"How?"
"By giving him care and understanding. By letting his uncles earn their keep by playing ball with him in the yard. By giving him love."
"Love isn't enough when there's a physical problem."
"When it's all you have, it's enough." Will's hand was warm on her leg.
Mary Kate studied them. Finally, with hopeful innocence, she asked, "You're really okay with this?"
Kate decided that she really was. Life wasn't about a crowded kitchen or bedrooms crammed with beds. In pleasing her own baby, Kate felt the kind of satisfaction she hadn't since Mary Kate had broken the news. Pulling her daughter close, she held on tightly.
Sunny hadn't slept well for weeks, but the last two nights were the worst. She wanted to blame it on the media. Talk about public humiliation? As punishment went for her sins, this was harsh.
Not so harsh, though, as what was happening with Lily's baby. When she awoke in the dark now, she thought about this. Birth defects were always sobering, but when they happened to someone you knew? She wasn't sure whom she felt most sorry for--Susan, Lily, or the baby.
As she tossed restlessly, her thoughts drifted back to Jessica. The girl was shaken, no longer as smug as she had been when proudly announcing her pregnancy. She was less quick to talk, less glib when she did, and, notably, less critical of Sunny. Approaching the end of her fourth month, she had her own sonogram next week. Suddenly, she was brooding over a list of possible problems, previously ignored.
Just punishment for having blithely become pregnant? Sunny had thought it for a while. But she was increasingly concerned about her daughter. Lately, Jessica was looking pale and drawn. And Sunny felt bad.
Shortly before dawn, she gave up on sleep and went down to the kitchen. Deciding that a special breakfast was the way to go, she began mixing batter for Belgian waffles. Both girls loved them; Sunny usually saved them for holidays. But Jessica needed fattening.
Pulling the waffle iron from her small-appliance bin, Sunny put it on the counter, fished a huller from her gadget drawer, and was heading to the refrigerator for strawberries when there was a knock at the door. There, to her horror, his nose pressed against the glass above the cafe curtain, was her father.
"Omigod," she whispered. "Not them, not now."
But, of course, she couldn't ignore that face--or the fuzz of a hat to its right that would mark the top of her mother's head. When she didn't react quickly enough, one of them rang the bell. Twice.
Sunny opened the door in a flash. "Do you know what time it is? It's barely seven, and it's Saturday morning. My family is sleeping. And anyway, how did you get here at this hour?" They lived twelve hours away by car. Usually, Sunny thought that was far enough, but not this time.
"We drove all night," said Samson and gave her a peck on the cheek.
Delilah followed with a two-cheek peck. "Hello, Sunshine. I can't tell you how psyched we were to see your light on. Your French press makes the best coffee." She looked around.
But Sunny hadn't gotten to coffee yet. "If you'd called to let me know you were coming, I'd have had it on."
Her mother dismissed that with a short sputter. "If we'd called first, you'd have said you were going away for the weekend. I'm actually surprised you didn't. After the article in People, I'd have thought you'd run off somewhere to hide."
"Ah, yes," Sunny said, recalling their last discussion. "Timid, with a capital T." She raised her chin. "No, Mother. You're wrong. We're here."
Delilah smiled and dropped her coat on a chair. "Well, so are we." She rubbed her hands together and spotted the iron. "I love waffles."
"That was quite some article, Sunshine," said Samson, who had taken a banana from the basket and was peeling it. "You should have warned us." He tossed the peel in the sink, uncaring that it straddled the faucet. "We were wallowing in oblivion when the calls started to come."
"What calls?" Sunny asked, fearing for an instant that People would run a prequel that included Samson and Delilah, in which case Sunny would run off somewhere.
"Friends," Delilah said with a chiding look, then glanced at the hall door and broke into a grin. "Well, hello, Darcy. Did we wake you up? Come give us a hug." She opened her arms.
Darcy, who had never been as enamored of her grandparents as Jessica, was cautiously complying when Jessica appeared.
"Hey," the girl said from the door. "I didn't know you guys were coming."
