"I'd say you were the one who'd already made up her mind."

She turned sharply. "What did you expect me to do? Stay and put up with your condemning, judgmental attitude?"

"I haven't said one word-"

"You don't have to say anything. I can see it in your eyes every time you look at me!" She turned her back again.

Corban's anger rose. "Those dishes were in the apartment before you moved in."

"Fine!" Opening her hands, she let two dinner plates crash to the floor. "You can have them. And the glasses, too." She swept six out of the cabinet onto the Formica counter.

Corban called her a foul name. "Go ahead and break everything if you think it'll make you feel better!"

Her eyes glistened with tears. "Do you think I care what you think?"

He wanted to throw her out of his apartment and toss her boxes after her. "I'm the one who's always compromised." He wished she'd died in that clinic.

"Give me a break, Cory. When did you ever compromise about anything?"

"What else are you trying to steal from me?" He flipped open one of the boxes by the front door.

"Go ahead. Go through them. Take whatever you want! You know what? I finally see you for what you are." She stood in the kitchen doorway, flushed with rage. "You're a hypocrite! It shouldn't have taken me six months to realize."

"What opened your eyes, Ruth? Killing our baby?"

She flinched, her face going pale. She called him a name fouler than the one he had called her. "It wasn't your life at stake, Cory. Or your education. I was always the one who had to take responsibility. Right from the beginning!"

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm the one who had to take precautions. Never, not once did you bother with birth control. Let the woman do it. Isn't that it? Let the woman take responsibility for the man's fun and games. Let the woman give up everything! She's just a vessel anyway, isn't she? You jerk! You were relieved when I took care of the problem. You just didn't want to know about it. That was my mistake. Better had I lied and said I miscarried. Everything would've been hunky-dory then. Isn't that right? You wouldn't have to share the guilt!" Tears poured down her white cheeks, hate poured from her eyes. "I deserved compassion after going through what I did, but that's too much to expect from you, isn't it?"

"Compassion? You knew how I felt!"

"Did I? Words are cheap, Cory. Actions speak louder than words! Haven't you ever heard that? You helped me paint the placards! You let me hold the meetings! You were pro-choice all the way. Or so you said until I got pregnant. Then there was a major paradigm shift. All of a sudden all the rules changed." Her lip curled in a feral smile. "You know what? You're a small-minded, male chauvinist pig. For all your intellectual posturing, you're just a right-wing fundamentalist in disguise."

"And what are you, Ruth? Trading sex for a place to live. Trading sex so I'll pay your way. All that high talk about liberation! All that talk about equal rights! You're nothing but a prostitute living off a man."

"I hate you."

"You hate the truth!"

It got worse after that.

Sticks and stones break bones, but words destroy the heart and spirit. Both of them were annihilated by the time Ruth's two girlfriends came to pick her up and take her and her things to her new home.

Corban sat on the sofa after she was gone and wept bitterly. He didn't care that Ruth had left him. In fact, he was relieved she was gone and he wouldn't have to look at her face every day or tread carefully with every word he spoke lest he hurt her feelings.

When had she ever considered his feelings?

Grief overwhelmed him. Not an ounce of it was for Ruth. He grieved the loss of the one good thing that might have come from their sordid relationship: the child he was responsible for making. The child he should have been able to protect. The child who haunted his dreams at night.

Leota served Charles Rooks coffee while he read through her will and looked over the documents she had kept in a manila envelope for the past forty years. "Cream or sugar, Mr. Rooks?"

"Black, thank you. Please, call me Charles."

He looked very much like his father: blue eyes, bushy gray brows, bald on top with steel-gray around the sides, dressed in an expensive dark-gray suit. This visit was going to cost her plenty.

"Arba, my neighbor, said she'd come over and sign whatever you need her to sign. I'll call her when we're ready."

"We won't be ready this evening, Mrs. Reinhardt. I'll need to take everything back to my office and have it typed in proper form."

"How long will that take, and how much will it cost?"

He told her the cost first, which made her heart flutter a little in shock, then said, "I'll have everything ready by the end of the month."

"At that price, I want it sooner. I'll give you a check before you leave."

He took his glasses off and laid them on the table. "This isn't something to rush into, ma'am. Sometimes it's better to think things over before you make major changes like this. Especially if there's been a family argument." He raised his brows in question.

"There's been no argument. I know what I'm doing. I've been thinking about this for a long time. I want everything fixed exactly the way I've said. I may be old, Mr. Rooks, but I'm not senile."

He smiled slightly. "No, ma'am. I don't think you are. But you do sound angry."

"Hurt, Mr. Rooks. And fed up."

"There's another way to handle all this that wouldn't cost you nearly as much money. You can have joint tenancy on your house. When you . . ."

"Pass on. Go ahead, you can say it."

He inclined his head. "Pass on, then. Your part will fall to your joint tenant or tenants. As to the other documents, you can fill in the backs now and then sign them over when you're ready. If you do that, the will is fine as it is. Just the names changed. One last word of advice, ma'am. You shouldn't leave papers like these lying around your house."

"They weren't lying around. They were tucked away in a safe place."

"Mrs. Reinhardt," he said patiently, "do you have any idea what these are worth?"

"No, and I don't care." She sat across the table from him, weary and heartsick. "I wanted to give my children an important inheritance, Mr. Rooks, something that would carry them through life and fill them to overflowing with joy." She put her hand on the papers. "Unfortunately, this is all they want."

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

He looked sincere, and despite all the awful things said about lawyers, she believed he spoke from the heart. She smiled sadly. "So am I, Mr. Rooks. So am I. Now, let's get down to business."

