The Underside of Joy

decorator type, who comes in and tells you to get rid of all your clutter.’
    ‘A Grandma Beene.’
    ‘Exactly. Shirley hired one when she put her house on the market. She had Shirl rent a few pieces of furniture and get rid of that old peach recliner, thank God. She put fresh flowers around and an apple pie in the oven. Had her take down all the family photographs.’
    ‘Why? That sounds kind of cold.’
    ‘She said it was so a family coming in can visualize themselves there without being distracted by all your personal stuff. Guess you want to make them feel like they can make it their own simply by stepping in, not having to block out the evidence of your life. She also did a lot of feng shui placement to create positive energy.’
    ‘Did it work?’
    ‘Her house never looked so good. She sold it in two days. For above the asking price. You know real estate these days. It just keeps going up. Shirl had to stop herself from buying it back.’
    ‘I always pictured Paige as this crazy woman living in a trailer park, zoning out on soap operas.’ I looked around the house, saw it through Paige’s eyes. I saw her clearing the shelves, filling trash bags and boxes marked Goodwill. The few shoes she didn’t pitch, she would place out on the porch, in obedient lines. ‘What the hell does she want, Mom?’
    My mom shook her head. ‘I don’t know. But most likely, nothing. Except, perhaps, to find a way to forgive herself.’
    My mom said she wanted to lie down too. I told her to stretch out on my bed. I hadn’t slept much but knew I was too ramped up to close my eyes. I had to at least look at those files.
    A thick stack of bills, all stamped Past Due, filled the payables folder. What? Joe was not a past-due kind of guy. He was a fanatic about paying his bills on time. If there had been a religious cult called Pay for Your Sins on Time, he would have been appointed their pope, or at least a most honourable guru.
    But there it was, right in front of me. Evidence of slack. I leafed through the invoices. He hadn’t paid Ben Aston for three months? Ben Aston had been his main produce supplier for years. He was a friend. Ben had scrawled across the bottom of the most recent bill, Hey, Joey, Can we take care of this? The amount due was highlighted: $2,563.47. The bakery bill said Last Notice before Termination of Service. In two weeks, the electricity would be shut off if a payment of $1,269 wasn’t made. We owed Teaberry’s Ranch, Donaldson’s Dairy, the beer and wine supplier, and the telephone company. I started sweating. I needed to get outside.
    I walked down to the garden and started pulling weeds, but not the way I usually did. Not carefully digging up the root. No. I clawed at them, wildly tearing them, and threw them in a pile. What in the hell? You die on me? You up and die on me? On Annie? On Zach? And you fail to tell me what a god-awful mess you’ve gotten yourself into? ‘You’ve gotten us into?’ I stomped on the pile, releasing droves of dandelion and sour-grass seeds to spread in the wind and multiply all over our land. Let them take over. Why should I care? ‘Oh! And Paige shows up? Really? Now? After three years of, uh, let’s see . . . that would be nothing ? “Hi, I’m Annie and Zach’s mother ”. What in the hell is that about?’
    A car door slammed. Over my hissy fit I hadn’t heard Marcella’s Acura pull into the drive. I took deep breaths to calm myself down while Callie cocked her head at me, held her ears back, and asked with her eyes if I’d gone raving mad. I wondered if Marcella had seen my tirade, as I watched her take careful steps down the path. Everything about Marcella was big: her meals, her zest for cleanliness and order, her body, her voice, her faith, her heart, her love for her family, and – everyone knew it – especially her love for her sons. So now it was sadness that was the biggest part of her, and it showed in her slower walk and, as she got closer, in her face. She’d tried putting on lipstick, but it looked as futile as a painted-on smile – too bright and artificial against the pale sorrow of her skin.
    ‘Ella, honey . . . I’m sorry about Paige. I tried to call you. Did you get my message?’
    I shook my head. Elbow was the Bermuda Triangle of cell phone reception.
    She took a deep breath. ‘Auntie Sophia had one of her episodes. I didn’t know what to do. Paige offered and I –’
    ‘It’s okay.’ I shrugged. ‘It’s