Delilah's eyes lit up. "Nor did we until dinner last night, but after going back and forth about all of the ink you folks have generated here, we knew we had to help."
"Help?" Sunny asked. "How?"
Her mother was suddenly looking smug, so much like Jessica that Sunny felt a tiny jolt.
"We think Jessica should come live with us," Delilah announced, "at least until after the baby is born. That way she'll be out of the limelight your friend Susan is generating."
Not so long ago, Sunny might have accepted. Now she was just amused. "Why would I let my daughter live with you?"
"It would be easier."
"Easier?"
"Well, you clearly don't want her here."
"Who said that?"
"Sunshine. Please. We all know that this pregnancy upsets you."
So does a physical abnormality, Sunny mused, but Susan wasn't asking Lily to abort her baby. "Y'know, Mother, I really am not as small-minded as you think. I can handle things."
Samson wandered out of the kitchen, leaving Delilah to her skepticism. "But pregnancy? Think about it, Sunshine. All those people staring at you? Talking behind your back? Wouldn't it be better if we just took Jessica home with us?"
Sunny didn't miss the ridicule and should have been hurt. But another emotion had come into play. The world could fault her for being angry enough to want to banish her daughter from their home. But Lily's problems and Susan's remarkably responsible response had been a wake-up call for Sunny. Thinking of Jessica now, she felt protective. Protective and possessive--this was the kind of mother she wanted to be.
Jessica hadn't moved toward her grandmother. Sunny took courage from that. Wouldn't it be better if we just took Jessica home with us? Delilah had asked. "Actually, no," Sunny answered. "I want my daughter with me."
"Why don't you discuss it with Dan?"
But here was another emotional shift. For nearly twenty years, Sunny's husband had held her responsible for having a mother like Delilah. But he had to move on, and she had to give him a push. "I don't need to discuss it with Dan," she said, never as sure of anything as she was of this.
Delilah looked hurt. "Do you hate us that much?"
"No, Mother," Sunny scolded, feeling an odd affection. "I've never hated you. This has nothing to do with who you are, but with who I am. I'm Jessica's mother." She moved closer to the girl. "I want my daughter here."
"She doesn't embarrass you?"
Inching closer still, Sunny said, "No. I need her with me. She has friends who need her here, too."
Jessica leaned into her just enough to say she agreed.
"But we traveled all this way to get her," Delilah argued and looked around. "Samson? Samson? Where are you?"
Samson was asleep on the living room sofa. He still had his coat on, but he had kicked off his boots. Not that, just then, Sunny cared. There were other things that mattered. Besides, she had the Bentley of vacuums in her broom closet right down the hall.
By late Saturday, Susan's little house was full. Kate and Will were there with Mary Kate and one of the twins; Sunny and Dan had driven over with Jess and Darcy. Sunny was cooking up a storm in the kitchen, and if she was occasionally frustrated not finding a little something she wanted--No lemon zester? Every kitchen needs a lemon zester!--Susan forgave her.
Likewise the mess in the bathroom, where Kate and five girls were playing with Kool-Aid--Great Bluedini, Blue Raspberry, Ice Blue Island Twist. The point was to dye skeins of yarn suitable for boys, and if Jess learned she was having a girl, they would repeat the exercise
using Pink Lemonade.
The tub was a mess, which might have bothered Sunny if she hadn't known to steer clear. For Susan, it was a vote of confidence, friends saying that Lily's baby would be fine.
Buoyed, she was returning to the kitchen when the phone rang. "I'm being pressured," Phil said, his voice tense. "You have to help me here. The school board wants to see you Wednesday night at six. Can you make it?"
"Of course," Susan said. What choice did she have?
Actually, there was one. She thought about it long and hard through dinner in her busy house, but it wasn't until they were having coffee and dessert in the living room, kids mostly on the floor with the seating space full, that Rick said a soft, "You're only half with us. What're you thinking?"
She met his gaze. "Maybe I should resign."
"You're not serious."
