The Flood Girls (32 page)

Krystal's car was gone, as usual. Laverna craned her neck, but could not see Rachel's yard, because of the fence. Ginger had told her that Rachel was gardening, of all things. Laverna could see the new siding, and for a split second, she was proud. She put on her mean face when she stepped up on Krystal's porch.

Laverna resented women who took care of deadbeats, and she carried this resentment with her when the deadbeat answered the door. Word had traveled fast, and Laverna had no tolerance for child abusers.

“Bert,” she said.

“Laverna.”

“You owe me close to a hundred dollars,” she said.

“What?”

“Your tab,” she said. “Just because you got right with God, doesn't mean you got right with my bookkeeper.”

“You keep the books,” pointed out Bert.

“Fact is, you never settled up. But seeing you now, I'm reminded how nice it's been not having you around.” Laverna adjusted her scarf and gave him dead eyes.

“I'll make things right,” said Bert. “I've been trying.”

“You let me take Jake for the day, and we'll call it even. I need help reorganizing my closets. Due to my extensive collection of layers, it will be quite a job.”

“He's qualified,” said Bert. “Jake!” He yelled down the long hallway of the trailer house.

She looked him in the eye and lowered her voice. The cigarette smoking added a scratchy tone, and she hoped she sounded like a mafioso. “You lay a finger on that boy again, I'll rip your fucking nuts off.”

“I'm not that man anymore,” he said.

“Bullshit. Get a job, you goddamn lowlife.” She muttered this before Jake could hear.

She grabbed Jake, who appeared from the hallway already dressed, in gabardine slacks and a dress shirt the color of mustard. He didn't protest as he was yanked out to Laverna's car.

“Road trip,” she announced as she backed her Cadillac out in a hurry. Laverna turned out of the trailer court and headed toward the highway.

“You have a game today,” he said.

“I'm well aware of that,” she said. “You're coming with. Watch for deer.” The town of Sullivan had their own scorekeeper, but Laverna was feeling magnanimous. Truthfully, she was sick and tired of riding with the other Flood Girls, listening to them bitch about boyfriends, split ends, Democrats.

Jake sat next to her in the Cadillac. Ten miles out of town, Laverna and Jake gossiped like old women. In addition to having the only hotel in the county, Sullivan was best known for being the birthplace of an actual serial killer, who murdered three homeless prostitutes in Spokane. Of course, they both had read the book, called
The Murderer Who Came Down from the Mountains
. Laverna was delighted that Jake shared her opinion that the serial killer could have tried harder. Three murders was a spree, not a serial killing.

At a McDonald's drive-through, Laverna ordered an iced tea, nothing else. She could not understand why McDonald's was considered such a treasure. The Dirty Shame was just as cheap and convenient, and had the added bonus of entertainment from the silver miners.

She handed Jake his cheeseburger. “My daughter hasn't turned you into a vegetarian yet?”

“No,” said Jake. “I am the captain of my own ship.”

“It's one weird ship,” said Laverna, and returned to the highway. She watched out of the corner of her eye, as he unfolded paper napkins across his lap and delicately peeled away the wrapper from the burger. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You may,” he said, and paused before taking the first bite. His manners were exquisite.

“How are things going with Bert?”

“I'd rather not talk about him,” Jake said, and chewed silently.

“Does he mind you spending so much time with my daughter?”

Jake swallowed. “He says she has a bad reputation.”

“He should talk,” said Laverna. “What does your mother see in him? She's so pretty, I mean.”

“I'm just thankful the baby is my half sister,” said Jake. “If she grows up to look like Bert, I can get away with being half-concerned.”

“Your mother deserves better,” said Laverna.

“I agree,” said Jake. “But she got knocked up, and I think she wanted to see if she could get it right this time.”

“You are a nice young man,” Laverna reassured him. “You are the only male in this town who I approve of. As you probably know, my daughter picks inappropriate men. She makes dumb choices.”

“No,” said Jake. “That's the old Rachel.” He accentuated this by pointing a french fry. “I'll tell you something. Rachel is one of the smartest women I've ever met. You're lucky. It was an awful day when I finally realized my mother was not intelligent. My mom might be a nurse, but she's an idiot.”

“No comment,” said Laverna. She wanted to ruffle his hair, or touch the back of his neck. She shook off her motherly instincts, resumed her usual laser focus. “I need some help with something.”

“Okay,” said Jake.

“It's about the Fourth of July parade,” she continued. “I want to win the float competition this year.”

“You've never had a float,” said Jake. “The Flood Girls usually ride in the back of Red Mabel's truck and throw candy at people.”

“Exactly,” said Laverna. “Not this year. I want a float, a real float. Like the firemen and the Shriners and the pep club and the rotary club.”

“And the John Birch Society,” added Jake. “Even though they are a bunch of white supremacists,” said Jake. “They shouldn't be allowed to decorate anything.”

“Correct,” said Laverna. “I want to win. And only you can help.”

He considered her carefully. “You're right. I've just been counting down the days until I'm old enough to decorate a prom.”

“Well?”

“I'll make you a deal,” said Jake. “I will create a float for the Flood Girls, but you have to do me a favor.”

Laverna shuddered. “Fine,” she said.

“Black Mabel takes care of your daughter,” he said.

“If that's what you want to call it,” said Laverna. “I believe the authorities would call it drug dealing.”

Jake ignored this. “Now I want you to take care of Black Mabel.”

“Is she in the clink again?”

“No,” said Jake. “I want you to pay to have her teeth fixed.”

“Jesus,” said Laverna.

“Anonymously,” he said. “I know how much you like to take credit for things.”

