Not My Daughter

Chapter 23

The passing of a Cass went beyond Zaganack. The story broke online and was covered on the evening news and in newspapers nationwide. Funeral plans were extensive, allowing for attendance both by Zaganackians and by members of the national business community who had known and admired Henry Cass. The governor and one of Maine's senators planned to attend.

It was a sorrowful occasion. But Susan wasn't sorry for the preoccupation of the town. Coming on the heels of the holiday breather, this was another event that deflected attention from Susan's issues with the board.

With the town shut down on Wednesday for the funeral, there was no school, which was why Susan was home when she got the amnio results. She had gone upstairs alone to call the doctor, thinking to spare Lily another roller-coaster moment. When she was done, she pressed the phone to her chest, closed her eyes in a tiny prayer, and ran down the stairs.

Lily was in the den. She had a chem text open on her lap, but she was knitting. When she saw Susan, the peace on her face turned to fear.

Susan burst into a smile. "The baby is fine!" She took Lily's face in her hands. "No genetic disorder, no chromosome abnormality, no neural tube defect. He is perfect."

Lily closed her eyes and let out a long, grateful sigh.

Hearing a quieter version of that, Susan looked back at Rick, who stood under the archway looking relieved.

"But he still has CDH?" Lily asked.

Susan would have given anything to deny it, but denial wouldn't make things easier. "Yes. The sonogram next week will tell us more-but this is big, sweetheart. Ruling out these other things makes what we have to face absolutely doable." Susan kissed her forehead. "This is a huge relief. Definitely cause for hope."

Likewise was Thursday's Gazette, which was a cover-to-cover eulogy for Henry Cass. There were histories of his role in the store, lengthy stories of his life, full-page memorials sponsored by Perry & Cass departments and other business interests for miles around. There were three full pages of letters to the editor, every one of them a tribute to the man.

Susan didn't read each in detail. She had been at the funeral and heard the praise, and while these letters were lovely, she was simply pleased to have faded from view herself.

That changed on Friday night. With Rick at the house, Susan worked late at school. She had just arrived home and was hanging up her coat when the front doorbell rang. Shooting a puzzled look at Rick and Lily, who were together at the stove, she went to answer it.

The man outside was thirtyish and wore a down parka and jeans. "Susan?" he asked in a friendly enough way, his breath white in the frosty air.

She gave him a curious smile. "Do I know you?"

"I'm Jonathan Hicks. I'm with NBC. We were in town covering the Cass funeral. I understand you're the principal of the high school. Do you think we could talk?"

Susan was uneasy. "I can't tell you much about Henry Cass. I didn't know him personally."

"We're doing a bigger piece on the town. Zaganack is unique in the way it combines business with tourism. How long have you lived here?"

Looking beyond him, she saw a van at the curb. It had the call letters of the Portland affiliate on its side and a satellite dish on the top. She was very uneasy. "Not as long as most. If you're doing a piece on the town, there are others who can tell you more."

"They sent me to you," he began, then abruptly stopped.

Rick had approached. "What did you say your name was?" he asked the reporter.

"Jon Hicks." He seemed puzzled. "Man, do you look like-" He swore under his breath. "Damn. You beat me. But you don't do local feed. Last I saw footage of you, you were in… in Botswana."

"Close enough," Rick said, confirming his identity. "What're you after?"

"Same thing you are."

Rick smiled. "I doubt that. Who sent you here?"

"The guy who heads the Chamber of Commerce. He said Susan was a good example of Gen X and that she had an interesting story to tell."

Susan bet the head of the Chamber of Commerce had said a lot more. Neal Lombard was the school board member who had suggested she take a leave.

"What story?" she asked.

"A pregnancy pact."

Not knowing what to say, much less how to react, she was relieved when Rick took over. "There's no story."

"Then why are you here?"

"Susan is family."

"Your family? The guy didn't tell me that."

"No. So you know who I am, but I don't know you. Are you out of Portland?"

"New York. Assistant producer."

"Ahh. Bloodhound sniffing out stories. Got a card?" In an instant, he was studying it. "Well, Jon Hicks, you're barking up the wrong tree. For one thing, this town's about Perry and Cass. For another, I know your boss, and if he gets wind that you're harassing my family, he won't be happy."

The producer took a step back. "Hey, man, no harassment."

"Good," Rick said with a smile. "Keep it that way. Hey, my girl and I just made dinner. I'd invite you to stay, only we don't have extra. We'll talk shop another time, okay?" He put a hand high on the doorframe, watching Jonathan leave. Only when the van pulled away did he ease Susan back inside.

