The Flood Girls (34 page)

They both got what they wanted. This was her first sober sex, and her feet were rough and her legs stubbly, but none of that mattered. She deserved the release, and he deserved a woman who would not steal his stereo.

The next game was in Quinn, and Laverna scheduled extra practices. Rachel was determined. Sometimes only four of the Flood Girls would show, but Rachel was always there. This was their rescheduled matchup with Eunice Volunteer Dispatch, and this time, in the last week of June, there was no snow. Rachel sweated in her black T-shirt, emblazoned with a giant smoking pistol, and ripped-up jean shorts. She was going to have to buy a sports bra. Even with the underwire, the lacy black bra from Victoria's Secret was completely impractical, and her sweat combining with the lace made her itchy.

The Eunice Volunteer Dispatch wore black shirts, the backs a white outline of a police scanner. Rachel knew from her own experience that black was impractical, hoped they were sweating just as much as she.

Rachel warmed up in the infield, played catch with Martha, attempted to throw the ball as hard as she could, as Martha crouched down in her gear. Rachel knew that Ginger's pitches were lobs, really, but she wanted to show the people in the bleachers that her arm was getting stronger.

Martha was impressed. She stood up and approached Rachel, the ball in her hand.

“You're getting some heat on those,” said Martha.

“Thank you,” said Rachel. “I've been practicing extra with the Chief.”

“I can tell,” said Martha. “Look, there's something that I need to say. It's kind of a secret, and I feel really bad about it.”

“Okay,” Rachel said, and stepped closer to Martha. Rachel was certain it had something to do with lesbianism.

“It's about your friend.” Martha used her thumb to discreetly point at Jake, who was sitting in the bleachers, scorebook carefully prepared as always. Winsome sat next to him, eating popcorn, sober.

“What is it?”

“He gave me some letters awhile back,” said Martha. “For my daughter, Misty.”

“And?”

“Well, he and Misty got into a lot of trouble together.”

“I've heard,” said Rachel.

“I never sent them,” admitted Martha. “I guess I was angry. I suppose Jake has been wondering why she hasn't written back.”

“He hasn't said anything,” said Rachel.

“I threw them away,” said Martha. “I just wanted somebody to know. Please don't tell him.”

“That's really fucked-up,” said Rachel. “You need to tell him.” Martha had an ashamed look on her face as she walked back and crouched down, ready for more catches.

Several of the girls from Eunice Volunteer Dispatch were related to Della. The pitcher and first base were Della's sisters. The entire Dempsey clan was in the bleachers, and none of them had eyebrows. Jake sat in the front row, surrounded by the seven dwarfs. They had attended every home game, and offered up advice after every AA meeting. Keep your eye on the ball, wait for your pitch, running forward to catch a pop fly was much easier than running backward. Rachel couldn't help but think these suggestions were also metaphors for sobriety.

The rest of the bleachers were filled with faces that had become familiar, the people of the town. Rachel was thankful Shyanne was here to keep her out of the batter's box.

However, Shyanne twisted her ankle in the fourth inning, running like a colt, after nailing a ball clean to the fences.

She limped into the dugout. Rachel looked on nervously as Ginger immediately started fussing. Laverna pretended that she knew what she was talking about, and diagnosed it as nothing.

“Walk it off,” Laverna commanded. “It's not even swollen.”

That was a lie. As they all watched, it grew larger.

The Flood Girls went back to the field, and Tabby surprised everyone by catching a ball that shot three inches off the ground, diving into the dirt before it could make contact. She brushed off her chest, and waved at her sister, Tish, who was emitting bloodcurdling screams from the bleachers, off her medication once again.

“Calm down!” Laverna screamed into the bleachers. These screams were a distraction, and off-putting. “Take your fucking medication!”

