Charlotte Figg Takes Over Paradise (23 page)

M
onday arrived with bright sunshine and a slight breeze that puffed the curtains in my bedroom windows. I breathed in the fresh air that had a tinge of honeysuckle on it. "Now, this, this is what I think we came to Paradise for," I told Lucky. I plumped up my pillows behind me and closed my eyes, trying to put the events of the previous day aside and daydreamed of what it would be like when all the repairs were completed and my trailer was finally finished. I imagined yellow and white striped awnings on every window and pink and purple trailing verbena and bright red bromeliads blooming in hanging baskets. For a few short minutes I forgot about Fergus and his threats. I let my mind wander and watched the Angels score run after run until I remembered Lillian DeSalle was coming to town.

I stood on the front stoop and kept a watchful eye on Lucky. I was not about to let him out of my sight. I also decided to put the whole Fergus incident in a different brain compartment and concentrate on the game. The way I saw it, right then there was nothing I could do that would not jeopardize Suzy's life.

Lucky sniffed around the maple tree a while, and then I called him. "Come on, boy. Time for breakfast."

I filled Lucky's bowl with kibble and then opened a can of stinky Alpo, which I dumped into his other bowl. "There you go, fella. Eat hearty. Your grandmother is coming later."

He looked at me with raised eyebrows as he slurped his Beef Banquet.

"That's right. Grandmom is coming."

Of course, she didn't bother to give me a time. But I had scheduled a practice for ten o'clock that morning. We had perfect softball weather. There was no call for rain today or tomorrow. I gathered my glove and coaching notes and headed over to the field.

All the Angels were present. Rose was already in her shin guards and Asa was pitching to her. I loved to watch him catch the ball in one hand and then pitch it back. He was like a machine.

"Good morning," I called as I waved everyone around.

"Morning, Charlotte," Marlabeth said. "That sure was a great barbecue."

I nodded and everyone took turns exclaiming their joy at eating roast hog and burgers, pie and corn, and watching the children scramble around.

"And did you see Suzy?" Ginger said. "She and Fergus looked like two peas in a pod, happy and joyful."

I shot Rose a glance, "Okay, okay, let's get started."

Greta, who was off with the children, ran toward me. "We can't start until Fleur de Lee shows up. She's supposed to watch the little varmints again."

"She's not here? Asa, were you supposed to get her?"

"No one said anything to me, but I'll run on over to Haven House and snag her."

"Thanks."

Greta went back to the kids, who scrambled like roaches all over the Frost Sisters' property.

"Let's just run some bases," I said. "Greta won't run the bases, anyway."

"Not until she's done nursing Ruth."

I snapped my fingers. "I want you all to know that my mother, Lillian DeSalle, is coming to visit. She'll be here later, today, and I would appreciate it if you all gave her a warm welcome."

"Sure, sure, we will, Charlotte." And they took off around the bases. Ginger led the pack, as usual.

Asa arrived a short time later with Fleur de Lee, who headed straight for the children with a definitely more pronounced waddle.

"Now remember, Marlabeth," I said. "Keep your eye on the ball and swing through. Don't flinch partway."

Marlabeth swung six times without hitting the ball. Well, not really. She got a piece of one but fouled it off.

Greta stepped up to the batter's box. She slapped home plate twice with her bat and then got into her stance. "Say, Marlabeth," she said. "Fleur de Lee is looking a little uncomfortable today. She's got the penguin wobble something fierce. Maybe you should check her."

"She's not due for two weeks. Baby might have dropped, though. I'll check her before she goes back to Haven House."

Frankie pitched and Greta swung hard, hitting a line drive right over Ginger's head, which admittedly was not hard to do, and into center field where Edwina snagged it and tossed to first. Greta was safe by two strides.

I stood there and applauded. It was a tremendous effort. The Angels had become a team. We practiced for another hour before I called it quits.

"Come on in," I called. "Gather around."

The Angels formed a circle around me. "Great practice today, but let's quit now. I don't want to wear you all out or risk an injury before tomorrow."

