by Ann Cristy
Misty stared at Luc as he hung up the phone. He hit his fist lightly against the wall several times and stared at the small print of the French wallpaper. Finally he turned back to Misty. "It seems your father called. He's in town."
"My father?" Immediately she felt as if all the blood had left her body. She wet suddenly dry lips. "Why?"
"He didn't say. He spoke to Aileen. She called Alice." He sat down on the edge of the bed and turned to face her. "Apparently your sisters became very quiet and withdrawn when Alice told them your father was here. So she decided to keep them with her and have Aileen tell your father to call tomorrow. I'll call Aileen and tell her to send your father here."
"I... I don't know what I'll do if he tries to take them," Misty said, more to herself than to Luc.
"Darling, it's as much my problem now as yours. Together we'll handle your father and your sisters." Luc held her cold hands in his and stared into her eyes. "No one is going to hurt you again, or bother your sisters. I intend to see to that. You are not to worry about anything."
"But you don't know him," Misty almost whispered. "And you don't know me. I've never told you."
"Darling, were you a victim of incest?"
Misty jumped and started to shake. "No," she said honestly, embarrassed. "My father never touched me... not in any way."
Luc stood up, pulling her to her feet and slipping her arms into a robe, then pulling on one himself. "It hurts you so much." He clenched his teeth. "Do you want to talk about it now?"
"No," Misty said. "I want you to hold me."
"That I will gladly do, my love."
Misty held on to him as if for dear life. / will be strong, I will be strong, she repeated silently over and over again. / will not let father do that to me again. I won't.
"Mystique." Luc's voice sounded harsh. "Stop thinking about it. You have nothing to fear from anyone."
Misty pushed away from him and looked up into his face, which was twisted with concern. "I'm not afraid," she said, letting her head fall back against his chest. But deep inside she knew that wasn't true. She did fear something— that Luc would want to leave her when she told him the terrible story of her life. And she didn't think she could live without him now.
"Your eyes are talking to me, darling," he whispered. "Tell me what you're thinking."
"If you have time before you go to work, I would like to tell you something."
"I'm not going to the bank today."
"You'll be fired for malingering," she said in a feeble effort to lighten the mood.
"I'll find work," he assured her, threading his hand through hers and leading her to the dining room. He smiled at his housekeeper, who was putting a pot of coffee on the table. "We'll serve ourselves, Mrs. Wheaton," Luc said. "We don't wish to be disturbed unless my sister or a Mrs. Aileen Collins phones."
Luc seated Misty at the round table and opened the drapes to let in the morning sun. At the sideboard he filled two plates, then brought a pitcher of iced orange juice to the table. "Here we are."
"I'm not hungry," Misty said, wringing her hands nervously under the table. "I want to tell you this before I lose my courage."
"All right." Luc sat down beside her, inching his chair close to hers. His eyes held hers. "But first, remember that nothing you say is going to shake our marriage." He lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing each finger and sucking gently on her thumb.
"Luc, you don't know." Misty tried to free her hand, but his grip tightened.
"Tell me."
She let out a long, shuddering sigh and looked out the window to the snowy terrace. "My parents are close to each other. As you know, I'm the oldest. I remember being happy as a small child, but the older I got the more they seemed to turn away from me. By the time I was a teenager my father was finding fault with everything I did. I couldn't please my mother either. From the time I was thirteen, I knew they didn't want me. Each day my mother would recite a list of my deficiencies to my father, and he would rant and rail at me, telling me how I'd failed them, how I wasn't what they wanted, how troublesome I was." Misty swallowed. "Neither one of them ever hit me, but they never hugged me either." She shot a quick look at Luc, then turned back to the window, unable to meet his eyes. "I remember thinking that it was strange they'd had children when they disliked them so much. But as my other sisters grew up, it didn't seem so bad for them. I began to think that it was only me my parents hated, not the others. I was absolutely sure I had failed them, but I didn't know how. I saw a therapist when I came to New York. He taught me not to hate myself."
