Not My Daughter (31 page)

Their hotel was adjacent to the hospital. They took two rooms, one for girls, one for guys. Had Robbie not come, Susan would have stayed with Rick. She was nervous, and he was steady.

But she had to settle for a hug.

------

It was before dawn when the wake-up call came. With the surgery scheduled for eight, Lily had to check in before seven. Susan had fully expected to walk her over alone, but none of the others wanted to be left behind.

For several minutes, they sat in the waiting room with other patients and their families. The occasional newspaper rustled; if there was talk, it was a murmur.

When the nurse who came for Lily waved Susan along, she went gratefully. Lily was frightened, her face pale, her eyes worried as each new person entered her cubicle. Susan held Lily's hand, whispered encouraging thoughts, answered questions asked of Lily when the girl was too tongue-tied to reply.

The doctor stopped by, as did the anesthesiologist, who inserted an IV for the medication that would sedate Lily during the procedure. She was wide awake, though, when they came to fetch her.

Leaning over, Susan tucked a last strand of hair into her cap. "They say once the medication starts you won't remember much, but I want you to tell me everything you do. Your son will want to know the details." She drew a heart in the outline of Lily's face. "He has an amazingly good mother."

Lily gave her a hug so tight that it hurt inside. Choked up, Susan watched them wheel the girl off.

So she was already feeling emotional when she returned to the waiting room. Between this day's surgery, last night's meeting, and all the days and nights of worry that had come before, her composure was nil. That may have explained why, when she approached Rick and saw the man and woman with him, she turned away.

Rick was quickly at her elbow, guiding her down the hall until she stopped, stared at him, and asked weakly, "What was that?"

"My dad and your mom."

"How?"

"I told Dad on Wednesday. I never dreamed he'd show up, much less with Ellen. I'm as surprised as you are."

"She knows?"

"Looks it."

"Did she want to come? Or did he force her?"

"Maybe a little of both. All I know is she looked terrified walking in here just now."

Susan was terrified herself. "I haven't had a decent conversation with her in years. What am I supposed to say now? I saw her last month and didn't tell her Lily was pregnant. I've talked with her on the phone since, and didn't tell her. Do I apologize? Do I try to explain? What am I supposed to
do
with her?"

"Nothing," Rick said. "My dad brought Ellen, so she's his responsibility. Your only responsibility is Lily."

That sounded all well and good. But Ellen was her
mother
.

Of all the times Susan would have died for her mother's support, this wasn't one. She didn't want Ellen making her feel like a lousy mother--didn't want to spend
one second
wondering what Ellen thought about Lily's pregnancy. And as for Ellen's relationship with Big Rick, Susan could not have cared less.

Rick took her hand. "C'mon. Let's go get coffee. They won't be starting the surgery for a while. It'll be close to an hour before we hear anything."

They went to the coffee shop and split a doughnut, wandered through the lobby, explored the gift shop. When they ran out of places to go, Rick took her back upstairs.

Susan was prepared to see her mother this time. Still, she felt a jolt opening that door and meeting Ellen's eyes. The woman looked well--hair more silver than not, but stylishly combed, black slacks, peach sweater. The fact that she looked frightened was some consolation to Susan, who was frightened herself.

But she was, after all, a big girl now.

So she kissed Big Rick's cheek and took the chair beside Ellen. "Thank you for coming," she said softly. "Lily will be touched."

Ellen nodded. After a minute, she murmured, "I had no idea."

That Lily was pregnant? That the baby had problems? That Susan had nearly lost her job? "Some things are hard to discuss," Susan said. "Did you fly up with Big Rick?"

Again Ellen nodded. "I'm no traveler. He dragged me along."

An unwilling companion, then? Or just a poor choice of words? It struck Susan that her mother might not know what to say to her, either.

"You must have landed last night." It was a safe remark, but barely spoken when a man in scrubs approached, then went on past and into the hall. After a worried glance at the clock, Susan caught Rick's eye.

"Too soon," he said softly.

She sat back, hugging her middle, and thought of Lily and the baby. She didn't try to talk to her mother. Rick was right; her focus should be on Lily. Needing to relax, she took out her knitting.

A few minutes later, Ellen did the same. She wasn't working with PC Wool, but with a glitzy novelty yarn.

