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Authors: Kitty Burns Florey
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he had used that money to make more money. But Rosie and her son seldom thought about either of them.
Was this, as her cousin Deborah used to say, âa shameâ? Was it really âtoo badâ that they hadnât all parted friends as Debbieâs sister-in-law and her ex-husband had? âA real pityâ that they didnât spend at least Christmas together for the sake of the children? Rosie tried sometimes, though the attempt always either bored or infuriated her, to explain to Debbie that it wasnât any of those things, that it wasnât abnormal or sinful or even particularly sad (not to mention none of her business) for the members of a family to dislike each other and want nothing to do with each other. She and Peter, Rosie insisted, were happy without Edwin and Susannah. âThen youâre cold fish,â said her cousin. Rosie turned away with a shrug. âNot to even want to spend Christmas together,â Debbie persisted.
Rosie could remember Christmases past, and she imagined Christmases present suffused with the malice and discontent of Susannah, with the dullness and pettiness of Edwinâand with the meanness that grew in her own heart in their companyâand she said to Debbie, âNo, thanks. Peter and I are going to Aruba with Larry for Christmas.â
Debbie gasped, disapproval turning her face red under heavy makeup. âTo Aruba!â She always gasped; everything confounded the poor girl.
That was 1968, when Peter was sixteen. Rosie was seeing a tweedy lawyer named Larry Bruner. The Christmas trip to Aruba which so shocked her cousin was in fact Rosie and Larryâs last attempt to love each other enough to marry. The venture wasnât a total washout, compared, say, to that tropical honeymoon with Edwin, a comparison Rosie inevitably made and which endeared to her Larryâs garrulous good humor and constant attention. The three of them were charmed by the gentle blue-green beauties of the place, by sun and sea and tangles of bright flowers, and Christmas presents opened on a terrace under an umbrella. But Larry didnât like the bond, viewed at close range, between Peter and Rosie. Thatâs how he put it: âI donât like it,â meaning he considered it in some way unhealthy but not wanting to say so, even when she pressed him. And she did press him, wanting to hear the words that would part them, knowing they were there to be spoken. But he kept hedging and hinting, telling her meaningful anecdotes from his own life. He himself at sixteen had been hard at work battling his parents at every turn. He couldnât comprehend a teenage son who was openly fond of his mother, who kissed her not only good night but good morning, and who had no interest in joining the group of noisy, flirting teenagers who gathered nightly on the hotel terrace while their parents crowded into the bar. And he resented her allowing Peter to sit up with them until all hours. She didnât tell Larry she permitted such libertiesâliberties that certainly did sabotage their romanceâbecause she had already decided she and Larry had no future. She preferred Peterâs company to Larryâsâthough, when Peter did go to his room at night, what she and Larry did in the privacy of theirs continued to be ingenious and gratifying. Sometimes, lying in bed with Barney or digging in the garden pondering her lost youth, Rosie missed Larry Bruner. But on New Yearâs Day she bid him farewell forever, becauseâthis is what it came down toâhe didnât like her son.
There were other men, of course. She preferred reasonably long, temporarily permanent relationships, the kind in which they installed a toothbrush in her bathroom but still called before coming over. Peter was initially suspicious of each of her beaux. Having learned the vocabulary of the age, he was always afraid they were using her, that she was being taken advantage of simply
Was this, as her cousin Deborah used to say, âa shameâ? Was it really âtoo badâ that they hadnât all parted friends as Debbieâs sister-in-law and her ex-husband had? âA real pityâ that they didnât spend at least Christmas together for the sake of the children? Rosie tried sometimes, though the attempt always either bored or infuriated her, to explain to Debbie that it wasnât any of those things, that it wasnât abnormal or sinful or even particularly sad (not to mention none of her business) for the members of a family to dislike each other and want nothing to do with each other. She and Peter, Rosie insisted, were happy without Edwin and Susannah. âThen youâre cold fish,â said her cousin. Rosie turned away with a shrug. âNot to even want to spend Christmas together,â Debbie persisted.
Rosie could remember Christmases past, and she imagined Christmases present suffused with the malice and discontent of Susannah, with the dullness and pettiness of Edwinâand with the meanness that grew in her own heart in their companyâand she said to Debbie, âNo, thanks. Peter and I are going to Aruba with Larry for Christmas.â
Debbie gasped, disapproval turning her face red under heavy makeup. âTo Aruba!â She always gasped; everything confounded the poor girl.
That was 1968, when Peter was sixteen. Rosie was seeing a tweedy lawyer named Larry Bruner. The Christmas trip to Aruba which so shocked her cousin was in fact Rosie and Larryâs last attempt to love each other enough to marry. The venture wasnât a total washout, compared, say, to that tropical honeymoon with Edwin, a comparison Rosie inevitably made and which endeared to her Larryâs garrulous good humor and constant attention. The three of them were charmed by the gentle blue-green beauties of the place, by sun and sea and tangles of bright flowers, and Christmas presents opened on a terrace under an umbrella. But Larry didnât like the bond, viewed at close range, between Peter and Rosie. Thatâs how he put it: âI donât like it,â meaning he considered it in some way unhealthy but not wanting to say so, even when she pressed him. And she did press him, wanting to hear the words that would part them, knowing they were there to be spoken. But he kept hedging and hinting, telling her meaningful anecdotes from his own life. He himself at sixteen had been hard at work battling his parents at every turn. He couldnât comprehend a teenage son who was openly fond of his mother, who kissed her not only good night but good morning, and who had no interest in joining the group of noisy, flirting teenagers who gathered nightly on the hotel terrace while their parents crowded into the bar. And he resented her allowing Peter to sit up with them until all hours. She didnât tell Larry she permitted such libertiesâliberties that certainly did sabotage their romanceâbecause she had already decided she and Larry had no future. She preferred Peterâs company to Larryâsâthough, when Peter did go to his room at night, what she and Larry did in the privacy of theirs continued to be ingenious and gratifying. Sometimes, lying in bed with Barney or digging in the garden pondering her lost youth, Rosie missed Larry Bruner. But on New Yearâs Day she bid him farewell forever, becauseâthis is what it came down toâhe didnât like her son.
There were other men, of course. She preferred reasonably long, temporarily permanent relationships, the kind in which they installed a toothbrush in her bathroom but still called before coming over. Peter was initially suspicious of each of her beaux. Having learned the vocabulary of the age, he was always afraid they were using her, that she was being taken advantage of simply
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