Maddie picks up Emma, who says she has two hours to chill before she has to go home and feed Ricky, so the two of them come to my house to ogle the trench in the yard. We stand in the sun room drinking wine and staring at it.

Maddie taps on the glass and frowns. ”If only there were a bra for your yard,” she says, adjusting her own fine rack. We nod, sighing.

Emma squints. ”So any movement with getting the insurance to pay? Or finding someone to ...