Not My Daughter

by Barbara Delinsky

  Kate looked startled. "We've never done that."

  "Other knitting catalogues do it."

  This was true--and heartening to Susan. "Is it what Cliff wants?" she asked. Clifton Perry was Pam's brother-in-law, and the catalogue was his domain. A staunch voice for the dignity of Perry & Cass, he was an unlikely ally, given Susan's notoriety.

  "Well, he hasn't exactly said it," Pam hedged. "But he knows I have a feel for marketing, so he listens to me. Once he sees the layout, he won't turn it down."

  "Does he even know about this yet?" Susan asked softly.

  "No. I'm going out on a limb for you guys," she said with a hint of anger. "It's a good move, don't you think?"

  Susan didn't like the "going out on a limb" part, but at least it was a positive plan, so she nodded. "Definitely." She turned to Kate. "Can we get samples knit in time?"

  Kate was doubtful. "It'll be a challenge, with Christmas so close, and me having to spend every minute dyeing yarn. I'd have my girls do small items, like socks or a hat, only this is a bad time for them in school."

  Same with Lily, Susan knew. Besides, Lily was working on something else that would likely take priority. Susan didn't want to think about that project, much less mention it to the others. "I'd have time to knit a scarf, but that's it. Could you do a shawl, Pam?"

  "Possibly, but Kate's right. Christmas is close. What about our freelancers?" PC Wool had a stable of women who knit for trunk shows and magazines.

  "That might work," Kate said. "I have enough of them, and they'll want the money for the holiday, but I'll have to pick patterns ASAP. I was planning to see our designer in January. I could push that up. How many items do you want for the spread?"

  "One for each colorway," Pam said, "preferably in different weights."

  "That'd be a lot of work for nothing if Cliff opts for the old tried-and-true."

  "A lot of work for nothing if he nixes PC Wool entirely," Sunny muttered.

  But Susan had to be hopeful. "Maybe what Pam's trying to say is that if Cliff sees a more impressive finished product, he'll forget what's happening here."

  "Speaking of which," Pam told her, "I did talk with George. We had dinner with him last night. I said you were a fabulous principal and that he was wrong to suggest otherwise."

  "Will he print a retraction?" Susan asked, though she knew the answer.

  So did Pam. "He's prickly, not an easy guy to reason with."

  "Then his job suits him," Sunny said. "He can sit in his office and write unfair things without having to run them past anyone else." To Susan, she added, "You did not tell Lily to get pregnant."

  "But I didn't prevent it, so maybe I am to blame," Susan said. She was still trying to make sense out of the public turnaround, wondering if she was the one who didn't get it. "Lily is my child. At what age does a child become responsible for her own acts?"

  "By law in the state of Maine, eighteen," Sunny shot back, echoing what Susan suspected had come from Dan.

  "Then I am responsible." Acknowledging that brought Susan to the topic she really wanted to discuss with these friends. "So am I a bad mother?"

  "If you're a bad mother, we all are," Kate mused. "What does it take to be a good one?"

  This was what Susan had been thinking as she had lain awake last night. There was no single answer, but for current purposes, one did stand out. "Vigilance. A good mother watches her kids closely."

  "We do."

  "Apparently, not closely enough," Susan went on, mocking her detractors. "In order to have prevented these pregnancies, a mother would have to eavesdrop on her daughter's conversations, monitor her texts, hack into Facebook."

  "A neurotic mother does that," Kate said. "I refuse to. A good mother trusts."

  "After she teaches right and wrong," Susan added, because teaching was her thing. "But it's like riding a bike. At some point a parent has to let go, even if it means the child falls."

  "Training wheels," Sunny trumpeted. "They add structure. They help when the mom can't be there to hold on."

  Pam smirked. "You can't keep training wheels on forever."

  "I know that, Pam. We're talking metaphorically. I've built training wheels into my kids' lives. Our home has structure. They know where snacks are when they come in from school. There's a chalkboard by the kitchen phone for messages. We have dinner at seven, and we start with grace. These are comforting things, things to fall back on. I am there for them."

  "You're not there," Pam argued. "You're at work."

