“If you mean chairwoman and CEO of Verner, Inc., I think so,” Nico said. “It’s a little more doable than mistress of the universe.”
“I like that,” Katrina said musingly. “My mother is the chairwoman and CEO of Verner, Inc.” She turned to Nico and smiled. “It sounds so wonderfully important.”
Nico squeezed her daughter’s hand. It felt so fragile and vulnerable in her grasp—despite the fact that Katrina was an excellent horsewoman, and was able to control huge animals with those little-girl fingers. Nico was suddenly grateful that Katrina hadn’t yet reached that age when she didn’t want to have anything to do with her, and still allowed her mother to hold her hand when they went out. She was still a child, Nico thought, a child who had to be protected. Nico brushed a long strand of hair away from Katrina’s face. She was so in love with her daughter that at times it frightened her. “My most important job is being your mother,” she said.
“That’s nice, Mother, but I don’t want it to be that way,” Katrina said, shifting in her seat. And then, with that startling insight given to children, added, “It’s too much pressure. I want you and Daddy to always be happy on your own. Without me. Of course, if you’re happy with me, that’s nice, but I don’t want to be the reason you stay together.”
Nico was suddenly flooded with guilt. Where on earth had Katrina gotten the idea that she and Seymour weren’t happy? Was her affair with Kirby somehow obvious? She’d been so careful not to behave differently—if anything, she’d been more attentive and patient with Seymour than usual. Having Kirby had relieved some of unspoken pressure in their relationship—the fact that she and Seymour hardly had sex no longer concerned her. But what if, she thought wildly, Katrina found out? What would Katrina think of her then?
Would she still be proud of her mother?
“Daddy and I are very happy, sweetheart,” Nico said firmly. “You don’t have to worry about us.” Katrina shrugged, as if she wasn’t convinced, and Nico said, “Are you worried about us?”
“No-o-o-o,” Katrina said hesitantly, “but . . .”
“But what, darling?” Nico asked, a little too quickly. She smiled, but her stomach twisted with anxiety. If Katrina suspected, or even knew something, it was better to find out now, so she could deny it. And then—and then, she promised herself insistently—she really never would do it again.
“I’m not supposed to know this, but I think Magda’s parents are getting a divorce.” Katrina’s eyes widened, with either guilt at being the one to deliver this message, or shock that it might be true.
Oh, thank God, Nico thought irrationally. This was about Wendy, not her . . . No wonder Katrina was upset. She was probably worried that if this could happen to Magda, it could happen to her as well. She frowned. But surely this couldn’t be right. Wendy was away on location. When would she have found the time to be getting divorced? “Wendy and Shane have had some problems, but I’m sure everything is fine.”
Katrina shook her head. This wasn’t an unusual discussion, as Nico and Katrina often gossiped about (or rather “analyzed”) the actions of both her friends and her daughter’s. But it seemed shocking that Katrina should know more about this than she did. “They were seeing a shrink,” Katrina continued, confident in her information, “but it wasn’t working. Of course, Shane was trying to keep it a secret from the kids, but there are no secrets in a thirty-five-hundred-square-foot loft.”
Nico looked at Katrina with surprise and a little pride—where on earth had she come up with such a grown-up way of looking at relationships?—but also a bit of fear. Was it really right for a twelve-year-old to be privy to such matters? “How on earth did you hear this?” Nico asked.
“Magda,” Katrina said, as if Nico ought to know this.
“But I thought you weren’t really friends with her.” Katrina and Magda were in the same class at their private school and, because of Wendy and Nico’s friendship, had been thrown together. For years they had merely tolerated each other for the sake of their mothers, but had never managed to become friends, partly due to the fact, Nico always supposed, that Magda was a rather strange little girl. She insisted on wearing only black, and seemed to be less interested in socializing than the other children—certainly less than Katrina—and had Wendy’s defiance of not wanting to fit in. This always struck Nico as slightly worrisome. An adult could make this trait work to advantage, as Wendy had, but in a child, it could only make life more difficult . . . “Madga is very dramatic,” Nico said. “She might be making this up.” Indeed, she had to be making it up, Nico thought. There was no way Wendy could be having this kind of trouble with Shane without letting her know.
“Well, I’m better friends
with her now,” Katrina said, pulling at a strand of hair and musingly placing it over her lips in a charming gesture. “Ever since she started riding. I see her every other day after school now, so I really can’t help but be friends with her.”
“Wendy is my best friend . . .”
“And Victory Ford, too,” Katrina corrected; she had always been fascinated and reassured, for some reason, that her mother had two best friends.
“And Victory,” Nico nodded. “And we tell each other everything . . .”—well, not quite everything, she still hadn’t told Wendy about Kirby, but that was only because she hadn’t been around—“and I know Wendy would have told me.”
“Would she tell you, Mother?” Katrina questioned. “Maybe she’s embarrassed. Magda said that her father went to a lawyer, and that he changed the locks on Wednesday. She had to have a new key, and she was worried because Wendy was coming home and she didn’t know how she was going to get in.”
“Oh, well . . .” Nico said thoughtfully, finding this information disturbing as well. “I’m sure Shane left the key for her with the doorman. And going to a lawyer doesn’t mean anything. He might have gone for any reason.”
“Mother,” Katrina said patiently. “You know that’s not true. When parents go to lawyers, everyone knows it means a divorce.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” Nico said. “I’m going to call Wendy right now . . .”
“Don’t tell her I told you about the divorce. I don’t want to get Madga in trouble!” Katrina said with alarm.
“I won’t. I’ll just find out how she is—she probably isn’t even back yet.” Nico dialed the number, but it went right to Wendy’s voice mail—proof, Nico thought, that Wendy wasn’t back or was flying that afternoon.
The car pulled up in front of the Exhibitors’ Entrance to Madison Square Garden, and she and Katrina got out, crossing over the little plaza. Outside the entrance, which was blocked off with police barricades, stood two or three scruffy-looking paparazzi—the dog show not being known as a super-glamorous event. Their bored expressions seemed to indicate that they were well aware of this fact, but that, hey, you never knew. Maybe it would turn out that Jennifer Lopez had taken a fancy to dogs.
“Hey! Nico,” one of them called laconically, holding up his camera. Nico shook her head, and instinctively put her arm around Katrina’s neck, trying to shield her face. Katrina sighed, and once safely past the photographers, broke free. “Mother,” she scolded, fixing her hair with a gesture of annoyance, “you are so overprotective. I’m not a little girl anymore.”
Nico stopped, giving Katrina an awkward smile, suddenly wounded by her daughter’s disapproval. The thought that her daughter might hate her was like a sharp jab from a paring knife. But she was still the mother, and Katrina was still a little girl, sort of. “As your mother, it’s my right to be overprotective. Until you’re at least fifty.”
“Please,” Katrina said. She had a pretty pout on her face—soon, she’d be kissing boys, Nico thought with alarm. She didn’t want her daughter getting mixed up with boys. It was such a waste of time. Teenage boys were so awful . . . Maybe she and Seymour should send her to an all-girls’ boarding school, someplace safe . . . like Switzerland . . . but how could she live, not being able to see her daughter for weeks at a time?