Anne Tyler - The Tin Can Tree

'We only stopped by for a minute,' said Miss Faye. 'We wanted to bring your supper.'

'Well, come on in,' Joan said. 'Really, do. Come out to the kitchen, why don't you.'

'Oh, I don't think-'

'No, I mean it.' She took Miss Faye by one plump wrist, almost pulling her. 'You don't know how glad I am to see you,' she said.

'Well, if you really think-'

They walked on tiptoe, bearing their covered dishes before them like sacred offerings. When they reached the kitchen door, Mr Pike stood up to greet them and his chair fell backwards too, so that the room with its overturned furniture looked stricken. 'Why, Miss, um, Miss Lucy' he said. 'And Miss Faye. I declare. Come in and have a -' and he bent down and pulled the chairs up by their backs, both at the same time. 'Sit down, why don't you,' he said.

Joan drew up the chair from beside the stove, and Miss Lucy sat down in it with a sigh while Miss Faye went to sit beside Simon. 'We only mean to stay a minute,' said Miss Lucy. She plopped the bowl she was carrying down on the table in front of her and then sat back, sliding her purse strap to a more comfortable position on her wrist. The Potter sisters always carried handbags and wore hats and gloves, even if they were going next door. They were small, round women, in their early sixties probably, and for as long as Joan had known them they had had only one aim in life: they wanted to have swarms of neighbourhood children clamouring at their door for cookies, gathering in their yard at the first smell of cinnamon buns. And although no one came ('Children nowadays prefer to buy Nutty Buddies,' Miss Faye said), they still went on baking, eating the cookies themselves, growing fat together and comparing notes on their identical heart conditions. It was those heart conditions that Miss Faye was discussing right now. She was saying, 'Now, you and Lou know, Roy, how much we wish we could have climbed that hill today. If there was any way, the merest logging trail, we would've got there. But as it was, it would just have meant more tragedy. You know that.'

And Mr Pike was saying, 'Well, I know, I know,' and nodding gently without seeming to be listening. There was chicken salad on his chin, which meant that both the Potters kept staring tactfully down at their gloves instead of looking at him. Joan passed him a paper napkin, but he ignored it; he sat forward on his chair and said, 'It surely was nice of you to come. Nice to bring us supper.'

'It's the least we could do,' said Miss Lucy. She looked around her, toward the kitchen door, and then lowered her voice. Tell me,' she whispered. 'How is she? How's Lou?'

'It breaks my heart,' said Mr Pike.

'Oh, my,'

'Not a thing I can do, seems like. She just sits. If she would stop all this blaming herself-'

They all do that,' said Miss Faye.

'She said Janie was the one she never paid no mind to.'

'Will you listen to that.'

'Never gave her a fair share.'

'If it's not one reason it's another,' Miss Lucy said. I’ve seen that happen plenty of times.'

'Maybe if you talked to her,' said Mr Pike. He pushed his plate away and straightened up. 'You think you could just run up there a minute?'

'Well, not run, no, but-'

'I didn't meant that,' he said. 'No, you can take the stairs as slow as you want to. But if you two would talk to her a minute, so long as you don't mind -'

'Why, we don't mind a bit,' said Miss Faye. 'We'd be proud.' She reached up to set her flowered hat straighter, as if she might like to put an extra hat on top of the first one for such a special visit. And Miss Lucy pulled gloves to perfect smoothness, and then folded her hands tightly over her purse.

'I just don't like to trouble you,' Mr Pike said.

'You stop that, Roy Pike.'

They rose simultaneously, with their backs very straight. But even making the trip across the kitchen they walked slowly, preparing themselves for the stairs. 'Be careful,' Joan told them. 'Just see they don't get out of breath, Uncle Roy.'

'I will.'

But Simon was frowning as he watched them leave. 'Hey, Joan,' he said.

'Hmmm?'

'When they go up to bed at night, it takes them half an hour. They take two steps and then rest and talk; they bring their knitting along.'

'Well, that's kind of silly, 'said Joan.

'Could they crumple up and die on our stairs?'

'No, they could not,' she said. 'It would take more than that.'"

'How do you know?'

'I heard Dr Kitt tell them so. They just shouldn't get too out of breath, is all, or run in any marathons. He said -'

'I got an idea,' Simon said.

'What?'

'Listen.' He stood up from his place at the table and came around to face her, with his hands hitched through his belt loops. 'How about us going to a movie,' he said. 'That Tarzan movie.'

'We're not supposed to.'

'Well, I got to get out,' he said.

She looked down at him, considering. His face had a thin, stretched look; patches of flour still clung to it like some sort of sad clown makeup and his hair stuck up in wiry tangles. 'Well, I do have to get Aunt Lou's prescription,' she said. 'Would you comb your hair first?'

'Sure.'

'All right, we'll go.'

'Right now?'

'If you want to.’

He nodded, but with his face still wearing that strained look, and turned to go upstairs and then turned back again. 'I'll wash downstairs,' he said.

'There's no soap here.'

'I don't care.'

He turned on the water in the kitchen sink and splashed his face, and then he reached spluttering for the dishtowel. 'My allowance money's all the way upstairs,' he said. 'I'll pay you back tomorrow, if you'll lend me the money.'

'All right.'

She went into the living room, with Simon following, and handed him a comb from her pocket-book. While he was combing his hair she went upstairs for her shoes. Mrs Pike's door was open now. She was lying on her bed, with her head propped up on two pillow s and the sisters beside her talking steadily, and when Joan walked past, her aunt followed her with her soft blue eyes but only vaguely, as if she weren't seeing her, so Joan didn't stop in to say anything. She put on her shoes and picked up a scarf and went downstairs, where Simon was waiting with his hand on the newel post and his face strained upward.

'What're they doing?' he asked her.

'I don't know.'

'Are they crying?'

'I don't think so.'

'Well. I would've gone upstairs,' he said. 'You know.'

'I know.'

'Did you think I wouldn't?'

'No.' She sighed suddenly, looking back toward the stairs. ‘ I don't know how to comfort people,' she said.

'Well.'

They went out the front door, across the porch, and down the wooden steps. It was beginning to get cool outside. Joan could hear tree frogs piping far away, and the wind had died down enough so that the sound of cars on the east highway reached her ears. She clasped her hands behind her back and followed Simon, cutting across the road and through the field toward town.

'Remember I've got heels on,' she called.

'I remember.'

'Remember that makes it hard walking.'

He slowed down and waited for her, walking backwards. Behind him and all around him the field stretched wide and golden, with bits of tall yellow flowers stirring and glimmering like spangles in the sunlight. And when Joan came up even with him, so that he turned and walked forward again by her side, she could look down and see how his hair, bleached lighter on top, took on a varnished look out here and the little line of fuzz down the back of his neck had turned shiny and golden like the field he was walking in. 'Right about here… 'he said, but the wind started up just then and blew his words away.

'What?' she asked.