Not My Daughter

Chapter 14

"They wouldn't fire you," Lily said.

Susan wasn't so sure. Phil had been less than supportive at the meeting, and her job was in his hands. But his job was in the hands of the school board. If he felt that sentiment ran strongly against her, that if a second vote were taken, the board would vote to let her go, he would fire her first. Their friendship didn't go that far.

Nor, apparently, did Pam's, which was the one that really hurt. What was it she'd said when asked if she was pleased with how Susan was handling the situation? For now, yes. Not exactly a ringing endorsement. And when the meeting adjourned, she busied herself talking with members. As signs went, it didn't bode well. Susan's fears only deepened during the short drive home.

"Maybe not now," she told Lily, "but next week? Next month? There seems to be an obsession about who is to blame."

"Well, that's a no-brainer, since you weren't involved in the decision."

"Not a no-brainer at all." Susan reached for the teakettle. "Here's a basic lesson in Mothering 101, sweetheart. The buck stops here."

Monday morning, praying that her faculty would be less judgmental, Susan got to school in advance of the seven o'clock meeting. She set out coffee and doughnuts in the hope of mustering good will, but most of her teachers dashed into the small amphitheater with seconds to spare.

Was she nervous? Not of leading the meeting. She had gotten over that two years before, after realizing that her freckles mattered less than the professionalism she displayed. As long as she had an agenda, she was fine. And she certainly had an agenda today.

That said, she was nervous as hell. If she was fighting for her job, she needed the support of her faculty. All eyes were on her as she began.

"Thanks for coming so early. I met with the school board yesterday. We're going ahead with the plan to reach the entire student body. You've all read the e-mail I sent Friday. You should have also received the one I sent last night with the change in today's class schedule and bullet points for discussion." Lest some hadn't printed it out, she took a stack and passed it around. "The focus should be on the risk of teenage pregnancy and the danger of pacts. I've elaborated on both on page two." She gave a small smile. "I'm betting there are still questions. Please. Ask."

There were a few easy ones. When are the girls due? Are all three keeping their babies? Will they be marrying the boys? Susan gave succinct answers to each.

In the brief awkwardness that followed, Susan waited, then smiled. "Go ahead. Be blunt. I can take it."

"Do we give the names of the girls?" someone asked.

"Only if you feel it's necessary for the discussion," Susan replied. "Most everyone knows that my daughter is one of the girls. I'm close to the other two families and would have you protect them, but our first priority is protecting the rest of our students. If they ask, you tell."

"Will the girls be in class this week?"

"Yes."

"Won't that be hard for them?"

"Yes."

"What about the boys?"

Susan thought for a minute. "I'd downplay mention of them. Some of our students will know who they are."

"Do you?"

"I know one name. I'm sure you all know the same one."

"How do you feel about this?"

Susan was slow to speak as she waded through different levels of emotion. "I'm upset," she finally said, but it didn't seem enough. "As principal and a mother. These weren't accidental pregnancies. We don't want to glorify them." And still that didn't seem enough. "Some of you may be thinking that I'm taking a hard line because of my own past. I honestly don't think so. I'm not punishing these girls. I just want to discourage others from copying them."

"What if students ask about you?"

"I'll be going from class to class while you discuss this. They can ask me themselves."

Susan did little else over the next two days. She talked with students in the classroom, the lunchroom, the halls, even the gym, answering their questions as honestly as she could. There were questions about her own experience, often relating to whether schools talked about birth control "back then," but most of the questions focused on the girls.

Same with the faculty. Talking with them before and after classes, she sensed that they agreed with what she was doing. She never got the slightest whiff, not even from Raymond Dunbar, that she wasn't a fit principal. Nor did parents suggest it. Their notes were overwhelmingly supportive, far more positive this week than the weekend before. They liked what she was doing. As she had hoped, open discussions in school were leading to discussions at home.

She answered every e-mail she received, working late each night. And all the while, as she scrolled through her inbox, she wondered if Robbie Boone's parents knew. Sooner or later, they would. They might e-mail or, worse, ambush her as she climbed from her car at the end of the day.

By Wednesday, though, she was starting to feel she was over the hump. Classes were back to normal, and though she continued to make herself accessible, students were more interested in the holiday basketball tournament that Zaganack hosted each year than they were in Lily, Mary Kate, and Jess.