That was when reality hit. "The national press?" she cried. "What next?"

"It was inevitable."

"I thought the Gazette was bad, but if this is on network TV, we're in trouble. A pregnancy pact is hot stuff. If he runs his story, Zaganack will be inundated with media from all over the country. I'll lose my job-I mean, I'll have to step aside or the kids will suffer. The whole town will suffer."

"Who is Neal Lombard?" Rick asked calmly.

Susan folded her arms. "He came on the school board right before Pam. He has four troubled sons, and he's covering up his own sense of inadequacy by pointing the finger at people like me. He must have been upset when the Gazette left me alone this week. We had the media in town, and he couldn't resist slipping them word. He's killing two birds with one stone-ruining me and creating publicity for the town. The Chamber wants tour buses here. Neal doesn't care what brings them."

"It's okay, Susie. I can pull strings. If Jon Hicks goes ahead with a piece on this town, he won't mention you."

"He may mention you. You told him you were family." Not many people in town knew that. Susan had always been miserly with the information. Lily, too. Rick was their secret.

He scratched the back of his head. "Okay. Well, I had a choice. Either I had a solid personal reason for being here, or he was going to think he had fallen into a really big story, in which case he'd call in reinforcements and stake out the place."

"What if Neal Lombard calls someone else?"

"Talk to Pam. See what she can do."

Pam wasn't thrilled to be asked to help. "I don't know Neal very well."

"Tanner does. A word from him would go a long way toward shutting up the press."

"Oh, Susan, with the funeral and all…"

"The funeral is over," Susan argued. If Pam was a friend, she would do this. "Henry was long retired from the day-to-day running of Perry and Cass, so it's not like there'll be a corporate change in command. The company's had good press in the last few days. This would be bad press. Does Tanner want that?"

"No. Okay. Let me talk with him."

But either she didn't or Tanner chose not to act, or it was simply too late, because Susan was returning from visiting a Spanish II class on Monday morning when a young woman fell into step. "Ms. Tate? I'm Melissa Randolph, People magazine. I wonder if we could talk."

Susan died a little inside. "About what?"

"Teen pregnancy." The woman was in her early twenties. Wearing dark tights, a pencil skirt, and heels that stilted her walk, she wasn't as intimidating as Jonathan Hicks with his satellite van. That made it easier for Susan to stay calm.

"Sure. Follow me." She continued on to her office, thinking the whole way about what Rick would do. When they were seated, she asked, "Melissa Randoph? Is that correct? What do you do for the magazine?"

"I'm a reporter," the woman said and, as if to prove it, pulled out a dog-eared notebook and prepared to take notes.

"Were you here for the Cass funeral?" Susan asked.

"No. I just arrived."

"Specifically to do a story on teen pregnancies?"

"Actually, the story is on mothers-the whose-fault-is-it kind of thing. We're running a story in this week's issue, but we just heard about your situation and wanted to rush it in. Our focus is on average middle-class mothers. We have one in Chicago whose son is into identity theft, and one in Tucson whose DUI daughter killed a friend. Both mothers are being skewered, even though they're hardworking and well-liked. You're in the same boat."

"I am?" Susan asked, mildly annoyed. She didn't consider her daughter, Mary Kate, or Jess in the league of a thief or a drunk. "Where did you hear that?"

"The local paper."

Susan frowned. "Do your production people read the Zaganack Gazette?"

"We got a tip."

"Ahhh," Susan said. "That wouldn't by chance be the local Chamber of Commerce trying to drum up a little more attention for the town? And you fell for it?"

The reporter squirmed. "We've talked with teachers and students. We know that three girls are pregnant. Of the moms involved, you're the most visible."

"There's been a spike in teen pregnancies all over the country," Susan said. "I'd guess that we're at the low end of the spectrum."

"But the three in question formed a pact. That's a headline. And you were pregnant at seventeen yourself."

Susan refused to react. "I'm a school principal. I worry about pact behavior as it affects other students. If a pact leads to violence, it's troubling."

"You don't consider a pregnancy pact troubling?"

Susan sat back. "Any teen pregnancy is troubling."

"Especially when it involves your own daughter, I would think."

"I'm sorry. I won't talk about specific cases."

"I understand that as principal you have to say that. But I really want to talk with you as a mother. Would you be more comfortable if we talked in your home?"

Susan gave her a sympathetic smile. "This really is a private matter. My first priorities are my daughter and my school. I don't aspire to being nationally recognized."

There was a pause. "That's a 'no comment,' then?"

