“I can’t stop thinking about you,” proclaimed Laverna. He made a noise in his throat and looked down at this boots. She continued, unsuccessfully, to make small talk, until they heard gunshots. They emerged from the cabin to see Red Mabel dangling a wild turkey in the air. Unfortunately, it wasn’t wild—it was Frank’s pet. Red Mabel warned Frank that turkeys carried all sorts of diseases, which wasn’t true. Red Mabel warned Frank that Laverna would not leave without a date, which was.
Frank came into town the next month, and took Laverna out to eat at the Bowling Alley, and quietly endured her barrage. To silence her, he took her to bed. They eloped that May, to Winnemucca, Nevada. Laverna drank with elderly showgirls, while Frank gambled on battered machines. “That was a sign,” Laverna would say later. “We put a quarter in a slot machine and Frank broke the handle off.”
The thought of quarters reminded Laverna of closing, and she opened the ancient cash register, pulled a zippered deposit pouch from underneath the counter. She began to stack ones and fives. Only the lesbians paid with larger currency, and they had been absent tonight. Most likely they were singing folk songs in the woods, or playing demolition derby with broken heavy equipment jerry-rigged at the junkyard, something they were known to do.
Chuck Clinkenbeard’s son pushed through the door, the snow blowing in with his entrance. Laverna ignored him and kept counting the cash. He was sixteen, but he had a thin black mustache, and Laverna had served him in the past, especially if it was a slow night and there were no cops in sight. The cops drank at the Bowling Alley, so Laverna often poured for any kid who looked past the point of puberty. She couldn’t remember his first name, but it was too late for last call. All the Clinkenbeards had neatly trimmed mustaches, but no beards, thumbing their noses at their name. She pointed up at the clock and continued counting. Laverna would not be serving this Clinkenbeard tonight.
Still counting, she heard a sharp thwack, and stopped to glare at Rocky, who had dropped his broom. She considered yelling at him, but then the Applehaus boys had hit the floor as well, a thud and a clatter as they took their barstools with them.
She realized then that Chuck Clinkenbeard’s son had a small .410 shotgun, undoubtedly filled with bird shot. The Clinkenbeards had been on a grouse genocide mission for as long as she’d known them. He slowly raised the weapon and advanced toward her, stopping in front of the jukebox as it played a Tammy Wynette song. And then the gun was pointed at Laverna. He nodded at the cash she had been stacking in neat little piles.
Black Mabel stumbled through the front door, always looking for an after-party, and seeing the raised gun, she immediately turned around, back out into the night. Laverna looked everywhere but at the gun. It was as if she didn’t acknowledge that it was happening, and by doing so, it simply wouldn’t. That was how things worked in the rest of her life. Black Mabel watched from outside, through the filthy window. Rocky kept chewing his gum and pointed at the gun, as if Laverna didn’t notice it.
The Clinkenbeard boy said something, but Laverna heard none of it. She had turned to look at Bert, who averted his eyes and looked down at his pint glass. The jukebox whirred and now it was Juice Newton, and Laverna finally turned and looked at the gun.
“You’re not robbing me,” she said. “You’re a fucking idiot. You’re not even wearing a mask.”
“I’m leaving town,” he said, and raised the gun an inch and took another step forward.
“I will destroy your entire family,” declared Laverna, which he apparently did not appreciate, because she heard the catch of the safety. His teenaged face closed up like a fist: his features turned into one eye and a snarl as he looked down the barrel.
Laverna glanced out the window as Black Mabel’s ghostly white face looked in. Laverna sighed and began to gather the rolls of quarters. One slid from her grasp, and she could hear a whimper as it rolled off the edge of the bar and landed on an Applehaus.
“Jesus Christ,” Laverna said, and reached over for a dishrag. She had planned on waving it like a white flag, but this little motherfucker had apparently never heard of the protocols of surrender.
There was a blast. She ducked in time, but her arms and the white rag were still raised. The explosion deafened her, and she felt pain like wasp stings. The glass from the mirror behind the bar rained all around her. After the gunfire, it kept falling in giant, jagged pieces, freed from the glue that had held it behind the bar for so long. She curled up on the plastic bar mat. She saw the Clinkenbeard boy’s class ring, his hands, as they grabbed for the dollars. She cradled her arms, slick with blood. Laverna couldn’t believe how her mind worked sometimes, but she found herself calculating how much he was taking. It had been a slow night, except for the gunfire.
From her vantage point, she could see Bert holding a shard of glass, what remained of his pint. He seemed unconcerned.
The ones and the fives were disappearing, those stubby hands stuffing them somewhere.
Suddenly there was a grunt, and a single dollar bill flew up into the air. She heard bodies hit the floor, and then the familiar cursing of Red Mabel, Thieving piece of shit, Shit for brains, and plain old Dipshit. Laverna was not sure where Red Mabel had come from, but that was how it usually went. Laverna used her knees and her one good elbow to ease herself up.
She surveyed the wreckage.
