Mrs. Kat.”
Once the housekeeper had left, Kat smiled at me.
“Mrs. Kat?” I teased.
“I know, it’s so silly. She’s been with us for fifteen years, and for fifteen years, she’s refused to call me Kat. Anyway, I hope you like short ribs. I’ve never made them before, but the butcher swore they would be easy and delicious. He was right on the easy part, at least. I just plunked them in the oven hours ago and haven’t touched them since.”
“They smell fantastic,” I said.
Kat pulled a bottle of chilled Pouilly-Fuissé from the enormous stainless steel refrigerator. She poured us each a glass.
“Cheers!” Kat tapped her wineglass against mine. “I’m so glad you came tonight.”
“Thank you for inviting us,” I said. “It’s such a treat to have someone cook me dinner.”
“Todd isn’t at all how I pictured him.” Kat pulled out a plate of cheese and crudités from the refrigerator and put it on the counter. “He’s much taller than I thought he’d be.”
“Really? That’s funny. I was just thinking the same thing about Howard.”
“But Howard’s not at all tall! What, did you think he was a midget?” Kat exclaimed.
I laughed and relaxed. “No, actually he’s shorter than I thought he’d be. I just mean I’d pictured him differently. For some reason, I thought he’d be blond.”
“Oh, no, I’ve never gone for blond men.” Kat gave a humorous shudder. “Or redheads. No offense, because your hair is gorgeous. But it doesn’t translate well to men.”
“Really? I’ve actually always been attracted to redheads,” I admitted. “And Scots.”
“And kilts on men?” Kat teased.
“I draw the line at men wearing skirts.”
“Good Lord, what are you two talking about?” Howard asked as he strode into the kitchen. Much like his wife, Howard’s pace was a few notches faster than average. I wondered if they were both naturally quick walkers or one had influenced the other over the course of their marriage. “Tom, watch out. Our wives are talking about men in skirts.”
“Todd,” Todd said, coming in behind him.
“Right. Todd. Sorry.” Howard picked up a slice of cheese and popped it into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed it before turning his intense gaze on me. “I can’t believe your husband is such a tennis fan and he’s never been to the Miami Open.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s a huge tennis tournament held every year down in Key Biscayne. All the top players go. I never miss it,” Howard said. “Kat’s father’s company has a box there.”
“Your father owns a company?” I shouldn’t have been astonished, but I was.
Kat had mentioned her parents to me only in passing. I knew they lived nearby, but I didn’t think she’d ever mentioned what they did professionally.
Howard had just bitten into another slice of cheese, and my question clearly caught him off guard, since he nearly choked. He coughed and hammered at his chest with one fist.
“Are you okay?” Kat asked. Her tone was casual as she poured a glass of water from a carafe on the marble countertop and handed it to her husband.
“You don’t know who Kat’s father is?” Howard asked, ignoring his wife’s question but accepting the glass of water. “How is that even possible? He’s Thomas Wyeth.”
The name sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I wondered if he could possibly be an artist or maybe a writer. But, no, I didn’t think an artist would have corporate box seats at a tennis tournament.
“You’re a Wyeth?” Todd asked.
He had clearly caught on sooner than I had. In fact, he was staring at Kat, his mouth agape. It was almost as though she had been unmasked as a celebrity, like a member of the English aristocracy or a Kennedy.
“No, she’s a Grant,” Howard said irritably at the same time Kat smiled and said, “Guilty as charged.”
Howard and Kat glanced at one another. Howard seemed annoyed, but Kat merely arched her eyebrows and looked amused.
“You don’t mind me being a Wyeth when it comes time to use the company’s box seats,” she said lightly.
Howard opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something, but then thought better of it. “Of course I don’t mind. Don’t be ridiculous,” he said.
“I’m sorry. I feel like I’m playing catch-up,” I said. “Is your father famous?”
Kat let out a peal of laughter. “No, he’s not famous,” she said. “He just owns a construction company.”
“But he is actually famous,” Todd said.
“You only know his name because you’re an architect,” Kat said, patting Todd’s arm.
“No, my dear, he probably knows the name because your father is worth... What is he worth these days? Has he hit a billion dollars yet?” Howard asked in the same ironic tone he’d used to offer whiskey to Todd.
Kat rolled her eyes at me. “Not even close. He’s not Bill Gates,” she said.
“He’s not far off,” Howard said under his breath.
Kat shot her husband a sour look. “It’s tacky to talk about money.”
“Yes, you’re always quick to tell me how much I need to work on my manners,” Howard retorted.
Suddenly it all became clear. Kat wasn’t just wealthy. She came from capital-M Money. The sort of money that doesn’t last just a lifetime but through multiple generations thereafter. It would be nothing to a multimillionaire to set up his daughter in a Palm Beach art gallery. Just a carrot to tempt his headstrong bohemian daughter to return home to South Florida.
I had never thought of myself as a covetous person and firmly believed jealousy was wasted energy. There would always be someone with more than you, any way you chose to measure it—intelligence, beauty, wealth, talent, happiness. Even so, it was hard not to look around the beautiful home of the woman who was quickly becoming one of my closest confidantes, remember the pile of unpaid bills on my desk at home and not whine silently, It’s not fair. Of course, life wasn’t fair. But sometimes the sheer magnitude of the unfairness could stick in your throat like a bitter pill.
* * *
The dinner was fantastic. It did not surprise me that Kat, who seemed to do everything well, was a wonderful cook. The short ribs were tender and flavorful. They paired perfectly with the creamy garlic mashed potatoes and green beans tossed in olive oil and lemon zest. Howard had uncorked several bottles of cabernet sauvignon, which I thought at first was foolhardy—there was no way the four of us would
