‘Okay. Get off the trike, Captain. As in now.’
I knew Zach was just talking big. Annie told me he still wouldn’t even go in the pool at Paige’s, so I wanted to resume coaxing him back to his love of being in the water and work with him like I had those days at the river. I’d even bought him plastic water wings to wear on his arms to help him feel more secure. By the end of the day, he was jumping off the side, flapping his arms, then splashing into the water, where I would scoop him up in my embrace.
That afternoon, after they rode bikes, they wanted to do crafts, but all I’d brought from Elbow were crayons and colouring books, and they quickly tired of those. Annie suggested we make bookmarks from ironing crayon shavings in sheets of wax paper. But I didn’t even have wax paper, so we went down to the store, them riding their bikes alongside me. When we got back, I plugged in my travel iron, while Annie carved the crayons with the scissors and Zach made a mess of the shavings. Annie said, ‘We can’t do this at Mama’s.’
I asked, ‘Oh? Too messy?’
‘No. She doesn’t have an iron.’
‘Oh, I’m sure she does . . .’
‘No. She doesn’t.’
Paige could probably afford to send her laundry out. ‘Do you have a washer and dryer?’
‘Of course, silly.’ Annie cracked up, like that was the funniest question she’d ever heard.
On Sunday afternoon, they asked if they could take their bikes back to Paige’s. I hadn’t planned to let them, wanted those bikes to be special perks at my place, our thing. But I knew I might not see them for a while and that the way they were growing, they’d hardly be able to ride them before they outgrew them. Besides, playing that kind of game would punish only them, not Paige. I had to take the top off the Jeep in order to fit the bikes in the back. Zach asked if he could take his water wings too, and I told him sure, felt that jealous twinge, and let it pass.
I drove them back in a silent car. Then Annie said, ‘This all feels like we’re playing pretend.’
‘What do you mean, Banannie?’
‘You know. This place. Everything. It feels like playing makebelieve and we just keep playing it and playing it. I want both of you. And I want Uncle David and Gil and Nonna and Nonno and everyone.’
‘I want BOTH of you too,’ Zach said. ‘And everyone!’
‘I know it’s hard. We’ve been through a lot of change.’
Annie said, ‘Change sucks.’
‘Um . . .’ She was right. I thought about pointing out her word choice but didn’t. She couldn’t have said it better.
When we pulled onto Paige’s street and started up the hill, Zach started to whimper, saying, ‘I don’t wanna go without you to the mama lady,’ and by the time we parked in the driveway, he was screaming, ‘I wanna stay with my mommy!’ Annie kept uncharacteristically quiet, then tried to smooth back Zach’s hair.
‘Zachosaurus. It’s gonna be okay,’ she said.
Paige came out, her arms open wide. I did not want to hand him back over to her. How ’bout we just get back in the car, guys? How ’bout we drive away and never come back?
She didn’t try to take him, though. She rubbed his back and let him cry. Finally she said, ‘I know you had a good time, and you’ll have a good time with your mommy again, soon.’
Not soon enough.
As he laid his head on my shoulder, she kept stroking his back until he started to calm down, his stuttered breaths taking over for the sobs, until he was almost asleep, and he let her lift him from my arms. With his eyes closed, he pointed to the Jeep and said, ‘Bike.’
‘They wanted to keep their bikes with them. If that’s okay.’
‘Well, there’s really nowhere to ride them here with the hill, except a little bit of patio out back, but of course, that’s fine, that’s really nice of you. We can ride at the park. I’ll open the garage.’
I lifted the bikes out and watched the door slowly rise. Inside her immaculate garage was a Suburban – so soccer mom of her. I wheeled the bikes in and parked them along the back wall. The door to the house was closed. I wanted to walk in, to draw their baths, to wash their hair and have them tell me the story of their day, of our day.
I drove west towards the sunset, which looked like the gods had been throwing cantaloupes at each other, cracking them open across the sky. I pulled out my cell phone and called Paige.
‘So, do you really think I can see them again soon? I mean, you told Zach “soon”.’
