Nina Strauss sped by in her BMW, a car so heavy and luxurious it seemed not to notice Willard Park’s many speed bumps. She had places to go, people to see, her driving said. Nina had moved to town not long after Allison and Ted did, when both she and Allison were pregnant. Allison had thought their simultaneous pregnancies might inspire a friendship, but Nina worked day and night. Rumor had it that she’d suffered through her early labor pains at the conference table at the realty office, loath to leave in the middle of a closing, and had driven herself to the hospital as soon as the signatures were secured.

Candy was on high alert as they approached the Coxes’, her tail and nose high. Rex ran up and down in a straight line parallel to the sidewalk, as far as the invisible fence would allow. He leaped in the air, a jagged, maniacal look on his face when he saw Candy. Candy darted onto the lawn. The dogs tumbled over and under each other, bared their teeth, and bit at each other’s furry legs and jaws. Then Rex started to hump Candy. Vacant, not dissatisfied, looks clouded both dogs’ eyes.

Kaye, sitting on the porch with a magazine, shook a manicured finger. “No, no, Rexie!” she called to no noticeable effect.

“Maybe you should get him neutered,” Allison said.

“Nick’s kind of sensitive about that . . . Hey, Nicky!” she called.

Nick came out and whistled with two fingers in his mouth. Rex ran over and lay at his feet like an odalisque. “You’ve got to woo them, fella. Don’t you know?” He flashed a smile.

Kaye gave him a girly smack on the chest. He grabbed her wrist and pretended he was going to twist her arm. Allison, feeling as though she’d just climbed in between them in bed, yanked Candy’s leash and walked on, her face hot.

Oh! It was all Valeria’s fault. She’d found a way to fight back at the ennui, escaping to Europe, leaving Allison behind to circle the streets of suburbia with a husband who was more passionate about a tree than he was about his wife.

SUZANNE FELT LIKE A TRAFFIC COP IN THE MIDDLE OF A BUSY INTERSECTION, pointing and waving the movers to the different rooms of the new house. Living room. Dining room. Two bedrooms. Unfinished basement. The bathroom. That was it. She was more like Snow White than a traffic cop, come to think of it, in her tiny cottage with her two resident fairy-tale dwarves—one of whom was jogging down to the hardware store to make copies of the house key. Why did he need to do it now, in the middle of moving day?