Not My Daughter

by Barbara Delinsky

  Susan felt a hitch at mention of the school board. It had seven members. All were elected; most had served for years. At thirty-nine, Pam was the baby of the group, elected largely because of her name. The closest to her in age was the board chair, Hillary Dunn, who was fifty-five. The other five members were men, four of whom were particularly resistant to change. Susan had had to argue for hours, working them individually and as a group, before they gave the school clinic a green light.

  They would all be upset when they learned Lily was pregnant. And when they heard about the other two girls?

  But first things first. Susan was tempted to ask Pam the names of those who had called, only she could guess. Zaganack was a close community. Its members had a good thing going with Perry & Cass and knew it, and while some were open to innovation, others believed that you didn't tamper with the status quo. Those were the ones who phoned Susan to complain about the slightest curriculum change. They were the ones who would have phoned Pam.

  "Were they calling to complain?" Susan asked.

  "Mostly to know if it was true."

  "And then to complain." When Pam didn't deny it, she asked, "What did you tell them?"

  "I said I'd check it out--I tried to make light of it. When all three carried on, I said that if it was true, it was a private matter. Only it isn't, Susan. This could really screw things up. For starters, there's the PC Wool Mother's Day promotion. Boy, does that take on new meaning. Lily will be big as a house."

  Susan had thought this herself, but it was offensive coming from Pam. "Were you planning to photograph her in profile for the catalogue cover?"

  "You know what I mean."

  "No, I don't. Our clients don't have to know about Lily. What she does with her life has nothing to do with PC Wool."

  "She knits for us."

  "So do Mary Kate, Abby, and Jess."

  "They're not pregnant," Pam pointed out.

  Tell her, that little voice in Susan cried. Tell her out of friendship and concern. But her loyalty was to Kate and Sunny. Pam was a latecomer to the group and, given her role as a Perry, a sporadic member. That said, when she was with them, she was a devoted friend. The group gave her focus, which she craved. She loved belonging, which added to the guilt Susan felt in keeping silent.

  "What should I tell Tanner?" Pam asked. "He'll want to know who the father is."

  "Tell him I don't know."

  "Hey," she drawled, "if that's hard for me to believe, he never will. Same with the school board. They'll be gunning for bear when they hear about this. The principal's daughter? I mean, it really puts me in a bad place. I recused myself when it came to voting on you for this job, but talk about conflict of interest. What am I supposed to do now?"

  Wait'll she hears about the others, Susan thought, and her uneasiness grew. "Buy me some time?" she begged. "That's all I ask. A little time."

  But Pam was no sooner out the door than Susan's assistant, Rebecca, appeared. A capable woman with thick white hair, she was the school's resident grandmother. "Dr. Correlli's on his way over. He asked if you had a few minutes to talk. I tried to tell him you were scheduled to observe sophomore English, but he said it was urgent." She was apologetic. "I'm sorry. Have you told him yet?"

  "Not me," Susan murmured and tried to gear up, but there was only one thing she could imagine the superintendent wanted to discuss.

  Phillip Correlli was a stocky man who often ran with the crosscountry team to try to lose weight. Having risen through the ranks as Susan had, albeit in a different school system, he liked being with kids. Even more, he liked turning life's trials into lessons--the one for the cross-country team being that if you ate badly, you gained weight.

  He appeared at her door now with an apology for interrupting, but he didn't sit, and he didn't waste time. "The phone's been ringing. Tell me that what I heard isn't true."

  Susan tried to stay calm. "I can't."

  "Your Lily? She's the last one I'd have expected to be pregnant."

  "That makes two of us, Phil."

  "How did it happen? Lily is a good girl, and I'd have heard from the police if there was a rape, so it must have been someone she knew. Was she forced?"

  "No," Susan said and, leaving the desk, sank into a chair.

  He continued to stand. "Careless?"

  Even that would have been easier to swallow, Susan knew. But what could she say without betraying her daughter's confidence?