‘You’ll have them after Christmas, which is just a few weeks away. And then in three months after that. I’m comfortable with the court’s decision.’
‘Three months is a long time.’
‘Try three years.’ She hung up.
I needed to find a way to talk to Paige. Every time we spoke, hostility cut through the line – hers, and mine, too. I pulled into my parking stall at the apartment and reached over and opened the glove compartment. I’d stuck Paige’s cards and letters to Annie and Zach in there.
How could I get through to her? I still had the cards she’d sent the kids. But she’d wonder why I hadn’t given these to the court with the others in the first place, and she wouldn’t believe I intended for the kids to someday open them themselves. She also knew I was desperate and would do anything to see the kids. And she still believed I’d known about all the letters from the beginning. This was clearly my one and only chance to make it better between us, and I did not want to blow it.
I had to figure out a way to make this stack of cards and letters work in the kids’ favour.
It had been there all along, winking at me, saying, Hello? Paige’s return address on Annie’s and Zach’s envelopes. Some were from a hospital. But some weren’t. I had to guess they were from Aunt Bernie’s, when Paige had been living there. That night I wrote: Maybe, just maybe, Aunt Bernie can help?
Chapter Thirty-four
I knew it was rude to just show up at Aunt Bernie’s, but I had no way of getting her phone number except to call Paige, which defeated the purpose. Following the map out to the edge of town – or I should say the last edge, because I could tell they kept adding as the place grew, edge after edge, like a beige braided rug that someone couldn’t leave alone – I imagined that when Paige lived there as a child, it was out in the middle of nowhere. But now there was a Vons supermarket and a Rite Aid, some restaurants and a housing development. The trailer park had mature trees, and the trailers didn’t look so much like trailers, but neat, boxy houses with tiny front porches and small multicoloured rock gardens. Much nicer than I’d imagined.
I knocked on the front door. No one answered. I was glad I’d left Callie back at the apartment, because even though it was morning, the sun already bore down relentlessly on the dry, dusty pavement. I waited, then knocked again. I was hoping to catch her before she left for work. But maybe she didn’t work. Maybe she was still asleep. ‘Aunt Bernie?’ I called before I realized that was Paige’s name for her, but certainly not mine.
Almost immediately, I heard her say, ‘Paige?’ and she opened the door. She was not what I expected, not at all. Midfifties, trim and tall, with a dark, stylish bob haircut and a lovely dove grey business suit. ‘Oh! I thought you were my niece.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you “aunt”.’ I stuck out my hand. ‘I’m Ella Beene.’
She stared.
I slipped my hand into my pocket. ‘I was hoping we could talk . . .’
‘Oh?’
‘Could I come in?’
She stared another moment, then said, ‘Oh, why not?’ and turned and led me into her house. The front room was cluttered with boxes and magazines and gadgets and gizmos. ‘The kitchen is this way,’ she promised. ‘Don’t mind all this. I’ve been cleaning out the closets.’
Her kitchen wasn’t dirty, just crowded with magazines and appliances and stacks of papers. I realized that her niece wasn’t the only thing Aunt Bernie had saved. I also suddenly understood Paige’s passion for feng shui and home s
taging.
‘Here, have a seat.’ She motioned to the table. She sat on the bar stool, stacks of Redbooks, National Geographics, and bills on the table. ‘Excuse the mess. I don’t have company much.’ Her face coloured but she regained her composure. ‘Coffee? Tea?’
‘Tea, if you have it.’
‘Dear, as you can see, I have everything.’ She filled the pot with water.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t call,’ I said. ‘I didn’t have your number. Paige doesn’t know I’m here.’
‘Yes, I figured as much. I don’t have a lot of time. I’m on my way to work.’
‘What do you do?’ I was curious. She looked so professional, so out of place in her own home.
‘Oh, I work for the IRS, if you really want to know.’ She tilted her chin up in mock bravado. ‘I am a tax auditor.’
‘Good to know,’ I said, attempting to hide my surprise.
She brought me the tea in a delicate cup and saucer. ‘So you see’ – she smiled as she set it down in front of me – ‘I’m not used to people seeking me out. It’s usually the other way around. Now, what would you like to talk about?’