“Fine,” said Laverna. “I'm not a complete glory hound, you know. I'm leaving the float completely up to you. It's your baby, and I want nothing to do with it. Except to win, of course.”

“Why are you picking me? I mean, really?”

“You've had a rough couple of months,” said Laverna. “You deserve a little glory of your own.”

“Is this a secret?”

“Just the Flood Girls know,” said Laverna. “And Bucky. Don't tell anybody else. I want this to be a shocker.”

“You came to the right kid,” said Jake. “I promise it will be unlike anything this town has ever seen.”

In Sullivan, Laverna discovered that Rachel had also made the trip with a surprise guest: Bucky. Laverna promptly gave him an assignment, to protect Jake in the bleachers. Laverna warned him about pickpockets, made sure he had brought his knife.

As her team warmed up, Laverna watched the ladies from Sullivan's Best Western. As if the serial killer wasn't enough, Sullivan also had uniforms. The women wore actual polo shirts, provided by the hotel. Laverna was suspicious of the shortstop and rover, as they were Mexicans. Laverna assumed they were illegal immigrant housekeepers, smuggled across the border to play softball.

The white women on the team were heavy drinkers. Laverna usually made sure her own girls waited until the second inning to crack a beer, but the ladies of Sullivan always showed up half-lit, and traditionally fell apart by the bottom of the fourth inning.

It was easy for Ginger to strike out the drunkest ladies—they were either seeing double, or kept one eye shut to maintain perspective.

In the middle of the fourth inning, Rachel caught her first ball. Laverna was amazed, and watched as Rachel stood still and the ball fell right into her glove.

Of course, she forgot that she was supposed to do something next, so she stood there, surprised like everybody else, as one of the Mexicans tagged up and continued her run from second to third. Laverna felt a scream rise in her throat, an invective aimed at her daughter, but swallowed it. Thankfully, Red Mabel's heart had not softened. Or her voice.

“Throw that fucker!” Red Mabel was ready at third, and Rachel, snapping out of her reverie, launched it in her general direction. It wasn't anywhere near third base, but the Mexican runner stopped, probably because Red Mabel looked like a female
chupacabra
.

The Flood Girls won, fourteen to six.

She dropped Jake at home, and found Jim Number Three sitting on her front porch. It was the longest day of the year, and still light out. Laverna swore when she saw the roses.

“No,” she said, and slammed the car door.

He stood, left the roses behind. He offered up a bulging envelope, a better gift.

It took Laverna a few minutes to count two thousand dollars, all singles and fives.

“From the Clinkenbeards,” said Jim Number Three proudly. “An electrical fire in the middle of the night. Strangest thing. Told them I was pretty sure it was pack rats. I was happy to help rewire their shack. Expensive as shit.”

He waited for acknowledgment, but Laverna brushed past him, kicked the vase of roses. The water drained between the boards of the porch.

She tucked the envelope into her purse and gave him the finger. She had no more words for Jim Number Three. She locked the front door and watched out the window until he drove away. Laverna counted to one hundred, brought the roses inside. Laverna Flood was a practical woman. It was Red Mabel's birthday, after all. Tonight, she would receive flowers, probably for the first time in her life.

At nine o'clock, the sun had not set, and it made Laverna restless. She removed bags of apples from the freezer. Red Mabel picked them last year in the fall, and they spent an afternoon peeling and coring, stuffing them into freezer bags. Laverna filled her kitchen sink with hot water, and left them there to thaw.

While she waited, she took a cup of coffee onto the back deck, and sat and smoked and watched the enormous suckerfish on the edges of the bank. The river was running high, and the suckers wended their way around the tall grass and the buttercups that were now submerged.

Laverna spent the next few hours making applesauce, boiling down the apples in a giant pot, smashed them into pulp before she added Red Hots, the cinnamon candy that was her secret ingredient. She filled the mason jars, and sunk them in a cauldron of boiling water.

Laverna went into the house and returned with a rifle. She flicked at the safety with her thumbnail.

She fired at the suckerfish. They seemed unaffected by the splash, by the sound. They continued to scuttle along the bank. Laverna fired again, and her hair was the only thing that moved.

“I am through with this bad luck,” said Laverna, to no one in particular.

Through the screen door, she could hear the pops and snaps of mason jars rattling in their cages.

“No more volunteers,” said Laverna, and fired again. The gunshot echoed across the river, and then there was silence, save for the sound of applesauce righting itself, lids sealing themselves shut, the sound of settling.

J
ake dressed with purpose that morning, had to root through the storage shed to find certain pieces. He decided upon boot-cut black slacks, a crisp white shirt, a black vest with a barely perceptible white pinstripe, black boots, and a black beret. Finally, he was satisfied. This is what a designer would wear.

Misty's bike still leaned against Martha's trailer, and Jake borrowed it for his mission today. He was going to need speed as he went looking for Bucky. It was a Friday morning, and he had almost finished Rachel's house, so Bucky could be anywhere.

Jake cruised around the streets of Quinn, past the sprinklers, a Kool-Aid stand, trucks still parked at the bars from the night before.

He found Bucky drinking coffee outside of the hardware store with Della Dempsey. She rolled her eyes at his outfit, stomped out her cigarette.

“I need to talk to you,” he said to Bucky.

“You're freaking me out,” said Della. “Are you supposed to be dressed like a French person?”

“This involves both of you, actually,” said Jake. He got off his bike and stood in front of Bucky, digging in his pocket for the envelope.

He passed it to Bucky, who whistled when he removed the five hundred dollars.

“We're building a float,” said Jake. “Or rather, you're building the float, and I'm decorating it.”