A cemetery was quickly established on a pretty, peaceful spot not too far from the edge of town, but not far enough from the edge of the river. The flood of 1879 revealed the error. The river overflowed, uprooting gardens, trees, carriages, a couple of horses, six cabins, and a dozen coffins. The coffins bobbed down the river, along with the logs, towards the mill. That which had been laid to rest for eternity had become restless.
The townspeople grabbed their rowboats, their fishing nets, their ropes, and set off to catch the coffins and pull them back to dry land, which they did. Though it was true that no one died in that flood, not even the horses, the newspaper reported that twelve bodies were found in the river, which was also true. The coffins that still remained in the ground were dug up, and the cemetery was immediately moved up to the sunny hill, where Joe was buried.
The burial blunder was celebrated every year with the Elbow Bobbing for Coffins Parade. People decorated their rowboats, canoes, and kayaks like floats. Life-size (or perhaps I should say death-size) plastic coffins were tied in between the ‘row floats’. Tiki lamps lighted up each float and coffin. Tradition called for utter silence while the parade was in progress, and amazingly, everyone acquiesced, as the boats and coffins quietly moved downriver, the flames reflecting off the water, a silent dance.
I closed Lucy’s trunk and said, ‘Wow. Bobbing for Coffins. Why have I not seen how utterly morbid that is?’
Lucy smiled. ‘Of course it’s morbid. It’s Halloween.’
‘Do you think Annie and Zach will be okay with it? I mean . . . they did just see their drowned dad’s coffin placed into the ground. I talked to them about it, and they both seem excited about the parade. But still . . .’
‘I’m guessing they’ll be okay. Besides, you’ll be watching their every expression, and if it’s suddenly not okay, you’ll be there. El, it’s Halloween. And they’re kids. Amped up over candy. Who love the parade.’
That night, down at Life’s a Picnic, we unveiled our costumes to hoots and applause from Lucy, David, Gil, Marcella, and Joe Sr.
‘Hey, Boo-Boo?’ David said to Gil. ‘It looks like we might have ourselves a pic-i-nic basket . . . And a giant, ferocious . . . ant.’
‘I’m a formica,’ Zach said.
Gil said, ‘You know the Latin? Your mom must be the famous entomologist, Ella Beene. Hey, where’s Bubby?’ Zach pulled Bubby out of his plastic jack-o’-lantern, like a rabbit from a hat. ‘And look at our beautiful Miss Pocahontas.’
‘Ella,’ Lucy said, ‘I think you’ve outdone yourself this time.’
I’d taken our wicker laundry basket and cut most of the bottom out of it and harnessed it over my shoulders with a couple of Joe’s old leather belts. I had covered my jeans with material from red-and-white-checked tablecloths. I wore a wild fruit-basket hat and had stuffed the laundry basket with newspapers, covered those with more tablecloths, and stuck in a bottle of wine, a hunk of cheese, a loaf of bread, a rubber chicken. I was, indeed, a picnic basket.
‘No cracks about me being a basket case, please.’
‘Oh, that would be too easy,’ David said.
He had agreed to cover the store so I could take the kids to the parade and then meet Frank and Molly for trick-or-treating. I had to step out of the laundry basket in order to fit in the canoe, so I carefully did that, leaving the bulk of my costume at the store so we could run down to the river. I buckled their life jackets and we climbed into the canoe. Zach pointed to the plastic coffins. ‘Those are pretend,’ he reminded himself. A good reminder for all of us, really.
‘Yes, Zach, those are pretend.’
There was a harvest moon, low and big and orange. ‘A pumpkin moon,’ he whispered. He was tucked in next to me, his red antennae poking me in the cheek, my head heavy with plastic fruit. Annie sat in front of us, dipping the oar in to guide the canoe. We were tied to the coffin in front of us and the coffin behind us, and the boats ahead pulled us along, but Annie sat at the helm, taking her role seriously. I watched them both; they were solemn but didn’t seem scared. Zach watched the reflections of the moon and the tiki flames illuminated on the river, which slapped at the bottom of our canoe. Annie turned around. ‘I’m tired,’ she whispered. I scooted even closer to Zach and patted the seat.
‘Careful.’
She climbed back to me, and I put my arms around both of them. We sat in the silence. Three peas in a pod.
No longer four.
The moment hung in the night like the moon. Peaceful, eerie, weighted. We reached the end just ahead of the last float and coffin, and then all mayhem broke loose. The music started. The kids went wild. Halloween officially began.
After I retrieved the rest of my costume from the store, Molly ran up to us, dressed up in her Disney Belle costume. Lizzie – not Frank – followed behind. ‘Frank got called into work,’ she explained without saying hello. ‘Wow, look at you . . . ,’ she said, looking me up and down. ‘Cute.’
‘I can take the kids if you want.’