Then came Thursday and the Gazette. There was no article; as promised, Phil had made his call. The paper's editorial was another matter.

It's time to talk about family values. Zaganack has always taken the high moral road. Call us traditional, but we have the lowest divorce rate in the state, and violent crime here is rare. Our churches raise strong voices in this community, and we listen.

Now we learn about three girls who didn't. Three girls who are pregnant and happy about it. Three girls who have no plans to marry.

You might call this part of a national epidemic, an erosion of family values. But Zaganackians have a culture of responsibility that was supposed to protect us. Why did it fail?

These girls claim they acted alone. Did they? Do we blame the boys they were with, mere teenagers themselves? No. There are people who should have taught these girls right from wrong. Those people failed. They failed to teach. Failed to supervise. Failed to set an example.

Those people failed to understand that we can't redefine family values to suit our own needs.

What should the town do? We can't control what happens in individual families. But we can control what happens in our schools. We do have a say about who leads our children at this vulnerable time in their lives. Those children need the best possible role models.

One of the mothers of one of these girls holds a crucial position in our town. This is troublesome.

Zaganack needs to look long and hard at this problem.

"Phil," Susan breathed, reaching him on the phone minutes after finishing her third reading of the piece, "have you seen the Gazette?"

"Just did. This isn't good."

"Didn't you ask him not to do this?"

"I asked him to hold off on covering the story, and he did. There was no front page headline. There wasn't even a story inside. Just this editorial."

"Which is entirely one-sided. This isn't fair, Phil. I've made progress this week. If you want to talk about taking the 'high moral road,' I've done what you always like-turned this into a lesson for our students. Their parents overwhelmingly approve."

"Then this editorial will be a blip."

"A blip that every single person in town will see. Second to the front page headline, this is what people read. Have you heard from any of the board?"

"Zimmerman called me yesterday, but that was before this."

"This will not hurt property values," Susan declared, knowing Thomas Zimmerman's priorities only too well.

"I hope not."

"How can it? We're talking three girls in a town of eighteen thousand people."

"With a school principal who is the mother of one of those girls. See, that's the tricky part."

Susan didn't want to argue the point again. "So what do we do? The school is my first priority. I have to keep my focus here. You're higher up. Can you reach out to the broader community?"

He could write a letter to the editor. He could lobby on her behalf with the likes of Carl Morgan and Duncan Haith. As superintendent of schools, he had the ear of other community leaders.

"Tell you what," he said genially. "The Leadership Team isn't scheduled to meet for another week. I'll call everyone together tomorrow morning. You can answer their questions directly."

It wasn't quite what Susan had in mind. But she wasn't in a position to demand more.

Sunny was on the phone in her tiny office at the back of PC Home Goods, putting in an order with a loquacious candle supplier, when the paper arrived. While the man chatted on, she skimmed through to the editorial page.

The supplier rambled on, but she heard none of it, until there was a louder, "Mrs. Barros? Are you there?"

Sunny cleared her throat. "I am, Chad. I'm sorry. Something's come up. Can we finish this later?" She quickly hung up and, heart in her throat, reread the editorial. Then she picked up the phone and called her husband.

"Have you seen the Gazette?" she asked in a voice that shook.

"No. Sunny, I'm with someone here."

"Read the editorial."

"As soon as I can."

"Soon. Call me back." She hung up and waited. The digital clock on the shelf changed the half hour, then the hour, but the phone didn't ring. Soft bells jingled when the door of the store opened, but she had two saleswomen on the floor to handle customers. She couldn't face anyone who might have seen the Gazette.

When the clock registered another half hour, she pulled out her cell phone. She didn't want this call on the company line.

Her parents lived one time zone away, making it nine o'clock there, and even then her mother sounded groggy.

"If I've woken you, I am not sorry," Sunny began. "It isn't my fault if you and Dad watch old movies all night. And it isn't my fault that my daughter is pregnant. But that's what the paper suggests."

"What paper?"

"The local one-the Gazette-what other one would I care about? This paper reaches every person in town for free, so it's not like I can even unsubscribe. It isn't bad enough that my own daughter betrayed me or that my best friend Susan aired my dirty laundry in school all week, but now it's in print. I'll definitely sue the editor in chief for printing this."