  "I'm a friend," Phil reminded her gently. Only it wasn't as simple as that. He was also a colleague, a mentor, and, as superintendent of schools, her boss. He was the one who had pushed her to apply for the principalship, the one who had championed her when the board questioned her youth and lack of experience. He was the one who had shown up in person to offer her the job, and his pride was genuine.

  "That's one of the reasons this is so hard," she tried to explain. "I've just learned about it myself. It's still raw."

  "I understand, but we don't have much of a window here. You're in a public position. To judge from the calls I'm getting, you won't have the luxury of time." He scowled. "I wish we were talking about someone else's child. We've dealt with pregnancies before. But you're our principal, so the playing field is different. I was caught flat-footed this morning. It would have been better if I'd had a heads-up."

  Susan was sorry to have let him down. "In hindsight, you're right. But I've been agonizing over this on a personal level, and I needed more time. I didn't expect word to spread so fast." She explained how it had.

  "A friend, huh? That stinks. Did you know Lily was sexually active?"

  Either way she answered, Susan was damned. So she said, "Lily and I have discussed sexual responsibility more times than I can count. Right now, we're just trying to plan for the future. She claims she can study and have a baby and go to college." Feeling an old shame, Susan added quietly, "Who am I to contradict her?"

  "Yup," he murmured. He scratched the back of his head and asked a puzzled, "Is she having trouble in school?"

  "No."

  "Scared about next year?"

  "No. Phil, it just happened."

  Leaning against the desk, he asked meekly, "Can I say she was forced?"

  Susan caught his drift. He needed a story that would sit well with the town. It was about damage control.

  He elaborated. "See, I need a reason why this could happen to the daughter of my principal. It'd be best if I could say Lily was forced or even that she's in love." He paused. "Otherwise, they'll blame you."

  Blame her? After all she'd done with her life in the last seventeen years? And the good will she'd built up in the last two--was it worth nothing?

  "I had no say in this, Phil," Susan argued. "I've been a hands-on mother. I've taught Lily all the right things. But she didn't consult me. She--" consulted her friends, Susan nearly said but caught herself. "She didn't consult me," she managed to repeat, shaken. She hadn't thought about the others until now, but it was a staggering omission. The idea of a pact made things ten times worse. It might spread the blame around a little, but Susan was still the most prominent of the players. The town would be obsessed with the story. Phil would not be happy.

  "But you're her mother."

  "She isn't five," Susan cried in a voice heightened by panic. "Would you have me be one of those parents who wait at the curb to whisk their kids off the instant classes are done? Or who e-mail their kids' teachers five times a day? Or stand over their kids' shoulders the whole time they're doing homework to make sure they don't get a texted answer from a friend? That's micromanaging. We've discussed this, Phil. We both hate it. I've talked with parents about it. I've addressed the issue in bulletins. At some level, parents have to trust."

  "And when they perceive that the trust is betrayed by someone in a position of authority?" he asked, but quickly relented. "Look. You're a role model for our students. That's one of the reasons I fought to give you this position. You're an example of what a woman can do when life takes a wrong turn
. Only it's taking the same turn again, and that won't sit well. Once, okay. Learn from the lesson and move on. Twice?" Lips compressed, he shook his head.

  "The situations aren't the same," Susan argued, though if he had asked how they differed, she would have been in trouble. But she was in trouble anyway. There was so much he didn't know.

  "You were seventeen," he remarked. "She's seventeen."

  What could Susan say to that? He was right.

  She must have looked stricken, because his face gentled. Bracing his hands on the edge of the desk, he said, "See, if it had been anyone else getting pregnant, there would be no issue. Because it's Lily, we need a plan. The best we can say is that there was an accident. That'll give us an excuse to talk about the consequences of being irresponsible. We can involve the school clinic, maybe conduct a series of lectures about the downside of teenage pregnancy."

  "We already have."

  "Well, the circumstances call for more, because here's another flash. With you principal and Lily a model student, there could be copycatting. We don't want that. Get a doctor in to paint the dire consequences of teen pregnancy. It'll be a good use of the clinic, maybe convince a few doubters on that score. We have to hit this hard."

  "At my daughter's expense."

  "Who told her to get pregnant?" he asked.

