The Underside of Joy

him right there, remind him, once again, that he couldn’t ride his trike to his Daddy, that Daddy didn’t live underwater. But Zach seemed so happy and carefree in the moment, I let it go. I figured, so some people swear heaven is above the clouds, but Zach has decided it’s underwater. At least the kid can think for himself.
    ‘Okay. Get off the trike, Captain. As in now.’
    I knew Zach was just talking big. Annie told me he still wouldn’t even go in the pool at Paige’s, so I wanted to resume coaxing him back to his love of being in the water and work with him like I had those days at the river. I’d even bought him plastic water wings to wear on his arms to help him feel more secure. By the end of the day, he was jumping off the side, flapping his arms, then splashing into the water, where I would scoop him up in my embrace.
    That afternoon, after they rode bikes, they wanted to do crafts, but all I’d brought from Elbow were crayons and colouring books, and they quickly tired of those. Annie suggested we make bookmarks from ironing crayon shavings in sheets of wax paper. But I didn’t even have wax paper, so we went down to the store, them riding their bikes alongside me. When we got back, I plugged in my travel iron, while Annie carved the crayons with the scissors and Zach made a mess of the shavings. Annie said, ‘We can’t do this at Mama’s.’
    I asked, ‘Oh? Too messy?’
    ‘No. She doesn’t have an iron.’
    ‘Oh, I’m sure she does . . .’
    ‘No. She doesn’t.’
    Paige could probably afford to send her laundry out. ‘Do you have a washer and dryer?’
    ‘Of course, silly.’ Annie cracked up, like that was the funniest question she’d ever heard.
    On Sunday afternoon, they asked if they could take their bikes back to Paige’s. I hadn’t planned to let them, wanted those bikes to be special perks at my place, our thing. But I knew I might not see them for a while and that the way they were growing, they’d hardly be able to ride them before they outgrew them. Besides, playing that kind of game would punish only them, not Paige. I had to take the top off the Jeep in order to fit the bikes in the back. Zach asked if he could take his water wings too, and I told him sure, felt that jealous twinge, and let it pass.
    I drove them back in a silent car. Then Annie said, ‘This all feels like we’re playing pretend.’
    ‘What do you mean, Banannie?’
    ‘You know. This place. Everything. It feels like playing makebelieve and we just keep playing it and playing it. I want both of you. And I want Uncle David and Gil and Nonna and Nonno and everyone.’
    ‘I want BOTH of you too,’ Zach said. ‘And everyone!’
    ‘I know it’s hard. We’ve been through a lot of change.’
    Annie said, ‘Change sucks.’
    ‘Um . . .’ She was right. I thought about pointing out her word choice but didn’t. She couldn’t have said it better.
    When we pulled onto Paige’s street and started up the hill, Zach started to whimper, saying, ‘I don’t wanna go without you to the mama lady,’ and by the time we parked in the driveway, he was screaming, ‘I wanna stay with my mommy!’ Annie kept uncharacteristically quiet, then tried to smooth back Zach’s hair.
    ‘Zachosaurus. It’s gonna be okay,’ she said.
    Paige came out, her arms open wide. I did not want to hand him back over to her. How ’bout we just get back in the car, guys? How ’bout we drive away and never come back?
    She didn’t try to take him, though. She rubbed his back and let him cry. Finally she said, ‘I know you had a good time, and you’ll have a good time with your mommy again, soon.’
    Not soon enough.
    As he laid his head on my shoulder, she kept stroking his back until he started to calm down, his stuttered breaths taking over for the sobs, until he was almost asleep, and he let her lift him from my arms. With his eyes closed, he pointed to the Jeep and said, ‘Bike.’
    ‘They wanted to keep their bikes with them. If that’s okay.’
    ‘Well, there’s really nowhere to ride them here with the hill, except a little bit of patio out back, but of course, that’s fine, that’s really nice of you. We can ride at the park. I’ll open the garage.’
    I lifted the bikes out and watched the door slowly rise. Inside her immaculate garage was a Suburban – so soccer mom of her. I wheeled the bikes in and parked them along the back wall. The door to the house was closed. I wanted to walk in, to draw