I felt so tense, I wondered if I’d be able to get back to sleep. I lay back down and listened as the rain picked up and began hammering, branches scraping against the house. Everything about Paige made me anxious. I hit the pillow, got up. How long had it been since I’d taken a Xanax? I couldn’t remember, but I was sure it was time to take another. I took two more, just to be sure. I needed to be able to wake up refreshed so I could get Annie and Zach off to school.
But in the morning, their breathy whispers swept across my nose and cheeks, ‘Why won’t she open her eyes?’ Zach asked Annie. I forced them open. Four wide blue eyes inches from my own asked me more questions, without words. I knew I should get up and make breakfast, but I got only as far as propping myself up on my elbows before I released them and fell back into the mattress.
‘Mommy’s just tired,’ I said. ‘Annie, will you pour cereal and milk?’ She nodded. ‘And . . . call . . . Uncle David.’ Callie jumped off the bed and followed them out. Finally, after weeks of spotty rest, I was getting good sleep!
I dreamt – thick, long, dreams with twisted plots I couldn’t quite remember after I woke. And then this: Joe and I scuba diving. Joe and I, holding hands, kicking our fins in long, smooth strides, gliding through the ocean with the grace and unity of choreographed dancers. He pointed out beds of sunset-coloured coral and a giant clam. I wanted to ask him a question, so I motioned ‘up’ and swam to the surface. I popped my head up to a grey sky and treaded water, waiting for Joe, but he never showed.
I dived back down to search for him, ploughing through tangled sea grasses, soundlessly calling his name. Then I heard my own name, luring me from above. I struggled towards the surface, swimming with all my strength, kicking as hard as I could towards his voice.
I woke, flailing, in David’s arms. ‘Ella, sweetheart. It’s me. It’s David. You’re dreaming.’
‘I almost . . . ,’ I whispered. ‘Almost.’ Almost talked with Joe, almost got some answers, but not quite.
‘Girl, you’ve been sleeping all day.’ David pushed my hair back from my face. ‘And excuse me for being direct, but you could use a shower and a toothbrush.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, but only after I’d pulled the sheet up to cover my mouth. He got up to snap open the blinds, the wet leaves of the apple tree sparkling like chandelier drops in the afternoon sun. ‘It must have been the Xanax.’
‘This, from the woman who won’t take an aspirin?’
‘I’ve been anxious. The doctor prescribed Xanax.’
‘Gil takes Xanax. But he doesn’t sleep all day. Maybe you’re sensitive to it. Or do you have your own Xanax salt lick hidden somewhere?’
I shook my head. ‘No. But I took too many. Obviously.’
‘Ella. You have every excuse in the world to batten down the hatch and wait this out, but you simply don’t have that kind of time. You have two restless kids, a custody battle to win, and a persnickety brother-in-law who desperately needs your help.’
He pulled me up and out of bed, singing ‘Good Morning Starshine’ as he danced me across the floor, pushed me into the bathroom, closed the door. On the counter he’d placed a basket full of expensive-looking lavender and rosemary bath products, the softest washcloth I’d ever touched, and a loofah with a wooden handle. I peeled off Joe’s stale, damp T-shirt and my underwear and turned the water on full blast, hot. I stood under it, trying to ignore the shame that ached in my gut, and slathered on soap and body wash and shampoo and conditioner, breathing in the scents until, eventually, the water turned cold, forcing me out.
David had inherited Marcella’s energy and knack for cleaning. By the time I walked out in my robe, a towel on my head, he had the kids picking up strewn toys and piles of colouring books while he stood at the sink, yellow rubber gloves conveyoring dirty dishes into the dishwasher.
‘Mommy? Are you better?’ Zach asked. Annie just held an empty rice cake wrapper and watched me.
‘Yes, honey. I’m so sorry I didn’t take you to school.’
David said, ‘I called earlier to check in, but the phone went to voice mail right away. I figured you were talking to your lawyer, but I guess Annie was on the line.’
‘Talking to Marcella?’
‘Apparently not . . .’ David looked at Annie.
