The Underside of Joy

concerning lab rats, the Padres, his father’s hernia.
    Joe and I loved to talk, our conversations twisting and turning from something incredible one of the kids had done to how great the eggplants looked to a poem about a blue heron he’d read in a journal. I thought he was one of the most interesting people I’d ever met. He was funny, creative, intuitive, artistic. After Sergio died, Joe quit college to help his dad, felt it his duty to honour his grandfather’s wishes after all Sergio had been through. Joe gave up his dream of becoming a photojournalist, and photography became his hobby, where he chose to capture the best of what the world offered, always seeking out the most flattering angles and light. I’d loved that about him. But now I wondered at all he refused to look at, and the easy way his filtered perspective complemented my own.
    I picked up Paige’s business card. Callie stretched, lifted her head, then let it flop back on the mattress. She resumed snoring. I cleared my throat and practiced.
    ‘Hello? Paige? This is Ella?’ Too questioning. Too insecure.
    ‘Hello, Paige. It’s Ella. I’d like to speak to Annie now.’
    No. Too insistent. I needed to sound light, as if I really didn’t have a care in the world.
    ‘Hi, Paige. (It is Paige, isn’t it?) Hey, it’s Ella. Is Annie around?’ I dialled and hung up twice before I let it ring.
    ‘Hello. You’ve reached the cell phone voice mail of Paige Capozzi. Please leave a message, and remember, when it’s time to stage, call Paige . . .’ and a beep.
    I was going to hang up, but then I thought she probably had caller ID so I started talking. ‘Um. Hi. It’s Ella. Ella Beene? And you know . . . I was just thinking, um . . . about Annie and Zach. And I wanted to say good night. Gosh. I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t there to tuck them in. I . . . I think it was Joe and my three-year anniversary? When we drove up to Mendocino for the –’ Beep.
    Wait. Didn’t she have one of those press-pound-and-erase-your-message options? I pushed buttons. I shook the phone. I said, ‘Hello? Hello?’ Nothing. I hung up.
    The phone rang, startling me because it was still in my lap.
    ‘Hi, Mommy.’ It was Zach, his voice like sweet relief filling my head, my body. I hadn’t realized how tense I’d been, how scared, really, that something horrible had happened. My new fear of bad news.
    ‘Hi, honey! Are you having fun?’
    ‘No. I wanna come home. NOW. ’
    ‘Oh, Zach. What’s wrong?’
    ‘I want YOU. ’ I could see him as clearly as if he stood in front of me, the way he held the phone with both hands, Bubby lodged under his arm, his belly out, knees probably bent, heels together, toes apart and facing out, like some sort of ungracefully adorable plié.
    ‘Honey? Listen . . . You’ll be home tomorrow. You have Annie. And Bubby. And a cool hotel, right? And guess what else? There’s a surprise in your suitcase. It’s in the inside pocket. Want to go get it?’
    ‘Okay!’ He set the phone down. I’d packed a new stegosaurus for him and some pretty socks for Annie to wear with her patent leathers.
    Paige said in the background, ‘How nice of Ella. Tell her thank you, Zach.’
    Ella? Again? Telling Zach to thank me? Shut up. Just shut up.
    Zach picked up the phone. ‘It’s cool, Mommy!’
    ‘Are you going to be okay now?’
    ‘Uh-huh. Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh. I’m going to go play. Annie wants to talk.’
    Zach let out a ferocious-sounding growl, and then Annie came on the line.
    I asked if she was having fun. ‘Quite a lot.’
    ‘Oh yeah?’
    ‘Yeah . . . you should see my room!’
    Oh God. Where were they? ‘You mean at the hotel?’
    ‘No. My room. Mama brought pictures. And it looks bigger than our not-so-great room.’ She giggled.
    ‘Wow.’
    ‘Yeah. Wow.’
    ‘Is it the guest room?’
    ‘No. It’s mine. It says Annie in big sparkly letters on the wall. And it’s got lots of green.’ How did Paige know Annie’s favourite colour was green? And how did she get the room painted and set up so fast? ‘And some other colours too. Like lavender and pink and cream. And this big, cool bed. That’s a real castle!’
    I was sweating again, feeling like I couldn’t get a breath.
    ‘Mommy?’
    ‘Yes, honey?’
    She whispered, pausing between each word, ‘I . . . miss . . . you.’ It was with utter shame that I realized how much I needed to hear those words, that for the first time ever, my