By Gardner Botsford
Gardner Botsford tells the interesting and funny tale of his W.W. II reviews, from his task to the infantry as a result of a forms errors to a worried trans-Atlantic crossing at the Queen Mary, to touchdown lower than heavy fireplace on Omaha seashore and the Liberation of Paris. After the battle, he all started a exotic literary occupation as a long-time editor on the New Yorker, and chronicles the magazine’s upward thrust and impression on postwar American tradition with wit and grace.
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Indd 46 7/13/12 10:47 AM the dog li v ed ( A n d S o W i l l I ) 47 behaved well, since that was always a distinct possibility. That would be better—just a complaint about his howling, not a medical issue. But I knew that wouldn’t be the case. I knew because I’d seen this expression before, in this office. “The doctor would like to see you” is one of those statements like “We have to talk” that doesn’t bode well. And just back from a relaxing and thoroughly enjoyable four days on a Mexican beach with Chris, I wasn’t prepared for either statement.
And if I pinned the word relationship on it, wouldn’t it just turn sour? Wouldn’t we immediately become disappointed in each other? Wouldn’t the sex just stop and the fighting start? ) But the longer we dated, the harder the secret was to keep. We began telling people on a “need to know” basis. Chris’s parents, I was sure, were the last ones who would ever need to know. I felt strongly that they would not approve of our dating. Or, more to the point, they would not approve of me. I was pretty confident a woman twice divorced and twelve years older than their baby boy was not going to be welcome news.
I took a deep breath. “Both of my parents loved him. Of course. ” I smiled brightly, but under the table my hand was reaching for Chris’s thigh, as much a sign of affection as to stabilize myself. Or maybe I was claiming him. indd 39 7/13/12 10:47 AM 40 T eres a J . rh y ne “Well, I hope so. ” Trudi smiled back at me. I don’t think she could extend a claim on Chris from across the table. At least not physically. Except for my own internal monologue, I was unharmed by the end of brunch. I admitted as much to Chris.