‘Honey, who were you talking to?’
Annie shrugged. ‘Um, just Mama.’
‘Oh?’
‘She was worried.’
I took a deep breath, tried to keep my voice steady. ‘Worried?’
Annie stamped her foot. ‘Because you wouldn’t get up! You just wouldn’t. She said she would take care of us.’
David said, ‘Ella, don’t worry, I’ve already spoken to Paige. I think I convinced her that we’ve got things under control.’
Annie said, ‘Na-uh, Mama’s coming. She told me she was coming. She told me she would fix us something to eat.’
David slipped off the gloves and went to Annie, as I should have, but my mind and muscles seemed to be experiencing a bad connection. He scooped her up. ‘You want something to eat after all Nonna’s cannelloni you devoured? I’ll fix you anything you can fit in that over-stuffed tummy of yours.’
Annie would have usually laughed in glee, but she didn’t. I went to them, smoothing my hand down her back, speaking over David’s shoulder the way I had when Joe held her. ‘Honey, I am so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to sleep so long. I am so sorry you were alone to take care of Zach. You did a wonderful job, but you shouldn’t have had to do that. Were you scared?’
She nodded, slightly at first, then big, heavy nods and a loud burst of tears. I took her from David and held her while she sobbed in my arms. Finally she said, ‘You-you-you-you’re mad at me! ’Cause I called Mama!’
‘No, Annie. I’m not mad. You did the right thing.’
‘But you don’t like her!’
‘Sweetie . . . It’s just . . . it’s just a hard time right now. For everyone. For you. For Zach. And for me too. I’m sorry. I am going to try a lot harder. I really am. I wasn’t there for you today. And that won’t happen again. Starting now, okay?’
She nodded, small nods again. Not-quite-believing-me nods.
How could I let this happen? Maybe I wasn’t a better mother than Paige. Falling apart, unable to care for my kids or even myself. What if something had happened to them while I was in bed sound asleep on a Monday afternoon? I went into the bathroom and flushed the remaining Xanax down the toilet.
The rain stopped while the sunshine unfolded itself across our porch. We decided to go down to the river for a swim. They both loved going to the beach, and I was trying to make amends. Annie rode her two-wheeler, Zach his trike, and I walked alongside him on the pine-needle-covered path through the trees down to Elbow Beach, a wide triangle of perfect sand jutting out to the water. Annie pointed to the osprey nest across the river, the huge crown of sticks on top of the tall dead tree. ‘Let’s watch the babies.’ But the nest was quiet, empty, the osprey probably heading south by now. We had the whole place to ourselves. Most mothers had got up that morning and taken their kids to school.
While I spread out the blanket, Zach pulled his trike through the soft sand down to the river’s edge, then hopped back on it and started to slowly push the pedals until the front tire was in the water.
‘Zach, what are you doing? Honey, stop that.’
But he kept his feet on the pedals, his eyes on the water. I walked over to him and stuck my foot in front of the tire.
‘You can’t ride your trike into the river. Let’s go for a swim instead.’
He shook his head, kept looking into the water.
‘Zachosaurus? What is it?’
‘I’m going somewhere.’ He pushed harder on his pedals, so the tire spun a bit in the sand against my toe.
‘Ouch! Zach, let’s put your trike up by the blackberry bushes and I’ll take you in the water. Now.’
He shook his head, still not looking at me. ‘Is Daddy down there? I want
to go see him on my trike.’
‘Oh, honey. No, Daddy’s not in the water.’
‘Okay, GOOFBALL!’ He jumped off and lay in the sand.
‘Do you want to talk about Daddy?’
But he broke into the uh-huh song and scrambled back to his feet, pulled his trike up to the blackberry bushes, then raced back down and held on to my leg. When I asked him if all that meant that he was ready to go swimming, he nodded.
He’d always been too fearless about the water for someone who didn’t quite know how to swim, but that day he stayed very close, crawling up into my arms. I understood, and welcomed his trust. It felt like an opportunity to do penance. My heart beat with sadness but without physical pain, without threatening to seize up and quit, beat steady as the words I whispered onto his slick, wet back, ‘I’m here, honey. I’m here.’