Tish was chastened by this. Rachel knew that Laverna had let Tish close down the bar for a rare hour, so that she could finally see her sister's softball game. This was a mistake, as Tish was extremely excitable. Her face crumpled as she grabbed her keys and left at the top of the fifth inning. Rachel understood this—Tish would rather be serving drinks than let herself be a target for Laverna.

Ronda showed off her guns by catching a pop fly and then throwing the ball all the way from the outfield to Red Mabel at third base. This was the second double play in Flood Girl history. Rachel ran in from the field and hoped that their luck would continue, that Shyanne would be standing in the dugout, ready to bat.

She wasn't. Shyanne continued to sprawl across the bench, her ankle elevated on a pile of purses.

Rachel nervously adjusted the lineup, attached to the chain link with a clothespin, and a lump rose in her throat when she saw she was on deck.

It was the top of the sixth inning. The Flood Girls were behind by one, eight to nine, but Rachel wasn't worried about a loss. She was worried about the crowd.

As Rachel stepped up to the batter's box, the bleachers became completely silent.

Bucky turned around and strained to look through the chain link. He seemed determined to avoid a melee, because if the game was called short, he wouldn't get paid. She watched as he dusted off home plate with extra care. He winked at Rachel, and she swallowed down the fear in her throat.

Rachel swung the bat around to warm up her arm, and the crowd was still. She wondered if Red Mabel was aiming a sniper's rifle at them.

It was a ball. Bucky called it. From the bleachers came a few snickers, some tittering. Rachel could hear Jake cough nervously.

The next pitch was a thing of beauty, a high, impossibly perfect arc, and Rachel swung and missed.

“Strike,” called Bucky.

There was laughter now, but no one had screamed out any slurs.

Rachel figured they were past that now. It was enough for the people of Quinn to watch her fail.

But she didn't. Rachel kept her eye on the ball and swung at the next pitch. The ball flew over the third-base line and stayed in play. Rachel remembered what to do. She ran to first. She blew her mother a kiss.

The citizens of Quinn gasped, and the seven dwarfs stood up to applaud. Rachel's single brought in Della, and the contingent without eyebrows delighted. Ronda continued her streak and hammered a slow pitch, sent it rocketing over the head of the woman in right field. Even though Ronda was right-handed, she was always full of surprises. Her triple brought in Rachel, and just like that, Bucky called the game.

The Flood Girls were victorious, eleven to nine.

Monday morning, Gene Runkle sat at the end of the bar. Rachel didn't mind him or Mrs. Matthis—she saved her anxiety for the appearance of Winsome, and had planned a speech where she reiterated that it had been only a one-night stand. Gene was celebrating, but he wouldn't say why, just kept raising a gray finger for another shot of Crown Royal.

For once, Rachel had to pry the gossip out of him, on his fifth shot.

“Caught that fucking dog last week,” he said. “It was like Moby Dick or some shit. An endless hunt.”

“Bullshit,” said the silver miner who looked like Elvis. She leaned across the bar on an elbow and ordered her first beer of the day. “It was the Klemp girl who caught him.”

“Whatever,” said Gene. “It's done!” He raised his glass and saluted himself.

After her shift, Rachel sped to Ellis. Animal control was in a giant garage, built on the outskirts of Ellis, so the constant, deafening barking wouldn't bother anyone.

Rachel passed the wing full of cats, but continued down the corridor and entered the cement room that housed the kennels. She was immediately overwhelmed by the chaos of dogs hurling themselves at kennel doors, scrabbling up to greet her, barking madly.

She saw the brown dog immediately. He stared back at her, eyed her like he knew he was on death row.

Rachel went to the front desk and brought the attendant back. The attendant was young and nice, and appeared competent. She was the antithesis of Gene Runkle.

“What is that?”

“We think it's a dachshund mix of some kind.” The dog was brown, transitioned into a dark red along the back, grew darker still until the hindquarters were completely black. Fangs stuck out from beneath his upper lip, vaguely vampire-like, but the springing tail and white paws suggested anything but evil.

