panic, but the subtle shake of my head reassures, "Nope, not a word.

Mom remains the stoic politician.

I'm sure such a thing is a rare occurrence. No judge I know **

holds him or herself above the law. It is sacrosanct.

85.

Ms. Tree-Trunk Legs refuses to be so easily satisfied. She hems and haws, checking her **

notes. Finally, just as the others seem ready to pack up and leave, **

she throws a bucket of verbal shit.

Isn't it true that while under the influence, your husband, **

Judge Raymond Leland Gardella, was involved in a fatal accident? And...

If she thinks she can possibly go one-on-one with my mother and come out on top, she really **

should think again. Like a wolf on a duck (with incredibly fat legs!) **

Mom turns on the reporter.

Ray is the finest jurist I know.

He does not hold himself above **

the law, but dispenses it with knowledge and forthrightness.

86.

Told you Mom had every correct response right at her fingertips. If there was ever **

any doubt about where Kaeleigh got her acting ability, this **

afternoon smashed it to bits, and Mom is not quite finished yet.

The incident to which you refer **

was a great personal tragedy.

Should we apologize for not dying?

87.

Castrated Frustrated, the brittle blonde shakes her head, ignoring the buzz all around her.

What she still doesn't get, I'm betting, is how connected my parents are.

The others, still buzzing like electric lines in a storm, understand, though.

My parents' connections reach well beyond political circles, and some of those **

connections might very well disconnect one mouthy young reporter from her job.

88.

Sound Bites Bitten Mom actually cooks dinner tonight, perhaps worried some nosy journalist might peek through the window.

Of course, it's frozen lasagna and bagged salad. But hey, who's complaining?

It's almost like we used to be, once upon a time. If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend like we're a normal family, gathered round the table, discussing stuff like plays and grades, not unusual dinner-table topics like war chests and fund-raisers. If I keep my eyes closed, Mom is not indifferent, not some cardboard cutout in a lace apron. Eyes firmly closed, Daddy is not famished for affection, perverted or otherwise. Eyes squeezed tight, Kaeleigh and I are not irrelevant.

89.

Kaeleigh Having Mom Home Makes things easier. Makes things harder, like looking through the window, needing to see what's on the other side, but your eyes have to work too hard to reach beyond the grime.

It's almost as hard as pretending I don't care if she leaves again. Almost as hard as sitting around the dinner table like we're a cohesive family unit. A little pasta, little wine, little conversation.

Damn little, which is not unusual for the Gardella clan. What talk there is, of course, is election talk.

I guess I should act like I'm not indifferent and, really, I'm not. I hope with every ounce of hope I have left that the voters snub her. No, I'm not famished for revenge. I'm starved for her company and even more, for her affection. I love her, and that's not irrelevant.

90.

Actually, I'm Hungry For more than Mom's affection.

My body is screaming for food.

And tonight we get the real deal (instead of our usual fast **

or flash- **

frozen repast).

But any food is my friend because it's under my control, unlike most of the rest of my life. I eat when I'm sad.

I eat when I'm lonely. I eat when I hurt so much inside, it's either eat or find an easy way to die.

The only **

time I **

can't eat to total contentment is when Daddy's around.

No daughter of mine will wear double- digit clothes, he said once, and meant it.

91.

Wonder what he thinks about Mom's new curves. She's put on a few pounds. All that rich food on the campaign trail, **

I guess.

Schmooze 'em with five-star dinners, high-dollar wine, and aperitifs; ask 'em for a fistful of dollars. Calorific politics at its best.

I happen to think Mom wears double- digit designer clothes pretty well. She is the portrait of a beautiful, highbrow **

woman, **

curves or no.

What she doesn't look like is a girl, all narrow hips, straight waist, and teacup breasts.

And if I have my way, I won't either.

92.

And Tonight Mom's Home I can eat what I want, Daddy or no. After dinner **

I help load the dishwasher, more to be close to Mom **

than anything. Every time I brush against her, though, **

she stiffens, like a wet sheet in January wind. Not fair.

Why can't she love me like I love her? Does she **

somehow blame me? I ask simply, "What's wrong?"

Mom keeps scrubbing the stove, like it isn't already **