Charlotte Figg Takes Over Paradise (3 page)

I left them the washer and dryer; all of the furniture except a Tiffany lamp, the beds, my lovely flowery sofa, and two chests of drawers; and various and sundry kitchen items like pots and pans, utensils, and my pie tins. I wanted to leave them Herman's La-Z-Boy. Jorge liked it.

"Look at this, Livie," he said as he settled the chair into its full reclining position. "I can rest here after work."

Olivia smiled. "Don't go thinking you'll be doing much resting, Jorge." She patted her bulging belly.

But no dice. Lucky wouldn't have it. He snarled and grabbed Jorge's pant leg and tried to pull him off the chair.

"Oh, my goodness gracious. I am so sorry." I rushed over and grabbed the dog by the collar. "Lucky likes the chair."

"No problem, Mrs. Figg. He didn't hurt me or nothin'," Jorge said. "I'll get a new one."

I smiled and handed him a set of house keys. "I'll leave the second set on the kitchen counter. And I also made a note with the names and numbers of the plumber, the electrician, the man who fixes my—um—your washer and dryer. Trash comes on Tuesday and Friday, and the mail is delivered by noon. If the heater goes off, just call Simon. He'll come right out. The man can fix anything, even if it's not broken. Every so often the shutters on the attic window bang against the house in a high wind, so don't get frightened and . . . " I stopped talking.

It was at that moment that I saw the reality of home ownership strike terror into the hearts of the nice young couple. Their eyes bugged out like cartoon characters.

"It is an old house," I said. "But she's a good house. And oh, I left you a pie—blueberry. And whipped cream in the fridge."Once I had gotten the agreement of sale, my baking desires returned. "And, Jorge, make sure you check the freezer gasket. It might need replacing."

Olivia reached out and pulled me close for a hug. It surprised me a little. "Thank you, Mrs. Figg. Good luck in Paradise," she said. "I think it's wonderful, a woman your age doing such a thing."

"Why, thank you, young lady." And that was when I was suddenly filled with a sense of my own mortality, of time shifting, of the world belonging to the young. It gave me a funny feeling in my gut. There had to be something more waiting for me in Paradise. There just had to be.

That evening after supper—a TV dinner of Salisbury steak with French fries and a tiny peach cobbler—I called my mother.

"I sold the house and I'm moving to Paradise." I said the words fast because it was easier that way.

She fell silent for a good long time until she finally said, "Is this you, Charlotte?"

"Yes, Mother. It's me."

"Well, I just don't understand what the dickens you are talking about. Are you trying to tell me you're joining Herman in Paradise? Who believes that rat is even in Paradise. And—"

"Mother. Don't be ridiculous. I mean Paradise Trailer Park. I bought one."

"One what?"

"Trailer. They call it a double-wide."

She dropped the phone.

"Are you there?" I asked. "Are you all right?"

A minute later I heard her breathing again. "Yes, I'm here. I thought I heard you say the word
double-wide.
But you must have said, filled with pride, dear. You're just filled with pride over something."

"No, Mother. I said I bought a double-wide trailer."

"Oh, Charlotte. I cannot believe my ears."

And she hung up.

I
naturally inherited Herman's Ford Galaxy convertible— candy apple red with whitewall tires. The paint shimmered in the sunlight like a bright ruby ring. He spent hours washing and polishing the thing like it truly was a precious jewel.

That nice James Deeter from the insurance company came over with two of his buddies, and they helped lug the heavy stuff and boxes to the short utility trailer named The Little Tough Guy I rented from Skip Cozy at the Texaco station. Skip told me to return it to any other Texaco close to my destination. I packed it with my most precious belongings, including two tall trophies I had stored in the attic from my softball days. I played second base for the Clifton Canaries right up until I married Herman and he told me that playing ball was for children and my trophies did not belong in the living room. I packed the trophies with newspapers and tucked them securely between two boxes of kitchen items.

Midge said she would help pack but she never showed up. Maybe Midge's gallbladder attacked her again. It usually did when there was work to be done. But that was okay. There wasn't much packing left to do after I decided she probably wasn't coming. Just clothes, some books—most of which I never read front to back—and my plate collection. My favorite came clear from Paris and had a picture of the Eiffel Tower at night on it. I forget how I came to acquire it. Herman might have gotten it on one of his business trips. Anyhoo, I packed everything I cared to pack. When we finished, I served James and his friends cherry pie and cold milk, which they ate sitting on the floor in my empty living room.

Lucky and I planned to set out for Paradise early on the morning of Tuesday, March 5.

