I lift a hand, letting her know she can go. She leans down, kisses Tori, and, with a nod at me, leaves. Quickly.

“Taylor!”

It’s Patti calling my name. I turn, spot her and a cluster of women at one of the pool’s round tables, and indicate that I’ll join them in just a moment. First, I have to get something cold to drink.

Something preferably with alcohol.

A few minutes later, I collapse in the poolside chair with my gin and tonic. Nice. Sliding my sunglasses on top of my head, I sip my drink appreciatively. Day’s almost over. I’m almost free.

Suddenly Annika reappears on the pool deck, dashes to a table near the baby pool, and rifles through the stack of beach towels they brought earlier. She’s looking for something, and it’s got to be her car keys or her cell phone—she couldn’t survive without either.

It’s her cell phone.

I’m not surprised. What twenty-two-year-old girl doesn’t live on her cell?

Annika leaves again, and I watch her dash back out. She’s worked for me for over a year now, and we almost never talk. I leave her to-do lists, and when she goes home at night she leaves the lists behind, everything done, all the chores checked off.

Sometimes I feel a little guilty for not ever having a proper chat, but what would we talk about? My girls? My house? My laundry? No, thank you. I have enough on my mind without having to discuss the above with a foreign teenager.

What a day. Not bad, just long and busy. Pilates nearly killed me, I killed my opponent in tennis, and the committee meeting . . . well, that went so much better than I expected.

“Have you been here long?” I ask the group at large, dropping my sunglasses back onto my nose.

“An hour,” Patti answers.

Monica grimaces. “Since two.”

“Noon,” Kate adds.

Noon? I make a face. I can’t imagine sitting here for five hours. My God, doesn’t she have anything else to do?

“You should have gotten a sitter,” I say, glancing at my children, praying they’ll be content for another half hour at least, an hour if I buy them an ice cream. Tonight I would buy them ice cream, too, if it meant I could just leave my feet up for a while and relax.

Kate sees my grimace. “I couldn’t get a sitter,” she explains. “Labor Day weekend. Everyone’s going away.”

True. We were going away, too, and then Nathan begged off at the last minute, said all he wanted to do was stay home, enjoy the girls, and maybe get in a round of golf.

“Actually,” Kate continues, crossing her legs, tugging down her straight twill skirt that looks like Eddie Bauer but I know is Ralph Lauren, “I feel like I got off easy. The kids really wanted to go to Wild Waves, but I convinced them they’d be better off just spending the day here and saving the money.”

Saving money? Kate?

I struggle to keep a straight face. Kate Finch is loaded, one of the area’s old money, and then she married Microsoft money—and not one of the little Microsoft millionaires who pop up everywhere, but Bill Finch, head of the games division—so the Finches are set for life.

“How did you convince the kids to do that?” Patti asks, leaning forward to get out of the sun’s rays. Petite and brunette, Patti Wickham has endless energy, a vivacious personality, and the inability to take no for an answer.

“Bribed them.” Kate sniffs.