"You're beautiful," Luc said huskily.
Misty felt a smile tremble on her lips, then disappear. "I used to work so hard to get A's in school. But when I brought my report card home, my father would accuse me of having cheated." She paused but didn't look at Luc. "I had started taking piano lessons when I was seven, but my parents stopped paying for them when I got older. They even sold our piano. After that, I took free lessons at school. I got a job cleaning classrooms after school for a few dollars and the right to practice on the piano in the music room. I liked sports and was on the swim team. But neither of my parents ever came to see me compete, even though I was written up in the newspapers for setting three county records."
Misty's voice faltered, her eyes stinging and her throat going dry. "Then, when I was sixteen, I was asked to the senior prom." Her voice dropped. "My aunt made my dress. I had fun. We went out for breakfast. We came home at six in the morning. My father met me on the front porch. He... he called me a whore right in front of my date, Howie Breston. Howie was shocked, but he tried to explain that we'd been with other people the whole time. My father... my father said that if I was pregnant, Howie's father would have to pay for the abortion. It wasn't true, Luc. I was a virgin." Misty forced herself to say the words. "After that, I went to live with my aunt and uncle because my father said he wouldn't have a whore in his house. But I'd never... never..." Misty raised a hand to her trembling mouth. "When I didn't have a baby, my father said that I had gotten rid of it."
"I'll kill him." Luc's harsh voice penetrated her pain-filled thoughts.
"No." She took in a deep breath. "I honestly didn't think it would be so bad for my sisters. Otherwise I would have tried to do something. I really thought it was just me."
"Your parents needed other targets after you left," Luc told her.
"My mother never said very much." Misty shrugged and gave a crooked smile. "But she wasn't much help either."
"No?" Luc kissed each of her palms. "So you went to school while you were living with your aunt and uncle."
"Yes. I got a scholarship to attend the Eastman School of Music. I considered myself lucky to be studying piano." She looked up at Luc. "That's where I met Richard Lentz. We came to New York together."
"I already know all I want to about Richard and Leonard," he said mildly, running a finger down her nose. "As long as I'm the man in your life now, they aren't important."
"I realize now that they never were." Misty wanted to tell Luc what his coming into her life had meant to her, but she couldn't seem to find the words.
Luc remained by her side for the rest of the day. Misty knew it would have been a nightmare without him. That evening she talked to her sisters on the phone. They seemed fine.
The next day Luc rose with her, showered, and dressed. He insisted that she sit down and have a good breakfast. They were finishing their coffee when the phone rang. Mrs. Wheaton brought the phone to the table.
"Yes, Aileen," said Luc. "No, that's fine. In about twenty minutes? Thanks. I'll call my sister." He hung up and dialed. "Alice? Yes. In about twenty minutes. Fine."
Luc gazed at Misty. "I'm sure you know what's going on. We'll entertain your parents in the living room. I'll have Mrs. Wheaton make more coffee. Don't worry, love. I'll be right beside you."
Luc's smile warmed her. "Yes, I know you will," she murmured. "I'm not afraid, not now." And she wasn't. She felt as if a great weight wa
s being lifted from her shoulders. She felt lighter, freer. "You did it," she murmured to her husband as he took her hand and walked with her down the hall to the living room.
"What did I do?" he asked, slipping his arm around her waist.
"Saved my life." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "No matter what happens now, I know I can face it. I'll be strong."
"You have been strong, every step of the way. The only thing you've lacked is an appreciation of your own courage."
"And you gave me that." Misty wanted both to laugh out loud and to cry. "You've given me a great deal."
Luc left her for a moment a while later to put a match to the tinder under the fresh logs in the fireplace. He was coming back to her, a now familiar glint in his eye, when the doorbell chimed.
Misty was aware that Luc saw her start, but he just squeezed her hand, saying nothing. She heard him tell the housekeeper that he would answer the door himself.
