Free Charlotte Figg Takes Over Paradise by Joyce Magnin Page A

finally said, "Rose. You said once that redemption comes in many ways. What did you mean?"
    Rose took a breath and blew it out slowly. She peered out the window a moment.
    "I was twenty-two years old, Charlotte, and . . . well, I killed a man."
    I swallowed. "Don't be silly. I'm serious."
    "So am I," she said. "I have the newspaper clippings in my trailer."
    "What, like a scrapbook?"
    "Kind of. There was a lot of news coverage. It was quite the talk of the town back then."
    "You're joking."
    "I was twenty-two, troubled and lonely. I met a man at the bus terminal. He smiled at me, bought me jelly donuts—the sugar kind, not the white powder. He bought me a Pepsi and invited me home. He kept me there for three weeks. Little food, little water." Rose looked away, out the window. "He raped me over and over again until I was bleeding and raw, sick and vomiting. He tied me to a chair while he slept and ate cheeseburgers from White Castle with ketchup dripping down his chin."
    My stomach churned. "I'm sorry, Rose. You don't have to say any more." Truth was I didn't know if I wanted to hear more. I had gone from fond memories of days gone past to hearing of a friend, someone I now considered a dear friend, experience the worst that life had to offer.
    "One night he got sloppy," Rose continued. "Left a cigarette lighter where I could get it while he slept off a filthy drunk. I burned through the ropes, sprinkled the mattress with the last of his whiskey and set it on fire. The flames shot up quickly in a great rushing neon wind of heat and flames, orange and red and purple, even green and yellow. I screamed and panicked, knocking flames off my arms, rolling on the floor until I finally tumbled down the steps and outside. By then my arms had been burned so badly I . . . "
    "The tattoos," I said.
    "Yes." Rose reached across the table and took my hand in hers. "The tattoos. They came years later, but yes, the tattoos."
    I smiled into her deep, dark eyes and held her there for a second. I could not even begin to imagine the horror she must have faced. It brought tears to my eyes and I swiped them away, yet Rose didn't turn her eyes from mine. And in those few seconds she communicated more about what she had gone through than words could ever do justice. The experience had transformed her, deepened her, left her with physical scars, yet more whole than I ever dared imagine for myself.
    "I have an idea," she said. "Let's go sit in the giant hand."
     

     
    Now, you might think that sitting in a giant hand would feel silly. It did. At least for a few minutes, until I got my bearings. I couldn't help but giggle at the absurdity of what I was doing, having never ever sat in a giant hand before. Rose was kind and let me get it out of my system. Then she turned her own palms up, lifted them toward the now overcast sky and prayed. I listened as she trailed on about being thankful first, guilty second, and then asking for success for me and the newly formed softball team.
    "Thank you, Rose," I said. "But do you think God really cares about a softball team?" I thought back to the many serious prayers I said so long ago, asking, begging God to help me get pregnant after losing my first and only baby. Seemed to me that giving life was slightly more in the world's interest than a softball team. But what did I know?
    "Bible says that God has his eye on every sparrow. Not one falls without his knowledge. That every hair on your head is counted, that he calls each star by name. Seems to me a God that detail-minded would also care about the Paradise softball team."
    "He named the stars? All of them?" Of course I looked up and saw none, what with it being cloudy and daytime and all. Yet I looked heavenward—truly heavenward—for the first time in many, many years.
    We sat a while longer and Rose pointed out some of the names, including Suzy Wrinkel, who occupied one of the folds on the index finger.
    "A Wrinkel in a wrinkle." I smiled. Payback for the