"Mother said she and Fred will come for a little while," Annie said that evening. "She called this afternoon. I think Uncle George talked with her."

No doubt. Thanksgiving would give them another opportunity to corner their mother and find out where their inheritance stood. It was a good thing everything would be settled long before everyone arrived for turkey dinner. "Should be a jolly Thanksgiving."

"Are you changing your mind, Grandma? Is this going to be too much for you?"

Yes. It would be too much for her. All the activity, all the excitement, all the tension. But she was not about to surrender to Eleanor. She'd make it through Thanksgiving if it killed her. "You'll be the one doing the cooking, Annie. I'll be your cheering section. Are you changing your mind?"

"No. Oh, Grandma, I'm so excited about it. We can do it. I know we can. It'll be wonderful. I'll come over this weekend and start on the house like you said, though it's perfect the way it is."

"A little painting here and there will brighten it up."

"I already have some ideas."

Leota chuckled. "I thought you might. You do whatever you like. I want you to consider this house as much yours as it is mine."

"I promise not to do anything without your full approval."

"You already have it, dear. By the way, I was thinking about inviting Corban. How would you feel about that? He's been a little blue lately, and I think his family is on the East Coast somewhere. He won't be able to go home."

"That'd be great, Grandma. Invite him and his girlfriend. And Arba and the children, too, if you like. And Juanita and Lin Sansan . . ."

"The more, the merrier." Leota intended to draft as many allies as she could for Annie.

The cold war was over. The real war was about to begin.

Chapter 18.

Corban was the first guest to arrive on Thanksgiving Day. He fidgeted nervously, glad he'd brought with him two bottles of sparkling cider and another African violet.

"Dear boy," Leota said, taking the flowering plant in its small blue pot and smiling in such a way that his nervous tension eased slightly. "Annie's in the kitchen. Why don't you put those bottles in the refrigerator to chill? After that, would you please move Barnaby into my bedroom? I don't want him having a relapse today."

"Hi!" Annie said brightly, grinning at him as she put the foil back on the turkey she was checking. "We're getting there. I hope you're hungry. We have a twenty-pounder."

"I'll do my part when the time comes."

"Good. You can mash the potatoes. I'm hoping Uncle George will carve the turkey. Grandma said she'd do the gravy. We've got green peas and mushrooms, cranberry sauce, black olives. Arba's bringing candied yams and Aunt Jeanne is bringing pies-apple, mincemeat, and pumpkin."

"What about stuffing?"

"Of course, there's stuffing. It's in the turkey. Grandma's recipe. Plain and simple-seasoned bread, celery, onions, and the giblets all ground together. Took us a good part of this morning, but it'll be worth it."

The doorbell rang, and Corban saw a flicker of tension in Annie's face. "Why don't you be the greeter?" she said. "I don't want Grandma to have to get up and down every few minutes. She should be presiding over festivities in the living room."

Leota was already at the door. "George, Jeanne. Come in! Come in!"

"Mama." The woman leaned down to kiss Leota's cheek. "How are you?"

"Fine, just fine. Come in, come in." She turned, her eyes shining. "Corban, this is my son, George, and his wife, Jeanne. And my grandchildren, Marshall and Mitzi. This is Corban, a good friend of mine." The children were staring at Barnaby, who was staring back, beak open and ready for attack.

Jeanne was the only one who seemed openly friendly. She smiled and greeted him warmly, while her husband stood silent and assessing. What did the guy think he was? A felon on parole? "I'd better get Barnaby out of here." The children trooped after him, asking questions about the bird that Corban couldn't answer. "You'll have to ask Annie. All I know is he's crazy and he bites." When he returned to the living room, he saw Jeanne was still holding the box she had brought in. "Let me take that for you," Corban said.

"Oh, I'll take it. You men sit and get to know one another." With that, Jeanne headed for the kitchen, the two children in her wake.

Corban turned to face the somber-faced George.

"My mother's told me you've been a big help to her."

"It's been my pleasure."

"When it hasn't been a royal pain in your backside," Leota said, settling back into her recliner. The three of them spent the next fifteen minutes in small talk-highly pained small talk. Corban had never felt so uncomfortable. Leota made a valiant attempt to get a conversation going with her son, but good old George wasn't cooperating.

"How is business going these days?"

"Fine."

"Still expanding?"

"Trying to."

"I suppose Marshall is still in soccer."

"I think so."

"You think so?"

"Jeanne handles the children's schedules."

"Don't you attend his games?"

"When I can." George shifted, glanced at Corban, then back at Leota. "Do you mind if I turn on the television, Mother? There's a good football game starting."

"If that's what you want to do."

How, Corban wondered, can the man miss the look of sadness in his mother's eyes? Maybe his presence was the cause of George Reinhardt's reticence? Maybe if he were out of the way, George would feel more free to talk.

"I'm going to go see if I can help Annie in the kitchen, Leota." At least the women were talking.

"It's so much brighter in here," Jeanne was saying when he joined her and Annie. "And the flowers you painted are wonderful, Annie. I had no idea you were so talented!"

Annie blushed. "Grandma said to do whatever I liked, and I've been having the best time, Aunt Jeanne. She'll sit in here, and we'll visit while I paint. She says she enjoys watching me."

"I don't doubt it," Jeanne said. "I'd like to watch. I'd love it if you'd do some of this in my house. I'd even pay you."

"Oh, I wouldn't ask you to pay me."

"Nonsense. You're a working artist, aren't you? You have to eat." She glanced out the window at the children playing. "You've been working in the garden, too, I see. Everything was so overgrown the last time I was here."

"Corban's been a big help." Annie grinned at him. "And Susan and Sam and some of the neighbor children. We've had plenty of helping hands."