"Oh, I don't know. It depends. We might not be back until dinner if London wants to have lunch. I want the day to sort of play out in a relaxed sort of way. Who knows? Maybe she'll want to see a movie."

Forty-five minutes later, they were out the door, and I had the place to myself. These days, it wasn't all that common, but I'd grown so used to rushing from here to there that I wasn't even sure what I should do. Because everything was pretty much arranged with Taglieri, there wasn't really anything in the way of work, and other than a few dishes to place in the dishwasher, the house was tidy. I'd finished my workout and the paper and I'd visited with my family most of the day before, all of which left me wandering the house aimlessly after I'd been on my own for less than an hour. Something was missing or rather, someone and I realized that what I really wanted to do if I'd had the option was to ride bikes through the neighborhood with London, the two of us together on a wonderful lazy Sunday afternoon.

Vivian and London didn't return home until nearly seven and I ate both lunch and dinner alone.

I would have loved to have been the kind of guy who'd gone to the gym or meditated, or spent the afternoon reading a biography of Teddy Roosevelt, but the low-key day led to a low-key energy level without a tinge of self-improvement ambition. I ended up spending the day surfing the Internet, one click leading to the next, whatever caught my interest. I read about a giant jellyfish that had washed up on the beaches of Australia, the ongoing travails of various countries in the Middle East, the impending extinction of gorillas in central Africa, and the "Ten Best Foods to Eat to Reduce Belly Fat Fast!"

If there was anything about the surfing to be proud about, it was that I didn't read a single item about any celebrity. It wasn't enough to make me hitch up my pants and walk a bit taller, but it was something, right?

Vivian and London were both weary by the time they came home, but it was a good kind of weary. London showed me her fingernails and toenails and told me that they'd seen a movie and gone shopping, in addition to eating. After her bath, I read to her as usual, but she was yawning steadily before I turned the final page. I kissed her, inhaling the scent of the baby shampoo she still preferred to use.

By the time I was downstairs, Vivian was in her pajamas and sitting in the family room, holding a glass of wine. The TV was on some show about housewives, most of whom seemed emotionally unstable but Vivian was more chipper than usual. She chatted about her day, gave me a coy expression when I made a suggestive comment and we ended up in bed.

It wasn't exactly a planned date night, but I was happy nonetheless.

On Tuesday morning, London's first day of school, Vivian and I walked with her through the parking lot, toward the classroom building. When I asked if she wanted me to hold her hand, she hooked her thumbs under the straps on her backpack.

"I'm not a little girl anymore," she said.

Yesterday, Vivian and I had received an email from the teacher saying that the first day could be traumatic for some children and that it was best not to linger over goodbyes. A quick kiss or pat on the back and let the teacher lead them into the classroom, the email instructed. We were discouraged from standing by the door and watching, or gazing through the classroom windows for too long. We were warned against letting our children see us cry, no matter how emotional we might feel, because that might heighten our child's anxiety. We were given the phone numbers of the school nurse, and told that the school counselor would be available in the lobby, if any parents wanted to discuss what they were feeling about their child heading off to school. I wondered if my parents had ever received a letter like that when Marge or I started school and laughed aloud at the thought.

"What are you laughing about?" Vivian asked.

"I'll tell you later. It's nothing."

Up ahead, I saw my mom and dad, waiting by the car. Dad was in his plumber's outfit, which consisted of a blue button-up short-sleeved shirt with the company logo, jeans, and work boots. My mom, thank God, was sans apron or a red hat; she blended, which I appreciated even if London didn't care.

London saw them and started running. My dad scooped her up as she jumped. He called her Pumpkin, which I'd never heard before. I wondered if it was new or if I was completely oblivious.

"Today's the big day," my mom said. "Are you excited?"

"It's going to be fun," London said.

"I'm sure you'll love it," my mom assured her.

My dad kissed London on the cheek as he lowered her to the ground.

"Will you hold my hand, Papa?" London asked.

"Of course I will, Pumpkin."

London walked ahead with my dad while Vivian told my mom a bit about the email we'd received from the teacher. My mom frowned in confusion.

"They have a counselor for the parents?"

"She works for the school," Vivian explained. "Some parents might be nervous or upset. I'm sure she'll nod and listen and tell them they'll be fine. It's no big deal."

"Are you nervous?"

"No. I feel a trace of sadness, like it's the end of an era, but that'll pass I'm sure."

"Well... good."

We entered the lower school building and as I watched mothers and their children entering the classroom two by two, I thought of the story of Noah's ark, London's favorite book. I expected to see Emily and Bodhi but didn't spot them; I wondered if she'd already come and gone or hadn't yet arrived.

Not that it mattered, of course. We stood in line with other parents and children who were heading toward the kindergarten class; sets of two by twos both in front and behind us. The line moved quickly and when we were at the door, Vivian took charge, joining my dad and London.

"Okay, sweetie. Give Papa and Nana a kiss, okay? Then it's my turn."

London did as she was told, kissing both my parents before kissing Vivian.

"Your dad will pick you up, but I want to hear all about school when you get home. And remember, you have piano today at four, okay? I love you."

"I love you, too, Mommy."

The teacher was smiling. "Well, hello London. Good to see you again. Are you ready for a fun day?"