"What're you making?" Susan asked.

"A scarf for Jack's Emily. She chose the yarn."

The mention of the girl's name rubbed Susan the wrong way. "Emily. Ahhh. Darling child." Instantly remorseful, she remarked on the yarn, "It's pretty."

"No, it isn't," Ellen murmured. "It's tacky. And no pleasure to knit."

"Why are you making it, then?"

"Because she asked."

"You never made a scarf for me."

"You never asked."

"Maybe I was afraid I'd be refused." Setting down her knitting, she rubbed her forehead. Her voice was a whisper, for Ellen's ears alone. "This is unreal. My pregnant daughter is on the operating table while doctors try to save her baby, and I'm arguing with my mother, whom I have seen once in nearly eighteen years and
never
east of the Mississippi. This is blowing my mind."

Ellen continued to knit her tacky yarn.

Susan glanced at the clock, then at Rick. "Do you think something's wrong?"

"No. We're just impatient."

Try superstitious. Susan was starting to wonder if her job had been spared to cushion the blow of losing the baby. Or losing Lily.

Desperate for comfort, she returned to her very beautiful, very artistic, very original PC Wool scarf.

"That's very pretty," her mother said. "It's one of the new colors, isn't it?"

"Yes. Robin At Dawn. We want to photograph finished pieces for the catalogue. I told you about that."

"Yes," Ellen said. Susan had knit another row, before her mother asked, "Are those short rows?"

"Yes."

"Interesting design."

Susan passed her mother the pattern, but continued to knit. She focused on the stitches, focused on the rhythm, focused on turning at the gap. When Ellen returned the pattern, Susan tucked it back in her bag and kept on knitting. Knitting was familiar at a time when everything around her was strange.

At the ninety-minute point, she caught Rick's eye. Setting his laptop aside, he checked with the nurse, but returned moments later with no news. "They're still in the OR."

"Why so long?"

"They may have started late."

"What if they found something they didn't expect?"

Rick touched a finger to her mouth. "They won't," he said and returned to his seat.

The good news was that between imagining possible complications--oh yes, the Web had given her every last one--and praying, Susan didn't dwell on her mother's unexpected presence. The bad news was that it was two hours before the doctor emerged. By that time, she was frantic.

But he was fully at ease. "All's well," he told her. "Your daughter was frightened, so we spent a little while calming her. We gave her a tour of the OR and showed her the balloon we'd be inserting. She'll remember that part and be stronger for it. As for her little guy, his heart is beating good as gold. He'll do fine."

A little while later, Susan was allowed back to wait with Lily until they could transfer her to a room. She would be staying overnight in the hospital for monitoring, though the fetal monitor was only part of it. If they discovered any kind of amniotic leak, Lily would be on bed rest for the remainder of the pregnancy.

The girl was sleeping off the sedative in little cat naps. Susan waited until she was more awake before telling her that Big Rick was there.

Her eyes lit. "He came all this way for me?"

"He did. And he isn't alone. He brought your grandmother."

Lily didn't respond at first. Then she frowned.
"Your
mother?" When Susan nodded, she cried weakly, "She knows I'm pregnant?"

"Yup. Big Rick told her."

"Is she angry?"

"She doesn't look it. She looks like she's not sure she's welcome here."

"Is she?"

"Of course. She's my mother."

"What do I
say
to her?"

Susan couldn't answer that. "You're asking the wrong person. I just wanted you to know so you won't be as shocked as I was."

Lily handled Ellen with aplomb. But Ellen wasn't her mother. Mother-daughter relationships had to be the most complex in the world, while grandmother-granddaughter ones were more forgiving, Susan decided. As wary as Lily had been of Ellen in Oklahoma, she was all smiles now. Relief surely played a part; with the surgery successfully done, Lily would have embraced Scrooge.

Abby, who held no past grudges and seemed honored to be part of an historic meeting, treated Ellen like a special guest. Susan might have resented it, if she hadn't been so grateful to have her mother occupied. And reinforcements arrived late that afternoon in the form of Kate, Sunny, and Pam, who had driven up on impulse.

Through it all, neither the baby nor Lily appeared any the worse for wear.

Susan didn't ask where Ellen was staying, but with Kate, Sunny, and Pam overnighting as well, there was a crowd in the coffee shop for breakfast the next morning and later in Lily's hospital room. Lily was sore at the points of incision, but there continued to be no other problems, and she was eager to be home.

