The Underside of Joy

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.