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and bought another.
    Livie skirted the edge of Kat’s pool where Stella’s bright pink floaties bobbed merrily in the sun-stroked water. She plucked Zack’s tiny swim shorts off the wet bar and spread them on a nearby chaise to finish drying; she passed underneath the pergola she’d designed and planted in Chinese wisteria. She’d also designed the waterfalls and the rock gardens that surrounded the pool.
    Kat and Tim had begun building the house shortly after they married just as Livie had been graduating from Texas A&M with her shiny new horticulture degree. She’d been pleased when Tim offered her the job of landscaping the grounds, but then he’d acted as if she should do the work for free. He’d accused Livie of inflating her prices and she’d called him a tightwad. It had been all she could do to be nice to him, but then one day, someone called her, a prospective client, who said he’d been referred by Tim, that Tim had given her a “glowing” recommendation. He’d given her other referrals since then, dozens actually. And scads of unwanted business advice as if, as a woman, Livie couldn’t possibly have the brains for it. He was the patronizing older brother, patting her head, while she gritted her teeth, eschewing argument, for Kat’s sake. For the sake of maintaining the family peace. As if she agreed that she was Tim’s inferior, that women in general were, and it was wrong to go along. Livie wasn’t doing Kat any favors. As sisters they had used to be so honest with each other, but not so much anymore. Livie missed that, the candor they’d shared, the acceptance of each other’s foibles.
    She looked up at the sound of the glass door sliding open and her eyes widened as she caught sight of Kat. Still in her robe, wild-haired, red-eyed. And wearing socks, dark trouser  socks. Kat had on what looked like Tim’s socks.
    “He’s gone,” she said, coming into Livie’s embrace.
    “Oh, dear,” Livie murmured even as she thought, Not again.
    “He took all his underwear this time and every tie he owns; he even took his pillow. I’m scared, Livie.”
    “Oh, Kat, he’ll be back. He always--”
    “He’s in a suite at La Colombe d’Or downtown. Can you believe it? While we live here like squatters.”
    Squatters? Livie followed Kat through the great room with its beamed and vaulted ceiling into the kitchen that was outfitted in acres of black granite, the latest in every appliance, a collection of stainless steel sinks set with silver fixtures that gleamed in the artfully placed down flow of recessed light.
    Livie could hear Carmella, Kat’s live-in housekeeper, running the vacuum upstairs. “Where are the kids?” she asked.
    “He came this morning and took them to school. He said he’s cutting off my credit cards and putting me on an allowance. He’s going to dole out cash as if I’m a teenager. It’s humiliating.”
    “Is this about Stella’s Prada sneakers?” Livie stowed the dozen eggs she’d brought in the refrigerator.
    Kat didn’t answer. She poured mugs of coffee and brought them to the kitchen island.
    Livie scooted onto a low-backed, leather upholstered stool and picked up her cup, looking at Kat over the rim.
    “What?” Kat demanded.
    “I’m not taking sides, I promise, but I have to tell you two hundred dollars for tennis shoes for a seven-year-old does seem a little extre--”
    “It’s not as if we don’t have it,” Kat snapped. “Tim’s at the top of his field. Women come to him from all over the world to get their noses done and their lips sculpted and their boobs inflated. What’s the money for? He hordes it like Silas Marner--” She flung her hands and then bent her head and the sob that loosened from her chest was dry and rough.
    “Oh, Cookie. . . .” Livie went to Kat and put her arms around her. “He’ll come home once he cools off. He always does.”
    “But I’m tired of being lectured for every dime I spend unless it’s something he deems