“Alfred is right.” When Rose opened her mouth, Annette shook her head. “No. Let us speak for a minute while you calm yourself enough to tell us what’s wrong.”
More tissues. So many tissues.
Annette raised an elegant forefinger. “Point number one. You’ve never wanted us to pay for you. We have to enact a Cheltenham tragedy each time we meet to spend money on you, so acquit yourself of making us buy your company. That’s unfair. To all of us, not just you. Do you really think we’d be fools enough to love you like we do if we had to purchase your affections?”
When Annette phrased it like that, it did seem a bit insulting.
Rose hiccupped loudly, as she often did after crying, and Alfred patted her back.
“Well said, Nettie.” Alfred cast a fond look over his wife, but his expression turned stern once more as he faced Rose. “Point number two. We’ve never doubted your love for us. Whether or not you said the words, you’ve behaved toward us with clear affection from the start. Do you think we didn’t know who bought our gifts? Who sent us cards? Who forced our son to call weekly?”
Annette sighed. “All that started when you married Barton, and all that ended when you divorced Barton.”
Barton Buckham: total dick. How he’d emerged from the DNA of such wonderful parents, Rose had no idea.
“After the divorce, yes, you were hard to reach sometimes,” Alfred admitted. “But our son hurt you. You needed time. We understood that.”
They were being kind to her, as she might have expected. Too kind. “But we never just…hang out. And you’re always the ones who call me about getting together.”
“My dear,hanging outis all well and good, but I need a shopping partner.” Annette plucked at the fluted hem of her black linen jacket. “Without your help, how could I keep upstaging those other biddies?”
“And if I’m going tohang out, I’d much rather do so at restaurants with tasting menus.” Alfred sniffed. “You would not believe the inferior canapés I’ve consumed whilehanging outwith our country club acquaintances at their homes.”
They used that phrase as if it were in quotes, or italicized for its foreign origin.
Annette slipped an arm through Rose’s. “You could call us more often, though. We know you’re busy with the school year, but we miss your voice.”
“And we are getting quite old,” Alfred added.
Annette’s hunch reappeared. “Also feeble.”
“Quite, quite feeble.” He raised his voice. “Rogers, my cane!”
The butler hovered near the door. “Sir, you don’t own a cane.”
“Then find me one.” Alfred nodded in gratitude. “Thank you, Rogers.”
Before poor Rogers was tasked with procuring a wheelchair and possibly a coffin as well, Rose put aside her tissues and made herself clear. “No need for theatrics. From now on, I’ll call more often. I promise. I’m sorry I haven’t done it before.”
“Unnecessary apology accepted.” Annette’s gaze turned searching. “Now tell us what’s wrong, Rosie. Is it about your young man?”
Rose hiccupped out a laugh. Bless them for calling a divorced dad in his mid-forties ayoung man. Martin would be so tickled when she told—
Oh, Jesus. She couldn’t tell him what Annette had said. She couldn’t tell him anything.
Because she’d let him walk away.
She’d fucked up. And if she ever stopped crying, she was going to have to explain to Annette and Alfred exactly how badly.
* * *
An hour later,Rose was still sitting on that settee, flanked by her former in-laws. Her tears had slowed now that she’d reached the end of her story, but she figured that was a temporary respite. Her body seemed to contain untold stores of salt water and mucus.
The couple was taking a minute to consider what they’d just heard.
Then Annette tsked. “My dear, your social armor was meant to protect you. Not keep everyone out at all costs, for fear they might damage it.”
Alfred reached across Rose and gently tapped his wife’s hand. “Dearest, Rosie’s history isn’t ours. Not her childhood. Not her marriage and divorce. I believe she’s had some justification for her concerns.”
