I laughed. “Goodbye, Marge.”

The thing is, as unhappy as I was about Marge’s assessment of Vivian, I couldn’t shake the notion that there may have been more than a grain of truth in it. The only event that didn’t fit neatly into Marge’s theories was our amiable Sunday night, but even Vivian’s unexpected warmth could have been explained by the feeling that she’d reaffirmed her undisputed primacy in London’s life.

On the other hand, that was crazy. So what if London had run to me after being stung by a bee? My feelings wouldn’t have been hurt if she’d instead run to Vivian; people in healthy marriages didn’t fall prey to such petty power struggles. Vivian and I were a team.

Weren’t we?

I sensed instantly that Vivian wasn’t in a pleasant mood when she returned from work, and when I asked about her day, she launched into a story about how the CFO had just submitted her two-week resignation, which threw the company into sudden upheaval.

“Walter was absolutely furious,” she said on her way to the master bedroom. She went into the closet and began removing her work clothes. “And I can’t say that I blame him. Just last week, she’d formally agreed to move to Atlanta. She even used it to negotiate a relocation fee bonus – which she already collected – and now she suddenly informs us that she’s taken a new job? People are always trying to take advantage of Walter, and I watch it happen all the time. I’m so sick and tired of it.”

There’s that name again, remembering Marge’s needling. Not once but twice.

“I’m sure she’s doing what he thinks is best for her family.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Vivian snapped. In her bra and panties, she shimmied into a pair of jeans. “It turns out she’s also been recruiting other executives to follow her to the new company, and there are rumors that a few other executives are actually thinking about it. Do you know how much damage that could do to Walter’s company?”

Third time’s a charm. “Sounds like a rough day.”

“It was awful,” she said, grabbing a white T-shirt. I couldn’t help noting how stylish Vivian was, even when dressing down. “Of course, what that means to me is that because of this new wrinkle, I’m probably going to have to spend even more time in Atlanta, at least for a while anyway.”

That part I heard clearly. “More time than four days?”

She held up her hands and drew a long breath. “Please don’t add to an already awful day. I know you’re upset. I’m upset, too. Just let me go spend some time with London and we’ll talk about it later. I want to hear how her first day went and unwind and maybe have a glass of wine, okay?”

By then, she was already on her way to see London.

While they were in the family room, I made a quick dinner; chicken, rice, glazed carrots, and a salad. When it was ready, they came to the table. Vivian was still distracted and tense. London, meanwhile, kept up a steady stream of chatter – how she and Bodhi played hopscotch at recess, that Bodhi was a really good jumper, and countless other details of her exciting day at school.

After dinner, I cleaned the kitchen while Vivian went upstairs with London. Despite the late hour, I called Taglieri to speak to him about the rehearsal tomorrow and make sure he’d reviewed the script. The one thing I’d learned from clients is that the more familiar they were with the script, the more successful they were at integrating other directions.

By the time I got off the phone, I could hear the sound of shouting upstairs. I hurried up the steps, stopping in the doorway of London’s bedroom. Vivian was holding a damp towel; London, in her pajamas, had wet hair and her cheeks were streaked with tears.

“How many times have I told you not to put the wet towels into the hamper?” Vivian demanded. “And this dress shouldn’t have gone in the hamper in the first place!”

“I said I’m sorry!” London shouted back. “I didn’t mean it!”

“Now everything is going to smell mildewed and some of the stains have probably set.”

“I’m sorry!”

“What’s going on?” I demanded.

Vivian turned toward me, her expression livid. “What’s going on is that your daughter’s new dress is probably ruined. The one she wore on Sunday.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” London said, her face crumpling. Vivian held up her hand, her lips a grim line.

“I know you didn’t. That’s not the point. The point is, you put a dirty dress into the hamper with your new dress, and then you put wet towels on top of them. How many times have I told you to let the towels dry over the side of the tub before you put them in the hamper?”

“I forgot!” London cried. “I’m sorry!”

“It was my fault,” I interjected, the wet-towel rule clearly new to me. I’d never seen Vivian and London yell at each other like this before. The sight brought back memories of the night London and I had argued. “I just tell her to put anything dirty in the hamper.”

“The truth is that she knows what to do!” Vivian snapped before directing her attention to London. “Right?”

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” she said.

“I’ll bring them to the dry cleaner tomorrow,” I volunteered. “I’m sure we’ll be able to get the stains out.”

“That’s not the point, Russ! She doesn’t have any respect for the things I’ve bought her, no matter how many times I tell her!”