“It looks like a gremlin.”

“He's a sweetheart,” said the attendant.

“He bit my mother.”

“Oh,” said the attendant, absorbing this information.

“Can I take him on a walk?”

“Of course,” the attendant said, and returned with a leash.

“How long have you had him?”

“A week or so,” she said, and unlocked the kennel. The dog stepped out calmly and stretched out on his front legs, yawned. “We call him Frank.”

“You're kidding me.”

“No, ma'am. The dogcatcher in Quinn insisted on it. Thought it was hilarious.”

Frank bent obediently as Rachel attached the collar and leash. She walked Frank out behind the animal control building. He didn't pull on the leash, just moseyed along, stopping to smell things, lifting a leg on others.

Rachel followed him back into the office, and announced to the attendant her intent to take him home. This pleased the woman, and she slid the paperwork on a clipboard across the counter. Rachel filled out the necessary information, Frank sitting right beside her, as if he knew. He scratched his ear with one hind leg.

“Rachel Flood?” The attendant looked down at the clipboard.

“Yes.”

“I've heard about you.”
Oh, fuck
, thought Rachel. Her past was everywhere. Frank would never be allowed to go home with a slut or a murderess.

“Oh,” said Rachel.

“My friend Diane Connor? She thinks the world of you.”

“Pleasure,” Rachel said, and shook her hand.

Frank and Rachel left together, and the attendant waved at them until they pulled away.

Frank sat calmly on the front seat as she drove to the pet store. Again, he bent down and accepted the leash without a peep. A half hour later, they returned to her truck with dog food, a leash, a dog bed, a bowl for food and a bowl for water. She also bought a chew toy shaped like a softball, and Frank immediately began gnawing on it.

He watched out the window as they drove back to Quinn, tail wagging when she reached over to pet him. She looked over once, and she could have sworn that he was smiling at her.

She parked in front of her mother's house, and went around to the passenger side, and clipped Frank on his leash.

They walked up to the front porch, and Rachel rang the bell.

This was the first time Rachel had ever been to her mother's house. To most daughters, this would be a strange thing. To Rachel, it just felt like another thing to brave. She steeled herself and waited for her mother to appear.

Laverna answered the door, and regarded them both. For once, she didn't seem suspicious.

“Hi,” said Rachel.

Laverna crouched down and rubbed the dog's head. “I recognize him.”

“His name is Frank,” said Rachel.

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” said Rachel. “I got him for you.”

Rachel handed Laverna the leash and returned to the truck, expecting her mother to yell after her. Nothing came. Rachel collected the food, the bed, and the bowls, and brought them to the front door.

She stood there, her arms full. Laverna was already stroking Frank's head.

“Come in,” Laverna said, and Rachel entered without a word, Frank sniffing Laverna's pants. Laverna unleashed him, and he began nosing around the living room. Rachel examined her mother's home, at her taste in decorations. Laverna walls were nearly full of woodprints of sunsets, carefully carved heads of Native Americans and the cowboys who hunted them, ancient snowshoes and spurs mounted on a grayed chunk of cedar. Jake would be horrified. Rachel knew these had all been gifts from Laverna's customers.

Laverna led them out to the back deck. Frank lay down in front of Laverna and snuggled into her feet. She scratched his back, and he stood and stretched, and then began to sniff around. He seemed wary of the river.

“I've never had a dog,” said Laverna.

“I know,” said Rachel.

They sat in silence and watched Frank, as he shambled closer to the railing, still careful of the water. Rachel wanted to tell her mother so much. Rachel wanted to give her mother something to love that wouldn't ever disappoint her, betray her, or break her heart.

Rachel considered her words, but then decided to say nothing. Maybe this time her mother already knew. It had taken ten years, but Rachel had finally accepted her mother as a person, who had done the best with what she had.

“He doesn't bark,” said Rachel.

“Just like your father,” said Laverna.