He didn't suspect writing a book about mainly women and "women's issues" would be a problem, despite the trend toward what literary agents called "own voices" fiction. He'd written enough true crime from a female perspective and had received some praise for that approach. He'd also grown up mainly in the company of women and his early influences were maternal. Empathy and research would help with anything he might lack. It might even pass the Bechdel test.

Motivation would play a bigger role in whether or not he could pull it off. Dead Weight wasn't doing all that well, not like his True Crime books. At least this book would have the benefit of being his second novel. But when sales were little more than a trickle, it was difficult not to seriously consider sticking with what paid the bills.

He was filling up the notebook fast when the woman with the beehive clodded into the living room doorway.

"Your mother's asked for you."

"She talked?"

Standing behind her, the woman with the white gloves smiled her tiny-toothed smile.

He laid down the notebook and headed for the foyer, reconsidered and returned for his notebook, worried they might read it while he was upstairs with his mother.

Ruby was sitting up of her own volition, her back resting on the mound of pillows. She had some color in her cheeks and the pits of her eyes seemed less prominent, though it could have been a trick of the sunlight streaming in through the curtains. Whatever the old family recipe was, it had done more for her than the doctor's brief visit in little over an hour.

"You look better."

"I feel better." Her voice sounded strong. Back to normal. She patted the side of the bed. Her gnarled hand still trembled, and the bruises on her arm still looked awful. He came over obediently and sat beside her, setting the notebook on the table. The stench of the leftover mush prickled his nostrils

"Martin, I'm not terribly skillful at expressing it but I am glad you came home. I'm proud of what you've accomplished without me. Despite me. I want you to know that however you feel about me, it was never my intention to make you feel unwanted."

"Aw, jeez, Ma." He felt tears prickling his sinuses. "You don't have to—"

"I want to." She patted his hand. "You're a good son. You took care of me for as long as you could, and you should never feel guilty about leaving us. You deserved a life of your own. Norma feels the same. You're welcome to stay here as long as you like. You and Sheila both." She squeezed his hand softly. "I'm inviting you to stay."

"Mom... thank you." The tears stung his eyes but he held them back. He turned his back to her. Couldn't say what was needed to her face. "I was so scared of you for so long..."

Ruby tutted. "Scared of me?"

"You have no idea. Even before what happened the day they took you away—"