New York in August was a city waiting to be reborn into its best season, into canyon sunsets and crisp nights after late summer’s haze and fade. For Catherine, such transformation could wait. She loved the soft seasons and mourned their yearly passing. Like a latter-day Persephone, she dreaded the fall not so much for itself but for what it led to—winter, with its snow and ice and the inevitable return to her own personal, presidential Hades.
Perhaps it was this anticipation that dampened her mood. She had left D.C. only to find the capital dogging her like a vengeful ghost. She felt selfish in abandoning Ken to the problems that were of his own making. She felt guilty. She felt guilty about feeling guilty. She didn’t know what she felt.
Catherine’s mood brightened with Viv’s arrival at
