Hangman's Root by Susan Wittig Albert Page B

is a cat burglar."
    Ruby slammed the dishwasher defiantly. "They can think whatever they damn please." She poked the buttons and the dishwasher began to hum. "Amy's my daughter. Fm not going to let my family come between us again."
    I swiped the counter once more. "I wish you'd go slow," I said. "Don't charge into a relationship that might not work out."
    "Why shouldn't it work out?" Ruby demanded. "There's plenty of room here for two people. She could have her own private entrance."
    I stared at her. "You're thinking of asking Amy to move in with you?"
    A pan in her hand, Ruby opened the cupboard. "Why not?"
    "Doesn't she already have a place?"
    Ruby shoved the pan in and slammed the door. "Sure. But you know what apartment rents are like. Living with me wouldn't cost her anything. She could finish school, get a job—"
    "Ruby," I said quietly, "you are moving very fast. Give yourself a little time, for crying out loud. What if she isn't the person you think she is?"
    "Of course she is who I think she is." Ruby was brisk. "She's my daughter. I have a copy of her birth certificate."
    "That's not what I mean," I said. I thought about the vicious Amy I had met that afternoon, the one who had called Harwick a sadist, a butcher. She might be Ruby's daughter, but there was something deep within her—some savage hatred, some ferocity—that Ruby had yet to witness. What was at the root of it? Was it her mother's abandonment that fueled Amy? Was it Ruby herself that Amy hated?
    Ruby sounded weary. "I don't know why you're always so negative, China. I've never done anything for Amy. Giving her a place to live seems like a nice way to start."

    "I'm not negative," I said, irritated. "Fm realistic. It's not a good idea to jump into a living situation, especially with somebody you don't know. And might not like if you—"
    Ruby slammed her hand on the counter. "What's wrong with you, China?" she burst out angrily. "Don't you have any heart} Can't you imagine what it's like to care enough to want to live with somebody? You know, sometimes I really feel sorry for you, stuck forever in that head of yours. Just look at this business with you and McQuaid."
    "What do you know about me and McQuaid?"
    "I know what you've told me. Here you are, faced with the biggest decision of your life, and all you can think of is how many bathrooms you need. What's so important about bathrooms? Where's/o^^?"
    "It's not necessarily the biggest decision of my life," I said, beginning to feel angry, too. "The biggest decision of my life was deciding to go to law school."
    "You didn't decide on law school," Ruby reminded me. "Your dad did."
    She was right. My father made that choice for me. But even if he hadn't pushed me, I would have jumped. There never was any question who had the power in my family, so there wasn't any choice of role models: I would grow up to be as nearly like my father as possible, to the point of rejecting relationships, softness, the feminine. As the feminists say, I was male identified to the max. Changing hasn't been easy. But I wasn't going to give Ruby the satisfaction of agreeing with her.
    "I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions," I snapped. "Then and now."
    "Bully for you," Ruby said sarcastically. "So am I. And in this case I am making the right one, so I'll thank you to butt out."
    We glared at one another. Ruby and I don't argue often, and when we do, it's queen size. It can go on for days while we hiss

    and sputter like twin volcanos, until some sort of earthquake moves one of us to change her position and relieve the pressure. Or until we both explode and bury ourselves in fallout.
    "Excuse me," Amy said from the doorway. "My ride's picking me up out front. Thank you for the dinner. It was lovely." Her acid smile and caustic tone gave the lie to her words her words.
    Ruby rushed over to her daughter. "Fm so glad you could come," she said with exaggerated enthusiasm, putting her arm around Amy's shoulders. "And