Not My Daughter

story.'

'Then why are you here?'

'Susan is family.'

'Your family? The guy didn't tell me that.'

'No. So you know who I am, but I don't know you. Are you out of Portland?'

'New York. Assistant producer.'

'Ahh. Bloodhound sniffing out stories. Got a card?' In an instant, he was studying it. 'Well, Jon Hicks, you're barking up the wrong tree. For one thing, this town's about Perry and Cass. For another, I know your boss, and if he gets wind that you're harassing my family, he won't be happy.'

The producer took a step back. 'Hey, man, no harassment.'

'Good,' Rick said with a smile. 'Keep it that way. Hey, my girl and I just made dinner. I'd invite you to stay, only we don't have extra. We'll talk shop another time, okay?' He put a hand high on the doorframe, watching Jonathan leave. Only when the van pulled away did he ease Susan back inside.

That was when reality hit. 'The national press?' she cried. 'What next?'

'It was inevitable.'

'I thought the Gazette was bad, but if this is on network TV, we're in trouble. A pregnancy pact is hot stuff. If he runs his story, Zaganack will be inundated with media from all over the country. I'll lose my job-I mean, I'll have to step aside or the kids will suffer. The whole town will suffer.'

'Who is Neal Lombard?' Rick asked calmly.

Susan folded her arms. 'He came on the school board right before Pam. He has four troubled sons, and he's covering up his own sense of inadequacy by pointing the finger at people like me. He must have been upset when the Gazette left me alone this week. We had the media in town, and he couldn't resist slipping them word. He's killing two birds with one stone-ruining me and creating publicity for the town. The Chamber wants tour buses here. Neal doesn't care what brings them.'

'It's okay, Susie. I can pull strings. If Jon Hicks goes ahead with a piece on this town, he won't mention you.'

'He may mention you. You told him you were family.' Not many people in town knew that. Susan had always been miserly with the information. Lily, too. Rick was their secret.

He scratched the back of his head. 'Okay. Well, I had a choice. Either I had a solid personal reason for being here, or he was going to think he had fallen into a really big story, in which case he'd call in reinforcements and stake out the place.'

'What if Neal Lombard calls someone else?'

'Talk to Pam. See what she can do.'

Pam wasn't thrilled to be asked to help. 'I don't know Neal very well.'

'Tanner does. A word from him would go a long way toward shutting up the press.'

'Oh, Susan, with the funeral and all…'

'The funeral is over,' Susan argued. If Pam was a friend, she would do this. 'Henry was long retired from the day-to-day running of Perry and Cass, so it's not like there'll be a corporate change in command. The company's had good press in the last few days. This would be bad press. Does Tanner want that?'

'No. Okay. Let me talk with him.'

But either she didn't or Tanner chose not to act, or it was simply too late, because Susan was returning from visiting a Spanish II class on Monday morning when a young woman fell into step. 'Ms. Tate? I'm Melissa Randolph, People magazine. I wonder if we could talk.'

Susan died a little inside. 'About what?'

'Teen pregnancy.' The woman was in her early twenties. Wearing dark tights, a pencil skirt, and heels that stilted her walk, she wasn't as intimidating as Jonathan Hicks with his satellite van. That made it easier for Susan to stay calm.

'Sure. Follow me.' She continued on to her office, thinking the whole way about what Rick would do. When they were seated, she asked, 'Melissa Randoph? Is that correct? What do you do for the magazine?'

'I'm a reporter,' the woman said and, as if to prove it, pulled out a dog-eared notebook and prepared to take notes.

'Were you here for the Cass funeral?' Susan asked.

'No. I just arrived.'

'Specifically to do a story on teen pregnancies?'

'Actually, the story is on mothers-the whose-fault-is-it kind of thing. We're running a story in this week's issue, but we just heard about your situation and wanted to rush it in. Our focus is on average middle-class mothers. We have one in Chicago whose son is into identity theft, and one in Tucson whose DUI daughter killed a friend. Both mothers are being skewered, even though they're hardworking and well-liked. You're in the same boat.'

'I am?' Susan asked, mildly annoyed. She didn't consider her daughter, Mary Kate, or Jess in the league of a thief or a drunk. 'Where did you hear that?'

'The local paper.'

Susan frowned. 'Do your production people read the Zaganack Gazette?'

'We got a tip.'

'Ahhh,' Susan said. 'That wouldn't by chance be the local Chamber of Commerce trying to drum up a little more attention for the town? And you fell for it?'

The reporter squirmed. 'We've talked with teachers and students. We know that three girls are pregnant. Of the moms involved, you're the most visible.'

'There's been a spike in teen pregnancies all over the country,' Susan said. 'I'd guess that we're at the low end of the spectrum.'

'But the three in question formed a pact. That's a headline. And you were pregnant at seventeen yourself.'

Susan refused to react. 'I'm a school principal. I worry about pact behavior as it affects other students. If a pact leads to violence, it's troubling.'

'You don't consider a pregnancy pact troubling?'

Susan sat back. 'Any teen pregnancy is troubling.'

'Especially when it involves your own daughter, I would think.'

'I'm sorry. I won't talk about specific cases.'

'I understand that as principal you have to say that. But I really want to talk with you as a mother. Would you be more comfortable if we talked in your home?'

Susan gave her a sympathetic smile. 'This really is a private matter. My first priorities are my daughter and my school. I don't aspire to being nationally recognized.'

There was a pause. 'That's a 'no comment,' then?'

'Oh, it's a comment,' Susan said, perhaps pedantically, but she was suddenly livid. 'My comment is, my first priorities are my daughter and my school. I don't aspire to being nationally recognized.' She looked at her watch and stood. 'I have a class to teach. I need time to review my notes.'

Looking skeptical, the reporter rose, too. 'Since when does a principal teach?'

'Since budget cuts discourage hiring subs when a regular teacher is sick.' She opened the door. 'I'm sorry I can't help you. I'm sure your piece will be just fine focusing on those other two women.' She waited until the reporter left, then closed the door and grabbed the phone. Rick was working at home. Her hand shook punching in the number.

'People magazine,' she said. 'Just here. Neal must have called them, too. How scary is that?'

'What did you say?' Rick asked quietly.

'That I wouldn't talk. But she says she's already talked with faculty and students. Was she bluffing? There are teachers-like Evan Brewer-who would love to cut me down, and kids I've disciplined who'd spill their guts in a second. She could write her story without ever quoting me, and the piece will be totally skewed, like the editorial in the Gazette. I could talk with her and set things straight. But then Phil would be on top of me for talking with her, and the school board would say I was hurting the town.'

'Did she have a photographer with her?'