Veronica

by Liz Prato

Veronica lived in a small apartment above the Dixie Mattress Company, which her parents had left to her when they died. Their will stipulated that the Company and the building in which it resided never be sold, since Veronica’s father believed the world would always need a quality mattress. Veronica had been afraid that meant she would have to quit her job as a grocery store clerk and begin selling mattresses, but her parents’ attorney assured her it was O.K. to simply close the store.

The Dixie Mattress Company had run a deficit during the last years that Veronica’s parents were alive, since, by then, most people preferred to buy their mattresses from a large retailer that also sold power tools and corduroys. However, the building that housed the Company—purchased in 1952 by Veronica’s father—was quite valuable, since the neighborhood had gone through the process known as gentrification. Next door was an espresso bar selling cups of coffee for $3.50, and across the street was a market that carried $30 bottles of olive oil. Veronica couldn’t understand why anyone would pay that much for a bottle of olive oil, when you could buy 24 ounces of Wesson for only $3.29, or why you would pay three-fifty for one cup of coffee when an entire can of Folgers, which made over 120 cups, cost $7. Veronica assumed that some people weren’t very good at math.

On the other side of the Dixie Mattress Company was a store that sold candles and greeting cards. Veronica liked to go into this store, because it always smelled of vanilla and cinnamon, just like the kitchen when her mother used to bake spice cakes with brown-sugar-and-butter topping. Periodically, Veronica would buy a large scented candle to burn in her kitchen, on the countertop, far away from anything that might catch on fire. The candles cost $8 each, but Veronica decided that was reasonable since they lasted a long time, and since she didn’t know where else she could buy something that made her feel so good for only $8....

Liz Prato, a massage therapist, lives in Portland, with her husband, who is a bookseller and a musician, and their two cats. This is her first fiction in print. E-mail: lizprato@comcast.net