By mid-afternoon, they were on the road, two SUVs loaded with people, flowers, and balloons. Susan kept looking back at Lily, who smiled every time. She kept thinking about the baby, whom she had seen on a sonogram again that morning and who was adorable, balloon and all. She kept thinking about Rick, who had watched that screen with the same vulnerable look as Lily--kept thinking about the follow-up tests and the doctor's appointments, but with optimism now--kept thinking about her school, her students.

And Ellen? She let that one ride.

A gentle snow began to fall shortly after they crossed into Maine, and though it remained light as they drove up the coast--the Penobscots had known what they were talking about when they named the town for its moderate weather--it accumulated enough to cover the January dirt. With night falling before six, they saw lights as they entered Zaganack. Main Street was largely Perry & Cass crimson, with the harbor lights more blue. Between the masts of diehard fishermen, festive colors outlining restaurants, and clusters of seagulls overnighting on the town dock, it was so picturesque, that if Susan hadn't already forgiven the town for doubting about her, she would have now.

And that was before they approached her little house, which was spattered with color well beyond sea green and teal. A rainbow of balloons was tied to the mailbox, a large
WELCOME HOME SUSAN AND LILY
banner hung between windows. More balloons flanked the door, a navy-and-yellow bouquet for Lily, a fuchsia one for Susan, and on the steps were a mound of foil-covered bundles, food from friends, left to chill in the snow. Two cars sat out front, disgorging a gaggle of girls the instant they turned into the driveway.

If Susan had wanted her mother to see that she and Lily had a rich life with friends who loved them, she couldn't have asked for a better homecoming.

Chapter 28

Susan settled Lily in the den. When Rick disappeared soon after, she found him upstairs packing his things.

"What are you doing?" she asked in alarm.

He shifted socks from drawer to duffel. "I'll stay at the inn in town with my dad. You need the bed."

"I don't," Susan argued. "Ellen can stay at the inn."

"She's your mother. She's come a long way, and she should stay here." He opened the next drawer.

"Don't leave me alone with her." He smiled chidingly, but she was serious. He was a buffer--between her and the town, the media, and now Ellen. "I want you to stay. You can sleep in my room."

His smile turned wry. "Now there's an interesting proposition. What was it, less than two days ago that you dodged the morals bullet?" Dropping shirts in the duffel, suddenly unsmiling, he straightened. "We need a bigger house."

"We?"

"You and me. It's time, don't you think?"

"For what?"

He put his hands on his hips.
"Us
. Let's pool resources. Get a bigger house. Maybe even get married."

Married?
Married?
"You don't want to get married."

"How do you know?"

"You love your freedom."

He stared at her. "I think you love yours more."

"Not true. I just don't want to be hurt."

"Me, neither, which is probably why I've never said the m-word before. Only this is ridiculous." His eyes softened. "Hell, Susie, I've always loved you."

Her heart tripped. They had never used the l-word either. Oh, she had said it to friends over the years, as in
Rick is a love
, or
I just love Rick
, but never aloud and face-to-face. "You loved me even when you were twenty-two?" she asked skeptically, because the declaration was too neat. One intimate summer; that was it. They had been young and unformed, certainly different from the adults they were today.

"Smitten," he said without blinking. "There was never a doubt. Do you not love me?"

She barely had to think. "Of course I love you."

"So what's the problem?"

Susan tried to think of one. Yes, love was a given, she realized. She and Rick got along too well for it not to be. Formalizing their relationship was something else. Somewhere around the time she left home, pregnant with Lily, she had crossed marriage off her list of dreams. She had her daughter; that was enough.

"See?" he argued. "You always push me away."

"No. You always leave."

"And you let me go, like I'm not worth keeping."

"Are you
kidding?"
she cried. "Why do you think I've never looked at anyone else? No one ever came
close
."

"Okay," he said, amending the charge, "then you let me go like
you're
not worth keeping. Is that your father's legacy? That you aren't good enough to keep?"

Susan thought of recent weeks, when everything she had worked so hard to achieve had been questioned. Yes, this was what she brought from the past, and it haunted her still. She was a good educator. She was a good mother. But good enough? "I'm flawed."

