Free The Game of Denial by Brenda Adcock Page B

between them, taking Joan's hand and then Evey's. They strolled away from the house, occasionally swinging Morgana into the air between them, eliciting an excited giggle.
    "What did you think of Dr. Nagle?" Evey asked.
    "He seems like a pleasant enough man. Certainly not what I expected," Joan said as she swung her arm to lift Morgana once again.
    "Were you concerned about, you know, how he would react to...your lifestyle?"
    "I may have been initially." Joan looked at Evey. "I learned a long time ago that I can't afford to be defensive about it all the time. People think what they want and I can't change that."
    "May I ask you a personal question?"
    "I suppose," Joan answered with a shrug.
    "Has your lifestyle ever been an issue with your children?"
    Joan thought and took in her surroundings as they continued to walk. Finally she answered, "There are always issues when you have children." She cleared her throat. "But that isn't what you're really asking, is it?"
    "I was just curious. I didn't mean to put you on the spot," Evey said.
    "I'm used to it," Joan said, smiling down at Morgana. "The best I can do is to say we handled each issue as it arose." She took a deep breath. "After Martine passed away, I tried to wake the children each morning and make sure we ate breakfast together. I think Martine's death affected Meg the most. She was only eight. At first she had her sisters at home with us, but eventually they left for college. Then she was alone and it was just the two of us. I began to notice that when I woke her every morning she would jump out of bed and run to the mirror in her bedroom. It was as if she were examining herself to see how she might have changed overnight."
    "How old was she when Fran left?"
    "Eleven or twelve. Finally I asked her what she was looking at." Joan stopped and turned to face Evey. "She said she was checking to make sure she wasn't like me. I told her she looked like both of us, but probably a little more like me because I gave birth to her. She screwed her face up and burst into tears. She wouldn't let me hug her or comfort her. I, frankly, didn't know what she was talking about. We had never faced this particular problem. Anyway, I didn't go to work that day and didn't send Meg to school. She was obviously distraught about something and I needed to figure it out. We ate in our pajamas and she eventually calmed down. I took her hand and made her look at me. Then she said, "˜I love you, Mom, but I don't want to be like you or Mama when I grow up. I like boys.' We spent the remainder of the day discussing homosexuality and that it wasn't genetic or hereditary. I told her I hoped she would one day meet a wonderful man and fall madly in love, just not when she was so young. I suppose she thought there was some physical way she could tell if she was going to be gay. Honestly, who knows how a child that age thinks."
    "It must have been difficult to deal with," Evey said.
    "I missed Martine, but never as much as I did that day. She was so much better at explaining things like that than I was."
    "You must have done the right thing though because Meg seems to have gotten over it."
    "She did," Joan said. "I think because of my own grief, I hadn't dealt with Meg as well as I should have until that day. One day she's going to be an awesome woman."
    "Tully's little outburst Saturday night didn't help. I'm so embarrassed about that."
    "Don't be, he said what he was feeling at the moment. What he said might not be very enlightened, but it was honest."
    "I'm sure too many beers contributed as well," Evey said.
    Joan smiled. "Sometimes that's when most people actually say what's in their minds."
    Morgana pulled away and ran the last few feet to the stables. Joan saw the large head of a horse swing over the gate and smiled in relief when she saw it was Jackson. He snorted and bobbed his head up and down. Joan picked Morgana up and held her high enough that she could stretch her arm out and pat his forehead.