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but all of her usual jewelry and glitzy sandals were missing, along with her usual upbeat attitude.
    â€œAre you okay, Sophie?” I asked her, concerned. “Did you talk to your lawyer yet?” I asked her as she sat down on a little bench by the front window and patted Waffles tentatively as he wagged up at her.
    â€œYeah, I just came from his office. I’ve been there since eight this morning!” she said. “I showed him the papers I got handed last night, and he said Barclay’s demands are BS. He’s just dragging out the divorce to be a jerk! Which is no surprise! Plus my guy knows a paralegal over at Barclay’s attorney’s office, and he’s pretty sure he can bribe him, because this paralegal is saving up for law school and he needs the cash real bad.
    â€œBut it’s not Barclay who’s ruining my life—­it’s Joe!” she added, and erupted into a huge sob and a storm of tears.
    Waffles went running for his dog bed, and Bootsie looked distinctly uncomfortable. Her tennis-­playing, vodka-­sipping family doesn’t do crying. If they’re upset, they swim in a lake in Maine and have an extra ­couple of cocktails.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I told Sophie, putting down my paint roller to sit down with her. “You two will work things out. You really love each other!”
    â€œYa think?” she said, pushing up her sunglasses as a ray of hope dawned on her tear-­streaked face. “Because I brought up getting engaged again this morning, and he told me that he couldn’t talk about it because the fabric came in wrong for the curtains in our new living room, and it was a fuckup of epic proportions.”
    â€œHe gets really focused on fabrics!” I told her encouragingly. “That’s just how he is. Plus Joe’s not a morning person, so maybe you can bring it up again over dinner.”
    â€œI know! I mean, all I said was that we should talk about pear-­shaped versus emerald-­cut engagement rocks, and that I know some guys in Jersey who have incredible discount diamonds, and he grabbed his fabric swatches and took off! Jumped in his car and was gone in, like, 2.3 seconds. It was only seven-­forty-­five in the morning!” Sophie wailed.
    â€œHe probably, um, went to the diner for breakfast, and then to the fabric showroom to straighten out the curtain fuckup,” I told her, feeling a wave of sympathy for Sophie—­as well as for Joe, who gulps anxiety meds anytime the subject of marriage comes up. “Plus he told me last night he’s dying to go over and critique the tent for the Tomato Party. He gets really jealous when the Colketts are doing any high-­profile jobs,” I added.
    â€œYa got a point there.” Sophie sniffled, dabbing at her eyes with a Starbucks napkin she’d dug out of her Versace bag. “He’s real mad that the Colketts got that job, but like I told him, Mrs. Earle paid him out the wazoo to do her kitchen job in Florida, and she wasn’t about to let him out of her sight for the last two weeks.”
    â€œThat’s probably why he’s so pissy!” I told Sophie.
    â€œThat, and he wasn’t in the mood for lovin’ last night after we saw Gerda,” Sophie said. “And then this morning, he said he never should have left town and left Holly to deal with Eula Morris on her own, because he knows exactly how to handle Eula.” She paused for a second. “He really hates Eula! It’s kinda weird, to be honest.”
    â€œIt dates back to the senior prom,” I told her.
    â€œSpeaking of Eula,” Bootsie said, “I’m heading out in a minute to trail her movements for the next twelve hours. I’m fairly certain she’s going to have to move Heifer in Tomato Patch if it’s in her house, because Walt will look for it there.”
    â€œI’ll come with ya!” Sophie told her. “I got