Martin sat at the end of the table, realizing he was currently in a quandary. Ruby watched him like a hawk. He knew Norma would protest if he helped clear the table—she always had when he was a teen. But he couldn't sit here with Sheila giving him the stink eye every time she came in from the kitchen.

He got up, grabbed the serving plate and gravy boat. His mother reacted as if she'd been slapped.

"You put those down! That's woman's work."

He dreaded Sheila's response—but he dreaded his mother's disapproval more, and he was just about to lay them back on the tablecloth when Sheila stepped in holding a ratty dish towel.

"Woman's work?"

"That's right," Ruby said. "Man may work from sun to sun, but woman's work is never done."

Sheila scoffed. "Well, in case you haven't noticed, Ruby, Martin hasn't been working all day. He's been off fornicating with local bookshop owners."

He stood there holding the meat, feeling ridiculous, caught between incompatible generations and ideologies.

"And who would you say is to blame for that?" Ruby shot back. "Loose women and their modern feminism, that's who. Men are weak-willed as dogs. It's our job to keep the supper dish tucked away in the cupboard until it's time to eat."

Sheila threw the towel on the table. Her face was red. The raised vein that he'd often joked looked like the Missouri river zig-zagged across her forehead. Norma loaded the dishwasher, pretending not to be listening.

"I'm trying really hard to be respectful because we're in your house. But your antiquated values are the same ones that held women down for centuries."

"Tosh!" Ruby folded her arms across her chest, looking away with a scowl. "It's what we do, girl. I've never felt oppressed."

"That's because Norma does everything but wipe your ass!"

Ruby snapped back to face Sheila, her withered jaw dropped. Expecting her full fury, Martin took a step back from the table. Sheila stood frozen, obviously mortified by her own anger.

Ruby surprised them all by belting out laughter.

"Oh, thank you, dear!" she said, still laughing. "I haven't had a row like that in years." She wiped tears from her eyes with her napkin. "It's quite invigorating, truth be told. The ladies will think I've stumbled upon the fountain of youth."

"Well, I suppose I'm glad to have added a few years to your life," Sheila muttered, picking up the dish towel with a look of confusion.

"Oh, for Pete's sake, Martin!" Ruby tossed her napkin on the table. "Take the bloody dishes to the kitchen. Lord knows you want to."

Ever the good son, Martin did as he was told.

After dinner, Sheila, Martin and Norma sat in the living room with the TV on mute and Norma's Elvis albums on the record player. Ruby had gone off to bridge in the pink Cadillac Sheila had seen earlier in the day. Sheila, meanwhile, tried to formulate an opinion about the old woman. Tried to analyze her as she would have in her former practice.