Barbara Delinsky - Not My Daughter

"She calls you masterful," Abby reported as the text appeared.

"So does my dad," Robbie put in. "He says you've done a great job handling all this."

"Does your mother agree?" Lily asked.

"Not yet," he said in a way that implied she would in time.

Susan hoped so. Things would be awkward once the baby was born if Annette Boone was still angry at Lily.

"John Hendricks," announced Abby, then added a low, "Disappointed."

"Disappointed in what?" Lily cried. "That his kids never made headlines? I mean, like, they are huge losers."

"He has a right to his opinion," Susan said.

"It's biased."

"That's what Mary Webber is arguing," Abby reported.

"And how will they decide this anyway?" Lily asked. "Take a vote? A show of hands at the end of the night? Thumbs up or thumbs down for Susan Tate?"

Susan smiled wryly. "Ideally, there will be so many yeas that the nays will shut their mouths and go away."

"Anne Williams," Abby called out. "Praising you, Susan. And Mom's saying to tell you women outnumber men two to one."

That was good, Susan thought. "Women may be more apt to support another woman." She paused. "Unless they're lousy moms and want to look good by making me look worse. Or unless the prevailing sentiment is against me, in which case they may jump on the bandwagon."

"Isn't that pact behavior?" Lily asked.

"More likely pack behavior," Rick called back. "They just follow the leader and go in a group."

"How is that different from a pact?"

"A pact is premeditated. The group agrees to it, and it usually involves something that's socially, morally, or legally forbidden. The group gives individual members the courage to act."

"Absolutely," said Abby. "People come together to support something they'd never support by themselves. Take Lily's singing group. Their vote was premeditated. They talked about doing it. They gave each other the courage to act. That was a pact. People we know make pacts every day."

Susan thought they were onto something, when Lily asked, "So why was it okay for them to do it and not okay for us?"

"Because yours involved pregnancy, and you're underage. That's unacceptable around here."

"Uh-oh," warned Abby in a back-to-the-meeting voice. "Emily Pettee. Bad."

No surprise there, Susan thought.

"Why are people so hung up about mothering?" Lily asked.

"Because it's the most elemental job in the world."

"I'll be a good mother."

"I know you will, sweetheart."

"Caroline Moony," Abby read. "Raves."

And so it went. Abby gave them a running commentary on who said what, and they didn't need a pencil to keep score. For every voice saying Susan's e-mail had opened a dialogue, another said the dialogue was a distraction. For every voice saying Susan was the kind of mother the school needed, another was critical. It was too close to call, no landslide at all.

Susan feared she had miscalculated. She was thinking that if there was as much negative feeling as this, she did need to resign, when Lily said, "She's calling on the wrong people. I mean, if women outnumber men, there should be more women talking, right? And what about everyone at Perry and Cass? Your fans must be there. Was that meeting mandatory?" she asked Abby, but Abby was watching her phone.

"Listen to this," the girl said. "J.C. is out in the hall. She says the people there are upset. They're all Susan's people." Her thumbs flew. "I'm telling Mom. Someone stacked the deck. They must have paid nays to come early to fill up the boardroom."

"Would they do that?" Lily asked.

"Absolutely. Mom says the men are ruthless."

It was their last hurrah, Susan knew. They hadn't wanted her to be principal in the first place.

"Mr. Lombard," Abby announced. "He was just recognized by the chair. Who is he?"

"Chamber of Commerce," Susan said worriedly. "What's he saying?"

There was a flurry of texting. "He wants to hear from a faculty member."

Susan could guess which one. Pulling out her own phone, she passed it to Lily. "Who else is in that audience?"

"Taylor."

"Text her. Tell her to call my number. I want to hear this."

A minute later they had Evan Brewer on speakerphone. His voice was dim; Lily raised the volume. The quality wasn't great, but they could hear the words. "…is my superior," he was saying. "I respect what she's trying to do."

Neal's voice came then. "Is it what you did when you were head of school?"

"No. Her style differs from mine."

"As an administrator."

"And a parent. I set rules. My kids knew the penalty for breaking them. Would I have done the same thing as Ms. Tate? I don't know. My kids never made pacts."

"Low blow," Rick murmured.

"Lie," Susan said. "They uncovered a drug ring at his school. If that isn't a pact, tell me what is."

"Mom's furious," Abby related. "She's calling Dad."

But Evan continued. "Ms. Tate isn't alone. Parents today are more lax. Mothers are juggling lots of balls. Inevitably, one or two fall."

"Low blow," Rick muttered.

"Get that man away from the mike," Susan cried.

"Dad's phone is off," Abby reported at the same time that they heard a disturbance in the boardroom. It was a minute before they realized what was happening. "They're going after Mom for texting?" Abby asked in disbelief just as one voice rose above the drone.

"That is one of the problems we have!"

"Duncan Haith," Susan said, recognizing the voice.

"There's no respect, no decorum," he charged. "And when parents are the ones doing this, it's no wonder their children misbehave. We didn't have any of it in my day."

"Didn't you?" came a different voice, very Maine, very genteel. "Maybe we need to talk about that."

"Omigod," Abby whispered loudly. "It's my dad."

The murmurs from the phone suggested that others in the board room were as surprised as Abby. And Susan? She was nervous. Tanner had come from an important meeting of his own, but to hurt or help?

The background hum died. She imagined him standing at the foot of the long table, tall and lanky, his face unlined, his confidence clear.

"What's he doing?" Abby asked.

"I'm confused," Tanner began, sounding hesitant indeed. "This whole situation raises questions." He paused.

"Where's he going?" Abby whispered.

"I can't answer them, and this bothers me. I like answers. But the questions we've been asking around here are making me think about some things I hadn't considered."

"What is he saying?" Abby cried.

Susan shushed her gently.

"I always assumed I was a good parent," Tanner said. "Who of us doesn't? We do the best we can, and sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't." When he paused for a breath, the room remained still. "When it doesn't, do we suddenly become a bad parent?"

"With due respect, Mr. Perry," came Carl Morgan's gravelly voice, "we are not the principal of the high school."

"No. But we're CEOs of businesses, retired CFOs of the same, and the head of the Chamber of Commerce. We're members of the school board. We make decisions that affect a whole town of children."

"What are you saying?"

Tanner was slow to respond, and still the room remained silent. "I'm not saying anything," he finally went on. "I can't, because, as I said, I don't know the answers. So I'm asking. Are any of us perfect? Have we never made mistakes? Have we never had the experience of doing everything right and still having something go wrong?"

Duncan Haith spoke up, his own accent thicker than Tanner's. "All good general questions, Mr. Perry, but let's be specific. This woman knew the pitfalls of having a baby at seventeen, and still she let her daughter do it."

"You didn't -" Lily began to protest, but Susan held up a silencing hand.