Clock Winder - Anne Tyler [41]
It was her mother who answered. “Oh, Elizabeth, what now,” she said.
“What?”
“Aren’t you calling to put off your visit again?”
“Not that I know of,” Elizabeth said.
“What is it, then?”
“I’m just saying hello.”
“Oh. Hello,” her mother said. “It’s nice to hear your voice.”
“Nice to hear yours.”
“Do you have enough money to be spending it like this?”
“That’s no problem,” Elizabeth said. “How is everything? Everybody fine? Spring there yet? Trees in bloom?”
“Well, of course,” said her mother. “Bloomed and finished. You’re using up your three minutes, Elizabeth.”
“How’s that dog getting along? Pop used to her yet?”
“You know he doesn’t like you calling him Pop.”
“Sorry. Well. Is Dommie still hanging around?”
“Elizabeth, that’s the saddest thing. I told you how often he’s asked after you, well, then Sunday he came to church with a red-headed girl. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, she could have been his cousin or something. But now what I hear: they’re engaged. Planning a fall wedding. Well, I suppose you could care less, I know you’re bringing home some Baltimore boy, but I always hoped, don’t you know, just way in the back of my—”
Oh, Dommie was good for a full fifteen minutes. Elizabeth stretched out on the bedspread and listened, every nowc and then sliding in a question to keep the flow going. When that was exhausted they talked about her father. (“I feel I ought to warn you,” her mother said, “that he looks upon this visit as a sign of some turning point in your faith. What are you laughing at? I won’t have you hurt his feelings for the world. He expects you to have changed some, and if you haven’t I don’t want to hear about it.”) Then Polly’s new baby. (“Her hair is brown, and I believe it’s going to curl. I’m so glad she has some, I never could warm to a bald-headed baby. Her eyes are a puzzle to me. They’re blue but may be turning, there’s that sort of opaque look beginning around the—”) Once, in mid-sentence, the bedroom doorknob rattled. What would happen if she said, “Excuse me, Mother, but I just wanted to say that I’ve been taken prisoner”? The connecting of her two worlds by a single wire made her feel disoriented, but when her mother ran out of conversation Elizabeth said, “Wait, don’t hang up. Isn’t anyone else there who would like to talk?”
“Have you lost all common sense? How much is this going to cost you?”
“I don’t know,” Elizabeth said.
But she found out, as soon as the call was finished. She dialed the operator, who said, “Eight-sixty,” and then “Ma’am?” when Elizabeth laughed. “Ho there, Timothy,” she said. “Can you hear me? I just made an eight-sixty phone call.”
Silence.
“Timothy? Now I’m going to call California station-to-station. I’m going to tell some store they delivered the wrong package, and get switched from department to department to—”
Something was thrown against the door. Then he kicked the door until it shook, and then he turned the key and rattled the knob. It was still locked from inside, but Elizabeth didn’t open it. “Damn it, let me in,” he said.
“You’re beginning to get on my nerves,” she told him.
“Do I have to break the door down? I want to talk to you.”
“Say please.”
“I’m warning you, Elizabeth.”
“Pretty please?”
There was a pause. Then he said, “I’m pointing a gun at you.”
“Ho ho, I’m scared stiff.”
“I’m pointing Andrew’s gun. I’ll shoot straight through the door.”
“Oh, for goodness sake,” Elizabeth said. The whole situation was getting out of hand. She slid off the bed and went over to open the door. “You’re lucky I’m not the hysterical type,” she said, brushing past him. “How do you know that’s not loaded? Put it down. Send it out with the garbage.”
She stopped off by the couch to slip into her moccasins, and then she headed out to the entrance hall. It was a pity she had no money; she would have to thumb her way home. Or take a taxi, and have Mrs.