Not My Daughter

'Maybe I should go with you,' he said. 'He was my baby's great-grandfather.'

Lily was beside herself. 'Robbie. Listen to me. This is not your baby. It's mine.'

'You admitted I'm the father.'

'Biologically, but that's it. Tell anyone at school, and I'll deny it.'

There was a pause, then a wounded, 'Is there something wrong with me?'

'No! It's me. Robbie. My baby.'

'You're going to need help.'

'I have my mother.'

'I have money.'

'You do not.'

'I do. My mother's father left some to each of us.'

'She'd never let you use it on me.'

'Not on you. On my baby.'

'Omigod. I can just imagine it. Your mother would never forgive me then.' It was unfair, Lily realized. Annette Boone had always been warm and friendly before this.

Robbie must have been thinking the same thing, because he said, 'She's not like that. She just didn't think this would happen. If she acts angry at you, it's because she's disappointed in me. This isn't what she planned.'

Shades of Susan, Lily thought. 'Why is it,' she cried, 'that our lives have to follow our parents' plans? Why do I have to go halfway across the country to meet a side of the family that effectively disowned me because my mother didn't follow their plans?'

Robbie left enough of a silence to give the question merit, then asked, 'How long will you be gone?'

'Could be one day, if they kick us out. Could be three if they don't.'

'Are you nervous?'

'Terrified. I mean, like, they're going to look at me like I'm the devil-and they don't even know I'm pregnant!'

'Will you tell them?'

'I might. That'd really give them something to talk about.' But she hoped it wouldn't come to that. Her mother would be crushed, and Susan was already bearing the brunt of this pregnancy. Lily regretted that.

'Can I call you while you're there?'

'Sure,' she said, thinking she might need all the help she could get.

'Will you call me if anything happens?'

'Sure.' It was going to be an interesting trip.

'What if someone asks me straight out if the baby's mine?'

Lily closed her eyes. 'Think of your mom. She doesn't want this getting out. And think of me.' She sighed. 'All I wanted was a baby. How did this get so messed up?'

Chapter 18

It was a long trip. After driving to Portland, they flew to Philadelphia, then Chicago, then Tulsa, where Susan rented a car and drove an hour. There was a tiny inn in the center of her town, still open all these years later, according to the Internet, but if they had stayed there, news of their arrival would be all over the place before Susan could make it to the house. Her nightmare scenario had her being barred from entering.

Playing it safe, she had booked a room at a Comfort Inn two towns over. By the time they checked in, it was eleven at night. Lily had napped during parts of the trip, curled in her seat on the airplane with her history book on her lap and her head on Susan's shoulder, so childlike that it was hard to remember she was pregnant. So Susan didn't. She turned the clock back six months and took comfort from her daughter's closeness during those moments when she wasn't obsessing over changes to the school handbook, a draft of which was on her laptop, over thought of Evan back home, over anticipation of her mother's reaction to seeing her.

Too keyed up to sleep, Susan knitted to unwind. She had taken a skein of the sport weight wool that Kate had just dyed and was making a cowl for the catalogue spread. The pattern looked complex but was not, which made it a good project both for her now and for customers later.

There was no e-mail, though her BlackBerry had plenty of bars. Evan Brewer had filled in for her a time or two when she'd been at conferences. Politically, she couldn't have asked anyone else to cover. He had age and experience.

But he was ambitious. Not hearing from him made her nervous. Finally, she was tired enough to let that go, too.

They slept soundly, took their time getting dressed, and read the paper over breakfast in a coffee shop. Refusing to think about Evan or even her mother, Susan drove slowly, studying the landscape she hadn't seen in so long. The day was brightly overcast; she wore dark glasses to break the glare.

'Very flat,' Lily remarked. 'Not as green as home.'

Much of that was seasonal, Susan knew. 'We've been spoiled by evergreens. Out here, there are more oaks. Once spring comes and they leaf out, it will be beautiful. There's hickory farther east and pine to the south. Over there by the river, those are cottonwoods.' They, too, were bare and bowing to the wind. 'I'd forgotten about the wind. It's a prairie staple in winter.' Indeed, it buffeted the car as she drove.

She pointed to a pretty sign that marked the town line. 'That's new.' A minute later, they were passing farmhouses. 'Those've been here forever. Farmers used to focus on cattle and wheat, but they've branched out. Poultry is huge.'

A few miles more, and the houses were closer together. They were small and single-storied, folk-style homes with additions tacked on at the back or the side. As they approached the center of town, the style didn't change, only the extent of improvements. Here there were stone fronts and two-car garages.

Turning, Susan drove down a side street to show Lily her high school. And the house where a friend had lived. And Rick's house.

Back in the center of town, she pointed out the drugstore, the feed store, the dress shop owned by her mother's good friend. The window display was surprisingly chic. A new owner?

She was slowing to admire what looked to be a newly built library when Lily said a quiet, 'Mom. We agreed we'd get there early. It's after ten.'

Yes. They had agreed on early. The wake ran from eleven to six, and given the prominence of Susan's father, there would be crowds. She wanted to get there before the rest did.

Picking up speed, she drove the few blocks to her parents' street and, with growing anxiety, passed more of those single-storied homes, now of brick, until she reached the one with the gabled front, the one in which she had grown up.

Parking, she turned off the engine. There were already four cars in the driveway, though she had no way of knowing to whom they belonged. Her parents had always loved Chevys, but seventeen years later, who knew what they drove?

'The porch is new,' she told Lily. 'And the basketball net. That must be for Jack's son.'

'Thomas,' Lily droned. 'Age ten. Big brother of Emily, who is eight, and Ava, who is five. The mom is Lauren, who never sends thank-yous.'

The last thing Susan needed just then was lip-and, oh boy, there was an expression from the past. I don't want lip, her father used to say, mostly to Jack.

'Aunt Lauren and Uncle Jackson,' Susan corrected.

'This is really weird.'

Susan didn't comment, simply watched another car pull in front of her and park. A couple emerged from either door. 'LeRoy and Martha Barnes. LeRoy played poker with your grandfather. Martha loves to bake.' Sure enough, foil-covered plates were emerging from the backseat. Straightening to adjust her load, Martha glimpsed Susan. She stared a moment too long.

'Foiled,' Lily whispered dramatically.