The Underside of Joy (24 page)

I laughed. ‘Gil
was
starting to look a little plump when you were shovelling all that food down him.’

‘For that reason, and many more, we are eternally grateful to you. And that’s why we’ve decided to give you this.’ He handed me an envelope. Inside was cash. A thick wedge of hundred-dollar bills.

‘David. I can’t take this. I’ll get a temp job when I get there.’

‘No. You need to focus on talking to Paige, not filling out job apps. This money was Gil’s idea, and it’s absolutely the right thing. We love you and we want to help. Do what you need to do to at least get her to talk to you. Take your time. I’ll take care of the store.’

‘I don’t know what to say.’

Callie came running up then, carrying what looked like a small snaggled tree stump. But as she got closer I could see it wasn’t a tree, but some kind of animal skull. I took it from her and stared into the hollow eyes, the remaining yellowed teeth, the empty, dusty dryness of it.

‘Oh God,’ David said after a minute. ‘That could be Max.’

‘Max . . .?’

‘Joe’s dog when we were kids.’ David nodded, then shook his head. ‘Grandpa Sergio buried him in the redwood grove when I was about nine. You should have seen him in his glory days. A huge golden retriever. Max
owned
Elbow. He’d walk down the street from house to house. Everyone knew him. He was like the town mascot. I thought he’d live forever. Poor Max.’ David fell silent, his mind turning over memories.

‘What happened to him?’

‘Oh, that’s a sad story. Joe never told –’ He stopped himself.

‘Nope. Add it to the list, I guess.’

He nodded. ‘I’ll tell you. But not right now. You’ve got some miles to cover.’

The breeze kicked up and we both stood there, staring at the skull, taking in the warm sun, the stirring air that carried the scent of the bay trees and rosemary bushes, the Douglas fir from the ridge.

‘Come here.’ He wrapped me in one of his real hugs. ‘Things will be better again. Just hang in there. We’ll be here waiting. I’ll be here, you know, trying to figure out what
else
wasn’t said at dinner all those years. How much of the stifling in that room was about me being gay, and how much was really about Grandpa Sergio and Grandpa Dante . . .
Internment
camps. Shit. I feel another identity crisis coming on . . . You better go, before I climb in with you.’

On my way out of Elbow, I turned and headed up to the cemetery. I reached back and pulled up the bunch of cornflowers and let Callie scramble out, though I kept an eye on her. I certainly didn’t want her digging
there.
She circled around tombstones and started to squat by one, but I shooed her over to the trees. ‘Callie! Have you no respect?’ I laid the flowers along Joe’s tombstone, and I whispered, ‘Remember these? I had some just like them in my car when we met?
Centaurea cyanus.
I brought them into your kitchen and you filled a vase with water? Remember?’ I knelt there, sitting back on my heels, waiting to feel him. Wherever he was, he wasn’t hanging out there. ‘The truth is, I still can’t believe it,’ I said. ‘There’s a part of me that keeps thinking you’ll show up somewhere. Isn’t that weird?

‘There’s so much I didn’t know about you, honey. I’m sorry. I wish we could talk . . . I’m going to try to fix things. To fix the mess we made for Annie and Zach.’ I traced the letters on the stone.
Joseph Anthony Capozzi Junior.
The same letters he said were spelled in freckles on my arm. ‘I love you, honey. I was mad about some things. But I love you. And I’m going to bring them back.’ I took two of the cornflowers back to the Jeep with me and stuck them in the visor. Callie sniffed them. ‘Please Don’t Eat the Cornflowers,’ I said. And she didn’t touch them again, not the whole way to Las Vegas.

I drove and I drove, and I thought about those cornflowers. After I’d had my fifth miscarriage, my doctor had suggested walking. It didn’t help much. But I walked, anyway. Henry and I had agreed to divorce. I hadn’t known what to do next, where to go, who to be. And so I walked.

One day, as I passed the massive flower fields in Encinitas, I noticed a migrant worker who had stopped cutting. He was watching me. He ventured out to the edge, close to the sidewalk, ahead of me. When I approached, he said, ‘Wait, miss,’ and bent down, then stood back up, holding an armful of blue flowers. He pushed them towards me and smiled. ‘For you, you take.’ I stopped, my mouth gaping. ‘No, I . . .’

‘
Por favor.
Every day, you’re sad.
Triste.
Beautiful flowers,
sí
?
Esperanza.
How you say in English? Hope? They mean this hope.’