  He didn't have a clue how loaded the question was.

  Chapter 7

  The minute he was gone, Susan opened her cell. Her hand shook. Even the sound of Kate's hey did nothing to soothe her.

  "We have a problem--I have a problem," she said, head bent over the phone. "Correlli just left. He knows about Lily, but not about the others. He's worried about copycat behavior, when what he really needs to worry about is pact behavior. But it doesn't stop there, Kate. This situation is reflecting on me, my character, my job." She hadn't imagined this a week ago. Back then, the extent of the problem was Lily's pregnancy. "You'd think there'd be some understanding--everyone knows teenagers act out. Don't I get cut a little slack? School board members who will be the most critical of me are the ones whose kids did God-knows-what behind their backs. But forget the board," she hurried on, fingertips to her forehead. "I have to tell Phil about Mary Kate and Jess. He'll find out anyway, and the more he goes ahead with damage control for one pregnancy, the more he'll look like a fool when it turns out there are three. Phil is my boss, Kate. He hires and fires. I need him on my side." She swore softly. "What a mess."

  "That's a kind word for it," Kate mused. "All it would have taken was one of them saying, 'No, don't do this, bad idea.' But my daughter went right along. Whose idea was it anyway? Which one of them dreamed it up?"

  "I haven't asked Lily that," Susan said. "But the immediate issue is Phil. What am I supposed to do, Kate? He'll learn about Mary Kate and Jess soon enough, and it had better come from my mouth, or his faith in me will be even more shot than it already is. Have you talked with Mary Kate about when she's planning to tell people?"

  "She wants to wait."

  "And let Lily be strung up alone?"

  There was a pause, then a defensive, "It's not easy for us, either."

  Susan softened. "I know. But what if I told Phil in confidence? What if I prefaced it by saying that I was sharing this with him because there is serious damage control to be done, and he needs to be in the loop? I've shared information on students with him in the past, and he's always been good for his word. He can be trusted." The other end of the line was silent. "Kate?"

  "I'm wishing you weren't principal of the high school. I'd have preferred to fly under the radar."

  Susan wondered if that was resentment she heard. Unnerved, she said, "Right now, I'm wishing it, too. But don't be angry at me, Kate. I didn't dream up this scheme."

  "I know."

  She waited for Kate to say more--Kate, who could always go with the flow, believing that everything worked out in the end. But that Kate was silent.

  "It'd be nice to have a little control over what happens now," Susan argued. "That's another reason to share this with Phil. And about Mary Kate--how long can you hide it--maybe two months?"

  "No one cares if my daughter is pregnant. I never finished college. No one expects great things of my kids."

  "Excuse me? Kate, your kids are all at the top of the class."

  "But no one's watching us. Alex was pulled over once and ticketed for having open beer in the car, and no one cared. I like being anonymous."

  "Do you honestly think that if one of your twins had made a pregnancy pact with friends when she was in high school, no one would care? Come on, Kate. It'd be on the front page of the paper!"

  "Omigod," Kate shrieked. "Is that where we're heading with this?"

  Susan couldn't answer. At every turn, it seemed, there was another layer to the horror. Trying to stay calm, she focused on Phil. "That's another reason to tell Correlli. He has an in with the paper. If he can't keep it out of the press, at least he might be able to control what they print." Tired as she was, frightened as she was, she had to convince Kate. "Look, I won't say anything unless Sunny agrees, too. There's no point in telling Phil half the story. It's either all or nothing."

  "What if you told him without using our names? Wouldn't that solve your problem?"

  "It might solve mine, but it wouldn't solve yours. He'd guess right away it was Mary Kate, and if he didn't, one question to any of Lily's teachers would bring up her name. That teacher might ask another, who might mention it to a third, and before you know it, speculation is rampant. Far better that I tell it all to Phil in confidence. And here's the thing. Phil is really good with kids. He might be a help with our girls."