We stopped to say good-bye to Midge at a quarter past seven that morning. I pulled the loaded-down Galaxy into Midge's driveway, but I had never pulled a trailer before and the back driver's side wheel snagged on Midge's mailbox and yanked it out of the lawn, taking a bed of roses, two cast-iron garden gnomes, and six feet of lawn with it. The lamp I had shoved into the backseat, minus its shade and bulb, poked a hole through the convertible roof.

"My gnomes," Midge cried. "You killed them."

"My roof," I cried. "Herman will kill me." But then my eyebrows arched and I felt better. Even Herman's bluster could not reach me now.

I climbed under the little trailer and recovered two twelveinch gnomes with white beards and red jerkins. "They're alive, Midge. Just a bit soiled. A good hosing will take care of it." I handed them to Midge. "I'm sorry. I'm trying to get used to driving a car again, and one with a trailer wobbling behind, for goodness sake. Not as easy as it looks when you see them whizzing past you on the highway."

"It's okay." She sniffed.

Midge and I stood in the cold for a few minutes. She clutched the gnomes to her chest. "Now, you're sure about this," she said. "Change is always hard, especially when you're used to the same."

"The same?"

"You know, the same voices, smells, the same way of doing things day to day. And now that's changing. I just thought it might be hard."

"But change can be good too, right?"

"Sometimes." She clutched her gnomes to her chest. "I only want what's best for you. Lord knows you deserve it after all you endured."

I felt the corners of my eyes crinkle as I smiled. Midge knew more than I thought she did. "It will be. I can't wait to see my new home in Paradise."

After we pulled the brass floor lamp from the backseat and sealed the hole with about six yards of duct tape, we said our final good-bye.

"I'll miss you," Midge said.

"I'll miss you too."

"You're sure you want to do this?"

"I am. It just . . . it just feels right." I took a deep breath and turned the key in the ignition.

The road to Paradise was paved with asphalt. I had written out the directions on a piece of notebook paper that I had to keep referring to in order to stay on course.

It wasn't long before I saw a sign for the Jack Frost Ski Resort. "Lucky, I am so excited. Did you see that sign? This is where we get off the turnpike. Start looking for the Paradise Trailer Park. It's supposed to be not far from the exit." I felt my spirit soar like I was riding the Wildcat Coaster on the Ocean City Boardwalk.

I had driven about thirteen miles when I saw a sign for Shoops Borough. I glanced at my directions, "This is it, Lucky. Mr. Wrinkel said I need to drive through Shoops and look for a sign to Bright's Pond and then right after that we'll see another sign for Paradise Trailer Park."

Shoops was a big small town. We passed through it quickly and only had to stop at two red lights. Then I saw a sign that read, "Welcome to Bright's Pond. Home of the World's Largest Blueberry Pie."

"Would you look at that? Home of the world's largest blueberry pie. I knew this was the right place for us. Imagine that, a town that understands the importance of pie."

Soon we were driving through the quaintest little town I had ever seen. We passed a small church across the street from a large Victorian house. There was a delightful-looking diner called the Full Moon Café. I would have stopped in for a cup of coffee and a piece of pie, but a quick glance at my watch told me I'd better head on toward Paradise. I had told Mr. Wrinkel we'd be there around noon.

Just a few minutes later I pulled The Little Tough Guy up a hill. When we reached the top I saw two spectacular and large green, orange, and yellow painted palm trees with wide leaves and coconuts on either side of a driveway on my left. A neon rainbow arch connected them. The word Paradise blinked on and off in the rainbow. I was so surprised I drove right past them and nearly crashed into a truck carrying logs.

"Goodness gracious, Lucky, did you see those palm trees?"

I slammed on the breaks and nearly jackknifed The Little Tough Guy. But fortunately, he stayed upright. I negotiated a tricky U-turn, much to the dismay of the log driver, and headed back for the palm trees. Lucky and I drove under the rainbow into Paradise. He was so happy riding on the front seat with his tongue lolled out and wearing a wide smile. He barked twice as if to say, "We're home."

I slowed to a turtle's pace over the speed bumps. Multicolored trailer homes lined up like crayons in a box on either side of the street. In the periphery of my eye, I caught sight of another sign that read MANAGER and pointed a brown-painted finger toward a long green trailer nestled inside a grove of trees. Two tiny pink neon flamingoes flanked what I assumed to be the front door, and the word MANAGER, also in pink neon, hung over the top.

"That must be Fergus Wrinkel's office," I told Lucky. I parked on the street behind a red Datsun and heaved a huge sigh of relief that my trailer didn't capsize on the way over the speed bumps, crack open like an egg, and dump all my worldly possessions on the road.