I took the flowers. They filled my arms like a child. I couldn’t help but smile. The next day all the migrant workers, including my friend, were gone. North, I imagined. And suddenly, I wanted to be with them, losing myself in fields of flowers by day, chatting around a camp-fire by night, always moving. A hard life, but one with camaraderie. That’s when I started packing my Jeep. I wasn’t really going to track down the sweet migrant worker, the only person who had instinctively known how to ease my sorrow. But I’d taken it as a sign, the way desperate people do, to do
something.
To head north, to find my true north. Maybe a job tracking juvenile salmon in Alaska. And that crazy impulse had led me to Elbow, to Joe, to Annie and Zach. Just as I’d hoped my crazy impulse to go to Las Vegas would somehow lead me to Annie and Zach once again.

Chapter Thirty-two

I drove through dark desert and lonely straight roads, my eyes often drawn towards the brilliantly lit night sky; falling stars streaked across it, like the thoughts of Joe and the kids and the Capozzis and Paige that kept streaking across my mind.

David called me on my cell. ‘Where are you?’

‘Somewhere between a prickly pear cactus and a Joshua tree. With way too much time before the next cactus. So keep me awake. Tell me about Max.’

I could hear pans banging in the sink. ‘I’d forgotten that whole thing until today. Joe loved that dog. Poor Joe . . . He and Max were walking on Jasper Williams’ property. Jasper was the town asshole extraordinaire.’

‘Do I know this guy?’

‘Oh, he died years ago. Everyone avoided him. He was some retired military dude. But Joe was maybe eleven, had just got his first camera, and Jasper had the best view of the river. He yelled at Joe for trespassing.
Everyone
trespassed in Elbow. It was synonymous with being neighbourly. Apparently, Williams had lost some chickens and he blamed Max, which was ridiculous because Max wouldn’t hurt a flea. He yelled, “I told you all to stay away, you goddamn trespassing Wop. Should have locked you Kraut-lovin’ Japs and Wops up forever!” and then he shot Max dead. What a fucking idiot. Joe wanted to call the police, but Grandpa Sergio and Dad said no.’ David let out a long whistle and fell silent.

‘David?’

‘Oh my God. Now I get it. They said he
was
trespassing and they didn’t want trouble and they didn’t want to hurt the family name.’

‘The only family name it would have hurt was Jasper whatever-his-face’s.’

‘Absolutely. Joe cried for a week solid I remember, even at Little League practice. At dinner one night my dad told him to quit being a sissy. Joe got up from the table and left, and I waited for all hell to break loose. But my dad sat chewing his food, looking across the table at Grandpa Sergio. My mother sat looking at her hands. And no one ever said another word about it.’

I could see them sitting around a table piled with comfort food, a vacant chair taking up the whole room, as all the unspoken secrets and anger and fears and humiliation passed back and forth between them.
Mangia, mangia!
Have another helping of silence.

As we approached Las Vegas, Callie woke and barked at all the lights upon lights upon lights – even though they were still far ahead. Soon they were like firework displays exploding too close; their heat on my face, flashing, running, strobing.

But those lights lost their bravado the next morning, when I got a clearer look at the Strip and realized they were mere compensation, meant to blind me to the fact there wasn’t an ounce of natural beauty, or natural anything, anywhere. The only snippet of green lay in a row of planted palm trees in the centre of the strip. At a stoplight, I caught an older man and a much younger woman snorting cocaine in a black convertible. She took the rolled bill and mirror from him and went at it while he held back her long black hair. Is this what Annie and Zach saw on their way to school? How could Paige have moved herself, let alone the kids, from Elbow – with its lush, tree-crammed hills running all the way into the river, to
this
? I could not even begin to picture Annie and Zach being there, let alone calling it home.

But, I reminded myself, Elbow wasn’t Utopia for everyone. The rainy winters had gotten to Paige and deepened her depression, she’d written. She wanted to be warm and dry. But the biggest reason, I knew from reading the other letters, was that she had nowhere else to go but to Aunt Bernie, who lived in a trailer on the outskirts, and who loved her. Loved all of her, Paige had written. I thought of this as I pulled onto the freeway, not really sure where to go or if I should call her. A billboard stood out against the legions of other billboards. Was it? It couldn’t be. I leaned forward over the steering wheel and peered. Yes, by God, it was. There stood Paige, ten feet tall, in a power suit, with her arms folded, her tight white smile now the size of a turkey platter. when it’s time to stage, call paige. The same goofy slogan that was on her business card, the same phone number I’d been calling all week. Well, Aunt Bernie certainly
had a lot
to love. ‘My, my, my,’ I said to Callie, who rested her paws on the console between us and twitched her forehead nine different ways at me. It seemed that whenever I’d figured out something about Paige, or began to feel compassion for her, she’d show yet another side. Who was this woman who’d plastered herself on a billboard? Maybe pigeons would perch on it, leaving streaks of
Columba livia
shit all over her.

