The Hand that Rocks the Ladle by Tamar Myers Page B

the Religious Right to back you?”
    Susannah looked away. “Yeah, that and other things.”
    “What other things?”
    She was silent for a long time, and I respected that until I saw tears.
    “Susannah, tell me,” I said gently.
    “I want to stop being a disappointment. To you— and to Mama and Papa.”
    That caught me off guard. “Me?”
    She turned a tear-streaked face my way. “I want you to respect me, Mags.”
    “I do.” Okay, so it was a fib, but the Good Lord knows I tell only necessary lies.
    “No, you don’t. You think I’m a floozy.”
    “Not anymore, dear. Now you’re just a former floozy.” I laughed at my little joke. “But seriously, Susannah, this isn’t you, is it?”
    She glanced at me, then away. “Well, I no longer sleep around, if that’s what you mean.”
    “Good. Sleeping around is dangerous under any circumstances. But I mean this—” I waved at her clothes and the neat surroundings. “Except for those hot pink drapes, this could be anybody’s house. Anybody boring.”
    “I bought the drapes before I began my transformation. I had them custom-made. I can’t take them back.”
    “I don’t think you should. They are very you.”
    “You want me to be myself?”
    “Perhaps you could compromise. Perhaps—oh, forget what I just said. Yes, you should be yourself.”
    “Really?”
    “Really. Wear your drapes if you like. Swaddle yourself in enough fabric to clothe a third world country for all I care. I just want you to be happy, and you don’t look very happy now.”
    She beamed, but a second later her face darkened. “What about Melvin?”
    I was tempted to tell her to forget about the miserable mantis, that his opinion didn’t count. But it did. And anyway, there was no need for her to worry any longer.
    “The man worships you. Of course worshipping a human being is a sin, but that’s another issue. My point is, he loves you. And we all know this isn’t you. As for the voters—well, they’ll vote anything into office that promises them financial stability. Promise them a Porsche in every pot, so to speak. Go for it, girl!”
    Susannah yelped with joy, grabbed my hands, and pulled me to my feet. Then in an act that defied five hundred years of stern Anabaptist inbreeding, she enveloped me in a hug. Disregarding my own, almost identical set of genes, I hugged her back.
    A second later I screamed.
     

Chapter Twelve
     
    "Ouch! He bit my bosom!”
    Susannah patted the left side of her own bosom. “You mean Shnookums?”
    “That mangy, miserable, maniacal mutt bit me!”
    “Aw, Mags, he’s just happy to see you.”
    “Well, I didn’t see him! In fact, dressed the way you are, in a real dress, I just assumed that he was living on the ground now like any normal animal.” Susannah recoiled in horror. “Shnookums is not an animal!”
    “He’s a dog, dear. And that’s if you’re being charitable. I’ve seen rats in Philly twice his size and every bit as nice.”
    “But they’re not housebroken, are they?” She sounded almost hopeful, like she was considering a Philadelphia rat to balance the load.
    “Aren’t you even a little concerned that I might be hurt?”
    “Well, are you?”
    I peered down my dress at my deficit chest. There didn’t appear to be any teeth marks. Maybe I ought to have given the rat credit for finding the needle in a haystack.
    “I guess I’ll live. But you better teach that beast some manners.”
    “You squeezed him, Mags. What was he supposed to do?”
    “You hugged me first,” I said childishly. My behavior raised a sobering thought. “It’s a good thing you don’t have little kids, and by the time you do, well— it may no longer be around by then.”
    “Actually we’ve been trying to start a family ever since we knew for sure we were getting married.”
    “You have?” The thought of being an aunt delighted me. The thought of a possible little Melvin running around terrified me.
    Susannah nodded. “Melvin wants a big