  "Right down the street, a two-minute drive, one phone call away. And what about you? You're not sitting around the house all day. Does Abby know where you are every second?"

  "No, but she can always reach me."

  "But you don't work. Do you think that's good for Abby to see? I mean, what if she marries someone who isn't as rich as Tanner? What if she needs to work? She'll have no role model."

  Pam smiled a little snidely. "But she's seen you all. She'll do fine. Besides, I'm on the school board. And I raise money for charity. Being civic-minded is important, too."

  Sunny's face reddened. "You agree with George Abbott. You think women who work aren't as good mothers as women who don't."

  "I never said that."

  "Come on, guys," Susan cut in. "Don't fight."

  "It isn't a fight," Pam insisted. "It's a discussion. I may not have a career like you all, and I am constantly made to feel guilty about that, but I am there every day when my child gets home from school."

  "And that makes you a good mother?" Sunny asked in dismay. "You do agree with George."

  "Sunny," Susan breathed, frustrated.

  But Pam put a hand on her arm. "It's okay. If she wants to attack me, she can. Deep in her heart she knows." She gathered her things.

  "Knows what?" Sunny cried.

  "That training wheels are rigid," Pam said as she stood and picked up her coat. "Kids rebel against rigidity. I keep a good house, Sunny. I take care of my daughter. So maybe we have dinner at six one night and seven another, and maybe I'm in Portland when Abby gets an asthma attack, but I'm back in an hour. Don't confuse scaffolding with love." She had her coat on.

  "Don't leave," Susan cried.

  "Are you saying I don't love my children?" Sunny asked.

  "I'm not helping," Pam told Susan. "You three have more to discuss than I do."

  "Oh, really?" Sunny cried.

  "But you're part of this," Kate told Pam.

  "Am I? I'll call you, Susan," she said as she set off.

  With a frightened look at the others, Susan ran after her. "Wait, Pam. I'm sorry if Sunny offended you. We're all supersensitive right now."

  "And I'm not?" Pam asked without stopping. "Honestly? I have a stake here. My reputation's on the line. I've become known in the family for PC Wool, and now my brother-in-law may dump it from the catalogue."

  "Were his kids perfect?" All three were grown, but the stories lingered. "His daughter got divorced eleven months after a huge white wedding. Does he ever blame himself or his wife?"

  "Of course not. Corey was a difficult child all along."

  Susan had a sudden thought. "She's the one who got the abortion?"

  Pam stopped with one hand on the door. "Where did you hear that?"

  "It doesn't matter. But if it's true, shouldn't Cliff be a little more compassionate?"

  "Cliff is a Perry," Pam said with a sigh. "I have to go."

  Susan let her leave. Only after watching the Range Rover head out of the lot, did she return to the others.

  "She is impossible," Sunny cried as soon as she was within earshot.

  "So were you," Susan said. "Ease up, Sunny. This is hard on all of us, but if we don't try to understand what the other is feeling, we're lost."

  "She basically said I didn't love my children."

  "No. She simply said she loved hers. She was defending herself."

  "As well she should. Did I tell her how involved her own daughter really was? That would have been th
e honest thing to do, but I kept my mouth shut. That took restraint."

  "She'll find out about Abby," Susan said, pouring herself coffee. "Abby will tell her."

  "When? Five years from now? A lot of good it'll do then. Pam Perry needs to be taken down a peg now. She needs to make sure that PC Wool stays alive."

  Susan returned to the table. "Exactly, which is why fighting doesn't help. Pam's heart's in the right place. That was the whole point about ratcheting up our coverage in the catalogue. She wants this to work."

  "And I don't?" Sunny asked. "PC Wool is a growing part of the department I manage. If something happens to it, my department sees a loss."

  Kate waved a hand. "Whoa. This is my entire livelihood. If something happens to PC Wool, I'm out of work! Susan's right. You have to ease up, Sunny. We need Pam on our side."

  Sunny stared at her, then rose and grabbed her coat. "Pam's right. You don't need me here."

  "Sunny--"

  "Oh please--"

  "No, no," Sunny insisted, pushing her arms into the sleeves. "I'm better off at home imposing rigid rules on my family. She wouldn't have said any of that if she'd grown up the way I did. We were on our own--no rules at all--parents who totally resisted them." She finished buttoning her coat. "I do believe in structure. Children need to know what their parents expect. And still sometimes they break the rules. I'm trying to cope."