"Ah, Charlotte," Frankie said, "can't we play a little longer?"

"Yeah, please," the others agreed.

"No, no. Let's just make this an easy day. Tomorrow will be here soon enough."

After putting away the equipment, the team scattered. Marlabeth spoke with Fleur de Lee. Rose and I watched from the sidelines.

"She is mighty pregnant," Rose said.

"And she's not even due for two weeks."

"Maybe sooner," Rose said.

Marlabeth felt her belly and shook her head. I watched her raise two fingers. "Looks like Marlabeth thinks Fleur de Lee still has some time."

That was when Asa dashed over. "I'll take her back to Haven House," he said on his way past.

Rose and I walked home together.

"So, your mother is really coming."

I sucked air and blew it out my nose. "Yep. Later today."

"That will be nice."

I laughed. "Maybe. But my mother can be such a pain in the—"

"How long is she staying?"

"Alllllll summer." I dragged out the word
all
for emphasis.

"Yikes," Rose said. "I'll pray for you."

"Thanks. But she's not all
that
bad. Not really. I try not to let her get to me."

We made our way through the woods and out onto the road.

"Oh, no," I said. "Look at that!"

Rose followed my finger with her eyes. "What? It's a taxi. So what?"

"My mother. She's here." I swallowed. "Want to meet her?"

Rose twisted her mouth and shuffled her feet. "I would love to meet your mother, but I need a shower first. I don't want to make a bad first impression."

"Listen, with my mother, any impression is most likely a bad one."

Sure enough, Lillian waited on my wooden path with six pieces of luggage, two boxes secured with string, what looked like a hatbox, and a gilded birdcage that carried her parakeet, Tweety.

I waved with a circular swipe of my hand. "Mother. I would have met you, but I didn't know what time you were arriving."

"Charlotte." She set the cage down and walked toward me. I walked toward her. "You look skinny, dear," she said. "Have you lost weight?"

I kissed her cheek and then pulled her in for a hug. "Mom, I'm glad you're here."

She pulled away from me. "Really? You're really glad? You're not just saying that?"

"No. I am truly glad."

We stood there a second eyeing each other until she turned around, stared long and hard at my trailer, and said, "You do know it is the color of the inside of an Andes Crème de Menthe Mint."

"Yes, Mother. I'm aware. I'm planning on having it painted."

Mother took the birdcage and a small bag.

I pushed open the door and watched my mother take a breath like she was diving off a cliff, then walk inside. Lucky wasted no time greeting her and practically pushed her outside. She teetered on the threshold, still clutching the birdcage. I grabbed Tweety, and she grabbed the door jamb. "Lucky," I said. "Down, boy."

"That brute," Lillian said. "He almost killed me."

"You better go outside," I told the dog, and he gave me a dejected look and scampered outside.

"Well, you didn't have to banish him," Lillian said. "He just surprised me. I forgot you said you got a dog."

"He'll be fine, Mother. He'll play with the squirrels."

She looked around the trailer. "So, this is it."

"Yes. I'm still fixing it up, but it has some real charm, doesn't it, Mother?"

She moved toward the kitchen, following the natural slope of the as-yet-unleveled trailer. "Oh dear, Charlotte, is it supposed to do that?"

"You mean the slope?"

"Yes, I . . . I feel dizzy, dear. Perhaps I should sit."

I helped her to the sofa. "Just sit and let me get your stuff."

I handed off the bird to her. She sat there with the cage on her knees while I hauled her luggage inside and set it in the extra bedroom. She followed me. "Is this my room?" She stepped over the threshold still carrying the cage and set it on the dresser.

"He can't stay there, of course. You wouldn't happen to have one of those stands for cages, would you, Charlotte? You know what I mean, the kind with a hook you can hang the cage from?" She opened a small case and took out my father's picture. She kissed it and then put it on the dresser.

I shook my head, wondering why she would think I would have a birdcage stand. "Sorry, but I suppose we could buy one."

