The Underside of Joy

ridiculous custody thing.
    When we walked a stretch of road where we found our little group alone, the kids heading up to a front door, Lizzie said, ‘Look, I know about the custody case. But I only know that there is one, nothing else.’ Lizzie kept her eyes locked on the kids. ‘Frank and I have an understanding when it comes to your family. It’s a No Discussion Zone for us.’ She shook her head. ‘Sorry. It sounds cold. But when Joe and Paige broke up, it was hard on us. Too many things we could never agree on. I didn’t want to lose my own marriage fighting over theirs. So.’ She shrugged. The kids ran up to us, shouting about a giant skeleton, and Brenda Haley approached Lizzie with a question about the PTA cakewalk, and the moment was over.
    When we dragged ourselves through our front doorway later that night, the message machine flashed. I didn’t know whether to read it as a warning or a beacon of hope. I helped the kids out of their costumes, gently wiped the makeup off Annie’s face, broke up a sugar-infused fight resulting in flying candy corn, read them some Maurice Sendak, kissed them good night. I built a fire, sat on the couch, rubbing Callie’s belly, watching the red light go on and off. Staring at the flames, I pulled a loose thread on my tablecloth-covered jeans until I gathered enough courage to hoist myself up and walk across the floor and push the play button. It was Gwen Alterman, as I knew it would be.
    ‘The mediator’s recommendation just arrived.’ She paused. ‘Ella, it is in your favour. She recommends that full custody be granted to you. This is just as I expected. I doubt this will even go to a hearing.’ I sank back into the couch. Joe’s picture grinned at me from the bookshelf. Her message continued: ‘She questioned why Paige didn’t try harder to contact Joe. She wasn’t convinced by Paige’s claim that she sent letters. She does feel that Paige should have some visitation rights, but it’s not extensive. Four to six weekends a year, with a couple of weeklong visits as the kids get older. And that’s something we can negotiate. I’m expecting to hear from Paige’s counsel tomorrow. He surely knows that they don’t have a chance for custody now.’
    She told me to celebrate. She’d stick a copy in the mail and let me know when Paige’s lawyer called. ‘You’re probably out trick-or-treating with your kids, as you should be. Happy Halloween, Ella.’
    I pressed my lips together, pressed my hand over my lips, pressed my other hand into my gut, shook with such relief and joy, such intense gratitude, and at the same time, an utter disbelief that this all was coming to a happy ending, which meant, of course, a beginning. A beginning without Joe, yes, but a new beginning with Annie, Zach, and me. I followed Callie outside. The moon that had been low and orange earlier that evening towered high above us, whiter and clearer than I’d ever remembered seeing it before or since. Perfect, round, whole.
    I ran around with Callie, the light so bright, our shadows danced on the land. I leapt, I wriggled, I skipped, I held her paws and said, out of breath, my heart banging, ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ I scrambled back inside, into their rooms, and pried a sticky Sugar Daddy from Zach’s hand. I watched them sleep, studied the flutter of their eyelashes and the up-and-down, up-and-down of their small chests.
    I didn’t think of Paige, not until later, when I climbed into my bed, the moonlight following me, like a spotlight on a star. The Ella Beene Show. I squinted. Or maybe it was an interrogator’s moon. Paige was alone in that big hollow house in Las Vegas with the dinosaur bedroom, the princess bedroom, and I remembered how lonely those big new houses with their empty decorated kids’ rooms could be. Henry and I had lived in such a house. I could have easily been in her position that night. Instead, we were here, in our warm, moonlight-drenched cottage, the kids tucked in their familiar beds, the days ahead tumbling towards us, seeming so full, open, promising.

Chapter Twenty
    I called everyone the next morning. Marcella spoke for all of us when she said, ‘Oh, Ella! I can breathe again. I can breathe!’ My mom said, ‘Oh, Jelly,’ and I could tell she was crying. Joe Sr brought me a huge bouquet of his garden roses, which he knew I loved. They were pale peach with coral edges and gave off a hint of cloves; he hugged me so long and so hard, I knew he was