I lingered in the car and took in the sights. The park seemed pleasant enough with groves of trees and trailers with awnings and white picket fences. Some had flower gardens with tiny gnomes like Midge's. I saw pink flamingoes standing on one leg, angel statues, and clotheslines. Other trailers looked disheveled, with weeds and overgrown grass and hanging-down, dilapidated metal roofs. Just about every single one displayed an American flag. Remnants of the last snowfall were still evident in dirty, exhaust-painted snow heaped in the shade of the trailers. Two women dodged a couple of potholes as they walked down the road. One carried grocery bags while the other pushed a stroller. When they saw me, they disappeared as quickly as snipers.

"Well they looked nice," I said. "Younger than me, but nice enough. Just a little shy, I guess."

I draped my arm around Lucky. "Just like any old neighborhood, I suppose. Now you stay here a minute while I fetch the keys to our house from Mr. Wrinkel."

I saw no bell button, so I pulled open the rickety screen door. My knock made a tinny, hollow sound. I waited what I thought was enough time and then knocked again. The door opened slowly. One eye, one ear, and a nose peeked from the side.

"Hello," I said. "I'm looking for Mr. Wrinkel."

Nothing.

"My name is Charlotte Figg." I spoke a little louder in case the ear was hard of hearing. I couldn't tell if I spoke to a young ear or an elderly ear. "I purchased the double-wide on Mango Street. I called and told Mr. Wrinkel I'd be arriving today. About this time." I'm not sure why, but at the end of each sentence my voice rose as though I asked a question. It just came out like I wasn't very sure, and I hoped the person behind the door wouldn't think I was a crackpot.

The door opened a trifle more, and I stood eye-to-eye with a woman exactly my height who had mussed strawberry-blonde hair and sad eyes. At least I thought they were sad. Dark shadows circled below their dark depths, but they also held a hint of sparkle like sunken treasure. I felt a thud in the pit of my stomach as I gazed at her in the silence. I covered my reaction with a smile.

"He ain't here," the woman said. "Gone on down to the hardware store in Shoops."

"Are you Mrs. Wrinkel?"

"Yes." She looked down at her feet or my feet, I couldn't tell which.

"Could you please give me the key? I'd like to get settled." I tried to sound more authoritative.

"Key's down there. Fergus don't keep keys in the house. Look under the mat or a rock or something. You'll find it."

I stared at the woman a moment longer before she backed away and closed the door. I heard the lock turn.

Back in the car, I spoke to Lucky. "That was an odd welcome, wasn't it? I certainly did not expect trumpeters announcing my arrival, but a considerate 'It's nice to meet you' would have been nice."

I drove slowly down the rough road. The hilly terrain forced me to keep an eye on The Little Tough Guy as we navigated over potholes and speed bumps. The trailer park gave off a summer camp vibe, complete with the odor of mold and pine.

I had no trouble finding the intersection and negotiated the right-hand turn with only the sound of what I thought was one box tumbling in the back. Stretched out between two other mobile homes, one sky blue and the other brown, sat my long double-wide trailer. It still had the scrawny FOR SALE sign stuck in a small patch of brown lawn I assumed was the front yard. I could not believe my eyes and blinked so hard I just nearly missed by a tail-length hitting a cat that darted out between two parked cars. I pulled onto a cement pad just wide and long enough to fit the Galaxy. The trailer hung out on the street like a big toe.

Lucky let loose a loud, blustery bark.

"I wish you wouldn't do that, boy," I said. "It gives me the willies."

Lucky bounded out of the car and wasted no time marking his territory. I stood near the Galaxy and stared. "Oh, dear," I said. "It's the color of the inside of an Andes Mint. This is not the trailer I saw in the magazine; that one was gray with a purple stripe and awnings and hanging baskets. This one is old and grungy." Lucky bounded over to me and rested his muddy paws on my waist. "Look at it, Lucky, it's awful." Lucky licked my face and then dropped down. He scampered back to a small clump of trees still laden with snow around the trunks. He turned the piles from white to yellow in no time flat.

"My sentiments exactly," I murmured.

It was nearly noon. Cold and breezy air had rushed in like a cantankerous child, swirling up leaves on the ground and mussing my hair. I grabbed my handbag and heavy sweater out of the car and buttoned it all the way down. Since I wore a dress my calves were chilled like I always think chicken legs must be chilled when they run around their yards.

"This can't be it? Can it?" I checked for a trailer number. I bought number 19 and for a moment—a brief, shining moment—I thought I must be looking at the wrong trailer while I tried to locate a house number. But no, right smack dab on the front of the broken-down monstrosity was the number 19 in black paint, partially hidden by a dying yew bush. I made a mental note; cut down the ugly yew.

Lucky sniffed his way back to me. "This is it, boy. This is our new home, but something's not right. There must be a mistake. Maybe there are two Paradise Trailer Parks. Maybe we came to the wrong one. Maybe we drove into an alternate universe, you know? Like in the Twilight Zone?" Lucky shook his head and rattled his tags.