"Oh, it's a comment," Susan said, perhaps pedantically, but she was suddenly livid. "My comment is, my first priorities are my daughter and my school. I don't aspire to being nationally recognized." She looked at her watch and stood. "I have a class to teach. I need time to review my notes."

Looking skeptical, the reporter rose, too. "Since when does a principal teach?"

"Since budget cuts discourage hiring subs when a regular teacher is sick." She opened the door. "I'm sorry I can't help you. I'm sure your piece will be just fine focusing on those other two women." She waited until the reporter left, then closed the door and grabbed the phone. Rick was working at home. Her hand shook punching in the number.

"People magazine," she said. "Just here. Neal must have called them, too. How scary is that?"

"What did you say?" Rick asked quietly.

"That I wouldn't talk. But she says she's already talked with faculty and students. Was she bluffing? There are teachers-like Evan Brewer-who would love to cut me down, and kids I've disciplined who'd spill their guts in a second. She could write her story without ever quoting me, and the piece will be totally skewed, like the editorial in the Gazette. I could talk with her and set things straight. But then Phil would be on top of me for talking with her, and the school board would say I was hurting the town."

"Did she have a photographer with her?"

"I didn't see one. But I wasn't looking. Now I have to teach a class. Do I dare leave my office?"

"You have to. You have a job. Go do it, while I make a few calls."

Rick spent most of the day trying to plug the leak, but it had spread too far. The media was hungry for headlines, and the juicier the better. That meant the Zaganack story took on hyperbolic twists. The pact grew to twelve; the girls were the leaders of the senior class; Susan advocated teen pregnancy.

By day's end, she had received calls from two other magazines and Inside Edition, not to mention multiple messages from Sunny and Kate.

"Do not talk," she advised Kate, who sounded frazzled.

"They called me at the barn and again at home. They're obsessed with our friendship and the idea of our daughters forming a pact. How do they know where I live? This is such a violation."

Sunny was furious. "Dan talked with the last one and threatened to sue for harassment. Of course, he doesn't have a case, because what's one phone call, but how did this get out, Susan, who told these people to call?"

Susan figured that Neal Lombard might have lit the match, but that others were fanning the flames. She kept hoping nothing would come of the calls, but that night, Inside Edition did a piece on high school pacts, with its reporter live on the steps of Susan's school citing the three Zaganack girls as the latest example.

The media inquiries continued into Tuesday and Wednesday, but, at some point, Susan tuned them out. On top of her usual work, she had a parent coffee to host, a grant application to file, and two drunk students and a bully to deal with-which wasn't to say she wasn't aware of the buzz around school. People were talking about Lily, about Susan, about the press.

Phil was decidedly unhappy.

That said, the buzz might have been in her own head. It was all well and good to try to stem a scandal, to fearfully surf the Web and assess the damage. But Lily's next sonogram was coming on fast, bringing with it a worry that drove the others from her mind.

Susan blessed Rick now. Pulling out all stops, he found the hospital with the most up-to-date machine and booked the most highly recommended and experienced radiologist to do the sonogram.

Early Thursday morning, they headed back to Boston. Forbidden to pee, Lily was uncomfortable, but she didn't complain. She was doing what had to be done, though she looked fearful and very much seventeen. Susan kept reminding her that amnio had ruled out complications, making CDH a simple problem. But the machine was a more sophisticated one, sensitive enough to pick up the slightest abnormality, and the doctor-a woman-was somber. Susan was intimidated, and she was thirty-five. She could only imagine what Lily felt.

Rick stayed with them, asking the doctor to back up here, explain this, repeat that, with an insistence Susan might not have had, vacillating as she was between fascination with the baby's features and dismay at the extent of the problem.

An hour later, Lily was squeezed in for an MRI, and an hour after that, for consultation with the surgeon with whom Rick had connected prior to the trip. This surgeon, too, came highly recommended. He was a specialist in treating congenital diaphragmatic hernia.

He had already talked with the radiologist who had done the sonogram and was able to compare today's pictures with those taken three weeks before. Sitting beside Lily and Susan, he showed her the changes.

"With the mildest cases of CDH, the condition remains steady," the man explained gently, "but you can see the difference three weeks has made. We use mathematical formulas to describe the degree of herniation, but I'd rather talk here in lay terms. Look at the two pictures. Look at the lungs. See how the one on the left is smaller than the one on the right in this newest shot?"

"It's teeny," Lily cried out in dismay.

"Definitely smaller, because look here, the intestines, the liver, the kidneys are crowding it out. This kind of adverse movement in three weeks suggests a momentum that will prevent lung development and eventually affect the heart. Even if this child makes it to term, he won't have the means to survive outside the womb. Some parents believe that if that happens, it was meant to be." He looked beyond Lily to Susan and Rick.

