The Underside of Joy

of little fake eggs in it. She’d won first prize at the Elbow Boo Fest. ‘Have you thought about what you want to be?’
    ‘Yes. I’d like to be Pocahontas.’
    Not exactly original, but okay. ‘Okay! So I’ll need to find some suede. Oh, I know, we can make a bunch of beaded necklaces. Maybe we can rig up the canoe so we can pull you on the wagon . . .’
    ‘Mommy? I was thinking . . . I think I’d prefer to, you know, buy a Pocahontas costume this year. You’re busy, and they have them completely done, so I’ll look perfectly, exactly like the real Pocahontas in the movie.’
    ‘You mean the real Disney Pocahontas?’
    ‘Exactly! I’ll look fabulous. And Molly is going to dress up as Belle.’ Frank and Lizzie’s daughter was in Annie’s class, and they’d grown even closer. Frank would be the one to take her trick-or-treating with us, definitely not Lizzie with her oath to Avoid Ella Whenever Possible.
    ‘Fabulous . . . ,’ I said. She had got taller. She looped her hair behind her ear and smiled. She’d always loved my homemade costumes, loved helping with the creation, the attention she always got. Certainly she didn’t want to fade into the masses. Maybe she simply wanted to decide what she was going to wear, on her own. This was just the beginning of the beginning – I knew that. I wanted to be around for every one of the future mom-defying moments. Tummy-baring tops, piercings, tattoos. Gothic black from head to toenails. Or perhaps she’d target her defiance precisely at me, become a hairswinging cheerleader or a glittery mall rat. Or refuse to eat anything but McDonald’s. But for now she just wanted a store-bought Halloween costume. One I couldn’t afford right then. Those Disney Store costumes ran well over fifty bucks.
    As if she could read my mind, she said, ‘Mama said they have a Disney Store in Lost Vegas. She said she could pick up one and send it right away. But to ask you first.’
    I nodded. Had the whole thing been Paige’s suggestion? Or Annie’s idea? Either way, it felt personal, even though the better part of me knew I needed to slough it off.
    ‘Okay, Mommy?’ She had her fingers woven together in a prayerful plea. Her eyebrows arched high on her forehead, her smile a bit forced, as if pretending I’d already said yes would help her cause. But how could I deny her this one request?
    ‘Okay. Fabulous, even.’
    She hugged me around my waist. ‘I knew you’d say yes! I’m calling Mama right away! Thank you tons!’
    The rejection hit me like a sucker punch, and after Annie skipped out I slumped down in the closet. Joe’s old shirts and jackets hanging from the bottom rod seemed to part for me, then embrace me. I needed the real Joe, his real hug, but I sat there anyway, accepting what felt like some sort of understanding from his 49ers jacket, his periwinkle oxford that brought out the blue in his eyes.
    Annie had been gracious, and I was glad I’d said yes. Couldn’t I share with Paige the privilege of making Annie happy? I could try.
    I got busy planning Zach’s and my costumes. I knew exactly what I would be, but Zach was still deliberating between various types of insects. A praying mantis? A luna moth? A centipede? He pondered the possibilities.
    Late October. The weather conducted its symphony of falling, twirling leaves – golds and reds and oranges against the huge evergreen backdrop – with skies that sustained a deep, clear blue. Many of the vineyards had turned to shimmering yellow, like lakes of captured sunlight pooling between the dark, forested hills. The bell on the store’s screen door kept chiming, the phone kept ringing, the old cash register kept clanging, Hallelujah! Underneath all that, I listened and heard, when I’d hold them or sit in their room while they slept, the low, steady drumbeat of our hearts, Annie’s, Zach’s, mine, and the rhythm of the clock, counting days, hours, minutes.
    I stood on a ladder, stringing cotton webbing from the store’s rafters. The previous Christmas, Joe had stood on the same ladder, in the same spot, while I’d handed him strings of white lights. When he stepped down I said we needed mistletoe. He grabbed me. ‘We don’t need no stinkin’ mistletoe,’ he whispered, then kissed me. The door chimed and he kept kissing me while Mrs Tagnoli said, ‘Ooh la la.’ In less than a year, I’d gone from glitter and twinkling lights and kissing to cobwebs and ghosts and regrets.
    ‘