"The Zaganack Gazette?" Delilah sounded distracted.

"You think this is funny, Mother? I do not. I had a good reputation before this, but now it's shot." She read aloud. "'These girls claim they acted alone. But did they? Their mothers failed to teach. Failed to supervise. Failed to-'"

"'Set an example,'" Delilah spoke with her. "Excuse me, Sunshine, but I do not see mention of mothers in this diatribe."

"Because I've only read you a tiny part."

"No, no. I have the whole thing on my screen right now, and I only see the word mother once."

"People is a euphemism for mothers. He's directing this at my friends and me."

"Mostly at Susan, but he doesn't mention her name either."

"Like anyone in town wouldn't guess? You don't seem to understand. I have trouble looking at my daughter, my husband has trouble looking at me, and wherever I go people stare. This is everything I've fought not to go through. Now we'll have to move."

"Rubbish," said Delilah.

"I'm not like you, Mother. You thrive on controversy. I find it Humiliating with a capital H."

"That's because you're Timid with a capital T. You have a fine daughter, who will do a fine job raising her child-and, for the record, your father and I weren't up last night watching old movies. He was up late tracking computer hackers, which is what he does for the government, which doesn't think we're anywhere near as embarrassing as you do."

Sunny knew that the government would think twice if her parents showed up for the annual White House Easter egg hunt dressed as rabbits. But she hadn't called to argue.

"Fine," she said. "But please, next time you talk with Jessica, do not encourage her. She did this for you."

"Wrong, Sunshine. She did it for you. When are you going to open your Eyes with a capital E?"

Kate was at the barn when one of her assistants brought the Gazette in from the parking lot. She wouldn't normally read it here, but she knew it might have an article on the girls, and besides, there was a lull at work. Though she had started dyeing Vernal Tide, March Madness, and Spring Eclipse in each of five yarn weights-bulky, worsted, sport, fingering, and lace-Susan hadn't worked out the last two formulas. Nor had they gotten feedback from the others on the three they did have.

Saturdays had not been as productive as they needed to be. She and Susan were distracted and seemed to knit more than dye. Pam seemed totally disinterested and was clearly having second thoughts about giving PC Wool a push in the catalogue. And if Sunny was planning a special promotion at PC Home Goods, she hadn't mentioned it in days.

All of it was upsetting, but nowhere near as much as the public attention her daughter had garnered that week. Mary Kate claimed she was fine, but when Kate's friends asked about Jacob, she didn't know what to say. Her heart broke when she realized that the two of them might have permanently split. Oh, Jacob would take responsibility for the baby. He would support it once he could. He would negotiate an agreeable arrangement for visitation, even custody. But this wasn't an ideal way to bring a child into the world.

Slipping the Gazette from its plastic sleeve, she opened it on the worktable and skimmed through. She was starting to think they had dodged the bullet when she saw the editorial.

Her first thought was to call Susan. But Susan's phone would be ringing off the hook.

Her next thought was to call Sunny. But Sunny would be bouncing off the wall.

Her third thought was to call Will, but he was growing frustrated with Kate's anger, and what she needed was a target.

So she called Pam. "Have you seen the Gazette?"

"Just now. Tanner called."

"Was there no way he could stop this? His cousin is the publisher, and the publisher is George Abbott's boss."

"Tanner isn't involved in running the paper," Pam said coolly. "He didn't know this was coming. Besides, there's a problem with the website, so he's been preoccupied."

"A problem that affects PC Wool?" Kate asked. This was her livelihood.

"No."

That was a relief. With production falling behind schedule, the last thing they needed was a problem with sales. "So why did George Abbott write this? Do you think he represents the mainstream of public opinion?"

"How would I know, Kate? All I know is he's a good writer, and he puts the paper out with a limited staff. Ad revenues are down. He's having to do more himself than he used to."

"That explains it. He's overworked, so his judgment is poor. You do realize this is a total attack on Susan. There she is trying to salvage her credibility, and he undermines her with something like this? It goes two ways, y'know. She's a target because she's a public person, but because she's a public person-and, yes, working in a 'crucial position'-doesn't she deserve a little respect?"