  Kate sputtered. "How can he help? It's not like he has a say in whether Mary Kate keeps her baby, and he sure as hell won't help pay its way. Oh, we can manage, Susie, I know we can. But I wanted my kids to do more than just manage. I keep asking Mary Kate what she was thinking when she took it upon herself to do this, and each time, she goes off on a long discussion of how she's looked at it from every angle and knows it will work. But she hasn't looked at it from my angle or from Will's--or from Jacob's. I can't imagine what he'll feel when he finds out. Our daughters didn't look past themselves. They didn't consider us."

  Relieved that they were on the same side about this at least, Susan said, "No. And Phil will know eventually. Let me tell him now."

  "I should ask Will. He works for the company. What if the company has a problem with the pregnancies? Will Pam cover?"

  Once Susan would have answered in the affirmative, but there was so much yet to play out. "I don't know. She stormed in here earlier, angry that I hadn't told her about Lily. She doesn't know about Mary Kate and Jess, yet, and I couldn't warn her about Abby, for which I will be eternally damned. Believe it or not, Pam isn't as worried about Perry and Cass as she is about the school board. Our being friends puts her in a vise. Honestly? If push comes to shove and she has to take a stand, I'm not sure whose side she'll take."

  "She'll take yours. I'd put money on that. She loves you. You represent everything she wishes she could be."

  "Unmarried?" Susan asked dryly.

  "Your career, your focus. She looks to you for advice. I've seen it even when Sunny and I are right there. She asks you, not us. By the way, what does Sunny say about this?"

  "She's my next call. I can wait until you talk this over with Will. Or I can test the waters with Sunny," she said, taking a lighter note. "I can pretend you've given me the okay--you know, take a page from our kids' book--the old 'my mommy says it's okay' trick. If Sunny agrees, you won't have much of a leg to stand on."

  Kate snorted. "Like I have much of a leg to stand on now? I still wish you weren't such a big cheese. But go ahead. I don't have to ask Will. He'll know you're in a bind. Just make sure Phil doesn't blab until we're ready. I'm counting on you, Susie. Don't let us down."

  One of the advantages of being principal was that Susan's schedule was more forgiving than if, say, there were twenty-five jun
iors waiting in a classroom for her to discuss Jane Eyre. Emergencies were part of her day. She could postpone a teacher meeting or class visit, and the world accepted that she was dealing with something urgent.

  So, asking her assistant to reschedule sophomore English observation and ignoring a computer screen filled with pending e-mail, she left school. She walked quickly; it was a cold day. The wind was blowing dried leaves from branches, whipping others up from the ground. When her hair flew, Susan tucked it into her collar and double-wrapped her scarf, leaving a hand in the wool for its warmth. The scarf was of sock yarn from the fall collection--called Last Blaze--and perfectly matched the reds and oranges the leaves had so recently been. They were faded now, but her scarf, knit double-stranded in flamelike chevrons, was as bold as ever.

  Head low against the wind, she pushed on to Main Street. She trotted past a tour bus that was pulling up at the curb, crossed diagonally, and continued on another block to Perry & Cass Home Goods. One foot in the door and she was enveloped in the scent of spiced pumpkin. Thanksgiving was coming on fast, with autumnal tableware, wood carving boards, and ceramic serving pieces prominently displayed. Seasonal candles and potpourri were on one side, cook-ware on another, but it was at the back of the store, where yarn filled huge baskets, that Susan spotted Sunny.

  She wore dark green today, coordinating slacks, sweater, and hair bow. Susan immediately recognized the sweater as one Sunny had knit the summer before when the first of the fall colors had been painted and skeined. A rich hunter shot through with tiny wisps of russet and gold, it was one of Susan's favorites. Sunny was an exquisite knitter, the only one of the four who could be trusted doing straight stockinette. Every stitch was precise.

  She was talking to a display designer, seemingly engrossed until she saw Susan, at which point she was immediately distracted.

  "Um, that might work," she said to the designer, "um, it probably will--but don't line the baskets with anything dark. I want this part of the store to be, um, bright. Excuse me, I'll be right back." Hurrying over, she guided Susan to a nook where mounds of goose down pillows and comforters would be a buffer and, even then, kept her voice down. "What's happened? Does someone else know?"