  "You have to listen," Susan said. "My parents wouldn't. That's what I was trying to say Thursday night. My way or the highway--that was my dad's credo, and look where it got us."

  But Sunny was past hearing. "My daughter and I aren't talking, my husband and I aren't talking, and I'm trying to hold things together. I'm just doing my best. Isn't that what a good mother does?"

  "Yes," Susan cried, but Sunny kept going, and Susan didn't follow this time. She was too discouraged. Turning back to Kate, she waited only until the front door closed, then echoed Sunny's words. "I'm just doing my best. Aren't we all?"

  Was her best enough? Susan used to think so--used to believe she had done the best job in the world with Lily. Now, with critics all around, she was second-guessing herself.

  She thought she was a good principal. In her mind, openness set the right tone. But maybe she should be more punitive in her approach.

  She thought she was a good friend, but she had let Pam, then Sunny, walk out the door. Maybe she should have been more insistent that they stay and work things out.

  Hell, she didn't even know if the last two colors she and Kate had formulated were any good--and now Pam and Sunny were angry, the catalogue issue was unresolved, and the survival of PC Wool itself was in doubt.

  And finally, here was Lily, home at six on Saturday evening, joining Susan in the den to complain of heartburn--a perfect opportunity for Susan to coddle her daughter, who might, just might not have bargained for what she got. But the best Susan could do was to offer to reheat pizza left over from dinner earlier that week.

  Lily's sigh said it all. Dismally, the girl looked out the front window--then ducked and croaked, "Omigod. Robbie and his parents. Omigod."

  Susan froze. "Here? Now?"

  "Coming up our walk," the girl whispered as the bell rang. "Don't answer. Do not answer."

  Susan didn't want to. She wasn't any more ready for a confrontation than Lily, but what choice did she have? "They must have been waiting for you to get home. They know we're here. The car's in the driveway and the lights are on." Besides, hiding would only postpone the inevitable. Robbie must have said something to his parents.

  Bracing herself for yet more flagellation, she opened the door. Bill and Annette Boone stood there, with Robbie slightly behind. The boy looked nervous and his parents awkward, maybe even guilty. It occurred to her that they didn't know who had seduced whom.

  "I think we need to talk," said Bill.

  Stepping back, Susan gestured them inside. Lily was leaning against the archway to the den, hands in her pockets, arms pressed to her sides as if to contain her panic. She was barely looked at by the senior Boones when Susan shepherded them to the couch. Taking his cue from Lily, Robbie stood against the opposite arch.

  "Would you like something to drink?" Susan asked his parents.

  "I'd take a double scotch straight up if I thought it would help," Bill said.

  His wife looked at him. "Is this amusing?" Then at Robbie. "Is anything about this amusing?"

  Bill cleared his throat and addressed Susan. "Our son tells us he's the father of Lily's baby. I take it you figured that's why we're here, so she must have told you, but we'd like to hear it from her."

  All eyes turned on Lily, who looked cornered.

  Say it, Susan instructed silently. They have a right to hear it. You cannot lie.

  After what seemed an eternity, the girl nodded.

  "How can we know for sure?" Annette asked.

  "You can't," replied Lily in low voice.

  "She certainly can," Susan argued. She didn't like Annette's tone, but Lily's wasn't much better. "When I asked the same question," she told the Boones, "my daughter was offended. She told me she would know, because she's only been with one boy in her life. I believe her."

  "If she was my daughter, I'd believe her, too. That doesn't mean it's so."

  "Mom. It is," Robbie said.

  His father held up a hand and said softly, "Please, Annette. We agreed we would do this. I know you want proof, but we can't do a paternity test until after the baby is born, and in the meanwhile, there's a good chance this young girl is carrying our grandchild." He looked at Susan again. "We're prepared to help."

  Hadn't her father said something like that? And he hadn't stopped there. We're prepared to help you get set up, but you won't do it here. Susan refused to have her daughter exposed to that.

  "We're all set," Susan said. "No help needed."