He made a frustrated sound. "We're
all
flawed. So we can either be flawed separately or together. There's your choice."

"It's not that simple."

"It is. None of us is perfect. God knows I'm not, or I would have pushed this issue a long time ago."

She studied his handsome face. He had lost some of his tan to the New England winter, and his hair was longer than usual, but his eyes were as blue, his voice as rich. She couldn't imagine his not having shared that with people all over the world. Marriage meant giving it up.

"You wouldn't have," she said.

"You're right. Because I got a rush being in war zones or running alongside trucks bringing rice to the starving poor. My high was being recognized,
adulated
, which makes my point. I am totally flawed. So we make mistakes. So we're sometimes slow to see them. Slow doesn't mean never."

"But what if I can't be a good wife?"

"What if I can't be a good husband? C'mon, hon. We'll do our best."

She rubbed her forehead. "This is a big step."

He came closer. Framing her face with his hands, his mesmerizing blue eyes steady, he asked so gently that her heart melted, "What scares you most?"

"You," she whispered. "Me. Change. I'm used to controlling my life."

Slipping his fingers into her hair, he lifted her face and gave her one of those kisses that tasted of longing, the kind of kiss that made her mindless, the kind she remembered most when he was gone.

Clutching his wrists, she drew back. "Oh-ho, no. That will not work. This has to be a rational discussion."

"About control," he conceded. "Would it be so awful to share it?"

Terrifying
, she thought.
I'd be hurt
.

Granted, Rick had never hurt her. What he promised, he gave. But then, she had never asked for much.

You let me go
, he said, and he was right.
Like you're not worth keeping
, he said. Right again. But how does one get rid of old baggage?

She felt the loss of his warmth when he stepped back. "Lots to think about," he said and returned to his packing.

Susan couldn't think about much else, what with a houseful of friends who were happy to wait on Lily, cook dinner, and occupy Ellen. Once Rick left, she took refuge in his room. It always smelled woodsy when he was around. She breathed it in for a bit before reluctantly stripping the bed.

She had just unfolded fresh sheets when her mother appeared and went to the far side of the bed. Catching a fitted corner, Ellen stretched it over the mattress. "It's good of you to have me here." She smoothed the sheet with a hand.

"I wouldn't have you any other place."

"I'm displacing Rick."

Who wanted a bigger house. Who wanted
marriage
. "That's okay." Susan needed to think. She whipped the top sheet out over the bed. "How long will you and Big Rick stay?"

Ellen brought the sheet down on her side. "I can't speak for him. We're just friends who happen to share a granddaughter." Susan was thinking that Ellen was finally out from under her husband's thumb and could do whatever she wanted with any man, when Ellen added, "He can either drop me off in Oklahoma on his way back west. Or I can stay. I don't want to put you out."

"I invited you."

"I'll only stay as long as I can help."

Help? Susan eyed her blankly.

Ellen spoke quickly. "The doctor wants Lily off her feet for a few days, and you have to get back to work. And they want to keep checking on the baby, so Lily will have to go for tests. And once he's born he'll need extra care."

The implication was that she might stay awhile. Rick.
And
Ellen? And a
baby?
If change was an issue, this was a triple whammy, and that was totally apart from the history Susan had with her mother. Tension? Disapproval? Rejection? Did she want it?
Need
it?

"I could fly back and forth," Ellen said, sounding defensive. "I have the money."

"You hate flying."

"I can do it."

"You don't really want to."

"How do
you
know?" She softened. "Not that you need me here. You have Rick. You have friends."

"I need you here," Susan said. It was a knee-jerk reaction--but not. The only way to deal with old baggage was to open it up and sort through. How else to know what to keep and what to toss?

"There are hard feelings."

"I always wanted us to be closer."

"You must hate me for what I did," Ellen insisted, seeming determined to confront the issue.

"It was a long time ago," Susan said, not wanting the confrontation just then, but her mother wouldn't let it go.

"You can't have forgotten."

"Okay. I still try to understand the why of it."

"Aha. You do have hard feelings."

Pushed far enough, Susan cried, "How could I not? You threw me away. I was young and scared, and you banished me for something I didn't even know I'd done until it was too late. Do you think I
planned
to get pregnant? My daughter
did
plan her pregnancy, and when I found out, I was furious. So I did what you did. I shut her out. If I have hard feelings toward you right now, it's because you set a bad example."

