Back in a world free from sister-wives and the chores they're handing off, Bill and Don are sitting in their car, staking out a vacant 7.2-acre lot conveniently zoned for commercial use. Bill's counting cars while Don inhales a sandwich. Bill gives him an irritated look, and Don apologizes. Bill lies that it doesn't bother him, and takes another sip of water. Don decides to irritate Bill further by pointing out that he's always thought Bill couldn't trust Roman; Bill replies that he's always known Roman was untrustworthy, but he thinks they can outwait the foul codger. Don helpfully brings up another one of Roman's former investments, a failing kitchen supply company in Moab that got torched. Don is something of a worrywart, isn't he? Bill irritably replies that the arson was never proven. Don then brings up some other dark incident, and frets, "I don't know how we can break ground on another store with him still in the picture. If his association with us becomes public, that's it. We're cooked." I take it back -- Don is not something of a worrywart, he is the undisputed king of the worrywarts.

Just then, Nicki calls and casually asks if she can get an advance on the next month's allowance now that the new store's open. I...wow. I can't even imagine what it's like to have to ask your spouse for an allowance. Bill says, "No. And if there were a way, you'd have to talk to Barb." And now, I am having an even harder time conceptualizing a world where I would have to ask multiple spouses for money. Nicki points out that Barb got called in, and Bill cheerily says, "Yeah, isn't that great?" Not for the woman who has to ask for money. Nicki goes from zero to bitchy and says, "Bill, you give her too much power." Bill has clearly had this conversation before and tells her to take it to Barb. Nicki rolls her eyes some more -- how she can drive when all she can see is the back of her skull is God's private mystery -- and clicks off the phone.

When Bill gets off the phone, Don is sucking down a soda and looking at him with an expression like, If only your wives were into pill-popping and Sapphic behavior, your marriages would be so much easier. Don tells him they've been there for five minutes, and with a heartfelt "Oh, fudge," Bill realizes he lost count of the cars.

In a classroom, Barb is holding up a felt board with the lifecycle of a butterfly and explaining that the insect's life is brief, yet action-packed. One little boy asks if butterflies go to heaven, and Barb punts that with, "Gosh, I don't know." (That's a much better answer than the one I got from Sister Mary Albert when I asked if my cat would go to Heaven. Her "No. Animals have no souls. There are no pets in Heaven" was one of those experiences that was obviously formative, as I'm still bringing it up now, in this recap. Anyway…) Anyway, the junior theologians in Barb's class have decided that there's no good reason for moral and attractive insects not to go to Heaven, and in a corner of the room, a guy in a suit is watching all of this with a frowny look, like he's just collecting material for Americans United for Separation of Church and State. The minute some kid passes on his dad's words on the matter ("You have to be baptized to go to the Celestial Kingdom"), the guy knocks for Barb's attention.