“Put the fruit and vegetables in that one,” I said, “and I’ll load up the stuff from the freezer.”
“Okay, but now you have to tell me about
“It was a comic book when I was a kid,” I said. “Katy Keene was a model, and readers could send in designs for outfits Katy might wear. If the designs were good, the illustrator used them in the next comic.”
“And they used yours,” Taylor said with unnerving reverence.
“Yes,” I said. “They did.”
“Do you still have the comic?”
“Somewhere, but I’m not going to dig for it right now.”
“At least tell me about the dress.”
“Oh, Taylor, it was awful.”
“How awful?”
“Well it was covered in doves.”
“Real doves!”
“No. Fake doves and they had pink ribbons in their beaks.”
Taylor rolled her eyes. “Holeeee,” she said. “That is bizarre.”
“Thank you for vote of confidence,” I said.
She was giggling. “You’re not mad, are you?”
“No.”
“I really want to see the drawing of that dress,” she said.
“Enough to help me clean out the basement when we get back from the cottage?”
Taylor grinned. “Let me think about it.”
Our car was full for the drive to the lake. On the seat beside me was a hamper of groceries that there was no room for in the trunk. Our Bouvier, Willie, had a window seat in the back; Taylor was beside him and Isobel Wainberg, the twelve-year-old daughter of one of Zack’s partners, Delia, was beside Taylor. Both of Isobel’s parents had come down with the flu that was making the rounds that fall, so she was spending Thanksgiving with us.
She was a happy addition. Isobel and Taylor were close and I was very fond of her. She was her mother in miniature: small-boned, smart, burdened with worries, but blessed with a quick wit and a smile that was as dazzling as it was rare. That afternoon, as she and Taylor settled into the back seat with Willie, it was clear that Isobel had something on her mind. She waited until we were on the highway to broach the subject.
“We’ve been wondering about Glenda Parker,” she said. “We’ve seen the pictures on TV when Glenda was still a boy. And he
“Because Glenda had male genitals,” I said.
Taylor was triumphant. “I told you Jo would talk about it,” she said.
“There’s no reason not to,” I said. “What do you want to know?”
“We want to know why Glenda’s a woman now,” Isobel said. “When you’re born, you’re either a girl or a boy, right?”
“Most of the time, yes.” I said. “Sometimes, it’s hard to tell. When my elder son, Peter, was born, the woman I shared a room with gave birth to a little boy too, but there were some physical anomalies. Do you know what that means?”
“I do,” Isobel said. “It means something abnormal, like a dog that can’t bark.”
“Right,” I said. “Well, when the doctors examined my roommate’s baby, they found anomalies. His parents and the doctors had to make a decision about whether the baby should be raised as a girl or a boy.”
“What did they decide?” Taylor asked.
“The doctors did some tests and told the parents the baby could be raised successfully as a boy, so that’s what they did.”
Determined not to miss a word coming from the front seat, Isobel was pushing against her seat belt. “Did it work?” she asked.
“It seemed to,” I said. “Peter played football against the boy when they were in high school. According to Pete, he was a great offensive lineman and a nice guy.”
“So that boy’s parents made the right decision,” Isobel said. “But Glenda Parker’s parents didn’t.”
“It wasn’t their fault,” I said. “I’m sure the Parkers did the best they could with the information they were given.”
Like her mother, Isobel was tenacious. “But they made a mistake,” she said flatly, “and now Glenda has to have operations to change her body.”
“The surgery is just a part of what she needs to do,” I said. “Look, I have a copy of
“Okay,” Taylor said. For a beat she was silent. “When did Glenda know?” she asked.
