“I plan to stop, of course, but not till I get over this nervous feeling.” She flicked a gold lighter which sputtered and sparked and finally rose up in a four-inch flame that blackened half the cigarette. She took a puff, not inhaling, and held it at an awkward angle with her elbow tight against her side. “What a beautiful day!” she said, just noticing. “It’s nice to be driven places.” And then, after a pause, she cleared her throat and said, “I don’t know if I ever mentioned this, Elizabeth, but I appreciate having you here.”
She had stepped far enough out of the pattern so that Elizabeth had to look at her again in the mirror. “That’s all right,” she said finally.
“No, I mean it. If I talked to my children this way they would get upset. Tell them I’m getting old, they’d feel forced to convince me I wasn’t.”
“Oh, well, getting old is one of the things I’m looking forward to,” Elizabeth said. “I’d like the insomnia.”
“The what?”
“The early-morning insomnia. I could have a lot more fun if I didn’t sleep so much.”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Emerson. She took half a puff from her cigarette. “Now, a little worry wouldn’t hurt the other children at all, but don’t mention this new doctor to Andrew. He’s subject to anxiety as it is. Sometimes he calls long distance asking if I’m sure I’m all right, wondering about things so specific you know they must have come to him in a dream, either waking or sleeping: have I had any falls recently? am I careful around blades? Well, nowadays we all know what that means, but even so, I don’t want you giving him any grounds for concern.”
“I don’t even know Andrew,” Elizabeth said.
“Yes, but this weekend he’s coming for a visit.”
“No problem, then. I won’t be here.”
“Oh, but you have to be here!” Mrs. Emerson said.
“I’m going home.”
“What? Home?” Mrs. Emerson fumbled her cigarette, dropped it, and caught it in mid-air. “Not for good,” she said.
“No, I just promised my mother I’d visit.”
“Well, that’s impossible,” said Mrs. Emerson. “I mean it. Impossible. I won’t let you go.”
“I’ve put it off for months now. I can’t do it again.”
“You’ll have to.”
“I can’t,” said Elizabeth, and she crammed her cap down tight on her head and began driving with both hands.
“You never asked me about this. I never heard a word.”
“My weekends are my own,” 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 flowered pink 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 expected an 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 one brother 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 invitations, I’m going to scream.”
“All right.”
“I didn’t want to mention this, Elizabeth, because it’s certainly none of my business, but lately I’ve worried that people might think there’s something easy about you. You can never be too careful of your reputation. Out at all hours, dressed any way, with any poor soul who happens along — and I can’t help noticing how Timothy always seems to have his hand at the back of your neck whenever he’s with you. That gives me such a queasy feeling. There’s something so — and now Matthew! Taking Matthew home to your parents! Are you thinking of marrying him?”
“He never asked,” Elizabeth said.
“Don’t tell me you accept all invitations to marry, too.”
“No,” said Elizabeth. She wasn’t laughing any more. She drove with her hands low on the wheel, white at the knuckles.
“Then why are you taking him home?”
Elizabeth turned sharply into the garage, flinging Mrs. Emerson sideways.