But I didn’t. When I went over to Mama’s house on Tuesday, she was sitting at the yellow Formica table. She was clipping a coupon for fifty cents off dish soap.

The green plastic ledger was sitting on the counter, closed.

“Do you want some tea, Ruthie?” she asked.

“Sure, Mama,” I said.

We drank our tea in silence. Dale hasn’t called her since. Brenda deleted all her Facebook photos of their trip to Florida.

I drove home and made my daughter pasta and didn’t tell her any of it. You win and then it’s just a Tuesday again.