It was the moment of truth, Susan knew. If they didn't want this baby, now was the time to speak up. But the only thing she felt was that this child was part of her child, that it was already familiar to her, and that if she ever fought for anything in her life, it should be for this.

In that instant, she was fully committed. "We want this baby to live."

He smiled and looked at Lily, who nodded in agreement. "Then we operate. This kind of case excites me, because we're catching it early. Correcting the abnormality now maximizes the baby's chances."

Susan put an encouraging arm around Lily, who, sounding very mature, asked for details of the operation.

In clear terms, the doctor explained. "We make two tiny incisions, one in your belly and one in your uterus, and we insert a tiny telescope into your baby's mouth." When Lily made a sound, he squeezed her hand. "Not at all hard for the baby. Don't forget, he doesn't use that mouth for anything much yet. We put the telescope into his trachea and leave a tiny balloon behind, blown up just enough to obstruct the windpipe."

"Obstruct?" Lily asked in alarm.

The doctor smiled. "The baby doesn't need that windpipe until the moment he's born, but a funny thing happens when we block it. The lung starts to grow," he said. "As the lung grows, it pushes those wayward internal organs back out of the chest cavity and away from the heart." Again, he looked at Susan and Rick. "It's remarkable, really."

"How do you get the balloon out of his windpipe?" Lily asked, calmer again.

"Very simply. We do the beginnings of a cesarean section, lift the baby's head out of the uterus while the umbilical cord is still attached to the placenta and doing the breathing for him. Then we reach into his mouth and pull out the balloon. We cut the cord, and your son is born."

Lily was momentarily rapt. "And he'll be okay? This fixes the problem?"

"There's never a guarantee. But we've had remarkable success. Once we've blocked the windpipe, the organs grow normally. Minor surgery soon after birth closes the hole in the diaphragm."

"What does minor surgery mean?"

"Low risk. We have it down to a science."

"Will he have a scar?"

"A small one, but it'll look smaller the bigger he gets. Babies grow; scars don't."

Susan wasn't bothered by scars, if the result was survival. "Will Lily be able to carry to term?" she asked.

"I've had some cases where we've taken the baby at thirty-eight weeks, which is considered full term. More likely, we'd take him a little earlier. In order to know when, we'll be monitoring him closely after the procedure. We'll start with a weekly sonogram; then, if all is going well, we'll space them out. We want to watch that little lung grow."

"Will all my babies have this?" Lily asked.

"Your boy only has CDH. If there were other abnormalities, I'd be more cautious, but with just CDH? Chances of a repeat are slim."

Lily was numb as they headed home. Cruising the highway between states, she knitted in the backseat. It was the only thing she could do that brought comfort. Last summer seemed an eon away and the person she had been then pathetically naive.

At least now she believed her baby had a chance. She hadn't loved the radiologist, but the surgeon was nice, and if Rick said he was good, he was good. She wasn't even as frightened by the pictures. Driving down this morning, she had expected worse-even that her baby was dead. It wasn't until she saw the heart beating strongly on the screen earlier that she truly believed he was still alive.

She was the mom, which meant she had the final say on what they did for her baby. But having her parents in her corner meant a lot. Her mother had said they would deal. And so they would.

Lily accepted that her little boy had this problem and that they could fix it. The surgery was scheduled, along with tests to monitor the fetus during the next two weeks. As for weekly trips to Boston, no sweat. She could knit.

Missing school worried her a little. Now that other friends were hearing from colleges, she sometimes thought about Wesleyan and Williams, both of which she loved. Briefly, she had considered applying even if she was pregnant. Her scores were good enough. For all she knew, the schools would like having a student who was different.

But it would be too difficult, too far from home, too distant from Mary Kate and Jess. Especially now.

Percy State was definitely the way to go. But even there, if she missed too much school this spring, she might have to defer. Not that she loved being at school right now. There was constant whispering-mostly speculation about her mother's job, which, of course, wouldn't be happening if Lily wasn't pregnant.

"What're you thinking?" Susan asked, looking back between the seats.

Lily considered lying, but her mother always knew. She set down her knitting. "I'm thinking I've screwed up your life. What if People writes an awful article?"

Susan considered that. "I'll just have to turn the other cheek."

Lily had to learn to do that, too. But it was hard when she passed Zaganotes in the hall or saw Abby. And Robbie? She didn't think turning the other cheek would work with him, but she didn't know what would.

"I can't tell Robbie what happened today," she said.

"Why not? He already knows there's a problem."

