Anne Tyler - The Tin Can Tree

'Oh, no. Thank you anyway.'

'Aunt Connie's giving it.'

'Well, it's nice of you to ask,' Ansel said.

'Don't you want to come?'

'Oh, I can't. James, I'm through with my tray.'

'Put it on the table,' said James.

"There's too much other stuff there.'

James scraped his chair back and went to the living room, still chewing his piece of toast. By the time he reached the couch, Ansel was already preparing to lie down; he held the tray out in one hand, while he swung his feet up onto the couch.

'Ansel won't come to Aunt Connie's picnic,' Maisie said.

'That's too bad,' said James. He picked the tray up and went back to the kitchen.

'He just won't be reasoned with,' Maisie called after him.'

'Maybe he don't feel up to it.'

'Will you hush?' Ansel asked. ‘I’m not giving any excuses; why should you?'

James made another trip back for the salt and pepper, which were sitting on the arm of the sofa. As he bent to pick them up, Maisie said, 'Will you talk to him?'

'Nothing I can say.'

'Why doesn't he ever go places?'

‘That's my secret,' Ansel said. They looked at him. He was lying on his back, with his hands crossed over his chest as if he expected to be laid out any minute, and his eyes were staring upwards, wide and blank. But now that he had their attention, all he did was switch his eyes suddenly to the window overhead and say, 'Well, now. Yonder goes a jet.'

They both waited, still watching him.

'Little white tail behind it,' he said finally.

'Are you in some pain?' Maisie asked.

'Well, yes.'

She looked across at James. 'Ansel's in pain,' she told him. But James just sat down on a wooden chair, still holding the salt and pepper, and stretched his legs out comfortably in front of him. If Ansel began an answer by saying, 'Well,' there was no use believing him.

'What shall I do?' Maisie asked him.

'I don't know.'

'Get him a hot water bottle?'

'Hot water bottle on my feet won't help,' said Ansel.

'Oh. Is it your feet that hurt?'

'I think it is.'

'I declare,' said Maisie, and then looked at James again, but he didn't offer any suggestions. Finally she said, 'Is that why you won't come to the picnic?'

'No.'

'It's not till Sunday, you know. You'd be all better by then.'

'I just don't want to come,' Ansel said. 'But thank you anyway.'

Maisie couldn't seem to find anything to say to that. She sat there, twisting at the hem of her white skirt, and James began hitting the plastic salt and pepper shakers together until he had worked up to a good rhythm. He was considering starting some more complicated beat when Maisie said, 'Will you stop that noise?'

James stopped. Outside a car suddenly drove up, making a great racket as it skidded to a stop on the gravel road. Maisie stood up and bent forward a little to peer out the window. 'It's Aunt Connie,' she said.

'Maybe she's come to invite me personally,' said Ansel.

'No, she's going toward Mrs Pike's.'

'She won't stay there long. Mrs Pike wants to be by herself.'

'Aunt Connie's very cheering,' Maisie said.

'Sometimes, I'm very cheering, but you know what happened when I -'

'It's Aunt Connie's biggest party of the summer I'm asking you to,' Maisie told him. 'That's all. The one where she hires the magician and all.'

Ansel sighed and looked at the ceiling. After a minute he said, 'The actual place it hurts is right behind the ankle-bones. The pain is awful.'

'The anklebones?'

'Last night I walked too much.'

'Where'd you walk to?' Maisie asked.

James frowned at Ansel. He didn't want Maisie to hear about last night, not after the scolding she'd given him. But Ansel wasn't looking at James; he went on, placidly.

'I walked just about everywhere,' he said. 'I thought, "I got to get out of here. This is no place for me." I went everywhere I could think of.'

'You shouldn't take such strenuous exercise,' Maisie said.

'You have no idea how dizzy I was,' Ansel told her. 'How swimming in the head I was. I couldn't even pack my things. I had to have a little something first to steady my nerves.'

'To – oh,' Maisie said, and she shot a glance over at James and narrowed her eyes. 'Ansel, you know what happens. If you get drinking, you see how you feel.'

'It was my mood,' said Ansel. 'I started walking.'

James sat forward and said, "There's a pitcher of Kool-Aid in the icebox. Anybody want some?'

'No,' Maisie said. 'Where were you when all this was going on?'

'I was working,' said James. He stood up, before she had a chance to say any more. 'I've got to go see Dan at the paper. Take him those pictures.'

'Well, goodbye,' Maisie said, and turned back to Ansel. James was relieved she had let him go that easily.

In the darkroom he got his pictures together – one fire, one family reunion, two ladies' meetings – for this week's paper. Then while he was hunting for a manila envelope he heard a knock on the door. He straightened up and listened (it might be Joan again) but it was only the Potter sisters, dropping in for their biweekly visit to see how Ansel was. He heard their little chirping voices, with Maisie's voice running flatly behind them. 'We brought some Jewish grandmother cookies, the kind you like,' Miss Lucy said, and Ansel said, 'Why, that's real -' 'I'll take them,' Maisie said, Maisie was always butting in, James thought. He set down his pictures and came out to the living room, just to say hello, and saw that both the Potter sisters were still standing in the doorway while Maisie sat back in her easy chair with a bag of cookies in her lap. 'Why don't you sit down?' he asked them, and then the chirping sounds began all over again, and the sisters came toward him with their hands outstretched. They had on those dressy white gloves of theirs with the ruffles around the wrists. Seeing that made him sad – they looked as if they were expecting so much out of the visit, when all they were going to do was sit on the threadbare plush chairs a minute and then go home again. He said, 'It's good to see you, Miss Lucy. Miss Faye. Nice of you to bring the cookies.'

'We like doing it,' said Miss Lucy.

'Will you have a seat?'

Miss Faye took the chair he pointed out to her, but Miss Lucy chose to sit by Ansel on his couch. He didn't object. He was sitting upright now, and when she settled down next to him he only smiled at her. 'I heard you tapping those walls last night,' he said.

Tapping the what?' asked Maisie.

Miss Lucy looked very severe suddenly and tucked her head further inside her high collar. She never mentioned her nightwalking during the daytime. 'We came to see if you're well,' her sister said, and to remind you that tomorrow's Wednesday. Time for your shots.'

'James already told me,' Ansel said.

'Last time you forgot anyway. You went visiting.'

'That's true, I did,' said Ansel, and then he sat back and smiled around the room, looking so happy and pleased with himself that everyone else smiled back. The Potters made little ducking smiles down at their gloved hands, and Maisie smiled with narrow eyes straight into Ansel's face. James stood up; now that people were seated and comfortable he could go.

'I have to see Dan Thompson at the paper,' he told the Potters. 'Sorry to run off.'

'Well, now, have a good time,' said Miss Faye. 'Will you remind him of that announcement about our niece's baby?'

'I sure will. See you later.'

He went back to the darkroom. Here it was cool and distant-feeling; the voices in the living room were faded. He put the week's pictures in the envelope and then, to prolong his stay in the coolness, he set that down and began filing away the pictures that Ansel had been looking at a couple of days before- the Model A, Ansel on his couch, Joan in the dust storm. When he came to the picture of Joan he stopped and studied it; he thought it might be the best thing he had ever done. Her figure made a straight, black line through a circle of wavery blurs, and her head was bent forward in that way she had when she walked. He didn't know how many hundreds of times he had seen her like that. And facing that photograph head-on, having a tangible picture of the way he saw her in his mind, made him think about the quarrel again. All last night and all this morning, he had been trying not to.