Excerpt from The Wrong Heaven by Amy Bonnaffons, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"I know," I said. "But I really need your help."

"With what?"

"I want one of your shovels."

He sighed. "Why do people always wait till the middle of the night to decide they need one of those?" He stepped aside. "Come in."

I came in. He pulled a string, and a lightbulb on the ceiling clicked on. "Wait here," he said. "I'll go get one from the back. Which color do you want? We have white, blue, and black."

"Black," I said. He disappeared into the back for a moment, then returned carrying a black plastic shovel, about as long as my forearm. The image of a single wing was embedded on the flat part.

I looked up at him. His eyes flamed like emeralds. A small pool of light encircled us against the hot, breathless dark.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Why should I tell you?"

"Because I want to know."

He shrugged. "Felix," he said. "Felix Ramirez Johnson."

"Felix," I said, "can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"Will you be my witness?"

"Your what?"

"I'm going to hold a funeral, right now. For my dog, in my backyard. And I need a witness."

Felix looked like he had seen everything. He shrugged. "I'll get my coat," he said.


In the car, I said, "So. Felix. Where are you from? Mexico?"

"Actually," he said, "I'm Nicaraguan. But I was born here."

"Oh. Nicaragua. Is that where they have the Galápagos Islands? With the turtles?"

"No, that's Ecuador."

"Oh." I pulled into the driveway. Mary and Jesus were still lit up in front of the rosebushes.

"Well," said Felix, "they look nice."

"Thanks," I said. "But they're really just being such bullies."

He nodded. "I know what you mean."

As we approached the statues, Mary said, "You've brought a friend!"

"What's up, Felix," said Jesus. He gave a little nod.

"Sorry, guys," said Felix. "I'm gonna unplug you." He reached out and pulled their cords, and that was that.


Felix and I took turns with the black shovel. It was a surprisingly excellent instrument. It felt good to dig, and to watch him dig; different combinations of muscles surfaced in his arms as he moved the shovel up and down. We had a hole in no time.

I had chosen a lovely spot beneath the oak tree in my backyard, and when the hole was large enough, I placed Billie inside. I'd dressed her in her favorite tartan rain jacket and boots, and wrapped her in her favorite blanket. I threw in the rubber martini glass and my copy of "Lady Sings the Blues." Then I stood back up and folded my hands. There was a feeling of momentousness in the air. Something important was happening. And I had no idea what to say.

"I should say a prayer," I said, finally. "A eulogy, I guess."

"Sure," said Felix.

"Before these witnesses," I began. "Before these witnesses, God and Felix Ramirez Johnson…"

Felix stood with his head bowed respectfully. How was I supposed to continue?

"Before these witnesses," I said again. "Before these—"

And then I burst into tears.

Excerpted from The Wrong Heaven by Amy Bonnafons. Copyright © 2018 by Amy Bonnafons. Excerpted by permission of Little Brown & Company. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.