DAUGHTERS OF MEN
J. Martain
Copyright © 2019 J. Martain
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, without prior written permission from Jennifer Martain and Reserved Seat Press.
Reserved Seat Press LLC: 3600 S. College Rd, Suite E-176, Wilmington NC 28412
This book is a work of fiction, set in a fictionalized version of the Cape Fear Region of coastal North Carolina. The characters and events portrayed in this book are also fictitious. Any similarity to real people, living or dead, is coincidental and not the intention of the author. References to locales and public names are used for atmospheric purposes only.
Cover art by Mark Weber / www.weberillustration.com
To my parents, who believed I’d finish this book before the world ended.
Contents
DAUGHTERS OF MEN
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Normal
Acceptable
Coffee and Elvis
Perspective
Too Much Input and Not Enough Info
Abnormally Sociable
Many Versions of Normal
Small Decisions
Not-so-small Decisions
Reasons to Believe
We All Make Choices
Puzzles and Puppies
There’s Always More
My Story—Her Story
More to Chew On
Suppressed or Repressed?
Ruminations
Guilt and Gifts
Leaps
Final Preparations
Time to Trust
When the Wind Blows
And the Lightning Cracks
There Is No Calm after a Storm
Feeling My Way
Altered
Company for Breakfast
Finally
When You Care Too Much . . .
Trust No One, Except Maybe the Alien
A Bigger Picture
Rules and Regulations
How Many Rights Make a Wrong?
This Is Pain
Processing Error
Touch
About the Author
Prologue
Wilmington, North Carolina — Thirty-one years ago
My arm had gone numb a couple of blocks back, but that was a good thing. Mimi’s fingers weren’t cool or soft today. She’d hitched my hand up high and tight to her hip, and I didn’t like her skirt’s bumpy, see-sucker fabric. It was all puckery like her mouth.
She stopped and stood on her tiptoes, but everybody else kept moving. Feet kicked me, legs bumped me, and then a man’s bottom smooshed my cheek. I gagged at the smell of cigarettes and hot wool and he turned to look down at me.
“Sorry, child!” His dark face was drooping and sweaty over his buttoned-up shirt, but a speck of light sparkled near his ear, so I smiled as my grandmother dragged me away.
I wasn’t sure why she was so mad. She hadn’t even seen the Push-Up dribble on my dress yet. I licked the last of the fruity stickiness from my mouth and rubbed my face on my shoulder before peeking up. Her hairdo was set in perfect swoops, her lips shiny and red, her forehead smooth and dry—but when she was like this, her beauty was kinda scary.
She pulled me past a tall boy slurping a popsicle, and I ducked so I wouldn’t get slobber in my curls. She always liked to fancy me up for the parade, but it was so hot this year. I wished she’d just let me wear shorts like the other kids. They had hineys in their faces, too, but at least they looked cooler. My new ankle socks were scratchy, bunched around my toes, and already gray from other people’s shoes. I imagined my feet free and naked in my sandals and forgot to watch where Mimi was going.
My arm stretched wide as a lady pushed between us, but my grandmother jerked me in front of her and glared at the woman.
“So sorry!” the lady called out, but Mimi had already hauled me deeper into the maze of legs and heat.
I was starting to feel dizzy. What if I fainted and she didn’t stop? I grabbed her skirt with my other hand and kept going.
“Lilith Ann!” I felt her frown, but couldn’t look up. “Lila?”
A little white light popped in front of my nose. Hey, angel. I don’t feel so good.
“Lila, sweetheart, we’re almost there.”
The tiny light danced in front of me, and my eyes crossed.
“Here, honey . . . this way.” She pulled me between bodies and around feet and suddenly I felt a hot breeze on my face. Her hands swept across my forehead and lifted my chin. “Better? You’ll be able to see all the floats now!”
My eyes focused, and the angel winked out of sight. I was standing on the curb, above a group of kids sitting with their bare legs stretched out into the street. No sitting for me, but at least my grandmother had found me fresh air and a good spot to watch the parade. I leaned back into the puff of her skirt and her fingers trailed up through my hair, twisting it into a bun. Maybe she wasn’t mad at me after all.
Once the parade started, I was so busy waving at all the Misses and Tiny Misses and the Shriners in their little zoomy cars that I’d forgotten all about the heat. I laughed and covered my ears when the marching bands boomed past and clapped and cheered at the drill teams. I wanted to flip batons like that! And the horses! So beautiful and proud with their high steps and smiling riders. The way they could snap around in figure-eights and rear up like that—I wanted to be a cowgirl!
“Look, Lila! The Azalea Belles are coming!” Mimi pointed down the block, and I bounced on my toes to see the frilly float making its way toward us.
The Belles! I wanted to be a Belle! They all wore ginormous, poofy crinolines under candy-colored dresses and had fancy hair hanging in ringlets down their backs. They must’ve been picked because they were the prettiest girls in Wilmington, but I still wanted to ride that float and wave to all the little kids like me one day. They were famous!
“Isn’t she lovely?” My grandmother pointed at the Junior Miss Christmas waving from the red convertible passing in front of us. She glittered like a snowflake in her white dress—and I remembered the stain on mine. Mimi seemed to be in a good mood again, but she hadn’t noticed my mess. Yet.
What I needed was water and a rag. What I had was drool and the hem of my