"The board's going to ask me to. Phil might have, if he hadn't felt so bad about the baby, but if the board does it first, he's off the hook. Maybe I should keep my dignity and volunteer to leave."
The room had grown gradually quiet.
"Did you just say what I thought you said?" Kate asked, pausing with her elbows up, midway through tacking a handful of curls to the back of her head.
Susan didn't deny it. "There are times when I feel like I'm swimming upstream."
Kate pushed the knitting needle into her hair. "No. Absolutely not. Do not resign."
"I'm tired," Susan said. "There's part of me that would love to go back to teaching. The English department has an opening for fall. I could hire me before I resign."
"And let Evan Brewer take over? No."
Susan had considered that, too. "Evan is too obvious. Phil knows he would use my job as a stepping-stone to his. Besides, there's plenty of time to do an outside search for a replacement."
"No." This from Sunny.
"For the sake of the kids," Susan argued. "This media stuff isn't good for them."
"Are you kidding? They love it."
"We love it," piped up Darcy, whose innocence made Susan smile, albeit sadly.
"It's a distraction. I'm imposing my own problems on the students. That makes me a not-so-great principal."
"Wrong," said Lily with a ringing echo from Jess.
But Susan wasn't so sure. "I thought I was a good principal. I thought I was a good mother--"
"You are."
"Maybe good, but not good enough. If I'm going to be fired, I should resign now and spare us all the agony." She turned to Rick.
Lips compressed, he shook his head. "Not a good message," he whispered.
"About dignity?" she cried. "What message should I send?"
"That you fight for what you want."
"That you believe in yourself," Kate picked up.
"That there's more than one way of doing things," Sunny put in and turned to her husband. "Can they fire her for this? Actually, don't answer. She can't resign."
If Dan had a reply, he chose not to give it. Same with Will.
"Resign now," Kate said, "and you'll be letting down every mother in town. You'll be admitting blame for having done nothing wrong. Know that phrase 'Don't go near the fire if you can't take the heat?' That's what they'll say. You'll be setting the women's movement back years."
"Totally," declared Mary Kate, but Lily's were the words that struck home.
"I remember when you were in school, Mom. Maybe I was three, maybe four, but when I woke up at night, you'd be studying. If I was sick, you worked in my room. You didn't have to tell me how much it meant to you to get a good job. I could see it. So now I'll be doing the same thing you did, only it'll be easier for me because of you. People will accept me more because of you. It's my future, and you're paving the way. If you turn back now, it'll be like pulling the yarn at the tail of a sweater and unraveling the whole thing. You've worked too hard for that. Don't? Please?"
Chapter 25
The campaign didn't end Saturday night. Kate and Sunny kept calling to keep Susan on track, and while the one call she really wanted was from Pam, she had to settle for Dan, who followed up with a visit on Sunday to study her contract.
His legal opinion? "They can't dismiss you. You haven't violated anything in your contract, and this contract runs for another year. Correlli may choose not to renew it then, but if they try to fire you now, you can sue."
Susan wouldn't sue. Lawsuits were often messy, expensive, and public. It would be bad for her and bad for the town. She still believed resignation might be the compassionate alternative.
Rick disagreed. Once the school week began, he e-mailed from home. A good principal loves her students. She finishes what she begins. A good principal doesn't let outside forces erode her work. And Lily joined up with her dad. A good mother fights. A good mother wants her daughter to have choices.
How fair was that? Not fair at all, but as the school board meeting neared, Susan held the words close.
------
She refused to wear black. Black might be professional, but it was the color of death. Her father had died; her grandson might die; her professional dreams might be shot to smithereens. But she was a color person, and, while moderation was in order, she couldn't squelch her personality. On that score, she and Rick had strategized. She wouldn't be confrontational; quiet dignity was better. If board members wanted to vent, she would hear them out, but she wouldn't be stepped on.
She decided on blue--navy slacks with a lighter, bolder sweater and scarf. She covered her freckles with makeup, and nixed hoop earrings for studs. Granted, the studs were bright red, but they were small--a gift from Lily at her last birthday, and precious for that.
