Vivien looked at the pot longingly but declined. "I think I'll just have some tea." She whipped bags of chamomile from her pants pocket. "I'm trying to lay off the caffeine."

"Okay." Melanie filled the teakettle and put it on to boil. When the frying pan was hot again, she laid strips of bacon in it, then popped four slices of whole wheat bread into the toaster. Upstairs Shelby's alarm clock blared on, the beep sirenlike in its intensity.

How Shelby could tune out the sound, which originated about six inches from her head, Melanie didn't know. But she did know that somebody needed to go upstairs and pry her out of bed.

Despite his superior size and physical strength, Trip wasn't awake enough to be sent into such hazardous combat. Melanie's own hands were full with breakfast. Removing the now-whistling kettle from the burner, she poured the boiling water into the mug that held Vivien's teabag and realized she had another option.

"I've got breakfast under control," Melanie said casually. "Would you mind getting Shelby up? If she doesn't get in the shower right now, I'll get stuck in the car-pool line from h.e.l.l."

"Sure."

Melanie felt a brief flash of guilt for sending her sister up unarmed and without a warning. But Vivien was a big girl and had managed to survive in New York for over a decade; she'd even been shot. Surely she could handle one seventeen-year-old girl.

She hid her smile as Vivien climbed the stairs. While she cracked eggs into a bowl, then began to scramble them, Melanie eavesdropped. There was murmuring, Vivien's words crisp and pointed, Shelby's an indecipherable whine. The alarm went off in midbeep. Melanie and Trip exchanged a glance, but studiously avoided placing bets on who would win the skirmish.

Just when it seemed there'd be nothing to hear, there was a yelp. Then another. A loud thud followed as something-or someone-hit the floor.

Melanie flipped the bacon and gave the eggs a final scramble. There was a shout. The stomp of angry feet, though it wasn't clear whose. A door slammed, then was yanked open, then slammed again.

Trip snorted with laughter when the shower in Shelby's bathroom went on. He hummed the theme song from Rocky as Vivien walked unsteadily down the back stairs into the kitchen.

Her blouse had come untucked and her hair stuck out in strange angles from her head. A grim, but satisfied, smile hovered on her lips. Her eyes still carried the glint of battle.

"You might have warned me," she said.

"Sorry." Melanie dished the food onto their plates and handed one to her sister. "I thought you'd be the perfect person for the job. You never used to be a morning person, either." They carried their plates to the kitchen table and settled in to eat. "I'm a little surprised to see you up and dressed," she said as Vivien tucked into her food. "Do you have somewhere you need to be?"

"Just thought I'd tag along with you today."

For a moment Melanie thought she'd misheard. She finished chewing. Swallowed. "With me? You want to spend the whole day with me?"

Vivien piled some scrambled egg on half a piece of toast and lifted it toward her mouth. "Unless I'll be in the way."

Melanie studied her sister for a long moment. She was wearing nice pants and a crisp white blouse. Her shoes were pointy-toed with three-inch heels. "I'm not actually going anywhere in particular," she pointed out. "I'm going to drop the kids off, run errands, do a volunteer shift, give a private lesson-nothing you'd find particularly interesting."

But Vivien's eyes didn't glaze over as they usually did when Melanie mentioned the mostly mundane details of her life.

"No, I'm really curious to see how you spend your day," Vivien said. "If you don't mind, I want to do all those things with you."

"Why?"

Vivien shrugged. "I've always wondered what you do all day."

Melanie tried to process this as they finished their meal. Part of her felt flattered by Vivien's interest. The larger part of her was already cringing at how boring and trivial her day would seem to her sister. "Do you want to go change?"

Vivien took in Melanie's stretch jeans, cotton twinset, and beat-up Nikes. There was a strange note of defiance in her voice when she said, "I don't own any mommy clothes."

Shelby clomped down the stairs at that moment in a low-cut long-sleeved T-shirt and a tight jean skirt that left her long bare thighs exposed. Her hair was freshly washed, blow-dried, and straightened; her makeup had apparently been applied with a trowel.

Melanie sighed. "That skirt is way too short," she said. "Hurry up and change. And while you're up there you can remove some of that makeup."

Shelby didn't move. "There's nothing wrong with my clothes or my makeup," Shelby said. "Besides, I don't have time for that. I need to be at a help session for History."

