Not My Daughter

Kate smiled sadly. 'Until our girls start to show. Until one of them goes into labor at school. Until the three of them share a bench at the harbor wearing their kids in BabyBjorns.'

Susan rubbed her friend's arm. 'Tell me about last night.'

'Oh, Susie. Either it was my phone ringing or the girls running in to tell me who else had just called.'

'People knew it was Mary Kate?'

'And Jess.' A punishing look here. 'Lily was the tip-off. By the way, you won't have to worry about imitators. The consensus is that the three of them are idiots.'

'Your friends said that, too?'

'You mean, the people who called me?' Kate replied, giving the wool another stir. 'I'm not sure they're friends. Funny how people come out of the woodwork when they want information.' Her voice rose in imitation. ''Oh, Kate, it's been sooo long since we've talked, but did Mary Kate really plan to get pregnant, will she marry Jacob, and what does Will say about this?' It was horrible. Mary Kate is now angry at Jacob for being angry at her, and the tension is probably not good for the baby.' She reached into the tub to separate two skeins. 'She wanted to come with me this morning, and I told her no. I need time away. If that makes me a terrible mother, I'm a terrible mother.' She looked around. 'Do you have your colors?'

Susan produced her notebook. 'Where's Sunny?'

'Not coming. She says she has too much to do.'

It was an excuse. Sunny didn't want to be seen with Susan and Kate, whose daughters were her own daughter's cohorts. 'Maybe I should call. She's having trouble with this.'

'And we're not?'

'We aren't married to Dan.' Easier to blame Sunny's absence on him than on not wanting to work with Susan and Kate. Saturday mornings were a ritual-a reward at the end of the week-an excuse to be with friends, reminiscent of Thursday nights at Susan's garage. When they were caught up in work, they could go on until Susan had to head to school for an afternoon game. When there was little work, a long cup of coffee sufficed. They knitted then, and if they weren't discussing the vagaries of a pattern, they discussed a book, a movie, even a town rumor.

It didn't feel right without Sunny. But that was only part of the problem.

'Has Pam called?' Susan asked.

'No. Haven't you heard from her?'

'Not since yesterday. She was supposed to get back to me about the school board.' Not a comforting thought, that one. The unease Susan had felt leaving Tanner's office was as strong now as then.

Putting her cell on the worktable, she opened her notebook and crossed to the far wall, where shelves were neatly lined with bottles of powdered dye. She removed Scarlet, Sun, and Spruce. Liking her colors intense, she measured double the suggested amount into wide-mouthed jugs, added water to each to form a paste, and, after stirring, poured in enough water to make a gallon of stock solution. She would use this straight, diluted, or mixed for variations in hue. Taking a stack of measuring cups and a pair of rubber gloves from the supply shelf, she returned to the dye.

Behind her she heard trickling as Kate removed one skein at a time and squeezed each to remove water. Above the sound came a quiet 'Jacob's parents called.'

Susan looked back. Kate's expression said the news wasn't good.

'They're upset. I knew they would be. They say Mary Kate used Jacob.' Hands filled with wet skeins, she swore softly. 'I forgot to lay out the plastic.'

Returning to the supply shelf herself, Susan wondered what Robbie's parents would think. Likely the same thing, she decided, which was why she tried not to even look at their house when she drove down the street and pulled into her driveway. She tore a length of wide plastic wrap from the spindle and flattened it on the table. Taking one skein from Kate, she arranged it in an oval.

Oh, yes, she was sorry that Sunny and Pam weren't there. But this part of PC Wool production was really up to Susan and Kate. Susan conceived the colors and worked out the formula, while Kate did the dyeing. The process had evolved from the early days in Susan's garage, growing more nuanced as they took courses and studied under experts. Though they had added implements like the skeining machine, the basic technique remained the same. Susan worked the dye, adding more or less and squeezing it through the fiber.

It wasn't an exact science. Much as Kate would take notes on dye proportions, the replication was never exact. But that was the beauty of hand-painted yarn. Each skein was unique.

Now, Susan filled a cup with eight ounces of Spruce stock and dipped in a paper towel to test the color. Even before comparing it to her notebook, she knew it was too cool. After adding a half cup of Sun, she did another test, but it was only after adding two more tablespoons that she was pleased.

Kate wrote down the measurements, then picked up where they had left off. 'Jacob's parents are right. She did use him.'

'They'll come around,' Susan said. 'They've always loved Mary Kate.'

'They love her because Jacob loves her. If he stops, they stop. It isn't a visceral thing, like the way Will and I love her.'

Susan considered the term visceral. 'Do all parents love that way?'

'I think so. Don't you?' Kate asked in surprise.

'I used to. Now I'm not so sure.' She told Kate about talking with her mother.

'They still love you,' Kate assured her. 'They just never got past the anger. When they sent you away, they stopped the clock. They never worked it out.'

'Do you think I should go back-y'know, just show up one day and force the issue?'

'Now? No. You have enough on your plate. Get through this stuff with Lily. You didn't tell your mom about her, did you?'

Susan shook her head.

They fell silent. Wearing disposable gloves, Susan poured dye directly from the plastic cup onto the wool at three different spots in the oval, then studied the result. 'More, I think,' she said aloud. 'This is my major color.' She added more dye to deepen the saturation, then, while Kate turned the wool, applied dye to the underside. The dye didn't have to be perfectly even; one of the beauties of PC Wool was a fine subtlety in saturation. That said, there was nothing beautiful about a large patch of white in a colorway called Vernal Tide. Coral, yes. Pale green, yes. Even sand. But not white. A missed underside wouldn't do.

She shifted the wool to help it absorb the color, and squeezed dye to the ends of each swath, and all the while, she was thinking about what Kate had said.

'Working out the anger, huh? Then the little squabbles I have with Lily have a purpose?'

Kate snorted. 'I put the same question to Will. He says yes. The anger will fade. It takes time.'

'I feel like I'm still paying my dues. Like this is another challenge that goes right back to my own pregnancy.'

'That's ancient history.'

'Then you don't blame me for what our girls did?'

'No. Only for being who you are now and having to make it public.'

'I had no other choice, Kate. Please believe that. I'm suffering the fallout, too. Sunny and Pam may be angry, but I need your support.'

Kate shot her a helpless look. 'You have it. That's one of the reasons I'm so pissed. I need a scapegoat, and you'd be a perfect one, only you're my best friend. I was so proud of you when you got this position. Now I resent it.'

'There's good and bad in every job. This is the bad.'

'Right.' She studied Susan's book, then the three stock solutions. 'We need turquoise.'

While she mixed it, Susan readied the yellow dye and began to apply it. When she had poured the most concentrated shade in two small spots, she stood back to look, spread it around a little, looked again, added a diluted patch.

'Incredible how you do that,' Kate said. 'Look how the two colors shimmer where they meet.'

'Mm,' Susan said, but her mind was on work. 'I wish Phil were as understanding as you. He forwarded me a sample of the e-mails he received. People are blaming the school clinic for offering pregnancy tests, blaming me for