Clock Winder - Anne Tyler [70]
I hope you aren’t too disgusted with us. We are not as unhappy as we must seem. Sometimes when we are all together things start going wrong somehow, I don’t know why, and everybody ends up feeling they can’t do anything right, and anything they try to do will make it worse. Everybody. Even Mother, maybe. But we love her very much, and we are a very close family, and Matthew is closest of all. I wish I could make you see that.
Well, so I am married—my husband’s name is Brady Summers and he’s in his last year of law school—next year we’ll be moving to New York where he has a job with a corporation—
I’m going to like being so near Melissa and Andrew, who is the most interesting of all my brothers although of course Matthew is very interesting too—we will all have lunch together on Wednesdays at this little restaurant Andrew likes to go to, which will be fun—
I should say also that I’m not a frequent letter writer, so if it should happen that you’d like to keep in touch I won’t be disappointed if you wait months to answer—then too you might not want to write at all, which I would understand. Thank you again—
Sincerely,
Margaret Emerson Summers
JULY 4, 1961
Dear Elizabeth Abbott:
I picked a revolver off a policeman at a parade today. It’s for you.
Yours very truly,
Andrew Carter Emerson
Dear Matthew,
How are you? I’m doing just fine.
I have a job taking care of an old man who I like very much. I’m having a nice summer.
The reason I’m writing is to tell you not to come in August. I’m not angry or anything, I just don’t think there would be any point to it.
Sincerely,
Elizabeth
JULY 11, 1961
Dear Elizabeth,
What do you mean, point? When did you start caring whether things had a point?
I’m coming anyway. This is important. You are the first person outside my family I’ve ever loved and I’m worried you may be the last.
Matthew
Dear Margaret,
Congratulations on your recent marriage which I was very happy to hear about. I’m not much for writing letters but will try to keep in touch.
I know that your family is very nice and I always did like your mother, only I had to start school again. Thank you for writing.
Sincerely,
Elizabeth
JULY 15, 1961
Dear Elizabeth,
I know that my last letter must have sounded rude. I’ve been thinking things over since then. I woke up last night and suddenly I saw this whole situation in a different light—not me being steadfast and patient but just pushing you, backing you against a wall, forcing a visit on you and talking on and on about love when you don’t want to listen. Is that how you see it, too? You’re younger than me. Maybe you’re just not interested in settling down yet. Maybe I was always afraid of that underneath, or I would have called you on the phone or come down there one of these weekends.
You will have to discuss this with me somehow. I don’t know what to think any more.
Mother is back from visiting Mary and Margaret. I don’t know that traveling did her that much good after all. She looks tired. When I went to see her yesterday she was just putting the permanent license plates on the new car. She didn’t have the faintest idea how to go about it. I suppose Dad or Richard always did it before, and then you last March. Anyway she was just circling the car with them, looking at the plates and then the car and then the plates again and holding a little screwdriver in her hand like a pen. I would have given a million dollars to see you coming across the grass with your toolbox. I even thought you would, for a minute. I kept looking for you. Then when I was putting the plates on for her Mother started crying. Without you we are falling apart. The basement has started seeping at the corners. Mother says she wouldn’t even know what to look under in the yellow pages, for a job like that. Elizabeth should be here, she said. She knew the names of things.
I don’t know how to think all this through any more, except to ask if you would mind writing and just telling