But everything had gone awry. The weather had gone wrong first, hotter and rainier than any year Joy could remember, but that was just the beginning. There was the construction on the other side of the road, which got worse and worse, puffing out clouds of dust when it didn’t rain, oozing mud when it did. And that rain, forcing the field mice to take refuge in the house, the lightning knocking out the power every week. There was a coyote, too, which prowled the property and howled at night. She worried about Gatto, so small, so urban in his experience of the world. Bad enough he’d been attacked by a brute in Los Angeles. What if he wandered out one night and was attacked by a coyote? She wouldn’t be there to save him. She’d be inside, asleep. She had become attached to the dog. He was the only one who didn’t tell her what to do.
The swing creaked as she stood up. She could not wade in the stream this summer. It was rushing full speed ahead, carrying fallen branches, no time to wait for an old lady and her poor balance. She could not pick raspberries, either. The bulldozers had ripped the bushes out of the ground. And the wildflowers had been crushed beneath enormous tire treads.
She walked out onto the lawn and looked back at her house. Perhaps she should sell it, after all. It stood on the hill, dim and weather-beaten, her own house, a house she loved and had loved for almost as long as she could remember. But at that moment, in the gray morning heat, this wonderful place, this house that had given itself over to the happiness of so many generations of children, seemed to feel as out of place as Joy did.
The sky was suddenly dark, thunder grumbling in the distance. Poor Ben and Ruby. They’d get soaked. What if they went under a tree to get out of the rain? What if they touched a wire fence? They could be electrocuted. Joy felt herself tilting, listing to one side. The bottom of the earth shot away from her, from beneath her feet, then came back. Vertigo, a new plague, thank you very much. And her eyes, so unreliable. There had been several trips to the ophthalmologist in the city and an emergency repair of a cataract lens that was far from successful. She closed one eye, but the sky still threatened rain.
She wished Ruby was not going off to sleep-away camp. She wished Cora would not be going to day camp every weekday. She wished Danny didn’t have to go to the office. She wished Aaron were not dead.
It’s your fault, damn you, she thought. All your fault, Aaron.
What was the point of everyone being together if people went away?
If the black clouds above had not spelled certain death for Ruby and Ben, she would have welcomed the darkening sky and thought it beautiful, much more beautiful, certainly, than the dingy clouds of dust, the dun-colored fog, that was usually lurking in the sky from the building site. The digging had done something to the septic tank as well, something obstructive, and there had been overflowing toilets. The fireflies had given way to houseflies and bees and wasps and, with all the rain, a burgeoning crop of mosquitoes. Inside, the air conditioners labored noisily and the doors and windows were kept shut.
The girls sometimes sat on her lap, smelling of dirt and childhood, and she would say, “I’m so lucky to be able to spend so much time with you.”
“Yes, you belong here with us, Mom,” Danny would say, benevolent, as if the house were his and Joy were his guest.
And Joy would think, I don’t belong anywhere. Then: Joy! Are you such a delicate flower? Get a grip.
“Mom!” Danny said, pushing the screen door open, still in his pajamas.
He was angry, Joy realized with surprise. He was so rarely angry about anything that did not have to do with climate change. Maybe another glacier had melted.
“We have to talk,” he said. “Right now.”
“Don’t come out here barefoot, Danny. The deer ticks…”
“Come in, then.” He gestured impatiently.
As she sat at the kitchen table, Joy allowed herself to feel just how tired she was. Then she sat up straight and smiled at her son. “We’ll sell it, that’s all,” she said.
“Sell what?”
“The house. This. The house, the house.”
“No. Karl. We have to talk about this Karl guy.”
“This Karl guy? Is that how you think of your father’s friend?”
“Oh come on, Mom, let’s cut the ‘Daddy’s friend’ crap.”
Joy was stunned. Danny never spoke to her like that.
“What is the matter with you?” she said. “Good lord.”
Joy went outside again. It was raining now. Good. She would catch pneumonia and die and everyone would have to stop lecturing her.
The raindrops were enormous. She could almost hear them as they hit the ground. They were cold on her arms, on her face, a shock in the steaming heat of the day. Her clothes were soaked through immediately, her pants sticking to her legs.
“Mom, come inside. What are you doing?” It was Molly. She ran outside.
“You’re barefoot! You’ll get a tick!” Joy said.
Molly pulled her inside and threw a beach towel around her.
“It’s only water,” Joy said. Her teeth were chattering. She let Molly rub the towel on her hair, her back, her arms. She obediently went into her room and put on dry clothes. When she came out, Molly handed her a mug of coffee.
“I can’t drink coffee. My digestion…”
Molly snatched it back. “Fine.”
“Where’s Danny?”
“Sulking in his bedroom.”
“He was very rude to me. I’m eighty-six years old and I deserve some respect.” Joy felt the tears and willed them back.