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really awesome necklace for Christmas, and then you forgot all about it until I found it, like, two years later? Well, is there any chance you could have done that with some off-shore bank accounts, or—”
    “Mommy!”
    Lyddie’s focus jerked back to earth and the sight of her youngest child bounding across the yard with a cell phone in her hand, pigtails bobbing in time with her leaps.
    “Slow down, Tish. These coals are hot. You don’t want to fall in them.”
    “Mommy, I’m not a baby. I’m almost seven. I know how to walk.”
    “Humor me, okay?” Lyddie walked around the steaming stump and met Tish on the safe side of the yard. “Who’s on the phone?”
    “Aunt Zoë.”
    “Thanks, kiddo. Go back inside and tell Sara to start your bath. I’ll be there soon.”
    “Can’t I skip? I don’t want a bath.”
    “Nope. School night. Hop to it.” Lyddie bestowed a loud kiss on Tish’s soft cheek, then patted her daughter’s denim-clad bottom before lifting the phone to her ear.
    “Hey there, fertile one.”
    A long groan was her answer, deep and painful enough to make Lyddie’s heart do a quick thud.
    “Zoë? What’s wrong, are you in labor? Talk to me, Zo.”
    “No.”
    “No, you won’t talk to me, or—”
    “No, I’m not in labor.” Zoë sounded more like her normal overwhelmed self now. Whew. “It’s these stupid Braxton Hicks contractions. Who invented them, anyway? I mean, what’s the point of a contraction if you’re not in labor? Is this supposed to be like the previews at the movies?”
    Lyddie laughed and picked up a long stick to poke at the still-simmering coals. “This is your third kid. You don’t need a preview.”
    “Damn straight I don’t. It took me years to forget what labor feels like. I don’t need reminders.”
    “Cheer up. It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
    Zoë moaned and called Lyddie a name that would have earned her a bar of soap in the mouth if their mother had heard it. Lyddie merely giggled.
    “So what’s up?”
    “Nothing.” Her sister’s voice was a sound portrait of frustration.
    “Nothing? That’s why you called?”
    “Kevin left early this morning and has a dinner meeting tonight, and Nick has a cold so he’s clingy and miserable, and Dusty decided that today was the perfect day to see what would happen if you cook Play-Doh in the microwave for ten minutes on high. I hurt all over. I can’t breathe. I’ve been having these stupid Braxton Hicks all day and it’s hotter than Hades here and if this baby doesn’t come out the minute Sara gets off the plane, I’m grabbing a knife and giving myself a homemade Cesarean.”
    Lyddie pushed a coal farther over on the stump. “Congratulations. You’re having your eight-month breakdown.”
    “You don’t have to sound so damned happy about it!” Across the miles, Zoë burst into tears. Lyddie sighed and sat on the ground. Might as well get comfortable.
    Five minutes of soothing, empathizing and commiserating later, Zoë finally stopped crying.
    “You okay now?”
    “A bit.” Sniff. “It helps to hear another adult voice. I should have kept working right until I popped. I wasn’t made to be a suburban housewife. Tell me stories of the real world.”
    Despite herself, Lyddie laughed. “The real world? Have you forgotten that I live in Comeback Cove?”
    “It beats the hell out of the ’burbs. At least people talk to each other there. Tell me—anything. Make something up. Anyone interesting come into the store today?”
    This time it was Lyddie’s turn to groan.
    “That sounds promising. Now use words.”
    “They won’t all be nice,” Lyddie warned, and after glancing around the yard to make sure none of the kids were lurking in the evening shadows, she gave Zoë the scoop.
    “So that’s where I am,” she said. “You have a spare hundred grand or two tucked away with your cookie stash?”
    “Sorry, I blew it all last week on nursing bras. But seriously, are you sure