The murmur of voices came closer. Misty stood facing the door, her hands clasped in front of her as her mother and father entered. Her mother's hair was pulled back in a stiff knot, and she wore a plain dress. Her father was of about the same medium height with freckled skin and thinning sandy hair. His eyes were green; her mother's were pale blue. Both of them were tight-lipped and tense.
Misty was surprised that they looked so small. How alike they were—pinched, stiff, narrow-eyed. "Mother, Father, how are you?" she said.
"Much you ever cared—" her father began.
"Unless you would like to be thrown through that window into the street, you will speak politely to my wife," Luc informed them casually as he closed the door.
"Hey!" Alvan Carver said, his eyes shooting from Misty to his wife to Luc.
"I mean what I say," Luc added, each syllable ringing with conviction in the high-ceilinged room.
"It would seem that Misty has married a bad-mannered person. She isn't like us," her mother pronounced in low tones.
"Neither Misty nor I wish to be discourteous," Luc said formally. "Perhaps you would like to be seated." He gestured toward some chairs near the fireplace.
"Alvan, ask him where the girls are. We can't stay long." Marilyn Carver swallowed, and her eyes became mere slits in her face.
"Yes, we've come to fetch our daughters and take them home," Misty's father declared. But his eyes slid away from her face.
"I don't think they'll be going," Misty said coolly. "But in any case I think they should be allowed to make that decision for themselves."
"You be careful what—" Alvan Carver glanced at Luc and coughed nervously. "We have a right to take our girls home."
"They're of age. They can decide for themselves," Luc said bluntly.
Just then Bruno padded into the room, the irritated voices bringing his ears forward. He went straight to Misty's side and put his muzzle into her hand.
"You hate dogs," her mother grated, her eyes fixed on the animal. "He'll bite you."
Misty stared at her mother with sudden insight. She was a bitter woman, filled with fear and anger. But Misty's own pain was gone. With deep gratitude for her therapist and, most of all, for Luc, she realized that she no longer hated her parents.
She looked at Luc, trying to convey all the love she felt for him. Her world seemed complete.
In the silence that followed, the doorbell chimed again, and Alice and John entered, followed by Misty's sisters. Alice launched immediately into angry speech. "I don't know what the trouble is, but my lawyer, Willard Harter of Harter, Harter and Young, will join us here this morning if we need him. And he tells me that Mr. and Mrs. Carver don't have a leg to stand on." Alice placed her arm in front of the three Carver girls like a protective barrier. Misty's sisters looked wary but unafraid.
Misty watched Betsy bite her lip, then lift her chin, and she felt her own face break into a tentative smile. She glanced at Celia, who nodded and gave Misty a shaky smile. Marcy shrugged, and kept a sharp eye on her parents.
"Girls," their mother greeted them, pursing her lips.
Misty's sisters nodded warily in greeting. Alvan Carver nodded, too, puzzlement flashing momentarily in his eyes.
"Darling, this is Alice's husband, John." Luc indicated a tall, rather stoop-shouldered man to Misty's right.
"I'm also backup for Alice," John explained sotto voce. "She's fully committed to your sisters." His eyes glinted with amusement. "I'm going to try to prevent her from running your parents out of the country."
Misty felt a knot of tears in her throat as John patted her shoulder and went to stand next to her sisters. Why had she been worried? Hadn't Luc told her he would take care of everything? She stayed in the comfort of her husband's arm as she faced her parents. "The girls will be staying with us, Father. Marcy and Celia want to go to school, and Betsy may decide she wants to go, too. They'll make their own choices."
Misty's mother was struggling visibly with her anger. "You know what you are," she said threateningly. "I'm too much a lady to use the word, but you know what you are." Her mother's sharp eyes darted to each sister in turn. "All you wanted to do was chase the boys. You didn't want to stay home with me and learn to cook and sew as I did when I was a girl. None of you is like me."
"How dare you speak to your own daughters like that!" Alice shot at her. "You will not be allowed to intimidate them." She looked down her nose at Misty's mother.
"Intimidate them!" Alvan echoed. "We're their parents. We've come to take them home."
