A Dirty Job (Grim Reaper 1)

"He mean the tiny bears," said Mrs. Korjev.

"I get rid, Mr. Asher," said Mrs. Ling. "No problem. What happen them?"

"Sleeping," said Mrs. Korjev.

"Ladies, go. Please. I'll see one of you in the morning. "

"Is my turn," said Mrs. Korjev sadly. "Am I banish? Is no Sophie for Vladlena, yes?"

"No. Uh, yes. It's fine, Mrs. Korjev. I'll see you in the morning. "

Mrs. Ling was shaking the Habitrail cage. They certainly were sound little sleepers, these hamsters. She liked ham. "I take care," she said. She tucked the cage under her arm and backed toward the door, waving. "Bye-bye, Sophie. Bye-bye. "

"Bye-bye, bubeleh," said Mrs. Korjev.

"Bye-bye," Sophie said, with a baby wave.

"When did you learn bye-bye?" Charlie said to his daughter. "I can't leave you for a second. "

But he did leave her the very next day, to find replacements for the hamsters. He took the cargo van to the pet store this time. Whatever courage or hubris he'd rallied in order to attack the sewer harpies had melted away, and he didn't even want to go near a storm drain. At the pet store he picked out two painted turtles, each about as big around as a mayonnaise-jar lid. He bought them a large kidney-shaped dish that had its own little island, a plastic palm tree, some aquatic plants, and a snail. The snail, presumably, to bolster the self-esteem of the turtles: "You think we're slow? Look at that guy. " To shore up the snail's morale in the same way, there was a rock. Everyone is happier if they have someone to look down on, as well as someone to look up to, especially if they resent both. This is not only the Beta Male strategy for survival, but the basis for capitalism, democracy, and most religions.

After he grilled the clerk for fifteen minutes on the vitality of the turtles, and was assured that they could probably survive a nuclear attack as long as there were some bugs left to eat, Charlie wrote a check and started tearing up over his turtles.

"Are you okay, Mr. Asher?" asked the pet-shop guy.

"I'm sorry," Charlie said. "It's just that this is the last entry in the register. "

"And your bank didn't give you a new one?"

"No, I have a new one, but this is the last one that my wife wrote in. Now that this one is used up, I'll never see her handwriting in the check register again. "

"I'm sorry," said the pet-shop guy, who, until that moment, had thought the rough patch that day was going to be consoling a guy over a couple of dead hamsters.

"It's not your problem," Charlie said. "I'll just take my turtles and go. "

And he did, squeezing the check register in his hand as he drove. She was slipping away, every day a little more.

A week ago Jane had come down to borrow some honey and found the plum jelly that Rachel liked in the back of the refrigerator, covered in green fuzz.

"Little brother, this has got to go," Jane said, making a face.

"No. It was Rachel's. "

"I know, kid, and she's not coming back for it. What else do you - oh my God!" She dove away from the fridge. "What was that?"

"Lasagna. Rachel made it. "

"This has been in here for over a year?"

"I couldn't make myself throw it out. "

"Look, I'm coming over Saturday and cleaning out this apartment. I'm going to get rid of all the stuff of Rachel's that you don't want. "

"I want it all. "

Jane paused while moving the green-and-purple lasagna to the trash bin, pan and all. "No you don't, Charlie. This kind of stuff doesn't help you remember Rachel, it just hurts you. You need to focus on Sophie and the rest of both of your lives. You're a young guy, you can't give up. We all loved Rachel, but you have to think about moving on, maybe going out. "

"I'm not ready. And you can't come over this Saturday, that's my day in the shop. "