The Underside of Joy

MY children, not HERS.
    ∼Paige
    Lucy said, ‘You’re wrong about that one, honey.’
    ‘Not entirely . . .’
    ‘Ella.’
    ‘Well? What happened to Paige? Something must have scared the bejesus out of her when she was little. Something her mom did . . . She obviously did love Annie and Zach. It’s not like she ran away with some Hells Angel to find herself.’ I tore open the next envelope, no longer caring about evidence and tampering.
    May 1, 1997
    Joe,
    The court order came today. You got custody only because I didn’t fight it. Make the most of this time, because you know it’s only temporary.
    Maybe you don’t think I’ll ever have it in me to fight. But that’s because you don’t know the new me. The me that has forgiven my mom and myself. And maybe someday, even you.
    ∼Paige
    There were several more letters pleading with Joe to work things out, telling him about her new career, then threatening to call the kids, threatening a legal battle. And then this:
    February 16, 1999
    Joe,
    I’ve been hesitant to see Annie and Zach without your cooperation. My attorney wants me to move forward with a custody action, but I keep hoping you’ll return my calls or letters. For Annie and Zach’s sake, if not for mine.
    What have you told them about me? Did you tell them I died? Is that why you’re not responding?
    It’s for their sake that I haven’t just knocked on the door or called them. Talk about temptation. I fight it every day. But I’ve tried to be patient and give you time and space to adjust to the idea of me being back in their lives as well as making absolutely sure I was ready emotionally and financially. I’ve tried, but every day without them tears away at me.
    If we get in a full-blown legal battle, it won’t be good for anyone. Please, Joe. You have a new life. You don’t have a right to keep me away from my kids.
    ∼Paige
    I opened the last letter. Sent six days before Joe drowned. Five days before Joe said he had something he wanted to talk with me about.
    June 15, 1999
    Joe,
    I’m going to call you today at the store and send this. After that, you’ll hear directly from my attorney. Please work with me. I am literally begging you. I have to make things right with Annie and Zach. I’m ready and I’m done waiting for you to be ready.
    ∼Paige
    I folded the last letter and put it back in its envelope, as if it were an object I could simply put back in its place. The fire rifled a loud pop. ‘What am I going to do?’ was all I could think to say. ‘What the hell should I do?’
    ‘Ella.’ Lucy took my hand in hers. ‘That is a question I simply cannot answer.’
    ‘What would you do?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘Lucy, throw me a bone here.’
    ‘No way. No. This is something only you can decide. Dig deep, El. You’ll know what to do. In the meantime, and afterwards, I’ll be here no matter what. Now try to get some sleep.’
    ‘Yeah. Right.’
    She hugged me and left. Somehow, when I climbed into bed, the mattress pulled me with a swift, relentless force into a maze of sweaty dreams.

Chapter Twenty-seven
    I woke feeling damp and salty and disoriented, the sun already cresting the treetops. I jumped out of bed, not wanting the kids to think I was slipping away from them again.
    Everything looked different, as if I had journeyed through another country and just returned. My bedroom, the bathroom, the hallway . . . all imprinted with new knowledge, a weary traveller’s perspective. How had I not seen it before? This home had a history. Joe and I had made no major changes in the house since my arrival, except for the wall we’d torn down between the kitchen and living room. Maybe Joe was afraid walls could speak.
    He had come home one afternoon that first summer and, instead of his usual roll around the floor with Callie and the kids, he paced in the narrow kitchen.
    ‘Doesn’t this kitchen bother you?’ he asked.
    I shrugged. ‘No. Why?’
    ‘It’s dark, don’t you think? And cramped. And the living room is too small. Don’t you find the whole thing extremely depressing ?’
    ‘Not really.’ Depressing didn’t even sound like Joe.
    ‘This wall – it could come down easily. It’s not even a load-bearing wall. It’s not a thick wall. It’s just a wall. A wall that should have never gone up in the first place. I don’t know why it wasn’t kept open in the first goddamn place.’
    ‘Joe?’
    He left the house and headed for the barn. On the stove