Charlotte Figg Takes Over Paradise by Joyce Magnin

pompoms and a megaphone.
    "I'll do it, Rose. I mean, what's there to think about? If you think it's good idea. I'll coach the team if you help me find players and—"
    "That's the ticket, Charlotte. I'll help however I can. You could start by hanging a sign on that notice board near Fergus's trailer."
    "Good idea. And I could make a . . . a whatchamacallit . . .a flyer and put it in their doors."
    "Yeah, just watch for dogs and guns and boiling oil when you do."
    "Oil?"
    Rose chuckled. "I'm just kidding, but some of the folks around here don't like it when strangers come to call. But not everyone. Now look, I got to get going. I need to do some serious praying today."
     

     
    I missed Herman some mornings, even though for the life of me I couldn't tell you exactly what I missed. His bluster? I don't know, maybe. I guess Midge was right, folks get used to certain things in life and when they're gone it takes some doing and time to get used to the new way, or the new quiet or the new noise. Whatever the case, I would allow myself a few minutes to think about him and the way he just all of a sudden died. I mean, it came like a dynamite blast or lightning bolt. Bam! Herman's dead. I think you would have to be pretty conceited not to imagine the same thing could happen to you, so I made certain to think on it whenever the notion hit and then thank God, or whoever's concern it was, that I still had breath in me.
    After a minute or so I pushed Herman's memory to the back of my brain and thought about building a softball team, something Herman would have never approved.
    I found a nice black Flare pen and a pad of lined writing paper tucked between a couple of magazines stuffed in a drawer. The paper was blank except for the Fuller Brush logo in the corner. A remnant of Herman, I thought, as I sat down to write out the flyer. But the phone rang before I could even get the first word written.
    "Charlotte, it's your mother."
    "Hi, Mom."
    "You were supposed to call me yesterday, Charlotte. You said you would."
    "I guess I've been busy getting things moved in, Mother. I was going to call you a little later." I looked around the trailer. The kitchen ceiling still had stains and bulges and needed replacement. I didn't dare tell Lillian DeSalle that I was still repairing the trailer.
    "When are you going to invite me up there, Charlotte? I'd like to see where you are living. A mother's got a right to know where her child is living."
    "Soon. I just need to get settled and . . . Mom, guess what?"
    She fell silent a moment and I could see her grab my father's picture and hold it to her chest like I was about to give her bad news and she didn't want to take it alone.
    "I'm starting a softball team. Remember after the funeral—"
    "What funeral?"
    "Mother. You know perfectly well. Remember, you asked me where that girl who could throw a ball like a boy was? Well, she's back. I'm going to start a softball team here in Paradise."
    She laughed. "Don't be a silly goose. You can't just start a softball team."
    "Sure I can. I am going to start a softball team right here in Paradise. My new friend Rose thought it would be a great idea."
    "You can't be serious. You are too old to be playing games. I meant you needed a career, something to occupy your day. Something with meaning. Something like I had."
    "You bought men's underwear for John Wanamaker, Mother. Not exactly the cure for cancer."
    "Furnishings. I bought men's furnishings and it was full of meaning. It was something I could be proud of."
    "But Mother, softball has meaning. The women around here need something like this. I think this is the reason I—"
    "Charlotte, you are just talking nonsense. Now look, I just called to make sure you were still alive. I have to meet the girls for mahjong."
    "Mahjong? Since when do you play mahjong?"
    "Since Harriett Feinberg made me an honorary Bubba even though I don't have any grandchildren."
    "Mother. Don't start."
    "Fine, Charlotte, have your silly