All seven members were present when she arrived at the town hall. Creatures of habit, they sat in their usual places. Pam had laughed about this once, though she, too, was in her usual place now. Likewise, Phil occupied a chair by the wall.
Though the room was quiet, an air of tension suggested there had already been talk. Eyes touched hers only briefly. Susan caught Pam's--please, help me out--before Pam turned to the chairwoman.
"You know why we've asked you to come," Hillary began.
"I'm not entirely sure," Susan confessed. "I know you're upset by the media--"
"Upset is an understatement," one of the men said.
"We're appalled."
"That may be so, Mr. Morgan," scolded Hillary, sounding weary, "but we live in the twenty-first century. I don't like the media being here, either, but this is how things work nowadays."
"Are you saying I'm old?" Carl asked in his gravelly voice. "If that's so, then old is good. We didn't have these kinds of crises when my children were in school."
"We should have acted sooner," someone else said.
"Dr. Correlli should have acted soon-ah," corrected Duncan Haith.
There, in a nutshell, was Susan's problem. Phil's reluctance to force her out was likely what had brought this meeting about. If a majority of the board shared Duncan's frustration, Phil would have no choice but to fire her. Letting her hear the board's anger firsthand would absolve him of guilt.
To his credit, Phil said, "We have acted. Within the school, things are under control. We weren't the ones who invited the press."
Carl's bushy brows rose. "No?"
"They came for Henry's funeral," Pam said. "They were supposed to leave after that."
"Someone tipped them off."
"Who?"
When several members eyed Susan, she was startled. "I'm the last person who would want reporters around."
"Then who would?" Carl asked.
Here was her first challenge. "I was told it was the head of the Chamber of Commerce."
"Who said that?" Neal Lombard asked, his moon face benign.
"The producer from NBC who showed up at my door. We were able to kill that story, but someone must have called other media."
"That producer lied," Neal stated quietly.
The members returned to Susan, who knew enough not to call Neal a liar.
&nbs
p; Duncan used the standoff to say, "Well, you did get the NBC story killed. Did the fellow you're living with handle that?"
Susan smiled curiously. This was the second challenge. "That fellow's my daughter's father. We've had a medical emergency with Lily and her baby. He's here to help."
"Living with you."
Hillary sighed. "Duncan. His being there makes sense. These aren't the dark ages."
"Now that," the man said, "is the attitude that gets us in trouble. I believe in marriage"--he held up a gnarled hand--"but fine, not everyone does. Susan Tate could live with a gorilla, for all I care, if she weren't principal of our high school."
All eyes turned to Susan, who remembered Dan's legal opinion. "Please explain your concern. Am I not carrying out my job?" She directed her appeal to Pam, who was in the unique position of having a child in the high school. Tell them, she begged.
But Carl Morgan spoke first. "The issue is morals. It's been one offense after another."
Susan couldn't be still. There was no morals clause in her contract. "I don't see the offenses. I'm successfully doing the job I was hired to do."
"You weren't here when a troubled student cheated for the third time," Neal volunteered. The fact that he knew about Michael Murray spoke of Evan Brewer's loose tongue.
"My father died," she said. "My contract allows five days off for a death. I took three."
"But now there's a problem with your daughter's baby," Duncan said kindly. "Wouldn't you be better off staying home to take care of her? Isn't that what a good mother would do?"
Susan was one step ahead. "I considered it, but my daughter's doctor vetoed the idea. He wants Lily at school and says my hovering would be counterproductive. He wants her living normally. She has exams. He wants her to take them."
"If you wanted to take time off, Evan Brewer could fill in," offered Neal, clearly retaliating for Susan having named him the snitch. "He has experience heading a school."
"You and Evan are old friends," Pam pointed out.
"Like you and Susan," Neal said with a smile.
"That's why I haven't spoken out."
Neal either didn't get the message or ignored it. "But this would be a practical fix. Evan is already in place."
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