Not My Daughter

'Only we're not supposed to use that word.'

'Correlli? He's afraid of panic.'

'Clearly.'

'I take it this is all falling on your shoulders.'

'If not now, soon,' Susan said. Rising from the bench, she left the kitchen. 'One girl, and people would blame her for being careless. Three girls makes it deliberate. People start off blaming the girls, but, after all, they are only girls.' Just past the front door were the stairs leading to the second floor. She climbed three and sat against the banister. 'If one of those girls has a mother who was pregnant and unmarried at seventeen herself- and who is in a position of responsibility for hundreds of impressionable teens-how easy is it to blame her?'

'You'll have allies. There must be others who had babies in their teens, and there are certainly other single parents out there. They'll identify. As for the rest, eventually they'll look at the good job you've done. Tell me, would you do anything different as principal now if this didn't involve girls you love?'

'No. But I'd probably be blaming the parents, too, so I can't entirely fault Correlli.'

'He's blaming you?'

'Oh yeah.' When Lily appeared, Susan turned away so that she wouldn't hear. 'We had a pretty heated argument. I really do have good control, Rick, but when he attacked me, I had to defend myself. I mean, really, are these girls pregnant at seventeen just because I was?'

'Did Correlli suggest that?'

'He kept repeating, 'You were seventeen.' Like I set a bad example? No matter. I may have lost him as an ally.'

'Give him time. You're his protege, so the situation is personal right now. Are you feeling any better about the baby?'

'No,' she confessed softly. 'I'm not ready to bond. Is that an awful thing to say?'

'No. You're human. How are Sunny and Kate?'

Susan turned back. Lily needed to hear this. 'Kate e-mailed before I left to say that Mary Kate is hysterical at the prospect of losing Jacob, and Dan is grilling Sunny over why she allowed me to send my e-mail to every parent in the school. But should I have sent it to senior parents only? Seniors and juniors but not sophomores? If the goal is to minimize rumor, what I did was right.'

'What's happening with Abby and Pam?'

'Now, there's an interesting question. What's happening with Abby?' Susan asked Lily.

'We're not talking,' the girl said. 'She hasn't been much of a friend.'

'Maybe she's just smart,' Susan replied and said to Rick, 'There's no way she'll keep trying to get pregnant now.'

'She was pregnant,' Lily cried.

'Excuse me?'

'Before any of us. It was right after we conceived that she lost it. And who helped her through that?'

Susan bowed her head and said into the phone, 'Did you hear? Abby got pregnant first. How far along was she?' she asked Lily, who shrugged. 'Does Pam know?'

'No, and please don't tell her. It's Abby's place to tell her mom.'

'What about the boy?' Rick asked Susan. 'Lily wouldn't tell me about him. Any ID yet?'

'Uh-huh.'

There was a silence, then a wise, 'But you can't tell me. She's right there.'

'Yup.'

'Please don't mention Robbie,' Lily whispered.

'Did you hear his name?' Susan shook her own head in reply.

'Is he a decent guy, at least?' Rick asked.

'Very decent. It's actually a relief. Of course, I may not think so once he finds out.'

'Want me back there?'

'No,' she said, turning away from Lily again. 'I can handle this. It isn't cholera, only scandal.' She sputtered. 'How pathetic is that? No communicable disease, no third world country, but it'll get dirty. My phone is just starting to ring.'

'They love you in town.'

'They did before this. I'm a good principal. I communicate with them, something they haven't had before. Do you think my predecessor would have opened up about a problem like I did today? No way. Wardell Dickinson would have taken himself off to a conference somewhere until the uproar died down. Of course, he couldn't have e-mailed parents, because he was computer illiterate. Technologically, our high school was behind every other one in the area. Now we're ahead. With one click, I was able to send out an e-mail that could directly impact my job. How ironic is that?'

There was a pause, then, 'I think I should come.'

'No,' she said, quieting. 'I'm just venting. You're the only one who goes way back with me.'

'Speaking of which, my father called. Your dad's not well.' Susan's heart skipped a beat. 'What does 'not well' mean?'

''Feeling poorly' was how my father put it. He's in touch with a couple of people from back home. Your dad canceled his annual golf trip.'

That didn't sound good. John Tate loved his golf nearly as much as he loved fishing.

'My mother would call me if it was really bad, wouldn't she?'

Susan asked, but she didn't blame Rick for not responding. 'I'd better call them.'

It took several hours for her to drum up the courage. First, she blamed the hour's time difference. Couldn't phone during dinner. Then she had to finish the row she was knitting, then the next. By way of penance, she answered several incoming calls-half expecting Robbie's parents to be calling in a furor. As it happened, most of the calls were from friends who expressed support, even when their voices held disappointment.

Finally, she dialed her parents. Her mother was always up late, but not her father, and it wouldn't do for the phone to wake him. He liked his sleep. At least, he used to. Susan really didn't know what either of her parents enjoyed now.

Ellen Tate picked up after a single ring, her voice fragile in a way that pricked Susan's heart. The woman was only fifty-nine, but sounded much older.

'It's me, Mom. Susan.'

There was a pause, then a low 'Yes.'

How are you, Mom? I didn't wake you, did I? Were you watching TV? Knitting? It's getting cold here, what's it like there?

So many possible questions, ones that were conversational and caring, but Susan had been down this road many times, always trying to smooth out the contact, to pretend that their relationship was a typical one. After one answer too many that was either short or silent, she had come to rethink asking. Her questions only seemed to make Ellen tense.

So she got to the point. 'I heard Dad wasn't well.'

'Who told you that?'

'Rick. His dad told him. What's wrong?'

'Nothing much.'

'It was enough to keep him from golfing.'

'Oh, that,' Ellen said offhandedly. 'He just doesn't like to fly anymore.'

'Not even for golf?'

'Flying tires him out.' There was a tiny pause. 'He tires easily.'

'Has he seen a doctor?'

'Every year. Faithfully. But your father isn't young anymore. He'll be sixty-five in the spring.'

Susan was well aware of that. She guessed that there would be a party, but was afraid to ask. She wouldn't want to know that she wouldn't be invited.

'Sixty-five is not old, Mom. Does Dr. Littlefield do blood tests and EKGs?'