Still, how much more obvious of a sign did I need? I punched the number into my cell phone. As always, Paige didn’t answer, so I left a message telling her I was in town. This time she called me right back.

‘You’re in Las Vegas?’ she asked.

‘Yep.’ I was trying for casual, cheerful, even. ‘Nice billboard.’

‘Oh, that – I got a good deal on it. I actually get quite a lot of calls from it.’

I stifled an
I bet.

‘Why are you here?’

‘Well, not to gamble. I want to see the kids.’

‘Ella. You’re not thinking about Annie and Zach.They’re trying to make a huge adjustment. The judge knew what he was doing when he put the first visitation a month away. You don’t live here. Why mislead them now?’

‘Must I remind you that the judge was about to make a quite dif –’

‘No. You don’t need to remind me. Look, Ella. I’m only asking for time. And I think you need time too. To rebuild your life without Annie and Zach.’

‘But don’t you see? You’re cutting me out? Doing the same thing you say Joe did to you?’

‘My number one concern is for the kids.’

‘Then why did you take them away from me? We were happy . . .’ My voice broke, but I held it together. The last thing I needed to do was blubber at Paige. Besides, I was driving and a semi was on my tail.

‘Go home, Ella. Wait a month. Then call us.’

‘Who says I’m not home?’ I blurted out.

She sighed. ‘You mean you were lying about being here?’

‘No, I mean maybe I
moved
here.’ Did I really just say that? Silence.

‘Paige? Can you hear me?’

‘Yes.’

‘So now will you let me see the kids?’

‘You can see them in twenty-two days, as ordered by the court. Good-bye, Ella.’ She hung up before I could respond.

That
went well. I pulled off the freeway and found an ampm store and picked up the
Las Vegas Sun.
I grabbed a pint of ice cream too, knowing I didn’t have a freezer back at the No-Tell Motel, knowing I’d have to eat it all in one sitting. My version of living life on the edge in Las Vegas.

Along one of the aisles, a yellow notebook caught my eye. It was bigger than the one I’d carried around before my dad died, but it looked similar, spiralled across the top like mine had been. Flipping through its blank pages, I thought about that little red-haired girl with her binoculars who’d been so curious, so full of
whys?
And
whos?
And
whats?
She’d finally woken up a few weeks ago after decades of sleep, had already been busy shaking things up, wreaking havoc, yes, but hell, I loved the kid. She was a good kid. She’d already taught me a thing or two. And she needed a notebook.

Even though I despised Las Vegas, I’d told Paige I’d moved. I’d left out the word
temporarily.
I couldn’t stand the thought of Annie and Zach being raised in a town known for gambling, drugs, and prostitution, but more than that, I couldn’t stand the thought of them being raised there without me. Nor could I stand the thought of returning to Elbow without them. And judging from our first phone conversation, things with Paige were not going to happen quickly. I had three options, and I hated all of them. A place was just a place. I could deal with missing Elbow. Temporarily. I opened the paper up to the classifieds and started looking for an apartment. I wrote addresses down in my notebook. I had time to kill, and I wanted to make Annie and Zach feel at home when they visited me, not sitting perched on a bed in a tacky motel room.

Each day, I walked Callie for hours, exploring different neighbourhoods where we might find an apartment, lingering in any slip of green offered up in the new and small manicured parks. The wind blew dust and debris, rolling tumbleweeds of Big Gulp cups, crushed cigarette boxes, plastic grocery bags. The sun beat down on us, forcing us to take frequent water breaks. I ached for Elbow, for the garden and the chickens, the cool river and the picnic store – but ached much more for Annie and Zach.

The court documents listed Paige’s address, and I drove by. It was in a suburban neighbourhood in a new development with one tiny birch tree staked in each yard. The house was a new, huge stucco wedged into a minuscule lot, surrounded by similar houses in alternating A, B, C, and D models. As much as the red door – so feng shui – beckoned for me to knock on it, I didn’t. Visitation was less than two weeks away, and I didn’t want to sabotage the kids’ visit to my place.