Ellen seemed taken aback by the outburst.

Telling herself her mother had asked for it, Susan continued. "So how
do
you feel about Lily being pregnant?"

Ellen swallowed. "Not as bad as I'd have felt if your father were still alive." It was quite an admission. Susan was trying to process it, when her mother went on. "I'm sorry she's pregnant. I'm sorry about this scare with the baby. I'm sorry these things happen."

"But they do. And you need to be okay with it. Because, honestly, Mom, much as I want you to be part of my life, it won't work if you don't accept my daughter. I don't want history repeating itself."

"It can't. I wasn't a good mother. You are."

Of all the open sores, this one went deepest. Needing encouragement from the voice that mattered most, Susan asked, "What makes you say that?"

"I saw you with Lily back home. I see you with her here. There's a connection between you. You like each other."

"I love her. She's my daughter."

"It's more. You're friends."

"I let her get pregnant."

"Like I let you get pregnant?" Ellen smiled sadly. "I was a bad mother, but not because of that. I didn't stand up for my child. I didn't speak up to your father."

"That was your relationship with him."

"It was wrong. He was wrong." Her eyes held Susan's, daring her to disagree.

Unable to, Susan bent over to tuck in the sheet. "I survived."

Ellen tucked in her side. "Without my help."

"I forgive you."

"Maybe you shouldn't. I don't know my own granddaughter. What kind of person does that make me?"

"It's circumstances."

"No. It's choices. I made bad ones." She paused. "Lily seems like a very nice person."

"She is," Susan said. "So are her friends. If she had to be involved in a pact, I'm glad it's with this group." She drew up the comforter.

Ellen did the same on her side. "Isn't a pact just a group of people who bow to peer pressure?"

Remembering the discussion in the car Thursday night, Susan said, "Sometimes."

"Then my friends and I formed a pact against you."

Susan straightened. "I'm okay with it, Mom. Really. Let's try and forget all that."

"Hard to do back home. All the memories." Ellen frowned for a minute. "I met a young woman on the plane. She asked about my knitting, and we got to talking. She said she didn't have the patience to knit. I told her she had it backwards, that knitting
gave
me patience. She said her grandmother says the same thing, and that maybe she'll feel that way when she gets old."

"You're not old," Susan said, because fifty-nine wasn't old and Ellen looked good. She was stylish and trim. If there were wrinkles on her face, they were faint.

"Not in years," she replied. "In mind-set. But I keep hearing that word--
old
--and not wanting to be. Old is stiff, unable to bend. Funny, I'm okay when I knit. When I make a mistake, I rip back to where I botched it, even if that means ripping out hours of work to get it right. Why can't I do that in life?"

"It's a luxury we don't often have."

"I have it now," Ellen said with a direct look. "I want to know Lily. And I want to know her baby."

Still afraid of being hurt, Susan made light of it. "Oh, a baby is a total blob. You don't want to be changing diapers."

"There you go again, telling me what I want. Y'know, Susan, you're just like your father. 'I know what you want,' he always said. But he didn't, and it got so I didn't either. We both assumed he knew best. But maybe he didn't. Maybe he needed to ask once in a while. Maybe he needed to listen. But he's not here anymore, so it's too late. And maybe I wouldn't have had the courage to say it to him, anyway. But I'll say it to you. You need to listen."

Susan had never had an open discussion with Ellen--certainly not about mistakes--but her mother kept talking. "You invited me, so I'm here. I got on that plane. I could do it again. I don't have to be entertained, y'know. But I could help. I could be a good mother."

Listening, Susan heard her say
mother
. Not grandmother. Not great-grandmother. Mother. And suddenly the old baggage was wide open, lots of bad stuff, but one big thing she knew she wanted to keep. It brought a lump to her throat, along with the dire need to hug and be hugged.

But she didn't have a physical relationship with Ellen, never had.

So she simply nodded, swallowed, and said a soft, "I'd like that."

The need to hug and be hugged lingered. Back in her own room later that night, Susan thought of calling Rick, but hesitated. Something else came back to her from the discussion in the car Thursday night. Mothering was elemental. It was life's first relationship, the one from which everything else sprang.