‘No, that’s okay. I left the bowl of candy on the porch. When it’s gone, it’s gone.’ She was only about five feet tall, but she walked with the grace of a gazelle. She’d grown up in Elbow, the high school home-coming queen, the valedictorian, and the class president. She’d gone to Stanford, had some high-level exec job for a while, but she’d grown disillusioned with the corporate world, came back, and married Frank, her high school sweetheart. Now she had Molly and ran her own business making the most incredible-smelling soaps on the planet. Lizzie’s Lathers product line was so good, people were willing to drop $7 for a bar of soap, and the Press Democrat had run a full-page article with the headline: homemade soap company really cleans up. Everyone knew her and adored her, stopping to talk to her as we walked along – she so much more animated and warm with them than she’d ever been with me, me relieved when it was someone I knew, and they would direct the conversation to both of us. Usually it was to say that they liked my costume or to wish me good luck and tell me they were pulling for me with – and here is where they’d lower their voices – the 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 somethin
g 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 crying too. ‘Let me take those kids to see their nonna,’ he finally was able to say. ‘She made panettone to celebrate.’
I walked down to the store to put some time in on the books. Our new books showed more promise than the old ones Joe had sweated over. We were almost making it. But things would slow down when the rainy season began. We kept hoping the glassed-in porch addition could pull us through the winter weather.
The whole place smelled like nutmeg and cinnamon. ‘Pumpkin tarts,’ David said when I closed my eyes and inhaled. He took off his apron and gave me a hug. He told me he and Gil wanted to bring over a surprise for Zach and Annie that night. They’d wanted to give the kids a special treat for Halloween but first needed to wait and see how things turned out. When I asked what kind of surprise, he just smiled.
‘Don’t be coy.’
‘Oh, I’m nothing to you but your coy boy. Hey, guess who was in here earlier.’
‘A benefactor?’
‘Ray Longobardi. He bought the butternut squash and apple soup. Made me promise not to tell his wife.’
‘Guess he’s going to have to mortgage his house.’
‘Wait’ll he tries these tarts. The poor man will have to claim bankruptcy too.’
‘Now you’re being a tarty coy boy.’ He wiggled his ass and we both laughed. It felt good to laugh.
I looked over David’s list on the counter and saw how much I hadn’t been pulling my weight, as much as I’d been trying. Now with the custody issues behind us, I could focus on three things: Annie, Zach, and the store. I told David I’d take care of the ribollita soup and started gathering the ingredients. Chopping vegetables, pouring, chopping herbs, stirring, I counted my blessings, and kept counting as I shredded the pecorino and tore the day-old bread. I crossed off the soup while it simmered, and headed upstairs to work on the books. Through the window of the office, I looked down on the store that had survived the Depression, internment camps, fear, financial difficulties, and death, and now, at last, was renewed to be something nurturing and vibrant once more. I wrote checks, counted money that was still not quite enough, and counted more blessings. So many. Too many to count.
That night, David and Gil brought in a big crate with a huge sage ribbon tied around it. ‘What the . . .?’ I asked.
‘I know we should have asked you first,’ David explained. ‘But then you would have had the chance to say no.’ He set down the crate and opened the front hatch, and out jumped two grey-and-white kittens.
‘What the . . .?’ I said again, but Annie and Zach had already scooped them up. I stared at David and said, ‘Totally, completely unfair.’ The kids took the kittens down the hall, towards the bedrooms. Callie was beside herself, but I knew she wouldn’t hurt them. She wouldn’t even touch the chickens. But she was curious. Definitely.
‘Look, you need something to help keep the mice down in the barn. Also, my dear, they’ll help you with that rat problem.’
‘Rat problem? You mean that little mouse?’
‘Mice. They only come in multipacks, dear. But you do have one rat. And if I remember correctly, Paige is allergic to cats.’
‘David. “Rat” is awfully harsh. Be nice. It’s over now. Cut her some slack.’
‘Mohhhmy! We need your he-elp!’ Annie called out from my room.
I shook my finger at David and Gil. ‘You. Kittens?’ We went to investigate. The kids’ legs stuck out from under the bed, traces of mud lodged in the rubber tracking of their sneakers.
‘They keep running under your bed so Callie can’t play with them. But now we can’t find them under there. We can hear them, though.’ We crouched down to take a look. Annie was right; we couldn’t see them.
Gil said, ‘I bet there’s a rip in the box springs – they’re probably up in the coils. My friend had a kitten who, uh’ – he placed his hand around his neck in a choke sign – ‘because it got caught up there. It happens frequently with kittens. We hear about it at the shelter too. The undersides of beds and sofas, they’re kitty death traps.’
‘We’ve got to get them out, then. And I believe it’s your guys’ duty to help me.’
Gil went for a can of tuna from the pantry and opened it, and both kittens jumped out like little rabbits.
‘Okay, kiddos,’ David said. ‘Hold the kitties and stand over by the door. We’ve got to fix this bed.’ Under his breath he 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 everyone. 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.’
The Underside of Joy Page 16
