defense, even though she
knew her mother was right. Hadn't he meant her to be a boy, turned on
her, away from her, after that one time he saw her acting out as a
female. . .
Still, Missy was damned if she'd give her mother the
satisfaction of openly agreeing with her. Besides, his elusiveness,
even rejection, was a challenge to overcome. Even though she'd never
managed it. But ever since, the men she'd chosen to be really close
to, like this new one, Felix Ducroit, were like him . . . attractive,
enticing and yet distant and rejecting. Damn them. God-damn them . .
.
Her mother had paused and was looking at her as if
she expected Missy to interrupt. When she didn't Helen went on,
letting loose feeling she'd bottled up for years. "When I found
out I was pregnant I was incredibly happy. I was giving Cyrus what he
wanted most in life, a child—or rather what I thought he wanted
most. We were so close during my pregnancy . . . He would hold me and
pet me . . . It was when we started talking about names for you that
I had my first clue that everything might not be okay, just peachy,
although I didn't pick up on it at the time. He would only talk about
boy's names, wouldn't even consider the prospect of a girl. Well, I
rationalized, most fathers wanted a male child, but if he got a girl
he'd be happy too. My first real sign of trouble came about the
seventh month because I'd ignored all the earlier ones. That was when
I decided on what your name would be if you were a girl. I waited for
what I thought was the right moment and one night I told him. He'd
been under a lot of strain at the hospital, and he accused me,
incredibly, of trying to turn you into a girl before you were even
born. This from a doctor. Then he hit me in the face. I fell against
the corner of a table and started to hemorrhage . . ."
Missy couldn't believe what she was hearing, except
she could . . . The look in his eyes watching her with that boy was
definitely a look that could kill . . .
"He rushed me to the hospital," her mother
was saying, "and it was touch and go for a while. They thought
they were going to have to do a Caesarian, but in those days, care
being what it was, with me barely in my seventh month, you probably
wouldn't have lived. I said no, wait, and finally it worked out.
"Your father was shaken, was actually contrite. But when I
finally went into labor again and he was driving me to the hospital
he kept saying things like 'Think positive, think boy, everything
will be fine.' Even between pains I thought how absurd that was. Your
father the doctor, the trained medical man who knew perfectly well
that your sex had been determined months before, was carrying on like
someone doing a voodoo rite. In a way it was touching, but it also
scared me. As they wheeled me into the delivery room I actually said
a prayer that you would be a healthy baby and that Cyrus would not be
disappointed, whichever sex you were . . . But when he heard the news
he just walked out of the hospital. At one time he even made noises
about putting you up for adoption—"
"Whut?"
"It's the truth. And who do you think stopped
him? Me. Your terrible mother. He never stopped punishing me—or
you. Even from the grave."
Missy didn't want to believe it. Hated to, hated her
mother for telling it, even as she realized it seemed to be true. Oh
yes, damn him, goddamn him.
Her mother paused, forced herself to go on. "The
one time I had some hope for you was when your father caught you
sleeping with that boy up at the cabin. I was actually proud of you,
for once you were acting like a girl your age should, not like some
tomboy to please your father. You were experimenting with womanhood
instead of trying to figure out a better way to tie a trout fly.
Maybe if he hadn't caught you, or maybe if you'd come to me for help
afterward, you and I might have grown closer. But you didn't. You
just tried even harder to win him over and pushed me further away . .
. I said he was punishing you
knew her mother was right. Hadn't he meant her to be a boy, turned on
her, away from her, after that one time he saw her acting out as a
female. . .
Still, Missy was damned if she'd give her mother the
satisfaction of openly agreeing with her. Besides, his elusiveness,
even rejection, was a challenge to overcome. Even though she'd never
managed it. But ever since, the men she'd chosen to be really close
to, like this new one, Felix Ducroit, were like him . . . attractive,
enticing and yet distant and rejecting. Damn them. God-damn them . .
.
Her mother had paused and was looking at her as if
she expected Missy to interrupt. When she didn't Helen went on,
letting loose feeling she'd bottled up for years. "When I found
out I was pregnant I was incredibly happy. I was giving Cyrus what he
wanted most in life, a child—or rather what I thought he wanted
most. We were so close during my pregnancy . . . He would hold me and
pet me . . . It was when we started talking about names for you that
I had my first clue that everything might not be okay, just peachy,
although I didn't pick up on it at the time. He would only talk about
boy's names, wouldn't even consider the prospect of a girl. Well, I
rationalized, most fathers wanted a male child, but if he got a girl
he'd be happy too. My first real sign of trouble came about the
seventh month because I'd ignored all the earlier ones. That was when
I decided on what your name would be if you were a girl. I waited for
what I thought was the right moment and one night I told him. He'd
been under a lot of strain at the hospital, and he accused me,
incredibly, of trying to turn you into a girl before you were even
born. This from a doctor. Then he hit me in the face. I fell against
the corner of a table and started to hemorrhage . . ."
Missy couldn't believe what she was hearing, except
she could . . . The look in his eyes watching her with that boy was
definitely a look that could kill . . .
"He rushed me to the hospital," her mother
was saying, "and it was touch and go for a while. They thought
they were going to have to do a Caesarian, but in those days, care
being what it was, with me barely in my seventh month, you probably
wouldn't have lived. I said no, wait, and finally it worked out.
"Your father was shaken, was actually contrite. But when I
finally went into labor again and he was driving me to the hospital
he kept saying things like 'Think positive, think boy, everything
will be fine.' Even between pains I thought how absurd that was. Your
father the doctor, the trained medical man who knew perfectly well
that your sex had been determined months before, was carrying on like
someone doing a voodoo rite. In a way it was touching, but it also
scared me. As they wheeled me into the delivery room I actually said
a prayer that you would be a healthy baby and that Cyrus would not be
disappointed, whichever sex you were . . . But when he heard the news
he just walked out of the hospital. At one time he even made noises
about putting you up for adoption—"
"Whut?"
"It's the truth. And who do you think stopped
him? Me. Your terrible mother. He never stopped punishing me—or
you. Even from the grave."
Missy didn't want to believe it. Hated to, hated her
mother for telling it, even as she realized it seemed to be true. Oh
yes, damn him, goddamn him.
Her mother paused, forced herself to go on. "The
one time I had some hope for you was when your father caught you
sleeping with that boy up at the cabin. I was actually proud of you,
for once you were acting like a girl your age should, not like some
tomboy to please your father. You were experimenting with womanhood
instead of trying to figure out a better way to tie a trout fly.
Maybe if he hadn't caught you, or maybe if you'd come to me for help
afterward, you and I might have grown closer. But you didn't. You
just tried even harder to win him over and pushed me further away . .
. I said he was punishing you
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