"Maybe later," she said as she pushed on the mattress. "Too bad the Fuller Brush didn't sell bird supplies."

"The mattress is practically brand-new," I said.

"It's not too soft, is it? You know my back and all."

"It's fine, Mother. Now, you must have had a long day. Would you like to freshen up? Are you hungry?"

She glanced at her watch. "It's only a little before one. But I am kind of tired and a bit shaken, to tell the truth, Charlotte. That silly pilot found every air pocket in the sky. I was a perfect nervous Nellie the whole trip. Perhaps a nap would soothe my frazzled nerves. You can help me unpack later. I'll just rest in my traveling clothes."

"That's fine. The sheets are fresh and I was going to bring some flowers but you got here a little earlier than—"

"It's okay, Charlotte. Flowers just make my nose itch anymore."

"Should I wake you or—"

"I'll wake myself, dear."

"Not unless Old Man Hawkins wakes her first," I whispered.

She sat on the edge of the bed and slipped off her sensible shoes. "What did you say?"

"Nothing. Have a good rest. I'll make us a nice dinner."

"Don't go to any trouble."

I closed the door and took a deep breath, which I held until I got to the living room and flopped onto the sofa. Lucky placed a paw on my knee and looked at me as if to say, "So, how long is she staying?"

"Just until Labor Day," I said. "Not long, two months or so." I chewed a nail and spit it on the floor. "Two months . . .or so."

I
invited Rose, Asa, and Ginger for dinner, hoping that the three of them would provide a buffer between me and my mother. I was not about to tell her about Fergus's threats, but she had a way of weaseling information out of me, which was probably why I was such a lousy secret keeper. Once, she got me to spill the beans when I discovered quite by accident that our neighbor Nathan Frye was having an affair with our other neighbor Chili Culpepper. It turned out ugly.

After Mother and I unpacked her clothes and placed them neatly in the drawers and on hangers, she set about rearranging the room to suit her taste. She placed the striped chair away from the window, saying she didn't care for too much sunlight and preferred the lamp while reading. Then she took out her own towels and arranged them in my bathroom. "I just like my yellow towels, Charlotte. All yellow, all the same."

Then she wandered into my kitchen carrying Tweety like Diogenes carried a lamp. I stood there frozen, waiting for her to rearrange my pots and pans and dishes, but fortunately she didn't. "You do have tea, Charlotte. If not, I brought along some Earl Grey." She put Tweety on the counter.

"I do, Mother. Tetley."

She waved it away. "Tetley. You mean in bags?"

"Yes. It's good."

"No, no. I like the loose leaf. I'll just get my infuser."

I turned the fire on under the kettle and finished peeling the potatoes I had started before she returned with a canister of tea, a dainty little tea cup with four-leaf clovers all around it, and a funny-looking tea ball.

She dangled it in front of me. "Do you remember this? I got it from the mayor of San Francisco during a buying trip."

"I remember, Mother."

"Delightful man. But not as delightful as your father." She clutched her chest and swooned just a tad. "I do miss that man." She sat at the table.

My father had been dead ten years.

"I invited some friends for dinner. I hope you don't mind," I said.

"No, no. Your friends are my friends."

I opened the oven door and checked my meat loaf.

"What is that, dear? A meatloaf? What is that all over it?"

"Walnuts. It's encrusted with chopped walnuts. My own recipe."

"Walnuts? Good heavens, I knew I should have sent you to cooking school. Or is that something that Herman conjured up for you to make? It sounds just wacky enough."

I ignored her and prepared broccoli. Truth was that Herman liked my walnut-encrusted meatloaf, especially around Christmastime when I made it with cranberries.

Ginger arrived first. I stood at the door looking at her for a minute before inviting her inside. In that short amount of time my mind filtered through all the possible insults my mother could muster, and all I could do was shake my head.

"Come on in, Ginger. Face my . . . I mean, meet my mother."

Lillian brought her tea into the living room. She towered over Ginger by almost four feet. Lillian DeSalle was a tall woman, nearly five feet eleven inches. She always said it made being a woman in a man's world easier. I could imagine what she would think of Ginger.

