Not My Daughter Read Free

still-bland beige after Lily was born. Even when she started to teach, neutrals served her well, offsetting the freckles that made her look too young.
    But a fuchsia heart doesn't die. It simply bides its time, taking a backseat to pragmatism while leaking helpless drops of color here and there. Hence teal gables, turquoise earrings, and chartreuse or saffron scarves. In the yarns she dyed as a hobby, the colors were even wilder.
    Turning into her driveway, Susan parked and climbed from the car. Once up the side steps, she let herself into the kitchen. In the soft light coming from under the cherry cabinets for which she had painstaking saved for three years and had largely installed herself, she looked back at Lily.
    The girl was Susan's height, if slimmer and more fragile, but she stood her ground, hands tucked in her jacket pockets. Pregnant?
    Susan still didn't believe it was true. Yes, there was picky eating, moodiness, and the morning muzzies, all out of character and new in the last few months, but other ailments had similar symptoms. Like mono.
    "It may be just a matter of taking antibiotics," she said sensibly.
    Lily looked baffled. "Antibiotics?"
    "If you have mono--"
    "Mom, I'm pregnant . Six tests, all positive."
    "Maybe you read them wrong."
    "Mary Kate saw two of them and agreed."
    "Mary Kate is no expert, either." Susan felt a stab. "How many times have I seen Mary Kate since then? Thirty? Sixty?"
    "Don't be mad at Mary Kate. It wasn't her place to tell you."
    "I am mad at Mary Kate. I'm closer to her than I am to the others, and this is your health , Lily. What if something else is going on with your body? Shouldn't Mary Kate be concerned about that?"
    Lily pushed her fingers through her hair. "This is beyond bizarre. All this time I've been afraid to tell you because I didn't know how you'd react, but I never thought you wouldn't believe me."
    Susan didn't want to argue. There was one way to find out for sure. "Whatever it is, we'll deal. I'll call Dr. Brant first thing tomorrow. She'll squeeze you in."
    Never a good sleeper, Susan spent the night running through all of the reasons why her daughter couldn't be pregnant. Most had to do with being responsible, because if Susan had taught Lily one thing, it was that.
    Lily was responsible when it came to school. She studied hard and got good grades. She was responsible when it came to her friends, loyal to a fault. Hadn't she gone out on a limb to campaign for Abby, who had set her heart on being senior class president? When the girl lost the election, Lily had slept at her house for three straight nights.
    Lily was responsible when it came to the car, rarely missing a curfew, leaving the gas tank empty, or being late when she had to pick up Susan.
    Hardworking. Loyal. Dependable. Responsible. And ... pregnant? Susan might have bought into it if Lily had a steady boyfriend. Accidents happened.
    But there was no boyfriend, and no reason at all to believe that Lily would sleep with someone she barely knew. Was sweet Lily Tate--who wore little makeup, slept in flannel pajamas, and layered camis over camis to keep her tiny cleavage from view--even capable of seduction?
    Susan thought not. It had to be something else, but the possibilities were frightening. By two in the morning, her imagination was so out of control that she gave up trying to sleep and, crossing the hall, quietly opened Lily's door. In the faint glow of a butterfly night-light, Lily was a blip under the quilt, only the top of her head showing, dark hair splayed on the pillow. Her jeans and sweaters were on the cushioned chair, her Sherpa boots--one standing, one not--on the floor nearby. Her dresser was strewn with hairbrushes and clips, beaded bracelets, a sock she was knitting. Her cell phone lay on the nightstand, along with several books and a half-full bottle of water.
    In the faintest whisper, Susan called her name, but there was no response, no movement in this still life. Girl with Butterfly