The War of the Roses

'I wonder if they remember the point,' Ann had said. She watched as Eve slowly let the smoke meander out of her nostrils.

'I want you to talk to Dad, Ann,' Eve had pleaded. 'Please. I don't care what you tell him. Only please don't let him send us to camp.'

'How can I tell him that? What can I say?'

'Anything. Tell him things that make fathers worry about daughters. That I'm in with a bad crowd, smoking dope, that I need strong parental supervision. You know what to say. Don't tell him I'm afraid for them.' She paused and looked out the dormer window, her eyes glazed and frightened. 'I really believe that if it wasn't for Josh and me, they would tear each other apart.' She shook her head. 'Ann, how can love turn to hate?'

'I'm not an expert in these things.'

'But Dad will listen to you.' The young girl had looked at her shrewdly. 'There are some things I sense, Ann.' Ann was thankful that Eve did not elaborate.

‘I forgot such beautiful things existed,' he said suddenly. He had stopped the car at an overlook and they could see the spectacular view of the valley below. 'Makes you feel clean and fresh.' She looked up at him. In the bright sunlight his eyes were cobalt blue, like the paint on his collection of Staffordshire figures. The thought agitated her and she turned away.

'Last spring I would never have dreamed that my life would change so drastically. Last spring I felt so safe. Imagine that. My principal summation, of eighteen years of marriage is safety.'

'Does that mean that you don't feel safe anymore?' she said, wondering why he hadn't said 'secure.'

'No. As a matter of fact, no.' His voice rose. 'I don't feel safe, either mentally or physically. And sometimes I don't feel anything at all.' She reached out and patted his hand, her sisterly feeling disappearing abruptly. 'The worst thing of all is that I don't like myself much anymore. Do you like yourself, Ann?'

This was not what she wanted to talk about, although she felt compelled to answer in the negative.

'Being with you is like a form of masochism,' she whispered, removing her hand. Confronting her frustrations was not pleasant, she decided, dismissing her rising self-pity. 'I came to talk about Eve. She doesn't want to go to camp.' Ann hesitated, forgetting the scenario she had constructed in her mind. 'She probably would be better off staying home.'

'Home,' Oliver said. 'She's better off getting away from us.'

'Oliver, she really doesn't want to go.'

He got out of the car and lingered against the protective rail of the overlook, peering into the valley. Although the sun shone, the air had a slight chill. He looked upward, shielding his eyes.

'There's a trail,' he said, observing a sign. The food and wine were in a canvas shopping bag, which he swung over his shoulder as they moved up the trail. Halfway up the slope, they reached a stone promontory, where they sat down and she began to unwrap the chicken.

'I don't really want to send them away, Ann,' Oliver said. Obviously he had turned the matter over in his mind. 'But the atmosphere stinks. No sense their having to live through it.'

'I think you're making a mistake,' Ann said.

Oliver picked up a small, flat rock and sent it sailing into the valley below.

'I'm really not in the mood to be manipulated by women anymore,' he began, picking up a handful of pebbles and flinging them into space.

'Now you're becoming a misogynist.'

'Can you blame me?'

She was silent for a while.

'Well, then, don't think of her as a woman. She's your daughter and I know you love her.'

'Of course I love her,' he snapped. 'And I'm doing what I think is best for both my children, getting them the fuck away from us. Like you're going to do.'

It would go badly, she decided, knowing he was adamant, beyond advice. She handed him a piece of chicken and he bit into it without relish.

'Eve says you're not the same person you were a few months ago. You and Barbara.'

'She's probably right.' He became thoughtful. 'Then why does she want to stay home when she can get away?'

'Because she loves you both.' That was as far as she was able to go. She uncorked the wine. The cork came out with surprising ease. Then she poured the wine into plastic glasses, which she stood on the flat rock.

'You're all so wise and understanding, you women. Always thinking of yourselves. Your fulfillments and your pain and your anguish. Always thinking that we guys have done you in. Always conspiring, manipulating us with your goddamned pussy.'

'I didn't come here for dirty melodrama, Oliver. Please don't include me. And don't talk of manipulation. Which is the reason I'm still living in that house - '

'I'm sorry, Ann. I apologize for past and future wrongs.'

'You haven't wronged me, Oliver. I only went where my feelings took me.'

'Then you are a masochist.'

She had come to talk about Eve, but had been waylaid. A bubbling sob began to rise in her chest and she turned away.