Russell didn’t answer right away. He took his hands out of his pockets, set Mama’s jar down very carefully, and said, “No, ma’am. She never did.” Lorraine made a small sound, like she wanted to argue and couldn’t find the words. Half the market was watching now. Nobody pretended otherwise.

Then my brother reached under his table and opened the cash box. He lifted out the folded bills, and underneath them lay a recipe card, soft at the corners, the same faded blue as every card in Mama’s tin. I knew right then why the stack in that tin had always looked one card thin. He walked it over and put it in my hand without a word. It was in Mama’s handwriting. And across the top, where the name of the recipe should have been, she had written mine.