Charlotte Figg Takes Over Paradise Read Free

been a buyer for John Wanamaker Department Store in Center City, Philadelphia. She had loved her work and thought every woman should have a career. She had worked hard and collected nearly a dozen awards for a job well done.
    "Husbands are a dime a dozen, but a good career for a woman is hard to find," she had said.
    "I know you always wanted my best, Mother. But did I really do that terrible?"
    "Terribly," she said.
    And that was pretty much how things went until the day of the funeral, which turned out mostly nice. Pastor Herkmeier did a fine job. I smiled and greeted the mourners as best I could, while my mother stood by with her long fingers intertwined in front and a practiced funeral face.
    It was good to have Midge with me. She wore a navy dress with a white collar, white shoes with dark blue buckles, and a little sailor hat tipped to the left on her head. I never asked why she had felt the need to wear a sailor hat and only told her how glad I was that she came. I dressed in black except for secret pink undergarments with white lace edging that helped me feel a little less dismal. My mother made certain that I carried a small flask of cooking sherry tucked inside my purse in case I felt faint. As I remember, I might have taken three or four sips.
    At one point, Gideon's viewing room was standing room only, jammed to the jalousies with Fuller Brush salesmen from all over the region. I had never seen so many gray suits, polished black shoes, and fedoras at one time.
    "My goodness," Mother said after she had shaken the hand of the thirteenth salesman, "but these men all look like they popped right off some assembly line. When I was buying for Wanamaker, I met many salespeople and—"
    I had to touch her shoulder. "Not here."
    She took a breath and sidled near Herman's coffin.
    "I'm sorry about Herman, Mrs. Figg," said a tall, skinny man who introduced himself as the regional sales manager."He was one of our best." Then he slid an orange Fuller Brush letter opener into Herman's breast pocket. He smiled at me, plopped his gray hat on his head, and hurried out into the gray day.
    By the time the funeral was over, Herman had been buried with twenty-nine letter openers in his pocket, his samples bag tucked at his left hand, and his gray fedora grasped neatly in his right hand. And there he was, Herman Quincy Figg, on his way to that final sales call in heaven. At least I hoped it was heaven.
     

     
    Mother left that evening.
    "My taxi is here," she said, looking out the window. "Now, you call me if you need anything. Anything at all."
    "Thank you for coming, Mother. I'll be fine. I have everything I need."
    She stood near the front door while the driver took her bag to the cab. She looked into my face like she was drilling for oil with her eyes. "Whatever happened to that feisty girl who climbed trees and could throw a baseball better than any boy?"
    "She got married."
    Mother pointed at my heart. "She might still be in there."
    "Call me when you get home." I kissed her cheek.
    "By the way, I couldn't help but notice your dish towels could use a splash of Clorox, and don't put chicken bones in the disposal, dear. Not good for the blades."
    Once the taxi was out of sight, I went into the house, locked the door, and cried.
     

     
    Three days later I met Lucky.
    I opened the front door at around eight in the morning and in bounded the ugliest, hairiest mutt I had ever seen. He had wiry whiskers and eyebrows, and he looked for all the world like Nikita Khrushchev. His white paws reminded me of little girl anklets. With only a gnarled thumb—about the size of a Vienna sausage—for a tail, he went straight for Herman's chair, sniffed first, and took advantage of its cushiony comfort. He sat on his haunches, with his tongue lolled out, and panted like he had won a marathon.
    My intruder barked once with a bark that seemed to emanate from deep within his bowels and then barrel through his stomach, up his throat, and out his