The Game of Denial by Brenda Adcock Page B

of a dance floor in Podunk, Virginia."
    Meg looked up at her mother. Joan smiled and said, "You have to learn to pick your battles, sweetheart. This one's a loser."
    Tully turned away, mumbling "˜dyke' under his breath. Evey reached out to stop him, but Joan stopped her. "There are some concepts that are difficult for young people to understand, especially when it challenges who they are."
    Joan wrapped her arm around Meg and looked at her family now surrounding them protectively. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm about ready for a good night's rest."
    "I'm so sorry, Joan," Evey said.
    "No apologies necessary," Joan said as they returned to their table to retrieve their things. Joan dropped two twenties on the table and felt like a mother duck leading a trail of ducklings as they made their way out of the bar.
     
     

Chapter Seven
     
     
     
    JOAN WAS SILENT Sunday morning at breakfast. Fran cleared the table while everyone left to get dressed for church. "Leave those, Fran," Joan said. "I'll clean up after you leave."
    "Not going to church, I suppose."
    Joan looked at her and smiled. "You already know the answer to that, sweetie." Joan wasn't sure she would ever reconcile with the church that considered her a sinner of the worst kind. She had agreed to bring the children up in Martine's faith, but the "donation" the church had virtually demanded for allowing the mass at Martine's funeral still galled her. To alleviate her feelings toward the church Joan invented a scenario in which Martine was now flitting among the other angels in Heaven, using her seductive talents to turn them all into happy little gay angels. She smiled at the thought even now.
    "Evey and Ralph will be home soon anyway. They always attend the early service," Fran said. She leaned against the counter and dried her hands. "There's a question I need to ask you, Mom."
    "As long as it's not about going to church," Joan said, taking a gulp of her coffee.
    Fran returned to the table and sat. She took Joan's hand and held it between hers. "Would you walk me down the aisle? Give me away?"
    "I assumed your Uncle Ron would have that honor." Joan felt her throat beginning to constrict and cleared it.
    "Uncle Ron is not the parent who raised me and taught me everything I know about life. You and Mama did that. Since she can't be here I want the parent closest to me to escort me down that aisle or garden path or whatever you want to call it."
    Joan pulled Fran into her arms and held her tightly. "I would be honored, sweetheart."
    "Will you wear your tuxedo? You look so elegant in it."
    "We might have to tie Meme into her chair and put a gag in her mouth." She smiled at Fran and held her face in her hands. "I didn't bring the tuxedo and haven't worn it in years. Not since..."
    Fran bit her lower lip. "I asked Charmaine to pack it, but you don't have to wear it if it brings back bad memories."
    Joan smiled again. "It will be perfect. It will only bring back wonderful memories of your Mama. Now I can add another happy memory."
    Fran wrapped her arms around Joan and kissed her on the lips. "Thank you, Mom. Now everything will be exactly the way I want it."
    "I'm glad." Joan glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. "You'd better get dressed so you don't keep them all waiting. I'm sure Charmaine is chomping at the bit to go to confession. It's probably the first time in years that she won't embarrass the priest with lascivious tales of lust."
     
     
    JOAN WAS DRYING the last breakfast dish when Evey came through the door from the mud room and stepped into the kitchen.
    "God! Father was wound up like an eight day clock this morning," Evey said as she made her way to the coffeemaker and poured a cup. "We saw the kids arriving when we finally escaped."
    Joan opened a cabinet and slid the plate inside.
    "Thank you for washing the dishes," Evey said.
    "You were right," Joan said. "Washing dishes gives you lots of time to think without being interrupted."
    "Joan,"