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didn’t get it. Then I did, and my heart skipped a beat.
    â€œSo you’d give Mom up for Mrs. Wilson?” Sandra said, just to drive the point home. “Nice. Bet that makes Mom feel really good.”
    â€œWait, I just said that accidentally .” I gulped. “Mom?”
    â€œI know,” Mom said. She paused. “But sweetie, you do know that Amanda is an only child.”
    I drew my eyebrows together. What did that have to do with anything?
    â€œI like Theresa, too,” Mom continued. “You know what, though? I bet even she uses a sharp voice every so often. Just not when you’re there, perhaps.”
    I tried to imagine Mrs. Wilson speaking sharply. I couldn’t.
    â€œAnyway, you’re part of this family,” Mom said. She glanced at me in the rearview mirror, and my heart hurt. She smiled, but her eyes had a smidgen of sad-Mommy in them. “What would I do without my Winnie?”
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    That night I told Mom again that I really and truly didn’t mean what I’d said. I couldn’t stand the thought that I’d hurt her feelings. I would never want to hurt her feelings!
    She kissed my forehead and said, “I love you, Winnie, and I know you love me. Don’t worry, baby.”
    But I did.
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    The next day was a Sunday, and I made her a bookmark that said, “To the Best Mom Ever.” On it I drew a picture of her reading a book, because she loved reading just like I did, and I laminated it using lots and lots of Scotch tape.
    â€œIt’s beautiful,” she said. “I’ll keep it forever.”
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    On Monday, as Sandra, Ty, and I were eating breakfast, I complimented Mom’s blouse.
    â€œThank you, Winnie,” she said from the sink, where she was rinsing dishes. She rarely sat down and ate with us kids on school mornings. Dad left for work before we even woke up, which meant Mom was on her own to get us up and dressed and fed and have time to run upstairs and “throw a little makeup on,” as she put it.
    â€œYou really are the best mom in the universe,” I said. “And the prettiest. And the nicest.”
    â€œLaying it on pretty thick,” Sandra remarked. “Are you feeling guilty about something? Is that why?”
    I glared at her. “No.”
    â€œAre you sure?”
    â€œYou just hush.” I took a big bite of sausage biscuit as if somehow that would silence her, but all it did was keep me from being able to say anything when she kept right on talking.
    â€œIt’s just that you said something totally different two days ago,” she said. “It was after we picked you up from Amanda’s. We were driving home, and you said . . .” She tapped her lower lip. “ Hmm . What was it you said?”
    â€œSandra,” Mom said in a warning tone.
    Yeah , I tried to say, but my mouth was too full. I chewed and chewed, while at the same time giving Sandra an eyeball thrust to say, Shush, AND I MEAN IT .
    Finally I was able to swallow. I washed everything down with a long swig of orange juice, which I sucked up using a shorter-than-normal plastic straw. A full-length straw would have been too tall for my glass, so Mom had snipped an inch off the bottom to make it fit.
    Mom did that because she knew how much I loved straws. She kept a whole container of them on the kitchen counter, and she made sure we never ran out. She always remembered to plunk one into my glass, and if the glass was on the small side, she always cut the straw down to size.
    She did all that for me.
    Suddenly it was hard to make my throat work, even with my orange juice right there.
    I needed to think about something else. I plucked my straw from my glass and held it between two fingers, pretending it was a cigarette. I inhaled, then exhaled with a loud puff. I did this several more times.
    â€œYou’re going to turn your lungs black, you know,” Sandra commented.
    â€œSmoking is disgusting,”