  "Babies are expensive."

  "We'll manage."

  "I'll be glad to marry Lily," Robbie offered.

  "Robbie," his mother protested.

  "I will," he insisted with a naivete Susan might have found endearing if she hadn't been down that road before.

  "Lily's father said much the same thing to me." Susan looked at Lily. "Do you want to get married?"

  "No way. Married at seventeen is stupid!"

  Like motherhood at seventeen, Susan was thinking, when Annette said, "It would only make a bad situation ten times worse."

  That hit Susan the wrong way. "For the record," she said, "Robbie could do far worse. Lily will be a great mother. I just don't want her rushing into marriage."

  "Good to know," Annette remarked. "And while we're being honest, I'd prefer it if you didn't send the school an update about this."

  That, too, hit Susan wrong. "With due respect, Robbie isn't my major concern right now. No one will hear his name from me. Lily?"

  Lily puffed out a breath and held up a hand, No.

  "I'm not ashamed," Robbie told his parents in a voice far bolder than his expression. "Lily is the coolest person in school. If people ask me, I'm telling."

  "Do not do that, Robbie," Lily ordered, her hand now on her middle.

  "Why not? Are you ashamed?"

  "No, but this isn't about you. This baby is mine."

  "It's half mine," Robbie argued.

  Susan quickly stood. "Excuse me," she said in a voice that trembled, "I can't deal with a custody battle right now. This argument is better saved until after the baby is born. I suspect your parents agree."

  "Completely," Annette said, on her feet as well.

  Susan moved toward the door. The meeting was over. She wanted these people out of her house. "Thank you, Robbie. It was kind of you to come." She opened the door.

  Annette left without a word. After a quick look at Lily, Robbie followed. Only Bill paused and said quietly, "The offer of help stands."

  "Thanks, Bill. But really, we're fine." The instant he cleared the threshold, Susan closed the door and, feeling the kind of wildness that comes f
rom one trauma too many, looked at Lily. "Nightmare! Robbie wants to take credit. Like he has a job and can provide child support? Like he had a say in this? And Annette's angry--like I'm not? Does she not get it that my job is at risk?" She clutched the top of her head. "I'm ... I'm ..." She didn't know what to say.

  "I'm sorry," Lily said meekly. "I never imagined it would spread like this. I never thought your job would be affected."

  Susan was about to cry, You're a smart girl, how could you not? when the phone rang. "Don't answer. I can't talk."

  But Lily had gone into the den to see the caller ID. "It's Dad."

  Susan's panic waned. She held out a hand for the phone. Lily brought it, punching in the call as she handed it over.

  "Hey," Susan said with a sigh.

  "Hey," Rick said back but without his usual punch. "What are you doin'?"

  "Leaning against the front door in a mild panic because the parents of The Boy just came over. What's wrong?" Something was. She could hear it in his voice.

  "Is Lily with you?"

  The fact that he didn't ask about The Boy frightened her all the more. "What is it, Rick?"

  "Bad news, Susie. Your dad died."

  Susan felt a blow to her gut. It was a minute before she could ask, "When?"

  "This morning. My father just called me. It was a massive heart attack."

  Knees shaking, she slid to the floor.

  "Mom?" Lily asked in alarm.

  "Dad," Susan managed to say, then whispered, "Omigod."

  "They're having the wake at the house. The funeral is Tuesday."

  "Omigod," Susan whispered again. The details sailed past her. Stricken, she saw the larger picture--her father dead, no closure, no reconciliation ever--and though she hadn't realized she wanted that, the sadness of it tore at her heart.

  Dropping the phone, she covered her face and began to cry.

  She had to go, of course. She knew it the instant her tears dried. She didn't know what kind of reception she would get, didn't really care. She needed to say goodbye to her father.

  Within an hour of Rick's call, she booked two tickets home. Lily, who had been hovering, frightened by Susan's tears, was staring at the screen. "Two? You want me there?"

  "Yes," Susan said. This was another thing she knew. Her relationship with her father was lost. All the what-ifs--what if she had reached out, called him more, even gone home--were pointless now. There was no going back. But going ahead? She didn't want to make the same mistake twice. "You're part of me. He needs to meet you."