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accepting a new, unwanted lifestyle, dividing up a household.
    But Trilby and her first husband didn’t have children together. She escaped the constant heartache on their behalf, the burden of solo parenting, the lonely weekends and holidays without her kids, the custody upheaval—although Lauren realizes she’s yet to experience the worst of that.
    Until June when they left for camp, her children were supposed to spend Wednesday nights and every other weekend with Nick. But he was consistently late for weeknight visits, stuck at the office—or so he claimed. And on weekends, Ryan and Lucy were so involved with sports and parties and extracurricular events that those encounters, too, became sporadic. Meanwhile, Lauren wasn’t any more thrilled about sending Sadie off alone for the weekend than, she suspects, Nick was to take her on.
    He didn’t press her on any of it. Maybe he will, once the divorce is final. But for the summer, he seems content to pop in to see Sadie just often enough to disrupt the household.
    Lauren opens the bottle of wine, pours some into the glasses, and hands one to Trilby. At the table, Sadie swaps her brown crayon for black and scribbles some more.
    “Before I forget, I’m heading up the Junior League tag sale in September, and we’re going to be looking for donations in a few weeks. So if you have anything around here that you want to get rid of…”
    “I have plenty that I want to get rid of,” she tells Trilby, “but I can’t imagine anyone actually paying for any of it.”
    “You’d be surprised at what people buy. Last year, some woman offered me a dollar for the roll of tape I was using to put up signs.”
    “Seriously?”
    “Seriously. So…cheers.” Trilby clinks her glass against Lauren’s. “What should we drink to?”
    Beyond the screen above the sink, Lauren sees a car pulling into the driveway. Nick. Thank goodness.
    “To Fred,” she declares, and Sadie’s head snaps up at the mention.
    Trilby doesn’t ask who Fred is. She knows.
    A car door slams outside, and Chauncey launches into a barking fit from the next room.
    “We lost Fred in the city earlier,” Lauren whispers to Trilby, and then tells Sadie, “Sweetie, I think Daddy’s here.”
    “Does he have Fred?”
    He must, or he wouldn’t be here, right?
    “Go find out.”
    Sadie starts to race toward the back door, then remembers and changes direction, scurrying toward the front. Nick always makes a formal entrance now that he’s moved out. Sometimes he even rings the bell. But only if the door is locked. Which it is.
    The old-fashioned doorbell pierces the air.
    “Go ahead and open the door for Daddy, Sadie,” Lauren calls. “Make sure Chauncey doesn’t get out, though.”
    “Nick doesn’t have the keys anymore?” Trilby asks in a low voice.
    “He does, but he doesn’t use them. Maybe he thinks I’ve changed the locks.”
    “You haven’t?”
    “No. Should I?”
    “Hell, yes.” Trilby takes a big swallow of wine. “Can we hide in here or do we have to go say hello to the SOB?”
    “ You don’t.” Lauren sets down her glass and resists the urge to pat her hair. She hasn’t touched a brush or seen a mirror since she visited the ladies’ room at the sushi restaurant. At that point, her long, russet-colored hair was looking decent, but that was, what? Eight hours ago? Right about now, it probably has all the vitality of dead leaves.
    “Wait.” Trilby stops her with a hand on her shoulder and tucks an errant clump of hair back from Lauren’s face, behind her ear. “There. That’s better. Want some lipstick?”
    “What am I, thirteen with a crush? I couldn’t care less what I look like. It’s Nick, remember?”
    “Wrong attitude. You need to look great to him, of all people. Make him kick himself every time he sees you.”
    “How about if I just kick him every time I see him?”
    Lauren leaves Trilby snorting into her wine and heads for the front hall.

    “All right, how about a