Melanie's lips clamped shut. Leave it to Shelby to try to turn this into an either/or situation. "If you'd gotten up when your alarm went off, we wouldn't have to choose between looking acceptable or getting to a morning help session."

"If you hadn't sent such a . . . novice . . . to get me out of bed, I would have been ready earlier." Shelby sent Vivien a taunting look.

"Novice?" Vivien took in Shelby's getup. "You look like a professional in that getup. If you insist on advertising, someone's going to want to take you up on it."

Leave it to Vivien to call a spade a spade, Melanie thought as she stepped between them. She might not be able to force her sister to dress appropriately for her surroundings; her daughter was another story. "Shelby, go tone down your makeup and put on a pair of pants or a longer skirt; that one's indecent. You've got five minutes."

With a groan and an exaggerated roll of the eyes, Shelby stomped upstairs.

"Trip-in the car." Melanie dumped the frying pan, spatula, and dishes in the sink to be dealt with later. "Vivi, are you sure you want to come?" She gave her sister one last chance to back out before heading toward the garage to fire up the minivan.

"Shotgun!" Trip called out, grabbing up his backpack and falling in behind her.

"I'm riding shotgun," Vivien said in answer as she followed Trip and the toned-down Shelby. "Age before beauty, kid. And as nice as it is to hear your voice, I wouldn't bother trying to call it again. As long as I'm here I've got permanent dibs on the front seat."

Melanie backed down the drive. In the cul-de-sac, she put the car in drive but spotted trouble up ahead. "It's Catherine. Don't make eye contact!" She and both kids snapped their gazes forward.

"What are you doing?" Vivi asked.

"See the redbrick with the convertible in the driveway up on the left?" Melanie dropped her voice to a whisper, keeping her own gaze straight ahead.

Vivien sneaked a look as they drew closer. A long-legged blonde in skintight jeans and a sprayed on T-shirt was leaning over the pa.s.senger side of a silver Mercedes two-seater, her shapely rear end pointed at the street. "Not bad," Vivien said, taking in the perfectly sculpted body and, when she turned, the too-perfect face. "But I don't think much of it's original."

"That's Catherine Dennison. Her ex-husband is a plastic surgeon. Ongoing work was part of her divorce settlement."

Vivi laughed and took another look as Melanie slowed for the stop sign across from Catherine's house.

"Careful!" Melanie warned. "If you make eye contact, we'll . . . oh, d.a.m.n. Here she comes!"

Cradling a ball of white fluff in the crook of one arm, Catherine left the Mercedes to flag them down. Mouth arranged into what she hoped would pa.s.s for a smile, Melanie pulled to a full stop.

"I just wanted to make sure you got the invitation to Claire's starring performance in the high school production of South Pacific next week," Catherine Dennison said when Melanie had rolled the window down. "She's playing Nellie Forbush. And just wait until you hear her solos! Why, she's been tapped for a Who's Who in High School Drama, and the head of the drama department at Pemberton thinks she can get a college scholarship for either acting or music performance."

The blonde paused to draw a breath-something she didn't have to do nearly enough-and noticed Vivien in the pa.s.senger seat. "That must be your sister," she said. "You all look like spitting images of each other. Why, I bet . . ."

Knowing there was unlikely to be another breath drawn anytime soon, Melanie dove in. "Catherine, this is my sister, Vivien. Vivi, Catherine."

Vivien nodded. Catherine opened her mouth, but Melanie was afraid to let her get started again.

"We'll be glad to buy some tickets, though I'm not sure if we'll be able to make the performance," Melanie said. "Why don't you just have Claire drop them in our mailbox and then I'll drop off a check?"

Catherine opened her mouth again.

"You know I hate to cut you off," Melanie interrupted again. "But Shelby's already late for an appointment at school." She would not tell this woman that Shelby needed help with History, among other things. "I'm sure we'll be seeing you soon."

Catherine's mouth was still open when they pulled away.

"Good grief," Vivi said, "what was that all about?"

"Once she gets started, you can spend a good twenty minutes listening to the details of Catherine and Claire's great adventures. It just depresses the h.e.l.l out of me."

"Was that a dog she was holding?" Vivi asked as Melanie drove toward the front of the neighborhood.

