She was doing that now, with my roof. Flick. This one here. Flick. This one there. Some she put face-down in a pile to the side. Some she turned over and looked at the back of and put in a row. Krista had stood up on the stairs. She was holding the railing.
"Mom," Krista said. "Mom, stop."
"Maren," my mother said, still sorting. Her voice was very calm. It was calmer than I had ever heard it. "Where'd you get this paper."
"What?"
"The red. For the roof. Where did you get it."
"The recycling. I told you. It was in the recycling, it was just Krista's college junk, she'd already torn it all up—"
"When."
"I don't know. August? August, and then every week. Every Tuesday. There was always more."
My mother stopped sorting.