The Underside of Joy

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