"It's a thorny issue."

"Pam. You're supposed to be her friend. Do you not respect what she's done with her life?"

"Of course I do."

"Then do something," Kate urged. "She needs people like you speaking up for her. You're on the school board, and your name carries weight. Write a letter to the editor."

"That wouldn't help," Pam said. "George is a family friend. He'd take it personally."

"Whoa. You're afraid of hurting George's feelings? Which friendship means more to you-his or Susan's?"

"Susan's, but it isn't as simple as that."

Kate felt a flash of annoyance. "How's it complicated? Not only is Susan a loyal friend, but she's your business partner-speaking of which, Pam, we really have to meet Saturday. We need feedback from you and Sunny before we can finalize these colorways. I'm starting to think you don't care."

"I care."

"Do you care about Susan? This editorial hits her hard. How about showing her a little loyalty."

"Hey," Pam shot back. "You guys all knew about this. No one told me until the cat was out of the bag. Where's the loyalty there?"

"Come on, Pam. Do you know what an awful time we've had?"

"I didn't tell your girls to get pregnant," Pam said with just enough arrogance to goad Kate on, but hadn't she been looking to pick a fight?

"Fine. But if you want to place blame, what about Abby? She was with our girls all summer. She must have heard them planning this. That makes her an accomplice."

"Abby is not pregnant," Pam said.

"Not yet."

"I know my daughter."

"I thought I knew mine, too. Think about it, Pam. It could be that the only reason you're not in George Abbott's sights right now is a matter of luck."

Pam couldn't shake what Kate had said, especially since Susan had said something similar a few weeks before. Maybe you can talk with your daughter about not getting pregnant. Pam told herself that they were just throwaway last lines. But it wasn't like Susan or Kate to use throwaway last lines. They weren't into empty small talk, the way so many Perry friends were. They were substantive.

Was this a warning, then? She wondered if they knew something she didn't.

Deciding she needed to see Abby, she left her a message saying she would pick her up after school, and she arrived early for a good spot at the curb. Closely watching the front door, she spotted her daughter the instant she came out-and, momentarily distracted, felt a helpless pride realizing that this striking young woman was hers. It wasn't only the blond hair and creamy skin. It wasn't even her father's height, though that certainly set her apart. More, it was the way she carried herself. She walked with the confidence of a Perry.

Pam had admired that carriage from the very first time she had met Tanner's family. She could carry it off herself when she tried. Her daughter didn't have to try. She was born with it.

Abby was with friends as she came down the stone steps, but not Lily, Mary Kate, or Jess. This was what Pam had wanted to see.

The girl spotted the Range Rover and crossed the grass. She didn't run, just walked with that calm Perry gait. Some called it arrogant. Pam called it classy.

"What's up?" Abby asked as she slid into the car.

"Cashmere. We're thinking of introducing it to the PC Wool line, but I need your opinion. You're my target audience."

"No way. Kids my age can't afford cashmere yarn."

"How do you know the cost?" Pam asked as she pulled away from the curb.

"Because I look online. Because you love cashmere and buy me cashmere, so now I love cashmere. But I do know it costs more."

"Would you knit it if PC Wool sold it?"

"In a heartbeat."

"Well, there you go," Pam said, feeling vindicated. "I found a woman up the coast who spins cashmere. I want to see the quality of her work, and I want your opinion."

Abby seemed content with that. "We're on a mission."

"We are. You didn't have anything else on this afternoon, did you?"

"No."

Pam didn't think so. Her daughter had been on the field hockey team with Lily, but the season was over, and Abby wasn't into volleyball. Pam had suggested she write for the school paper or join the yearbook staff, but Abby turned up her nose at both ideas.

"How was school?"

"Okay. Did you see the Gazette?"

"Did you?" Pam asked in surprise.

"You couldn't miss it. Everyone was passing it around. I mean, that editorial went after our principal. Poor Susan. How's she doing?"

"Good," Pam said, though she hadn't talked with her all week. They used to go to the gym together, but that hadn't happened in a while either. Susan was busy, and Pam was walking a fine line, not quite sure of the smartest position to take. "Susan's a survivor. How's Lily?"

