopped on the far side of the media van.
"We thought things would be better after the cholera epidemic," he said. "It seemed like the world had finally taken notice of what was happening here. But conditions now are worse than ever. Tell me something good, Susie. I need to hear something happy."
Susan had only one thing to tell. "Lily's pregnant."
The silence that followed was so long, she feared they had lost the conn
ection. "Rick?"
"I'm thinking you wouldn't joke about something like that."
"Well, it isn't cholera or poverty. But it is an issue."
There was another pause. Then a frightened "Was she raped?"
"Oh God, no."
"Who's the guy?"
"She won't tell. And no, she hasn't been dating anyone special," Susan rushed on before he could ask. "I see her at school. I see her on the weekends. Usually, if I miss something, I hear it from someone else."
"Why won't she tell?"
Because she's stubborn? Misguided? Loyal? Susan sighed. "Because the guy was only a means to an end." She filled him in as best she could, but even after nine days, the story seemed bizarre. "She and her friends just decided the time was right to have a baby. Mary Kate and Jess are pregnant, too."
She heard a bewildered oath, then an astonished "They made a pact?"
There it was, the word she didn't want to hear. "I wouldn't call it that."
"What would you call it?"
She tried to think of a better word. An agreement? A promise? A deal? But that was just a way to pretty things up. "A pact," she finally conceded.
"What do we know about pact behavior?" asked Rick the journalist.
"Mostly that Lily isn't your typical candidate," replied Susan the educator. Pact behavior was a school administrator's greatest fear. One kid with a problem was bad enough. But three? "Kids collaborate with one or more friends to do something forbidden. They do it in secret, and it's usually self-destructive."
"But Lily is strong. She's self-confident."
"She's also a teenager with very close friends. They convinced each other that they could be great mothers, better than the ones they worked for last summer."
"They did it because of a summer job?"
Not My Daughter Page 5
