The Underside of Joy

said to me, ‘The last thing you need around here are strangled kittens. Got a needle and thread?’
    I nodded and went to the closet to get them. David and Gil removed the mattress and set it against the wall. Then they flipped over the box spring.
    ‘The ship’s capsized! Mayday! Mayday!’ Annie shouted, while she and Zach jumped up and down with the poor kittens, who looked like they would die of dislocated necks anyway, despite our valiant efforts.
    ‘Careful. You might hurt them,’ I warned.
    David and Gil were studying the underside of the box spring, which faced away from the kids and me.
    ‘Well,’ David said. ‘Well. I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.’
    ‘Uncle David, how many times do I have to tell you? We are not, ’ Annie insisted, ‘ monkeys. ’
    But David ignored her. ‘Um, Gil? Want to help the kids feed the cats in the other room ?’
    Gil nodded, led the kids out to the kitchen, closing the door behind them.
    ‘Ella? Sweetheart? Don’t look . . .’ He’d gone pale. I couldn’t imagine – an old dead kitten skeleton?
    I stepped over the bed frame and around the box spring to look. There was a rip – more like a slit – in the sheer fabric that covered the box springs. And up, tucked away in the coils, were several very thick packets of what looked to be letters.

Chapter Twenty-one
    We stood, staring, not speaking. Finally, David said, ‘I feel a chill. Perhaps we should fire up the woodstove.’
    ‘David . . . I . . .’
    ‘No one has to know.’
    We still hadn’t moved, hadn’t taken them out to look, to make sure they were what we knew them to be. I thought I might vomit. David put his arm around me.
    ‘Ella. No one has to know.’
    I shook my head. ‘That’s not possible.’
    ‘Sure it is. I don’t see anything.’
    ‘David. I see. I know.’ A roar howled in my ears, and my whole body pulsed in time with my heart.
    ‘Well, don’t read them, then. They’re probably full of requests for him to keep the kids forever. That’s what I perceive them to be.’
    ‘No, you don’t.’
    ‘They could be.’
    Through clenched teeth I let out, ‘I could kill your brother right now if he weren’t already dead.’
    David whistled, let go of me. ‘ That’s harsh.’
    ‘Anger is the easiest – of every fucking feeling I’m having right now. Anger is a breeze. Compared to the rest.’
    ‘Listen, don’t lose it. Listen to me. You have to think of Annie and Zach and what’s best for them. And we both know that includes not being stolen away by her.’
    ‘How do you know that? How do you know who she really is? We thought we knew Joe. ’
    ‘Joe had his reasons. I’m sure he thought he was doing what was best for the kids, and I’m sure it was best.’
    ‘I cannot bear to hear excuses right now.’
    ‘Don’t open them. Don’t read them. It doesn’t matter, anyway . . . It’s not going to change anything.’
    ‘How can you say that? It changes everything. ’
    ‘You’re the mom they know and love. You’re the one who can provide a loving, stable home in the town where they’ll grow up knowing every one. If she takes them, we’ll never see them.’ He stopped and took a deep breath. ‘Forget I said that. This wouldn’t even begin to change a judge’s viewpoint. I mean, we don’t know what those things say. We can end this before it even starts.’
    I cut back the fabric and removed the packets. I counted them, keeping them contained by their rubber bands. There were twenty-six, like a half deck of cards. The other half of the story. While I sewed up the fabric, I knelt on the letters, afraid that if I stuck them in a drawer, David might grab them and run. Instead, he leaned his back against the wall, crossed his arms, and in a rare silence, watched me.
    I stuck the packets inside the waistband of my jeans, under my T-shirt, and we set the box spring back on the frame, the mattress on top of that. He shook out the down comforter; he fluffed up the pillows.
    Only when he left the room and closed the door did I stick the letters between the box spring and the mattress. Out in the not-so-great room, the kids seemed oblivious to the awkward silence between us three adults. Gil and David hugged the kids. Gil hugged me, but David left without even looking in my direction.
    I had to keep moving. Put the litter box in the crate in the kids’ room for the night. Crawl under both their beds to check for rips, to check, too, for more letters.
    Both kids,