I wrote in my notebook: Who is Paige? How can I convince her to talk to me? I wrote: Why did Joe even agree to take on the store in the first place? Didn’t he want to be a photographer? Since he was eleven? I wrote: Annie’s laugh. Zach’s toes. Us cutting lavender, hanging it in the barn. Annie’s bee sting. Her crying and saying, ‘At least that son of a gun makes honey too.’

I focused on finding a place, staying positive. I would show strength and tenacity, and if Paige didn’t respond, perhaps a judge would acknowledge and reward my efforts.

I left more messages for Paige. ‘I’ll have an apartment soon. I’d like to talk with you. Please let the kids know I called and that I love them.’ I also sent letters. I hoped she would not keep
those
from the kids.

Finally, I found an affordable apartment that allowed a dog and had a pool. Those were its three only features worth mentioning. Paige had a pool, and I wanted the kids to be able to cool off at my house too. Plus, Zach needed to get over his combined fear and fascination of water and just learn how to swim.

I sat on my sleeping bag in the empty apartment, the walls bare except for the map of Las Vegas that Clem had given me, tacked on one wall, and the Life’s a Picnic map tacked on another.

David called one night and said the store was doing better than it had, but not quite good enough – yet. The rain hadn’t let up in weeks. He needed to run an ad playing up the fireplace and the greenhouse in back. He was thinking about bringing in a musician, someone who would play just for tips. Gina was talking about moving away, and she might not be around long to fill in at the store. Still, his spirits were up.

‘You are so in your element,’ I said. I wasn’t quite ready to tell him about the apartment, especially since he was in a good mood.

‘That I am. Let the man swim in Bolognese sauce and he’s happy.’

‘I don’t understand this, David. Why did the store go to Joe? He didn’t want it. He wanted to be a photographer. But you wanted it, didn’t you? Since you were a little boy. Joe outgrew the whole Joey’s store/Davy’s store rivalry, but you never did, did you?’

He sighed. ‘No. I never outgrew it. That was just a lie to cover up my utter disappointment and rampant feelings of total rejection. Oh God. We could do an entire
Oprah
show on this one, El, and I’ve got a little catering gig tonight.’

‘You’re catering now too?’

‘This is the first try, but hey, whatever pays the bills . . .’ He promised me we’d finish the conversation later.

I sat outside on my balcony, remembering how Joe and I used to sit on the porch in Elbow. On mornings when the fog lay thick among the tops of redwoods, their trunks so tall that even the peaks of them looked like full-size trees growing out of a carpet of clouds, I’d imagine our house, warm as bread, was perched in heaven with the jubilant blue sky above us while those under the fog line were living that same moment in grey deprivation. And then a twinge of guilt rose up that our little place on the hill was anointed in light, blessed, lucky,
above
– it had felt that way sometimes.

Now I sat in the hot night, my skin going from green to blue under the flashing sign from the car lot across the street. I watched the herd of traffic one story below, snorting, fuming, waiting for the signal to change and set them free, until they reached the next stoplight a block away.

David called again a few days later to ask if I’d be home for Thanksgiving, and that meant telling him I had taken an apartment.

‘You’re
living
in Vegas?’

‘Well, I’m not dying here. Not quite. They have me on a breathing machine. Which helps combat the effects of all the secondhand smoke.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘It’s not exactly home, no. But I’m staying longer than I thought. Paige isn’t quite speaking to me . . . yet. I’ve got to figure out a way to get through to her, but she’s still too angry. So I’m buying time. And it helps my psyche, just knowing I’m within fourteen minutes of Annie and Zach.’

David said to take my time, that he’d figured it would take a while. I asked about Marcella and Joe Sr, but he just said, ‘Oh, you know . . . waiting.’

I missed them. I missed their oversize dinners and long hugs, Marcella’s loud singing and Joe Sr’s loud swearing, the way their faces opened when the kids walked into the room.

And I missed Elbow. The wild turkeys would be gobbling into town. It wasn’t unusual to see one sitting on the rooftop of the car in the morning, or to see them flaunting themselves down the middle of the street, the males spreading their huge fantails, prouder even than peacocks. I used to ask them, ‘Guys? Isn’t this the time of year when you should be, you know,
hiding?’

I missed the kids most of all. On Thanksgiving, I called my mom, but she had a houseful of people, her ‘homeless waif‘ dinners she always held, inviting all the people she knew that didn’t have family living in the area. She’d offered to come down or for me to fly up, but I’d declined. Part of me, a ridiculously optimistic part of me, had hoped that somehow Paige would call, or at least would pick up when I called, that she’d see the light and invite me over.