"Good," Abby answered, echoing Pam's breezy tone, which made her wonder.

"Have you talked with her?"

"No, but I see her around. So, Mom, I was thinking maybe I'd go out for the Drama Club."

"You want to act?" Pam asked in surprise.

"I was thinking of set design."

"Don't the art classes handle that?"

"They need direction. Remember when we saw Dirty Dancing onstage? The set was amazing. Our productions don't come close."

"Yuh." Pam laughed. "One's professional, one isn't. One has millions to spend, one has nothing."

"Creativity doesn't have to break the bank. Isn't that what Dad always says? I'm creative. I've also seen more real theater than the other kids. I could be a liaison between the classes and the club-like you are with PC Wool." She looked sideways at Pam. "You're still doing that, aren't you?"

"I am PC Wool-well, a quarter of it. Why do you even ask?"

"You haven't been there on Saturdays." Her voice was cautious. "Is it hard for you after what I did?"

"No, no," Pam said. "I've just had other things to do. But I'm going this Saturday. We're finalizing the spring line." Her daughter was looking out the window. "What about you? Is it hard for you at school?"

"No way," Abby said a little too quickly. "I have other friends."

"But you were so close to the others." She took the ramp onto the highway. "I keep thinking about that, Abby. You were with them last summer when they hatched this idea. You must have heard them talking about it."

"No. They must've talked to each other at night."

"And they didn't mention it to you once? Not even hypothetically?"

"I told you," Abby stated crossly. "I am not in their inner circle."

"You came pretty close."

"So?"

"Nothing," Pam said quietly. She didn't want to argue. "I was just wondering. Do you wish you were pregnant, too?"

"Are you kidding? They're pariahs. They sit by themselves in the lunchroom."

"Maybe you should go over and break the ice."

"Oh yeah, and look what happened last time I did. Jess yelled at me for outing Lily, and now I've outed Mary Kate and Jess. I didn't mean to do that. It just happened. I was upset."

"Because they hadn't included you in their plans?"

Abby opened her mouth to answer, then glared at Pam. "You think I was."

Pam backpedaled. "No. I'm just curious, like everyone else. Were they talking about boys last summer?"

"We all talk about boys."

"Who was Lily talking about?" When Abby sent her a withering look, she didn't push. "Well, at least you're on the pill."

The girl didn't reply.

"Mary Kate was on the pill but stopped taking it," Pam said.

Abby turned the stare on her. "Mom. I am not pregnant. I am not trying to get pregnant. For all I know, it wouldn't happen even if I did try."

"Why do you say that?"

"Look at you."

"I had no trouble getting pregnant."

"But you were pregnant, like, six times and miscarried all of them except me. I mean, don't you think I know things like that are genetic-and anyway, your questions are really annoying. I've told you I didn't know. Isn't that enough?"

Pam was subdued. "I'm trying to be a good mother."

"By bugging me?"

"By talking." They were on the highway now, cruising at the speed limit. It required little concentration, allowing Pam to focus on what she should or should not say. The older Abby got, the trickier it was. "Mothers talk when they want to know what's happening in their daughters' lives. Maybe if the other mothers had done it, this wouldn't have happened."

"They talk."

"Not enough, I guess. But who am I to criticize them? If you had decided to get pregnant, I wouldn't have known."

Abby was quiet. Finally, sadly, she said, "Well, I think Susan's a good mother. You should give her a call. She's the best friend you have."

I could say the same about you and Lily, Pam might have replied if the sadness hadn't been contagious. She did miss seeing Susan. Susan was sensible and practical. When she set her mind to something, she did it. Same with the others, actually. Each of them dealt with challenges-Susan raising Lily alone, Kate managing five kids, Sunny living with Dan.

And here was Pam Perry, watching Regis and Kelly while everyone else went to work. She might make a phone call or two relating to school board business, might get dressed and meander to Tanner's office, might make another call or two from there.

Would anyone miss hearing her voice if she didn't call? Would anyone wonder where she was if she stayed in bed for the day?

Certainly not Susan, Sunny, or Kate, as long as Pam kept up her end of PC Wool. She just wished she knew how the pregnancies were going to play with the town. She didn't want to end up on the wrong side of public opinion.