"We won't go, Daddy," Celia said. "We want to live here and go to school."
Misty's mother turned red. "How dare you! Alvan, listen to what they're saying. Do something." She whirled on Misty. "You were never pretty! Never! You were an ugly child, and so were they. They never—" Abruptly she stopped herself. She looked around at the people staring at her. "We... we have come to take our girls home with us. The neighbors—"
"They aren't going, Mother," Misty said in a quiet voice, feeling a rush of pity for her mother and her bewildered father. "Perhaps someday they'll want to see you, but not for a while." She gestured for her sisters to come toward her. "They're staying here."
"At our house," John said mildly, taking a pipe out of his pocket and putting it in his mouth. "Alice has already registered them at a small college near our home. If after a time they choose to do something else..." He shrugged, smiling owlishly at Misty's parents.
As Misty's father looked at each of his daughters in turn, he seemed to age ten years right before their eyes.
"I think that settles it, then." Luc turned as Mrs. Wheaton pushed a coffee cart into the room. "Ah, I'd love a cup. I'll fix you one, darling. Betsy, will you pour for our guests?"
Misty felt deeply sorry for her parents. But she felt no rancor, no bitterness. Luc had freed her of those destructive emotions. The heavy weight she'd carried for years was gone. She was finally at peace with herself.
"Coffee, Mother? Father?" Betsy quizzed, smiling as she took charge of the refreshments.
"I think we'll leave," Alvan Carver said flatly. Again he looked at each of his four daughters. Then he took his wife's arm, and they walked to the door.
"I'll see you out." Misty followed them, Luc at her side. She took a deep breath at the touch of his warm hand at her waist. "Mother, Father, you're free to visit any of us at any time. Just call first." Her voice was low and sure.
"My wife and I will welcome you to our home," Luc said formally. "And of course you may see your other daughters, in either my presence or in my wife's."
"I see." Her father's face had taken on a gray cast. "I think maybe we might see you someday, girl." He glanced at his thin-lipped wife. "Come along, Marilyn. I'll take you home."
Her mother scarcely looked at Misty before she clutched her husband's arm. "Let's go."
"Father..." Misty took his arm, the first physical contact she'd had with him in many years. "I want you to know that I truly believe it's never too late to start over in life."
Without meeti
ng her eyes he nodded, then walked through the door with his wife. Misty watched them as they got into their car and drove away.
"Are you all right, love?" Luc asked her.
"Yes, I'm fine. I feel so sorry for them—for my father— for all of us really. It all seems very sad." She looked up at him. "But you've given me hope." She pressed his arm. "I saw them with new eyes today."
Luc shrugged. "Your mother needs counseling. So does your father. Maybe they'll begin to realize that."
"Luc, I want to keep in touch with my father and see that my mother gets the help she needs." She turned to face him. "But I never would have seen any of this without you. I would have kept all that insecurity to myself forever." She smiled at him.
Luc kissed her nose. "You hid too much of your pain, my love. Especially from your parents. But you've come a long way since you lived with them. Even before I met you, you were well on the way to coming to terms with yourself. When you left Richard and Leonard, you were already beginning to question your reasons for doing things."
"I swore off all men."
"Lord, what a close call I had," Luc teased, kissing her lightly.
They walked back to the living room, where Alice announced, "Lucas, the girls have decided to come with me. They'll be starting school soon, and there will be riding and music lessons and of course we must begin to prepare them for their debut."
"Debut?" the three girls and Misty said in unison.
Luc looked accusingly at his brother-in-law. "Don't glare at me, Luc," John said mildly, returning his pipe to his pocket when his wife gave him a long-suffering look.
"A debut isn't necessary," Misty began.
"Don't be silly, Mystique, dear," Alice said. "And you mustn't worry about the money. Lucas has scads of money, and I intend to bill him for everything." Alice smiled, unrepentant.
"Of course," Luc agreed dryly. "But the fuss is what I hate. I'll be damned if I'll wear white tie and tails to a debutante cotillion. It isn't necessary," he told his sister.