"Oh, yes. It's a Havanese named . . ." Melanie pursed her lips to try to give it the same inflection Catherine used. ". . . Pucci. And it's even more . . . precious . . . than her daughter, Claire, who's in Shelby's grade. We avoid all of them whenever possible. Trust me, it's easier that way."

As Melanie zoomed out of the neighborhood and onto Roswell Road toward Pemberton High School, Vivien tried to whip up some enthusiasm for what lay ahead. It was barely seven thirty and she'd already wrestled one teenager out of bed and beat out another for the seat she sat in. And people thought living in New York was tough.

Still, the proper frame of mind was essential. If she was going to glean story ideas from how suburbanites like her sister spent the day, she needed to keep her eyes and mind open, try to let go of her preconceived notions, and see things through fresh eyes.

Perhaps it would help if she envisioned herself as a modern-day Jane Goodall about to observe the social interactions of chimpanzees. So thinking, Vivien stared intently out the window as neighborhoods and businesses flashed by.

Throughout the twelve-minute drive, Shelby, whose most critical body parts were now covered, alternately pouted and texted. Trip stared silently out his window. The tinny beat from both of their iPods dueled it out in the backseat.

Melanie drove quickly and efficiently. In the car-pool line at the school's entrance, she performed the required maneuvers with a finesse born of experience. It was almost like watching a surgeon operate. Or a prima ballerina gliding through the intricate steps of an oft-performed ballet.

"We're lucky traffic's so light this morning," Melanie observed as they left the residential area and turned back onto Upper Roswell Road.

"You call this . . . light?" Vivien, who'd contemplated gridlock from the back of many an NYC cab, thought Upper Roswell Road could give Broadway a run for its money in terms of congestion.

Melanie shrugged as she wove through the traffic. A few minutes later she turned off the road and into a parking lot. A wooden sign read East Cobb Park.

"What happens here?" Vivien asked. It wasn't even eight A.M.; theirs was one of only three vehicles in the lot.

"Walking," Melanie said as she exited the van. Vivien followed behind her.

The park was small and simply laid out; a figure eight of walking track encircled by trees and in turn encircling gra.s.sy areas and a fenced playground. It was pretty here, restful. Vivien wouldn't have minded vegging out at one of the picnic tables, maybe reading the paper stretched out under a tree. But Melanie stepped onto the concrete walking track and began to move smartly. Surprised, Vivien had to jog the first few steps to catch up to her.

"Why are we doing this?" Vivien had to bite the words out as she scurried to match Melanie's pace.

"Exercise." Melanie began to pump her arms. p.r.o.nounced heel-toe action followed. "It helps get the heart pumping and the juices flowing."

Vivien bit back a complaint. She wasn't exactly in peak physical condition. Given the way she was having to scramble to keep up, it was far more likely that her heart would race, not pump, and that her "juices" would slosh rather than flow. And she definitely wasn't dressed for a workout. Had she really sneered at Melanie's "mommy clothes"?

"You look like you've put on a couple of pounds. Walking's a really good low-impact calorie burner." Melanie smiled. "So's dancing. Belly dance starts tomorrow night. We'll get rid of that excess before you know it."

Not likely, Vivien thought. As the only member of her family who was completely devoid of rhythm, she'd learned at a very early age to avoid dancing in all its forms.

Pride kept her chin up and her strides in line with Melanie's as they walked briskly-some might say too briskly for the Charles Jourdan pumps Vivien wore-on the concrete path. She eyed each tree-shaded bench and picnic table they pa.s.sed, wishing she could stop and sit for just a moment. But she refused to be the first to ask and did her best to hide how much effort she was expending to keep up.

They talked-when Vivien wasn't too short of breath to form words-about inconsequential things. What time they were expected at Magnolia Hall for Sunday supper. Who had sublet Vivi's apartment. How long Stone would be on a.s.signment in Afghanistan. The lies Vivien had prepared about why she'd left her job at CIN and the reasons for her weight gain proved unnecessary. At least for the moment, Melanie seemed as eager as Vivien to stay away from anything that delved beneath the surface.

It was a great relief when Melanie finally slowed and then came to a stop. In truth, Vivien was more than ready to go back to the house and curl up for the rest of the morning. But when Melanie offered to drop her there so she could do just that, Vivien refused. So far she'd seen the high school and the businesses that lined Roswell Road. Not exactly enough information on which to base a series of columns.