‘It’s Paige.’ I chose my words carefully. ‘I’m sorry about everything she’s been through, and I can understand why she’s angry. But I love Annie and Zach too. I understand that I’m not, you know, their birth mother. But I love them that way. And I want to have a relationship with them. I want things to be more open.’
I talked about finding the letters, how I hadn’t known Paige had been writing the kids and Joe, or that she had wanted to come back.
I said, ‘I was nervous to come here. I figured you’d slam the door in my face too.’
Bernie nodded. She moved her watch around and around on her slim wrist. ‘Actually, Ella, I am glad you came to talk to me. Yes, I am Paige’s aunt, and I love her very, very much. But you and I’ – she glanced up at me – ‘we have something important in common.’ She took a deep breath, readjusted herself on the bar stool. ‘You see, I loved and cared for Paige since she was an infant. Her own mother had serious problems; I won’t go into that – that’s Paige’s private business. But I took her in and kept her under my wing as if she were my own. And although she called me her aunt, I felt every bit her mother, as I can see you feel towards Annie and Zach. She’s my daughter, in my mind and in my heart.
‘And so I do understand your position, Ella. My sister was never able to return. I haven’t told Paige this: But if her mother had been able to return, if she had come back and taken Paige away from me, I would not have been able to forgive her.’
Her gaze shifted past me, and I followed it to a patch of sunlight, which seemed to have adhered to a crack along the wall like a bandage. Our eyes met as she continued. ‘Paige is their mother; she deserves to be their mother. But I see myself in you, and I understand your pain – and your love.’ She fished out her tea bag with a spoon. ‘I’ll try to talk to her. I’ll tell her what I have never said to this day. I’ve kept my mouth shut when she says, “But I’m their mother. No one can love them and take care of them like I can!” I haven’t held her face in my hands and said, “But, Paige, have I not loved you as a mother loves her child?” I have not said this, you see, because my sister was never a mother to her. Never a mother at all.’
‘What . . .’ I picked up my teacup, then set it back down. ‘What, exactly, did Paige’s mother do?’
‘That, my dear girl, is a question for Paige.’
As I was leaving, I passed the refrigerator. It was covered with pictures of Paige at different ages. When she was little, she looked exactly like Annie. And then I saw a paper cut-out purple heart. It said Happy Valenites DaY Mama, from Annie, age 3. Aunt Bernie saw me looking at it. ‘That’s the one thing Paige brought with her when she left Joe and the kids and showed up here. I told her it was her purple heart. For a long time, it was her talisman. It helped keep her alive. When she moved out, she said I could keep it. That she knew someday Annie would make her another Valentine’s Day card.’ She smiled. ‘Paige understands how hard it is for me to let go of things.’
I got on the freeway, and I should have gone straight back to the apartment. I shouldn’t have been so pushy, so determined to finally make a breakthrough with Paige. But I couldn’t wait. My God! Aunt Bernie! Why hadn’t I thought to talk to her from the beginning, or when I found the letters, at the very least, with her address right there in Paige’s own handwriting? As if this whole mess I was in had come with simple, easy-to-follow directions on how to get out of it.
I turned up Paige’s street. She and Aunt Bernie were probably just hanging up. With Bernie’s endorsement and the letters from Paige to the kids – all unopened – she’d have to trust me, to see that I was a good person and that we could work out something so we could both be a part of Zach’s and Annie’s lives. ‘I want both of you,’ they had said. Hell, if we had to live in this awful place, so be it. It’s not what I wanted, not what Annie and Zach wanted, but I was willing to do anything to see them, to be in their lives.
Chapter Thirty-five
I drove up the hill to Paige’s house and parked. The sun spread itself like a big white sheet over the neighbourhood, which was treeless, except for the straight line of new birch saplings, staked one to a yard. I pulled the packet of the kids’ unopened cards and letters out of my glove compartment and tucked them in my bag. Her grass had just been watered. I saw Bubby lying bedraggled in a puddle and picked him up. I breathed deep, knocked on the door, stuck one hand in my pocket, then pulled it out again and grabbed the strap of my shoulder bag. Paige answered the door wearing a white terry robe. Her bra strap, pink, peeked out from the collar. Her hair was wet, like she’d just stepped out of the shower. She looked tanned and healthy and strong. I crossed my sunburned skinny arms. She stepped outside onto the front step and closed the door behind her.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I just want to talk to you.’ Stay calm. Don’t blow this. ‘Have you talked to your aunt Bernie lately?’