As Zach clung to me, I checked for any sharp rocks or hidden objects in the water below so Annie could jump off the rope swing. She, too, looked to me for assurance. I nodded, and she leapt up, arms out, legs in an easy stance, a moment of pure freedom. Her face emerged from the water still smiling, and she came to me for a congratulatory hug. I lifted her up and held them both, weightless as they were, in the clear, cool water. Below the surface, I felt something slip past my ankle, a surge of water, a silky flick of a tail, and I flinched with the reminder that I was stepping through an entire world I couldn’t see.
Chapter Eighteen
On the way home, we stopped at the store. David was filling an order of sandwiches for a group of eight. When he finished, he came out, gave me a high five, and sat down while I swept the porch. Annie said, ‘Mama had a pool at the hotel, but Zach wouldn’t go in it.’
‘Oh?’ I said, keeping my voice light, for Annie’s sake as well as mine. I’d had such a good time swimming with the kids, I wasn’t going to let my own problem with jealousy ruin it.
‘He was scared, but not with you,’ she said, obviously trying to make me feel good. That’s how pathetic I’d been. ‘Mama wears a T-shirt in the pool. Isn’t that different?’
‘She probably just doesn’t want to get sunburned,’ I said.
Annie took out the checkers and began attempting to teach Zach how to play. David said to me, ‘Paige has always been that way. I thought it was overly zealous modesty, as if anyone gave a shit. Of course, I certainly didn’t.’ I smiled, almost told him I didn’t think modesty was the problem, judging by certain photographic evidence. But I kept my mouth shut and steered our conversation back to the store, which was no longer sinking fast but certainly not sailing into the black, which was what I needed to happen. Soon. For so many reasons.
The next day, after I got out of bed and made sure my kids attended school instead of sitting in front of the TV, I dusted the store merchandise while I talked to Gwen Alterman about the upcoming mediation. She gave me the rundown, speaking fast, which I appreciated, since every minute of that call cost me about three bucks.
She reminded me not to attack, not to raise my voice, not to interrupt Paige. ‘Stay calm. Don’t forget to breathe. Start your counterargument with “Nevertheless” . . .’
I set down a box of crackers and my dust rag and scribbled as much of this down as I could.
‘I really believe she doesn’t have much of a chance. Still, I’ve been shocked by mediators’ recommendations before. I cannot stress how important the recommendation is. The judge makes the ultimate decision. But rarely does a judge go against a mediator’s rec.’
Marcella kept the kids busy helping her make meatballs while I got dressed for the mediation. I should have bought something new, I thought, while I tried on baggy pants that used to fit a month before. I dug out my makeup bag and tried applying blush, a little lipstick, even mascara. I rarely wore mascara, but especially not since Joe died, and I never knew when the tears would show up, sending black rivers down my face. That day the mascara was a declaration, a stand taken against the tears; I would not cry. I would remain calm yet warm, articulate yet loving, and my lashes would be long and voluminous, according to the label.
I looked in the mirror at my sorry attempt, my baggy clothes, my fake smile. Sad Sack o’ Beenes. Buying something new to wear would have helped, but I couldn’t justify spending money on myself when things were still so tight with the store. I slipped off the hair band holding my ponytail and tried fluffing my hair, trying to bring out my best asset, but it only looked unkempt. I tied it back into submission.
I kissed the kids, hugging them each as long as I could without cluing them in that something was up. I’d felt it was best not to tell them anything until we knew exactly what was going to happen.
‘Where, exactly, are you going?’ Annie asked, clearly sensing something was up.
‘Oh, just a meeting,’ I said. ‘I’ll be back in a few hours. You stay and help Nonna.’
‘Mama said she has a meeting too . . .’
I tapped her nose. ‘Oh yeah? Well, long, boring meetings are an unfortunate necessity of adult life.’
All the family members had offered, at different times, to go with me and sit in the waiting room. Even my mom said she’d hop on a plane. But this was something I needed to do on my own. The family was helping to save the store. I needed to save Annie and Zach – and myself.
