SundayKate spent the next afternoon with Simon. He drove down. The couple walked to and across Central Park to the Metropolitan Museum. This was more their style than was the Guggenheim, and they wandered from gallery to gallery engaging in a conversation that except for a few stutters had all the earmarks of two long-time friends enjoying a Sunday afternoon in the Park.
They were both tired by the time they left the Museum, but Kate insisted on walking back to her apartment after they got some coffee at a place on Madison Avenue. They rested on two of the stools there, watching the people pass by and enjoying each other’s company as they got their second winds. Eileen was right. Simon had a way with women, and to Kate, in particular, their comfort was in part the product of what they had
