The Clock Winder by Anne Tyler

Elizabeth said.
    “Oh, listen to you. You’re as set in your ways as an old maid,” said Mrs. Emerson. She ground out her cigarette and then braced herself as they zoomed away from a traffic light. “I should have known better than to rely on you. You or
anyone
. I should have let Billy buy me a lingerie shop on Roland Avenue, sat there all day the way my friends are doing, drinking gin and writing up the losses for income tax.
Much
too busy to see my children. Then they’d come home every week; just watch. They only take flight if you show any signs of caring.”
    Elizabeth coasted past little Japanese trees that floweredpink and white on the grassy divide. She kept time in her head to faint music from the radio.
    “This is all taking place because I mentioned something about appreciating you,” said Mrs. Emerson. “I am cursed with honesty. And where does it get me?”
    “What would you want me for anyway?” Elizabeth asked. “I’ve kept even with all my work.”
    “No, you don’t understand. I need a—Andrew and I manage better when there’s a buffer, so to speak. Somebody neutral. His brothers are no help at all. Matthew is always in a daze anyway, and Timothy just flies off somewhere. These two weeks he’s having a run of tests, isn’t that typical? I believe he arranged it that way, so that I’d be left alone with—oh, nothing that I say is what I mean. I
love
Andrew, sometimes I think I might love him best of all. And he’s so much better now. He’s not nearly so—he doesn’t have that—nothing’s really
wrong
with him, you know.”
    Elizabeth peered into her side mirror.
    “Why don’t you say something?”
    “Just trying to change lanes,” Elizabeth said, and she leaned out the window. “How come this mirror is at such a funny angle?”
    “I can’t put the visit off,” said Mrs. Emerson, “because he likes to come when things are in bloom. He’s already missed most of it. I wonder why Timothy can’t study at home? Talk to him, Elizabeth. Make him change his mind.”
    “I’m against things like that,” Elizabeth said. “What if I changed his mind and he stayed home and got run over by a truck? What if the house burned down?”
    “What?” Mrs. Emerson passed a hand across her forehead. “I’m not in the mood for an outline of your philosophy, Elizabeth. I’m worried. Oh, wouldn’t you think my children could be a little
happier?”
She waited, as if she really expectedan answer. Then she said, “I suppose you’re going home with someone from a bulletin board.”
    “Well, no.”
    “You’re taking the train?”
    “I’m going with Matthew,” Elizabeth said.
    “Matthew?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Matthew
Emerson?”
    Elizabeth laughed.
    “Well, I don’t know all the Matthews you might know,” Mrs. Emerson said. “I don’t understand. What would Matthew be going to North Carolina for?”
    “To take me home.”
    “You mean he’s going especially for you?”
    “I invited him.”
    “Oh. You’re taking him to meet your family.”
    “Yes,” said Elizabeth, and flicked her turn signal.
    “Does that have any significance?”
    “No.”
    “This is so confusing,” Mrs. Emerson said.
    Which made Elizabeth laugh again. The spring air gave her a light-headed feeling, and she was enjoying the drive and the thought of taking a trip with Matthew. She didn’t care where the trip was to. But Mrs. Emerson, who misinterpreted the laugh, sat straighter in her seat.
    “I
am
his mother,” she said.
    “Well, yes.”
    “I believe I have some right to know these things.”
    Elizabeth braked at a stop sign.
    “That would explain Timothy’s strange mood,” Mrs. Emerson said.
    “He doesn’t know about it yet.”
    “Well, what are you doing? Are you playing off onebrother against another? Lately you’ve seen so much of Matthew, but you still go out with Timothy. Why is that?”
    “Timothy invites me,” Elizabeth said.
    “If you tell me again that you accept all