The Flood Girls (27 page)

“Red Mabel has a machine gun,” said Laverna.

A peep, much like a baby chicken, came from the backseat of the car.

The Sinclairs had been silent until then, as always. Not even a sniffle.

The taller Sinclair tapped Laverna on the shoulder.

“There's something you should know,” she said, and Laverna craned her neck to see her in the gloom. “We're leaving Reverend Foote's church.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Laverna turned back around. She found the Sinclairs to be incredibly irritating, especially the fact that they played softball in those cursed jean skirts, but she kept them around because they didn't talk back and took direction well.

“He insists that we can't play softball anymore,” said the taller Sinclair.

“Bullshit,” said Laverna. “I hate Reverend Foote. He is ruining this town. He is a terrible, grotesque man.”

Tabby tried to be kind for the sake of the Sinclairs. She spoke in a gentle voice. “If you can't find anything nice to say about someone, maybe you shouldn't say anything at all.”

Laverna glared at Tabby. “If you can't find anything nice to say about someone, maybe you should just set them on fire.”

The shorter Sinclair spoke, in full voice, and rapidly. Laverna was stunned. “It's also about Jake,” she said, her pale face and red hair glowing from the backseat. “We have to leave the church because of Jake. We can't listen to the things they say about him.”

“What?” Tabby turned around, and Laverna jabbed her with a finger to redirect her attention to the road.

“Who is saying these things?” Laverna tried to interrogate the shorter Sinclair as kindly as possible. “And what are they saying?”

The shorter Sinclair took a deep breath. “Reverend Foote says that we cannot be around him. Reverend Foote says that the devil is inside Jake, and if we get too close, it will jump out and come inside us.”

“Jesus,” said Laverna, and then quickly apologized. “Sorry.”

“It's okay,” said the shorter Sinclair. “I just thought you should know. We both really like Jake. He's one of our favorite customers. He's very respectful.”

“The whole congregation holds hands and prays for Jake's salvation,” said the taller Sinclair. “And to keep Quinn safe from the devil inside him.”

“Holy shit,” said Tabby. “What does Bert say?”

“Nothing,” said the shorter Sinclair. “He just prays. And then everybody hugs him at the end.”

“We don't hug Bert,” continued the taller Sinclair. “We've never really liked him anyway.”

“I think I need to tell Rachel about this,” said Laverna.

“Please don't,” said the taller Sinclair. “Like I said, we're leaving the church. We want the outfield to be a harmonious place. We're going to start going to church in Ellis.”

“Ellis is a terrible place,” said Laverna. She reconsidered her statement and looked out at the forests whizzing past. “But any church there would be lucky to have you. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

“You're our coach,” said the shorter Sinclair. “This is about the team. We know that Jake and Rachel are close, and we don't want Rachel to have any distractions.”

“Amen,” said Laverna, and she meant it. She continued to watch for deer, disturbed by this news but refusing to acknowledge it out loud. Nothing could be done about the reverend. He had proven to be insidious and sneaky, and normally Laverna admired such things. He had a whole church on his side, and Laverna's fan club were mostly drunk and unorganized. She would have to do this on her own. For now, she could offer Jake her support, and keep watch for any wildlife on a suicide mission.

B
ert planned for a trip to Idaho Falls, a revival meeting. Krystal and the baby would accompany him, for the entire weekend. Bert knew that Jake would only cause a distraction, and Krystal paid Martha Man Hands for babysitting, even though Jake protested he was almost thirteen and was capable of more housework than women three times his age. Martha gladly took the money, and two hundred dollars more from Rachel. Hush money. Martha did not want to babysit anyway.

Jake showed up fully prepared the next morning, just as Rachel was drinking her first cup of coffee. He carried his tiny suitcase, and a small tin briefcase that contained a camera from the 1960s, complete with effect lenses and an impossibly compact tripod.

“I'm ready,” he announced. He wore a newsboy cap and a scarf wrapped four times around his neck.

“Travel clothes? You look like Amelia Earhart.” Rachel laughed. “Are you sure you don't need goggles?”

“That's not funny,” said Jake. “Take me to the city, please. I made a mixed tape for our travels.”

Rachel finished her coffee, and he watched as she threw some things in a duffel bag, and refrained from commenting when he noticed that she did not fold her clothes.

The drive to Missoula took three hours, and the trees and the rivers looked just like the trees and rivers in Quinn, but there seemed to be more sunlight in the air. His ears popped as they left the lower elevation and ascended in her little red truck. The road followed rocky cliffs, carved out of the mountains.

When Rachel reached the turnoff and entered the interstate, Jake had to take a deep breath. The field trips he took at school were always just hour-long drives into more of the same wilderness, but today he was destined for a city of seventy thousand people.

Low-slung cars zipped around Rachel's truck, not the giant trucks and beaten-up Jeeps he was accustomed to. A gargantuan casino covered an acre of land, and the electronic reader boards flashed out promises of upcoming concerts and theme nights. Jake noticed every single exit ramp, all flanked by enormous advertisements for multiplex movie theaters and tourist traps—a museum devoted entirely to agates, an exhibition of dinosaur bones at the university, an amusement park that offered up a zero-gravity experience.

In the distance, he saw streets weaving through, tucking under the interstate. He observed streetlights, actual traffic signals. The billboards were everywhere, including one that advertised a shopping mall. He clapped his hands together delightedly.

“What is it?” Rachel turned the volume down on a particularly raucous song by the B-52s. “What's got you so excited, little dude?”

“The mall!” He screamed the words, and Rachel grimaced.

“That place is a nightmare,” said Rachel. “I thought you had better taste than that.”

“I never get to buy new things,” said Jake. “Unless I get them through the mail.”