‘What? What do you mean? Did you talk to her? Unbelievable.’
‘Paige,’ I said. ‘Please? I just want to talk.’ Our eyes locked.
‘Come on. Remember when you just wanted to talk to Joe?’
‘This is different.’
‘In some ways yes, in some ways no.’
She looked down. ‘This is so hard,’ she said.
‘I know. But we’re making it harder than it has to be.’
‘I want you to leave us alone. They can learn to love me, but not when you keep showing up.’ She looked down at Bubby. ‘Where did you get that?’ She reached out to take it from me. I held on. She pulled the slightest bit.
‘They can love both of us.’
‘But I wonder if you would say that, Ella, if the judge had ruled in your favour. I don’t have time for this. I have to get the kids ready for school.’ She pulled harder, and I pulled back. Bubby started to rip. I was horrified and let go, and she stumbled slightly, looked embarrassed.
We stood there, quiet, staring at the ground. As long as she didn’t turn and go back inside, it wasn’t over. I wanted to bring up my conversation with Bernie, but I knew that could make Paige mad again. I had to hand her the letters.
‘I have something for you.’
She looked up. ‘What?’
‘Some of the cards and letters you sent Annie and Zach. The ones they never opened.’
‘You mean, were never allowed to open?’
‘It was wrong of him.’
Her shoulders fell slightly; her weight shifted to the other foot. She searched my eyes. ‘Ella? I can’t ever undo the fact that I left them. I can never get that time back.’ The door behind her bolted open and there was Annie, screaming something indecipherable, her red face twisted, pulling on our arms, screaming, the words finally registering, ‘Zach! Zach! He’s hurt in the pool!’
‘No!’ Paige took off, with me right behind her. ‘No!’ She ran through the hous
e and out the French doors and jumped into the pool, where Zach floated, his bright red tricycle lying overturned at the bottom.
She was tangled in her robe, pushing him over to me, so I could lift him, lift him out as she pushed him up, and I pulled him out, so heavy, so full of water, the water flowing out of him, and then I turned him over and breathed into his blue lips while Paige freed herself from her heavy wet robe in the pool, got out, called 911, and said, ‘My little boy fell into the pool he’s blue, he’s not breathing, 1020 Hillside Way, I’ll leave the front door open, hurry, hurry, he’s not breathing, I thought I locked the gate, I thought I did I always lock the gate,’ while I tried to remember CPR, tried to count to fifteen while I breathed into his mouth, was it fifteen, and how many had I done? And then two pushes on the sternum, I remembered something, what was it? One hand for a child, my child, and then Paige was there, taking over while I stood up to go flag down the paramedics, whose siren I heard, and I saw Annie standing by herself, wailing, ‘DaddyDaddyDaddy,’ holding the little water wings I’d bought for Zach, one in each hand, and I saw Paige bent over my little boy, her little boy, and I saw then that her entire back was a terrain of hideous scars, a raised map of unbearable pain, as her back expanded and deflated with her breath, trying to push life back into Zach, back into our little boy.
Chapter Thirty-six
The firefighters and paramedics worked on Zach, and I held Annie, who sobbed uncontrollably, still clutching the water wings. Someone had thrown a blanket over Paige, who slumped on the end of a lounge, staring at the dark blue uniformed arms and legs and torsos that attached themselves to Zach and started an IV, intubated him, put him on a stretcher, moved with him across the patio in synchronization. A man approached me and said, ‘I’m the medical services officer. How long was he in the water before you started CPR?’
Paige looked up and said in a high, tight voice, ‘Three minutes. I saw him inside right before I answered the door.’ She asked me, ‘How long were we talking?’
The Underside of Joy Page 25
