Just ask me. I’d been through a similar thing with Nick, and the check from his mother wasn’t going to change that. We didn’t have kids, and we weren’t married very long, but it still felt as though somebody had punched me in the stomach whenever I thought of it. While I was dreaming of picket fences and backyard swing sets and Christmas cards that said, “From the Three of Us,” Nick was making a lie out of every promise he’d ever made to me.

And believe me, there were plenty of promises.

I loved Greer. I really and truly did. But I couldn’t help empathizing with the wronged wife.

“Her eggs would have to be rehydrated,” I said, shaking it off. “Alex might have banged her a few times, but she’s no long-term threat.”

Greer was silent for a long, uncomfortable moment. “I know what you’re thinking,” she finally said, softly and with no rancor. “What goes around, comes around.”

“I’m not thinking anything of the kind, Greer,” I replied. “I’m on your side.”

She wasn’t listening. “I broke up a home, and now someone else is about to take a sledgehammer to mine. What am I going to do, Mojo?”

“You might be able to work things out.”

Another silence. I wondered if Greer was crying.

“Get here as soon as you can, okay?” she finally said.

“You got it,” I told her gently.

“And you can bring the dog.”

I said goodbye, hung up the phone and turned to Jolie.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“She said we could bring Russell.”

Jolie’s eyes widened with sisterly concern. “Get out,” she said.

An hour later, Jolie and I arrived at Greer’s in Jolie’s Pathfinder, with three bags from A.J.’s, a basset hound and a whole lot of questions.

Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EVEN WITH ALL that was going on in our separate lives, there was something soothing and almost tribal about the three of us—Greer, Jolie and me—sitting around the same table again, there on the Pennington patio. A candle burned in the center of our little circle, like a campfire at the mouth of some primitive cave. Twilight fell softly, with a smattering of stars overhead, and the waterfall at one end of Greer’s pool burbled cheerfully in the background, providing a subtle “do-wah” to our sister-song.

While Jolie told Greer about the new job and recounted her visit to Lillian the day before, we nibbled pasta salad from the deli at A.J.’s. Greer served cold chicken breasts laced with rosemary and gallons of San Pellegrino. I was relieved at the absence of wine, since I suspected big sister had been hitting the sauce in lonely moments.

“I think you’re crazy,” Greer said, apropos of Jolie’s career change, but she looked wistful at the same time.