The War of the Roses

Again Barbara took Oliver to court, resulting in an injunction that Oliver was forbidden to break into her room in the future.

'Will they put him in jail if he does?' Josh had asked his mother at the dinner table after she had announced the judge's decision.

'I'm afraid so,' she had answered gently. But Josh was visibly shaken and had thrown his napkin on the table and run up to his room. Later, after she had comforted him, Barbara had knocked at Ann's door.

'May I come in?' She had already opened the door. Ann was reading.

'Of course.'

Barbara wore a dressing gown; her face was cold-creamed, her hair pinned back. She looked considerably younger, more unsure and vulnerable.

'The worse part is having no one to talk with. At least Oliver listened. But I always felt I was hiding something. It never seemed like the truth.' She sat down on the bed and bit her lip. 'This is one hell of a trial by fire, Ann. It isn't half as simple as I thought.' She looked at Ann's face, pleading. There was no avoiding the confidences about to come, Ann knew.

'I suppose you think I'm an unfeeling rat.'

Barbara waited for a reply, for which Ann was grateful.

'Actually' - Barbara thumped her chest with outstretched thumb – ‘I hate myself for what I know in my heart I must do. If I were religious, I would think of myself as a female Job.' She bowed her head as her eyes filled with tears. They spilled down her cheeks. 'I'm not superhuman. I don't like what all this is doing to the kids. Or even Oliver. I just wish he would walk away and leave me alone. That's all I ask.' She looked up at the ceiling, her lips trembling. 'I suppose I could compromise. But I know I'll regret it for the rest of my life. I have to do what I have to do. Can you understand that, Ann?'

'Please, Barbara,' Ann said gently, sitting beside her on the bed, holding her hand with sisterly affection. 'Don't put me in a position where I have to make a choice of some sort. The whole thing is heartbreaking. I adore you all. I feel bad for all of you.'

'I'm not a beast, Ann,' Barbara whispered. 'Really, I'm not. In my heart I know I'm right. Looking back ...' She paused and sighed. 'I felt persecuted. Helpless. We have only one life, Ann. Only one. I wasn't happy.'

'I'm not here to judge,' Ann responded. But she was judging. How could Barbara be unhappy with Oliver? It was incomprehensible. I

'If only he had left the house, like an ordinary rejected spouse.'

'I'm sure it will all turn out for the best,' Ann said stupidly, disgusted with her hypocrisy. She wished she could be truly honest. She could sense Barbara's pain. She understood helplessness. But Oliver was someone special, a prize. Hurting him seemed willful, obscene. Still, she couldn't hate Barbara, whose anguish, despite Ann's feelings for Oliver, moved her. Suddenly Barbara embraced her. Ann felt the moist heat of her cheeks, the sweet, womanly smell of her body. She felt the fullness of her large breasts. In some oddly bizarre way, the closeness reminded her of Oliver, and she returned the embrace.

'Women understand,' Barbara whispered.

After a while Barbara disengaged herself and stood up, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve.

'You've been a real treasure, Ann. I want you to know that. We all owe you a debt.'

Ann felt unworthy of the gratitude.

It was Eve's idea to have a Christmas tree and she and Josh and Ann dutifully set it up in the library.

- 'I don't care what's going on in this house. Christmas is still Christmas,' Eve had announced, treating Ann to a long litany of the joys of family Christmases past - ski trips to Aspen, sunny days in the Virgin Islands and Acapulco. When they stayed at home, they would set up a Christmas tree in the library and both sets of grandparents would come down from Boston and there would be a fabulous Christmas dinner and a big eggnog party for all the friends of the Roses', both generations.

Actually, Ann hadn't intended to stay with the Roses over the holidays, but they all seemed so forlorn and depressed that she felt a sense of obligation.

On Christmas Eve both children were invited to parties and Barbara was out, cooking and supervising a large dinner. To keep busy Ann had welcomed the opportunity to assist Barbara in the making of pastry loaves, a new recipe she had concocted, which she was preparing for a Greek Embassy buffet. Barbara had been specific in her instructions, which Ann had written down and followed to the letter. The ingredients were already prepared. All she had to do was mix them. She put beef, onion, salt, and pepper into a large mixing bowl, on the kitchen island, mixed in the bread, then added wine and broth to the batter. When it had been mixed to the right consistency, she made seven rectangles, wrapped them in tinfoil, and put them in the refrigerator, very satisfied with her effort. Barbara had been concerned that making the pastry loaves would interfere with Christmas Day. She was determined, she had told Ann, to spend the day with the kids.