Ginger reached up her hand. "Pleased to meet you."

"Well, hello there, little gir—"

"Mother," I said, "this is Ginger Rodgers. She's on the team."

"And I'm thirty-two years old," she said. "No relation to the dancer, and I am pleased to meet you, anyway."

My mother shook her hand, nearly elevating Ginger off the floor like she was pumping a car jack. "Oh, that's right. The midget shortstop."

My heart stopped. Maybe Ginger didn't hear.

Ginger hopped up on the sofa. "Meatloaf, Charlotte? Smells good."

"Yep. Walnut-encrusted meatloaf with mashed potatoes and broccoli."

"Yum," Ginger said. "Sounds great."

My mother and Ginger continued to stare at each other in a most unnerving way. I searched my brain for something to say, something that would break the Mexican standoff. Mercifully, Asa and Rose arrived.

"Thank goodness," I said when I heard the knock.

"What did you say, dear?" Lillian asked.

"Nothing, Mother."

"She's just glad the other guests are here," Ginger said."Maybe you'll stop staring at me."

Lillian turned her head toward the door. "Well, let your dinner guests in, Charlotte."

"Hello," I said. "Come on in. Meet my mother."

Rose, wearing that heavy sweater again, went in first."Lillian," she said. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

My mother didn't stand, but offered Rose her hand.

"So nice to meet you, Rose. You're the artist, correct?"

"I am," Rose said. "But—"

"Now, don't be shy. Don't hide your light under a bushel the way Charlotte did."

Asa extended his left hand. I watched my mother notice the empty sleeve.

"Goodness gracious," she said. "What happened to your arm, young man?"

Asa laughed. "Now, that's refreshing. Most folks try to ignore it."

"A missing arm is hard to ignore even if you can't see it," Mother said.

"Kind of like little people," Ginger said. "We prefer to be called little people, not midgets."

"Now, I meant no offense, dear," Lillian said. "Kind of like little people. Some things are just too obvious to ignore."

I served dinner in the living room since my kitchen was so small. But it went well and everything turned out just right, if I said so myself. Even Mother had little to say, except that meatloaf was not her favorite food and, "Not what I would call an entrée suitable for a dinner party." She sneaked two or three bites to Lucky on the sly. He was most appreciative and enjoyed my meatloaf but left the nuts, as always.

"I mean, honestly, dear, I would love to know what went through your mind the day you decided to cover a perfectly good meatloaf with crushed walnuts."

The apple pie a la mode for dessert was a hit. Mother enjoyed ice cream. Even at her age she would eat ice cream every day if she could. The conversation drifted to the softball team, and my mother made her feelings quite clear.

"It makes no sense to me why my daughter left a perfectly nice home in the suburbs to come to a . . . a trailer land to play softball." She said this directly to Rose like I was not even in the room.

"Park," Asa said. "It's a trailer park. Not a trailer land."

"Oh, is that right?" Mother said. "Park seems a funny name for this kind of place. When I think of a park, I think of trees and grass and children on swings, not metal houses lined up like sardines."

"They call it
park
because folks park their homes here," I said.

Morning arrived with clear skies, a slight breeze, and the excitement of our first game. I woke early enough to enjoy a cup of coffee on the stoop before my mother woke. Hazel was already in her yard tending to the birds. She wore her purple shawl and a yellow knit hat.

"Morning," she called.

I raised my cup to her.

"Was that your mother I saw with all those bags?" Hazel was old, but she could holler like a woman who had been hollering out city windows her whole life.

I nodded and raised my cup again.

She waved me over.

I checked inside first and Mother was still asleep. I could hear her snore from the front door. Lucky and I walked across the street.

"Today's the big day," Hazel said. She poured seed into a red bowl and set it on a log.

"It is. We play the Thunder at seven this evening."

"A night game."

"They all are since most of the players and coaches have day jobs."