And so the power walk eased into a marathon. For which Vivien had failed to train.

Strapped into the minivan, they drove from place to place at what felt like the speed of sound. Little more than an hour into Melanie's errands, Vivien felt as if she'd traveled to the ends of the earth, even though they'd only traveled up and down the same three roads and hadn't pushed outside a seven-mile radius.

At the post office they waited in line for twenty-five minutes to return a package to a mail-order catalogue company. This was followed by a drop-off at the alteration lady and a pickup at the dry cleaner. Then they were off to Target for household supplies and then to Office-Max for envelopes and flyers Melanie had had printed for the studio.

At eleven o'clock they drove back to the high school, where Vivien a.s.sisted Melanie with her two-hour shift on the "copy crew" where they made thousands of copies of things, then stuffed them-one at a time-into the appropriate mailboxes.

A text message from Shelby sent them to the closest bookstore for a book Shelby was required to read and had forgotten to buy and which they dropped back off at the front desk at the high school; that made their third trip to Pemberton that morning.

At the grocery store, Melanie ordered a deli platter and veggie tray for an upcoming committee meeting and picked up a few odds and ends. Then they went to Old Navy where Melanie bought Trip a pair of khakis and a b.u.t.ton-down shirt to wear to supper on Sunday.

Like hamsters on a wheel they raced without stopping but got nowhere near a finish line.

Before each errand Melanie offered to run Vivien home, but as much as Vivien wanted to go there, she knew she had to make it through the day so that she could determine firsthand which parts of it might lead to a future column.

Lunch was a drive-through meal from Chik-fil-A, which Vivien, who was once again ravenous, devoured on the way to the Magnolia Ballroom. There Melanie gave a warm hug to an older woman with stark white hair and a penetrating gaze, who was manning Grandmother Gray's antique writing desk.

"Vivi," Melanie said as she straightened. "This is Ruth Melnick. She is truly fabulous. I don't know how I'd run the studio without her."

Ruth beamed at Melanie's praise, then turned to consider Vivien. The wattage of her smile dimmed ever so slightly. "Nice to finally meet you," she said. "You don't get down here too often, do you?" The tone said, not often enough, and Vivien wondered just how much Melanie had confided in the older woman.

"Ruth is my Jewish mother," Melanie said.

"We have a Jewish mother?" Vivien asked, trying, unaccountably, to win a smile from Ruth Melnick. "Does Caroline know?"

Melanie laughed.

Ruth was a tougher audience. "I've met your mother," she said. "You have the same air about you."

Melanie giggled again. All of them knew this was not a compliment.

"And you can tell this just from looking at me?" Vivien asked, annoyed now.

Ruth shrugged as if she really were related and therefore had the right to say whatever she felt. "I only know what Melanie's told me."

Melanie blushed. Vivien's chin shot up, taking her nose with it. She knew because she had to look down it to see the look on Ruth Melnick's face.

"Oh, yes." Ruth nodded. "You definitely resemble her."

Mother Melnick turned back to Melanie. "The Hendersons are waiting over there." Ruth nodded toward a couple who appeared to be even older than Ruth. "They want to start on the Latin dances. They're going on a cruise over the holidays."

"Let me just go change shoes." Melanie waved to the couple, signaling that she'd be right with them.

Vivien plunked down at a skirted table. She toed her shoes off as Melanie walked out onto the dance floor. Her sister smiled at the couple and introduced herself. Vivien yawned.

By the time Melanie had her students ready to practice to music, Vivien was ready to admit defeat and beg to be put in a cab, despite the fact that she hadn't actually seen one since they'd left the airport yesterday. A small whimper escaped her lips at the lovely thought.

But when Melanie walked past to put on another piece of music and whispered, "Vivi, you look dead and bored to boot. Why don't you let me see if Ruth can run you home?" Vivien knew she couldn't cave. She was not going to give Ruth Melnick the opportunity to p.r.o.nounce her lazy or disinterested. And there was always the chance she'd find something in the lesson that she might write about.

When the Hendersons left, Melanie brought over the flyers and envelopes they'd picked up earlier. Ruth brought a roll of stamps. "So how long are you planning to stay this time?" Ruth asked as she and Melanie sat down on either side of Vivi.