Not My Daughter

fathered her child the one time they'd been together. Now that she was pregnant, she had no idea what their relationship was supposed to be.

Chapter 22

Susan woke on Christmas morning wondering the same thing about her mother. They hadn't talked since the funeral, and barely then. But Christmas was Christmas, and Ellen was alone. Though Susan had sent a gift, she wanted to call.

But first, there was hot French toast, the traditional holiday breakfast she and Lily shared, then their own little ritual of gifts-small things for each other, collected one per month through the year, along with the complete set of rosewood knitting needles for which Lily had been not-so-subtly pining and the antique oak spinning wheel Susan had craved as an inspiration to learn how to spin.

Lily didn't mention the baby, though Susan saw her touching her stomach from time to time, communicating with her child in a way it would feel, looking soulful and mature. Susan would have done anything to give her back a piece of her childhood for Christmas. But the best she could do was try to cheer her up.

'Have you thought of a name?' she asked.

Lily looked surprised by the question-coming from Susan, who hadn't wanted this baby to be real. 'Chloe.'

Susan smiled. 'Try again.'

'I haven't thought of boys' names.'

'You will.' She added a soft, 'He'll be here with us next year. Won't that be something?'

It would be something, she realized. Her first Christmas away from home had been lonely. Same with the second and third. Then Lily grew, and Susan made friends, and Christmas at Kate's came to be. And still Susan dreamed of the day when she and Lily would have more.

Next year they might.

'Hi, Mom, it's Susan. Merry Christmas.'

'Merry Christmas to you,' Ellen said with her usual reserve.

'How are you doing?'

'I'm fine. I went to church last night.'

'You did?' Historically, her parents went in the afternoon. 'Good for you. Will you be going to Jack's later?'

'Yes. For lunch. At one, I believe.'

'That should be nice.'

'And you?'

Had the question been specific, Susan might have shared some of what was happening. But Ellen didn't want details. Her tone was more polite than interested.

So Susan said, 'We'll be at my friend Kate's. I've told you about Kate. She's our head dyer. By the way, did you get the package I sent?' It held yarn, packed in project bags that were all the rage-though Susan had been careful to choose ones in the most muted colors. No fuchsia heart in Ellen. Hot pink wouldn't do.

'Yes,' her mother said. 'Thank you. I have to finish what I'm working on before I start something else, though.'

'I know. I just thought you'd like to see our newest yarns. They won't go on sale for another few months.'

'You said that in your note. They're very pretty.'

Very pretty. Susan took the compliment as the best Ellen could give. 'We're rushing out samples to shoot for the catalogue. You're the best knitter I know. Want to make a scarf?'

'Oh, well, I'm not quite finished with the other.'

'Okay. Maybe another time.' Susan paused, but there were no questions about Lily, Susan's work, or even vacation plans, any of which might have offered an opening to share the news. Finally, Susan just said, 'So, I'll let you go, Mom. Have a good time at Jack's.'

'Thank you, Susan. Bye.'

Despite years of unsatisfying communication, Susan always hoped for more. This time she had hoped that with no one in the background monitoring Ellen's end of the conversation, there might be a change-had hoped that if, deep down inside, Ellen did love her daughter, there would be some small display of interest in Susan or Lily. After all, Ellen was alone, perhaps lonely, and surely more attuned to mortality than she had been in the past.

And Susan was as needy as she had ever been. She would have liked to share what was happening with Lily, so that her mother would put on a bright face for her. Indeed, the one person whose approval might counter the disapproval of the town was Ellen Tate. A word of encouragement from Ellen would go a long way.

That said, Susan was actually feeling heartened. The Gazette's Christmas Eve edition was skimpy, with only a handful of letters to the editor and none about the pact. Zaganackians, bless their souls, were in holiday mode.

She and Lily went ahead and had Christmas dinner with Kate's family, all of whom did a masterful job of ignoring the upcoming amnio, and on Saturday, to distract themselves, Susan took Lily to the barn.

Kate wasn't there. She and her family had piled into the car for a last-minute trip to New York City, and though Kate invited them to come along, Susan declined. She wasn't in the mood to share a hotel room with a crowd, and besides, it had started to snow.

Which was lucky for Sunny and Dan, who had taken the kids skiing.

And lucky for Pam and Tanner, who had taken theirs to Hilton Head.

But driving to New York in a nor'easter, with a daughter whose pregnancy might be troubled, was not Susan's idea of fun. Besides, she had promised Lily a rest, when, in fact, she needed one herself.

So they had the barn to themselves-at least, that was the plan. Ignoring the wail of the wind, they dyed wool for pure fun, playing with wild combinations of colors, and tested out a new yarn winder that a vendor had sent. They were getting ready to bundle up and go for lunch when the barn door opened and, in a snowy burst, Rick appeared.

Susan wasn't entirely surprised. He usually came unannounced, never quite knowing when breaking news would hijack his plans. His arrival today, though, with so much hanging over their heads, was a gift.

It was actually only the first of several. He brought lunch, which they ate there at the barn, and afterward he followed them during the slow drive home in the snow. Once in the house, he set up the Blu-ray player he had bought them for Christmas along with a boxful of movies, a popcorn maker, and bags of kernels.

As diversions went, he was a huge help.

On Monday morning, Rick insisted on driving. Having done his homework, he agreed with Susan's decision to have the amnio. Moreover, since he knew everything about the test itself, as well as the doctor involved, he could answer a lot of Lily's questions.

Susan could have managed without him-a good mother rose to the occasion-but with the worry shared, the load was less.

That said, she was the one who held Lily's hand through the procedure. She wouldn't have had it any other way.

Back home after the procedure, Lily settled in on the sofa. Two hours of rest, the doctor had advised, but with a foot of snow outside, a stack of good movies inside, and Rick eagerly waiting on his two women, there was little for Lily to do anyway. They watched movies; they played Scrabble; they kept an eye out for cramping, contractions, or fever, but Lily weathered the amnio well.

By the next morning, that particular fear was gone.

There were still the results to await and, of course, Susan's fate, but with school closed and the streets deserted, she could almost imagine that the attacks on her were over-that, like during a flu epidemic, snow cleared the air. She worked for a while on the midyear report she had to present to the school board in January, refusing to consider that the job might not be hers by then, and Rick worked beside her, a novel distraction.