Hazel made her way to a row of birdhouses she had nailed to the fence rail. "I just know that Whistlesnook is coming back."

"I hope he does, Hazel."

She fiddled with a little door on one of her houses constructed to look like a forest cottage. "Dang fool things. Why do they put so much nonsense on them? It's cute and all, but that Whistlesnook is looking for food, not accommodations."

I laughed. "Hazel, I'd like you to meet my mother. I could bring her by this morning."

"Oh, my, my, thanks, but not this morning; I'm feeling a little peaked. How long is she staying?"

"All summer."

"All summer? My, oh my, Charlotte, then we'll have plenty of time for a get-together."

"I better get back, Hazel. My mother will be awake soon."

"Just see to it that you beat the snot out of Vangarten's team."

"We will. Don't you worry. Are you coming to the game?"

She shook her head.

"Okay, I'll see you later." I would have tried to convince her to come but thought it might have been better that she didn't attend the first game. And maybe getting her out to the barbecue was all the excitement she wanted to handle for a while.

When I got back to the trailer, Mother was just coming out of her room.

"Morning," I said. "I made coffee."

"Charlotte," Mother said. "You'll have to get me a board."

"Aboard? Aboard what?"

"Not aboard a ship or anything. I mean a board, a piece of thin wood, for under that saggy mattress. My back feels all tight."

I smiled to myself. I knew what she meant.

She placed her hand on the small of her back and limped toward the kitchen. "Think I'll sit in one of those straight backs for now."

I put a cup of coffee in front of her. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'll get Asa to bring you something."

"Asa?"

"The one-armed man."

"My goodness but this place is full of odd ducks. Already I counted a woman with tattoos. She's not hiding anything, not really. I saw them. Why in the heck any woman would want to disgrace her body like that is beyond me."

"You don't know her story."

"And then I meet a midget, a real-life midget, and a onearmed man. Charlotte. I think you lost your ever-lovin' mind. I think you blew a fuse."

I spent most of the morning trying to convince my mother that Paradise was not the loony bin she figured it to be and was getting pretty close to a breakthrough when Old Man Hawkins decided to make another mid-morning ride through Paradise shouting that the British were coming.

She ran to the window. "Holy cats, Charlotte! There is a man on a horse out there. With a gun!"

"He thinks he's Paul Revere, Mother. He's harmless."

Then I heard gunshots. Mother dropped to the floor. "Call the police, Charlotte. Call the police, or don't you have cops around here? Harmless, my eye. He's a crazy man."

Hawkins's ride did not last long. Asa and Rube took him and his horse home. It quieted down, but Mother was now on a mission to take me back to Cocoa Reef with her to live.

"You'll be safe there. Meet a nice retired gentleman, a man with sensibilities, refinement, and settle down. A man who knows how to treat a woman right. Not like that salesman you married—against my wishes, you know."

"Mother, I am fifty-one years old. Old enough to make my own choices for my own life. I am not interested in romance. Herman hasn't been gone for very long, you know."

"Fifty-one is still young enough to have your fires lit, Charlotte, or don't you care about that either?"

"Mother! If we're talking about what I think we're talking about, well, it's not your business. I am not interested in romance."

"Uh-huh." She opened a loaf of raisin toast. "Scramble me an egg, please."

"Fine. And then I have to get to the ball field and make sure things are ready for the game. We play our first regulation this evening."

"That's nice, dear."

"Would you like to come and watch?"

She put her hand on the small of her back and contorted into a painful-looking position. "Oh, I don't know. All that turbulence and then sleeping on that mattress was quite enough. I don't know if I could sit on hard bleachers. I imagine that's where the spectators will sit."

"We don't have bleachers, Mother. But someone will have an extra lawn chair, I'm sure."

"You mean one of those plastic folding things?" She waved the thought away. "I'd rather sit on hard bleachers."

Mother took her coffee and shuffled like she was a hundred and two, not seventy-two, all the way to the sofa. Lucky came in through his doggie door and leaped onto the couch next to her. Fortunately, she had just placed her cup on the end table.