"But he doesn't have to know I need surgery. Didn't the doctor say the baby would be fine?"

"Robbie can handle the truth."

"I'm not worried about Robbie. I'm worried about me. He'll ask questions, like what caused this, and, okay, maybe it wasn't field hockey. But it happened in my body."

"Hey," Rick called back. "You didn't cause this."

"Listen to your father," Susan said. "What happened isn't your fault."

"Fine." Lily didn't want to argue about whose fault it was. "But there's another thing, Mom. The more I tell Robbie, the more he'll want to be around. He's taking this all very seriously."

"As well he should," Rick put in.

"But the more involved he is, the more involved he'll be. I like Robbie's genes, but I'm not marrying him."

"How can you know that now?" Rick asked.

"Because she's smart," Susan told him. "Because she has too much else on her plate."

"But maybe he is the right guy. I'm not saying they should get married now, but why rule him out just because they're seventeen? High school sweethearts marry all the time."

"When they're old enough to know the relationship is right."

"How can they know, if they don't give the relationship a chance?"

Susan looked back at Lily. "There are relationships, and there are relationships. I'm talking about the biological one. Robbie is the baby's father. You have to keep him in the loop."

"But if they bond, he'll never leave."

"Of course he will. He's a shoo-in for acceptance at Brown. His parents will see that he goes."

Lily wasn't so sure. "He just applied to Bates. His parents don't even know. Bates is an hour away. He could be in Zaganack all the time."

"That would be good," Rick remarked.

"It would be awful," Lily argued. "He would be totally in the way."

"Of what?"

"My life. My family. My friends."

Rick caught her eye in the rearview mirror. "And there isn't room for him? You liked him enough to want him as the father of your baby. Now you want him to leave town?"

"It worked for you guys."

She got them with that one. There was a brief silence.

"It did not-" Rick began, but Susan cut in.

"Our situation was different. Rick was five years older than me. He had already left town."

"But you didn't drag him back or follow him to the ends of the earth," Lily said. "I mean, you guys have been together more in the last few weeks than ever. Am I right?"

Again, a silence.

Susan looked at Rick, then back at Lily. "How does this apply to you and Robbie?"

"There are parallels," Lily insisted. "You guys don't argue. Like, I have never heard you disagree. You have your own lives, and there's a definite division of labor when it comes to parenting me. You don't get in each other's hair, and that's good."

"Maybe it isn't," Rick said.

"No, Dad. I've thought about this a lot." Her outburst before Thanksgiving still embarrassed her. "There were times when I wanted you here, but maybe that wouldn't have been the best thing. Maybe the reason you have such a great relationship with Mom is because you don't live together."

"Am I that hard to be with?" Susan asked.

"Maybe Dad is, but that's not my point. What if I include Robbie in everything just to see where the relationship will go, and then it doesn't work out? Our son will suffer. It's hard with him living right here. We'll be in each other's faces. I really think," she concluded, "that the best way is to set limits from the start. There'll be less tension."

"And less support," Rick said. "Less help."

"I have you guys. I have my friends."

"That's not the same as having the baby's dad."

"No one's asking you to marry him," Susan put in.

"But you could," Rick added. "Down the road."

"I don't need to get married," Lily put in. "Mom didn't."

"But what if you want to?" he asked.

"She's only seventeen," Susan cried.

There was another silence.

Then Rick warned, "You're giving her the wrong message, Susie."

"Me? How?"

"Marriage is not always bad. My parents were married more than forty years. Same with yours."

"They were married first, then had kids. When kids come first and force a marriage, it can be bad."

"No one's talking about force. I'm just saying that their having a child together lends itself to giving the relationship a chance. If it works out, great."

Okay, Lily thought. Let's talk about something else.

"But she's right," Susan said. "We didn't."

"Whose fault was that? I wanted to get married."

"You did not. You were just doing what you thought was the right thing."

Enough, Lily would have cried if anyone had been listening to her. But Rick was totally focused on Susan.

"How do you know that?" he asked. "How do you know I wasn't totally in love with you?"

"You have never said those words."

"Because you made it clear you didn't want to hear them. You sent me away."

"You had a job-"

"Stop!" Lily shrieked. "I'm sorry I raised it, it's no big thing-Robbie's a good guy. I don't know why I brought it up, except I don't know how to handle him, and I've never had surgery before, and my life is out of control, and it wasn't supposed to be like this!"

Susan could identify with that. Even hours later, she was shaken. She had never argued with Rick before, and while she wanted to be angry-wanted to be furious that he was contradicting her in front of Lily-she couldn't. Because she wasn't sure he was wrong.