The War of the Roses

'Then let me ask you as a friend. If that's possible. I don't even want us to think of ourselves as lovers. I don't want to use you. All I want you to do is to stay a while longer. Goldstein says Barbara might not bring it up, for the children's sake. And I really believe that they'll be heartbroken if you leave now. And they'll suspect something that they don't really need to know about. Just for a little while.'

She shook her head.

'I don't think I can, Oliver. I haven't got that kind of pluck.'

'Well, then, be selfish. Think of your own financial needs.'

'There is too much selfishness around here as it is.' She seemed instantly apologetic and her eyes began to fill with tears.

'For crying out loud, Ann' - Oliver felt himself erupting - 'we're not evil people.'

'It's only a house, Oliver. You can get another one. And these' - she waved her arms in the air - 'are only things.'

'She has no right to all of them.' He turned away, his eyes now vague and inert.

'It's an obsession and it's making you and her do crazy things. I saw you out there last night with that knife. Nothing else mattered. I can't imagine why you didn't stick it into that man's neck. I felt certain you were going to do it. That's another thing, Oliver. I don't like to see you people disintegrate. Even what Barbara did to me. I just don't see it as the real Barbara. If only you both could see what you're becoming.' The long speech seemed to make her winded and she sat down on the sleigh bed. 'I didn't like being a spectator to this. And I don't like being a participant.'

He moved back toward her and sat down on the bed, touching the curled edges of the wood. He seemed mentally adrift, searching for a piece of flotsam.

'We found the damned thing in Middleburg,' he said, speaking slowly. At first she was confused by the sudden change of subject. 'It's part of the French phase of the early Federal period, built around 1810. We had it refinished. You know, when you you refinish an antique, you hurt its value. Crazy, isn't it? We liked the idea of it. What marvelous fantasies those people had. A bed like a sleigh. Closing your eyes and going off to a peaceful slumber in a sleigh.'

'They're still only things, Oliver.'

'I used to think that myself. But they're more than that. They're dreams, as if you're stepping into someone else's life. You begin to wonder how many others slept in this bed, what they thought about, how they looked at life.' His eyes swept the room. 'They're more than objects. Just thinking about them prolongs their life. Maybe life is a dream.'

'I know they're beautiful. I understand your feelings about them. But they're still not flesh and blood. They don't feel. People are what count.'

She turned toward him, and he embraced her. She felt his breath in her ear. 'And I love the kids,' she said. 'I'm really attached to them. There's nothing I won't do for them. I think they've been fantastic soldiers through all this. They've gone beyond the call of children's duty to their parents.'

'I know,' he whispered. The mention of the children seemed to snap him back to alertness and he backed away. 'And I don't want to see them hurt any more than they have to be. As a matter of fact, I've decided to send them to camp for the summer. They're better off away from here while all this is going on.'

Actually, the idea had just occurred to him. Ann could leave when they left. He hoped she would reach this conclusion on her own. Then another dilemma intruded. He and Barbara would be alone in the house for two whole months. Alone. He shuddered, wondering again how he had slipped into this purgatory. There was something happening to him, he acknowledged. Perhaps he was losing his self-esteem, his sense of manhood. Certainly he had lost control of events. He turned toward her again, seeking validation, searching for lost power. He embraced her, feeling aroused instantly.

'Save me, Ann,' he begged.

'All right, Oliver,' she whispered as he began to

undress her. /

'I'm sorry,' he mumbled. 'Damn you, Goldstein.' 'Goldstein?'

'He said women in love invariably do stupid things.' 'He was right,^’ she said. He grasped her, as a drowning man reaches for a lifeline.

17

Josh and his grandfather had shot the rabbits and she had packed them in ice, still unskinned, and driven them home. Earlier, she had eviscerated fifteen of the two dozen at her father's, bringing home the useful innards in plastic bags. The rest hung on pothooks, like punished criminals, above the kitchen island. She took them down one at a time, slit each lengthwise down its belly, and peeled away the fur. Then she slit open the rib cage, removed the entrails, sliced away at the meat, and put the strips in a large bowl.