Still, the terror gnawed away at my insides as I walked down the linoleum corridors to Family Court Services Mediation. I found a seat in the front, towards the far wall. I scanned the room for Paige but didn’t see her. Maybe she wouldn’t show. Maybe there was a traffic accident holding her up, a delayed flight. The clerk at the window explained to a man in a cheap suit with two white stitches on the sleeve where the tag had been removed that since the restraining order was still in place, he would need a separate appointment with the mediator. He turned and walked out, not looking at anyone.
I peered down at my notes. Emotionally stable. Calm. Loving. Assuring. Understanding, even.
Maybe she wouldn’t show.
‘Capozzi versus Beene?’ the clerk called. I went to the window. ‘You’re supposed to check in,’ she said, handing me a paper.
I filled it out. Under ‘relation to child’ I checked ‘stepmother.’ I’d never done that before, always filled my name out under ‘mother’ for swim lessons, pre-school registration, Annie’s soccer. But there it was in writing for the mediator, and Paige would check ‘mother’ and the checks and balances would be in her favour from the get-go.
But not if she wasn’t even there. I held on, hoping, until I heard the door open behind us and saw her glide up to the window to sign her name under ‘mother’. Everyone watched her, probably wondering whose ex-wife she could possibly be, not seeing any suitable matches in the room. The men sat up a little straighter. Actually, the women did too. And me. I sat up straighter.
She looked for a seat, then disappeared from my view. The more we waited, the more nervous I got. I studied my notes. It hit me somewhere between Talk about close relationship with kids and What our days are like that there was far too much at stake here. It couldn’t possibly all come down to a quick meeting with a stranger.
The one mediator I’d had a good feeling about, who smiled warmly at the first couple she’d been assigned to, now came out and called our names. She had short grey hair and tanned skin, a flowing gauzy skirt and sandals. She looked up from her clipboard, took off her reading glasses, letting them hang by a silver and turquoise chain around her neck, and introduced herself.
After we all took a seat in Janice Conner’s office, she said, ‘I’ve reviewed your file, and I must say, this is an unusual case. I want you to know that I am both a mother and a stepmother, and I can understand where you’re both coming from. I’d like you to each tell me what you think should happen, and why. Paige, you’re the petitioner, so let’s start with you.’ She smiled at Paige. ‘Why are we here?’
Paige smiled back. ‘I want to start by apologizing to Ella.’ She turned to me. ‘You’ve been a good stepmother to my childr
en, and I will always respect you for that. But many misunderstandings and missteps between Joe and I –’
‘Joe being the children’s deceased father?’ Janice Conner asked.
‘Yes. You see, I don’t think I ever intended to leave my children for good.’
‘That,’ I said, ‘is simply not true. You told him you were never coming back.’
Paige ignored me and directed her speech to Janice Conner. ‘I had a severe case of postpartum depression. I wasn’t – Well, I thought it would be better for Annie and Zach to – for me not to be there with them. Joe didn’t understand. I left. But I wrote letters. I did stop for a while, but when I resumed trying to contact him, he wouldn’t take my calls at the store. When he filed for full custody, I was at my lowest point. I was, ah . . .’ She took a deep breath that escaped in a long sigh. ‘I was in a psychiatric ward, and that’s where I finally met the doctor who knew how to help me.
‘So I kept writing letters to Joe and the kids. Even as I gave up custody, I knew it was only temporary. I planned to get myself together, get a job, let Joe come around. But he never did. Because he had met her.’ She nodded to me. ‘Ella.’
‘Yes, Joe and I met four months after she left. After she told him she was never coming back and that he should move on.’
Janice Conner said, ‘Okay. Let me interrupt here. It’s unfortunate, Paige, that you and the children’s father couldn’t work things out. But here we are today. Three years later. The kids have an obviously loving stepmother to whom they’ve grown attached. They’ve just lost their father. Why now? Why should we upset their world further and move them?’
The Underside of Joy Page 14