again. She had to do it three times before she was finally pleased, but she welcomed the forced concentration.
Still, she heard the shower go on and off, heard Lily come down for a drink, heard the phone ring. Normally, she would have stopped by Lily's room two or three times before going to bed, but she didn't this night. Nor did Lily come in to see her.
Not that Susan could blame her. Lily clearly felt Susan's disapproval. Having been in her shoes, Susan knew how that was. When she had been pregnant, she had consciously avoided confrontations with her parents.
History was repeating itself.
On Tuesday, Lily made the final cut for the varsity volleyball team. Ebullient, she ran to Susan's office with the news. She saw this as a personal vindication, a See, I can do this! moment.
Susan tried to be happy for her, but all the while, part of her was thinking that the coach had no business taking on a pregnant player, that it was sending the wrong message to other students, that Lily had no right to have her cake and eat it, too.
Later that afternoon, when Lily dashed into the house barely twenty minutes before being picked up for the concert, and declined to eat any of the dinner Susan had made, Susan reminded her that her baby needed to eat even if she did not. Moments later, feeling guilty for the sharpness of her tone, she went scrambling to find the black sweater Lily wanted to wear and was in a tizzy trying to find.
After Lily raced out the door, Susan felt abandoned. She sat down to have some of the chicken pot pie that she and Lily both liked, but eating it alone killed her appetite.
Leaving the table, she opened her laptop on the kitchen counter. E-mail was backing up, including a new one from Phil about the budget she had just submitted. She had to address his queries, had to answer urgent parent questions, had to write college recommendations for three students she had taught as freshmen and with whom she remained close. As she stared at the screen, a note arrived from the woman heading the auction that was held every February to raise money for class trips. She was reminding Susan that copy was due for the PC Wool contribution she had offered, which got Susan to thinking that the past few Saturdays had been a bust workwise, that they hadn't begun testing spring colors, much less produced something to photograph for Pam. She wondered if Pam was going to want to go ahead at all once she learned the whole truth--which got Susan into a snit, because she loved PC Wool and couldn't bear the thought that it might be at risk because Lily had decided she needed to have a baby.
Beside herself with dismay, Susan strode into the den, snatched up her knitting, and settled cross-legged on the sofa, but she didn't have the wherewithal to focus on finishing the heel. She needed straight, simple stockinette stitches. Tossing the sock aside, she stomped back into the kitchen, pulled the T-shirt from her knitting bag, and, for a minute, standing there at the table set for a dinner that wasn't to be, she knit feverishly. She was thinking that she was doing a lousy job--lousy knitter, lousy principal, lousy mother--when a loud knock at the door interrupted her.
Startled, she jumped up, dropping a handful of stitches, and, tossing the knitting aside in disgust, went to answer the door.
Chapter 8
Rick McKay had always affected Susan. True to form, her heart began to race when she saw him on the other side of the glass. The cause of it this time, though, wasn't excitement but fury. She continued to glare as he turned the handle and let himself in, his handsome face lit by a smile.
"Hey," he said. His eyes never left her face, nor did his smile falter as he leaned against the door to close it. He was clearly delighted to see her, which infuriated Susan all the more.
"If you're looking for your daughter, she just left. She breezed through here with no interest in eating the dinner I took the effort to make--though she did wail for
Still, she heard the shower go on and off, heard Lily come down for a drink, heard the phone ring. Normally, she would have stopped by Lily's room two or three times before going to bed, but she didn't this night. Nor did Lily come in to see her.
Not that Susan could blame her. Lily clearly felt Susan's disapproval. Having been in her shoes, Susan knew how that was. When she had been pregnant, she had consciously avoided confrontations with her parents.
History was repeating itself.
On Tuesday, Lily made the final cut for the varsity volleyball team. Ebullient, she ran to Susan's office with the news. She saw this as a personal vindication, a See, I can do this! moment.
Susan tried to be happy for her, but all the while, part of her was thinking that the coach had no business taking on a pregnant player, that it was sending the wrong message to other students, that Lily had no right to have her cake and eat it, too.
Later that afternoon, when Lily dashed into the house barely twenty minutes before being picked up for the concert, and declined to eat any of the dinner Susan had made, Susan reminded her that her baby needed to eat even if she did not. Moments later, feeling guilty for the sharpness of her tone, she went scrambling to find the black sweater Lily wanted to wear and was in a tizzy trying to find.
After Lily raced out the door, Susan felt abandoned. She sat down to have some of the chicken pot pie that she and Lily both liked, but eating it alone killed her appetite.
Leaving the table, she opened her laptop on the kitchen counter. E-mail was backing up, including a new one from Phil about the budget she had just submitted. She had to address his queries, had to answer urgent parent questions, had to write college recommendations for three students she had taught as freshmen and with whom she remained close. As she stared at the screen, a note arrived from the woman heading the auction that was held every February to raise money for class trips. She was reminding Susan that copy was due for the PC Wool contribution she had offered, which got Susan to thinking that the past few Saturdays had been a bust workwise, that they hadn't begun testing spring colors, much less produced something to photograph for Pam. She wondered if Pam was going to want to go ahead at all once she learned the whole truth--which got Susan into a snit, because she loved PC Wool and couldn't bear the thought that it might be at risk because Lily had decided she needed to have a baby.
Beside herself with dismay, Susan strode into the den, snatched up her knitting, and settled cross-legged on the sofa, but she didn't have the wherewithal to focus on finishing the heel. She needed straight, simple stockinette stitches. Tossing the sock aside, she stomped back into the kitchen, pulled the T-shirt from her knitting bag, and, for a minute, standing there at the table set for a dinner that wasn't to be, she knit feverishly. She was thinking that she was doing a lousy job--lousy knitter, lousy principal, lousy mother--when a loud knock at the door interrupted her.
Startled, she jumped up, dropping a handful of stitches, and, tossing the knitting aside in disgust, went to answer the door.
Chapter 8
Rick McKay had always affected Susan. True to form, her heart began to race when she saw him on the other side of the glass. The cause of it this time, though, wasn't excitement but fury. She continued to glare as he turned the handle and let himself in, his handsome face lit by a smile.
"Hey," he said. His eyes never left her face, nor did his smile falter as he leaned against the door to close it. He was clearly delighted to see her, which infuriated Susan all the more.
"If you're looking for your daughter, she just left. She breezed through here with no interest in eating the dinner I took the effort to make--though she did wail for
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