“Maybe we can stop there,” said Rachel. “Every stylish person deserves new things. But we are not going to Wal-Mart. That place is a fucking black hole.” She turned on her blinker. “Sorry for swearing.”

“I love it!” Jake clapped again as they turned onto the exit ramp.

Rachel drove into the city of Missoula, and Jake's head turned in all directions. A record store. A dog-grooming business. A real estate office with three floors. A park that was built on purpose. In Quinn, the parks were uninhabitable tracts of land the city had repossessed. Jake saw a post office that was built with actual stone columns and had a grand entrance of cement steps. A courthouse with gothic-looking architecture, built around an impossibly tall clock tower. And then, on the front curb of the courthouse, sat the first black person he had ever seen in real life. They had stopped at a red light. The black person looked normal enough, drinking something steaming from a Styrofoam cup. He did not appear to be dangerous, although Jake did not approve of the giant, baggy muscle pants, the legacy of MC Hammer. Jake took pride in the fact that he did not lock his car door.

“My first black person,” declared Jake.

“You poor thing,” said Rachel. “We're eating Chinese food tonight. I hope you don't have a stroke from all the multiculturalism.”

“This is the best day of my life,” said Jake as the light turned green, and they drove farther into the city.

They continued driving, past a parking garage, a Taco Bell and a Kentucky Fried Chicken, restaurants Jake had only ever seen commercials for.

Rachel took a sharp left and came to rest in the parking lot of a Red Lion.

“Have you ever stayed in a hotel before?”

“No, ma'am.”

“Maybe this really is the best day of your life,” said Rachel. She reached over and removed his hat to ruffle his hair, and he could not stop smiling.

Rachel changed in the bathroom and emerged wearing a man's blazer over a pink bodysuit, sleeves rolled up. A tiny and tight black miniskirt, and her legs tucked in tights of shiny pink. Purple wool socks, giant Doc Martens. Jake sat on the hotel bed and watched as she put on her makeup: lip liner, the color of plums. Lipstick, the color of pink carnations. Silver eye shadow and blue mascara. Her hair looked the same as it did in Quinn, but she added mousse to the hay-colored tangles.

Jake had packed a black suit and a pink dress shirt. It was a wedding suit, he was sure of it, especially since it had been accompanied by a tiny cummerbund. Rachel assisted him with his bow tie, took his hand, and led him out to the truck.

“Athena is a very large woman,” said Rachel, as she turned out into traffic. “She's also very loud. I wanted to warn you ahead of time.”

“I like large and loud,” said Jake.

“She's the best teacher I ever had,” Rachel said, and continued downtown, across a giant, well-kept bridge, so unlike the rickety one lanes in Quinn.

A row of women, all in black, stood like crows, holding hands. All eleven silently watched the traffic crossing over the bridge.

“Those women are famous around here,” said Rachel. “They come to the bridge to protest the war. Every single week.”

“Are we in a war?”

“These women have been coming here for the last twenty years.”

It was true that the women seemed ancient, and Rachel honked her horn. They did not react to the honk, did not smile or acknowledge that Jake was flashing a peace sign.

Rachel turned onto a street that led to a parking lot, the lights just flickering on, as the sun had nearly set.

She parked in front of a restaurant that was built out over the river. The Mustard Seed, “Fine Asian Cuisine.” Jake had an egg roll once, but it had come out of a microwavable box.

Again, Rachel took his hand and led him into the foyer. They waited on narrow wooden benches, low to the carpet. The entire entrance was walled with fish tanks, goldfish the size of his baby sister.

The hostess was dressed in black, and all Rachel had to do was say the word
Athena
and they were whisked off to a table that looked right out on the water.

“RACHEL!” Athena eased herself from the banquette and completely consumed her. Rachel disappeared into this embrace, and Jake stood there, until Athena pushed Rachel away with considerable force and bowed down to shake his hand.

Athena was also wearing black, layers of it, scarves, a long glittery blouse over a black lace camisole that strained, and a flowing skirt that did not. If it wasn't for the gray crew cut, Jake would have mistaken her for Stevie Nicks. Just as he had imagined, everybody in the city wore black.

Athena did not seem that fat to him, just exotic, and full of life.

“Pleased to meet you,” Athena said, and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Her arms tinkled, and he saw that her wrists were covered in silver bracelets, each strung with tiny bells. “I have heard ever so much about you. Rachel calls you her best friend, so it is truly an honor.”

Rachel smiled at him, and he blushed as Athena herded them into the banquette.

“I've already ordered,” said Athena. “I made sure you got your precious goddamn tofu.” Athena reached across the table and touched Jake's arm. “I apologize for my language, but you'd better get used to it.”

“God, I missed you,” said Rachel.

“I should hope so,” said Athena.

“I've got four hundred and thirty-four days,” said Rachel.

“I know,” said Athena. “Your new sponsor and I have become pen pals. That motherfucker can't spell for shit.”

“Really? He writes you letters?”

“I spoke to his wife. I suspect that she forces him.”

“How on earth did you find him?”

“I have my ways,” said Athena as the food began to arrive.

Athena announced each item, as it was lowered in front of Jake: General Tso's chicken, pot stickers stuffed with pork and cabbage, wonton soup. Thin slices of barbecued pork were arranged in a perfect ring that surrounded tiny dishes of hot mustard and sesame seeds.

Rachel and Athena talked recovery, and gossiped about mutual friends from AA. Jake surrendered to the food. He was so full after ten minutes that he forced himself to stop, and stared out at the river. It had become night, and the city lights twinkled on the water. He peered around the room at the other diners, impeccably or interestingly dressed, living a city life in the candlelight.