"Yes, ma'am," London replied, and with a gentle hand on her back, Vivian scooted London forward while the teacher made room for her to pass. As cautioned, we didn't linger at the door or windows, though I was able to spot London standing at a low table littered with felt of different shapes and sizes. Kids were stacking them, making designs. Still no sign of Bodhi, but London didn't seem fazed.

It was only when we were making our way back to the car that I registered what had happened.

"I didn't have a chance to kiss her goodbye."

"That's okay. You'll see her after school." Vivian shrugged.

"Do you want to swing by the lobby to see the counselor?"

"Not a chance," she said. "I'm already late for work. Walter is probably pacing his office, waiting for me."

While London was in school, I reconfirmed all aspects of filming before meeting with the head of the camera crew. We reviewed the schedule, along with the footage that was needed especially for the longer commercial, which had more than a dozen different shots and would need three days and made sure we were on exactly the same page. After that, I also cold-called the offices of half a dozen plastic surgeons, and lined up two meetings for the following week.

Not bad for a day's work, and when I went to pick up London, I waited in a queue that stretched down the street. Unlike the drop-off, pickup was more chaotic and time consuming, and it took twenty minutes before London finally got in the car.

"How was your first day of school?" I asked her, slowly pulling out and watching her reflection in the rearview mirror.

"It was fun," she said. "The teacher let me help her read Go, Dog. Go! at story time. Some of the kids don't even know their letters yet."

"They'll catch up," I said. "I don't think I was reading when I went to kindergarten."

"Why not?"

"My parents didn't read to me too much. They probably assumed I'd learn to read when I was in school."

"Why didn't they read to you?"

"I don't know. Maybe they were too tired."

"Mom reads to me when she's tired. And you read to me when you're tired."

"People are just different, I guess. Hey, by the way, did Bodhi ever show up at school?"

"Yes and we get to sit at the same table. He's really good at coloring."

"That's great. It's nice to sit by someone you already know."

By then, the school was receding in the distance. "Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Can we go to Dairy Queen before piano? Since I went to school today?"

Noting the time, I did a quick calculation. "I think we can squeeze that in."

The stop for ice cream meant that we arrived at the piano teacher's house with only a few minutes to spare. London had been on the go for eight hours, nine by the time the lesson was over, and that didn't count the time it had taken her to get ready for school. She was going to be exhausted by the time we got home.

While London practiced, I took a walk through the neighborhood. My knees were a bit achy from the regular jogging but not too bad. I had just set out when I heard my cell phone ringing. Marge.

"How did London do on her first day?" Marge asked without preamble.

"She had a good time," I answered. "Her friend Bodhi was there."

"Yeah? How about Bodhi's mom?"

"I didn't see her," I said. "We were gone by the time she and Bodhi got there."

"Thank God," she said. "Otherwise, poor Emily might have been melted by Vivian's laser-beam death stares."

"Aren't you supposed to be working instead of picking on my wife?"

"I'm not picking on her. If anything, I'm on her side. I mean if Liz started hanging out with her ex, who also happened to be a terrific, beautiful, recently separated woman, I'd be trying to annihilate her with my laser-beam stares, too."

"What is it with women?"

"Oh please. Don't even go there. Are you kidding? I'm sure you just love hearing her bring up Walter in every conversation. Even I was getting tired of his name."

"She works for him," I said, trying to downplay it. "It's normal."

"Yeah? What's my boss's name?" When I didn't answer, she went on. "And who cares if they work together, exercise together, travel together, and fly on the private jet together, right? And what does it matter if she mentions her billionaire boss's name more than she mentions yours? You're so evolved that you're above feeling even the slightest tinge of jealousy."

"Are you trying to get a rise out of me?"

"Not at all," she said. "But I do want to know how the rest of your weekend went, after you left Mom's. I take it you didn't bring up the new-bank-account or apartment-in-Atlanta things?"

"No. Saturday night ended up being pretty quiet. We went to bed early. We were all tired. And on Sunday, I had a break actually." I told her a bit about Vivian and London's day.

"Like I didn't see that one coming," Marge offered.

"What are you talking about?"

"Did you notice the way she was staring at you after London was stung by the bee?"

I remembered exactly but didn't want to say it. Instead: "She was just upset that London was hurt."

"Nope. She was upset because London went running to you and not her to comfort her. Liz noticed it, too."

I remembered thinking the same thing and said nothing.

"So what does she do?" Marge went on. "She spends all day with London on Sunday, and then rushes London into the classroom before you had a chance to kiss her goodbye."

"How do you know about that?"

"Because Mom called and told me. She thought it was odd."

"You're crazy," I said, suddenly feeling suddenly defensive. "You're reading too much into it."

"I might be," she admitted. "I hope I am."

"And stop talking about Vivian like that. All of you need to stop dissecting everything she does. She's been under a ton of pressure these last few weeks."

"You're right," she said. "I was out of line. I'm sorry." There was a pause. "What are you doing now?"

"Are you trying to change the subject?"

"I'm doing my best. I've already apologized."

"London's at her piano lesson. I'm on a walk. I figured I'd burn a few more calories before dinner."

"Good for you," she said. "You look thinner in the face by the way."

"You can't really tell yet."

"Oh yeah you can. This last weekend, I was like... wow."

"You're just trying to butter me up so I don't stay mad at you."

"You never stay mad at me. You're such a people pleaser, you'll probably hang up worried that my feelings were hurt because you called me out."

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."