Red Mabel had the kid in a headlock, and they tangled on the floor like lovers, his face surrounded by her massive breasts. Rocky now held the gun, Juice Newton still sang, and Red Mabel squeezed the Clinkenbeard boy’s head even tighter, his face turning the color of plums. The Applehaus brothers remained on the floor.
Red Mabel finally noticed Laverna and the blood. “Look what you did to her!” she screamed, and adjusted her forearm until Laverna heard the snap of a jawbone. “Look what you did to her!”
Dollar bills and broken glass had been scattered everywhere. Rocky bled from his kneecap, his khakis soaking red as he clutched at the shotgun.
“And god damn you Applehaus boys! Get up!”
They popped up from the floor. Red Mabel kept yelling as they silently accepted her admonishments.
“You’re both fucking firemen! You’re in emergency services!”
At that, they stepped forward to help, properly chastened.
“Take this motherfucker!” Red Mabel released the boy, and the older brother began to kick him in the stomach, while the younger pinned his arms to the floor.
Red Mabel dashed behind the bar and pulled Laverna close, despite the blood. It was unclear to Laverna if Red Mabel was crying or sweating heavily as she picked up the rotary phone with one hand and called the police.
When the ambulance finally came, the Clinkenbeard boy was unconscious, Rocky tended to the wound on his leg with paper napkins, Bert continued to sit there, and Black Mabel could still be heard shrieking outside.
Rocky attempted to sweep up the broken glass behind the bar with one hand on the broom, and the other holding napkins to his knee.
“How in the hell are you going to use a dustpan with one hand?” Laverna screamed at Rocky, half determined to get up and clean the mess herself. The Applehaus boys talked to the policeman, also an Applehaus, and Bert threw down a twenty and walked past all of the commotion and out the door.
The first and last twenty of the night.
Until She Tells You to Stop
Rachel was awakened by a frenzied pounding on her door. It was still dark outside, but she had no idea what time it was—the alarm clock was plugged in in the cavern of her bathroom. She pushed back the duvet cover, and she was frightened.
She still did not have a light on the porch, or a chain on the door. Rachel waited for the person to go away, but when the frenzy began again, she turned on the living room light and opened the door.
There stood Black Mabel, obviously intoxicated.
“I don’t drink anymore,” said Rachel.
“I ain’t here for that,” said Black Mabel. “Your mama’s been sh
ot.” She paused. “When did you stop drinking?”
“Jesus,” said Rachel, shocked. This was not good news. She needed a chance to make amends. “Is she dead?”
“Hell no,” said Black Mabel as she lurched into the house. She smelled like beer and the leather of her jacket. “I saw the whole thing.”
“Is she okay?” Rachel suddenly felt like having a beer; it seemed like the proper reaction to such a thing. She imagined the hiss and the crack of the tab pushing through metal, imagined sinking to the floor and downing an entire can as Black Mabel watched. Numbing was what was needed here, the ritual, having a drink when things got hairy. That’s what normal people did.
“Bird shot,” said Black Mabel and collapsed on the tarp draped over the corner that had once contained a fireplace.
“What?”
“It was a robbery,” explained Black Mabel. “Can I smoke in here?”
“No,” said Rachel.
“Shit,” said Black Mabel, who had already pulled the cigarettes from her jacket. “You really don’t drink?”
“No,” Rachel said, and fled to her bedroom, pulled on jeans, a sweater, and socks. When she returned to the living room, she found Black Mabel staring up at the ceiling and smoking.
“This place is a shithole,” said Black Mabel.
“I know,” said Rachel. “Mabel?”
“What?”
“My mom?”
“Shit,” said Black Mabel. “She’s at the hospital in Ellis. I’m sure she doesn’t want you to know.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I had to tell somebody,” said Black Mabel. “I’ve never seen anything like that in my life.”
“Tell me,” said Rachel.
“She was closing up. In comes the Clinkenbeard kid, with a fucking shotgun.”
“Is it hunting season?”
“Them Clinkenbeards hunt year-round,” said Black Mabel. “They’ll shoot anything, anytime.”
“Apparently,” said Rachel. “What was a kid doing there so late at night?”
“They always come around at last call,” said Black Mabel. “The second after the shotgun blast, Ol’ Red came running, and I mean running, through the door.”
“Red Mabel?”
“Is there any other?” Black Mabel spit on the carpet, to emphasize her point.
“Is my mom okay?” Rachel ignored the spit, just as she ignored the carpet itself.
“Think so,” said Black Mabel. “Every time I tried to help, Red Mabel just hissed at me.”
“I should go to the hospital,” said Rachel.
“You sure about that? I told you Red was there. There’s already been enough violence in this county tonight.”
“It’s what daughters are supposed to do,” said Rachel.
“Can I sleep here?”
“No,” said Rachel. “Sleep it off in your car.”
“I’ll freeze to death,” protested Black Mabel.
“Fine,” said Rachel. “You can sleep on the floor.”
Rachel grabbed her keys and watched Black Mabel nestle into the tarp, her long coat wrapped around her head. Rachel made sure to move the space heaters a safe distance away before she walked out the door.
The drive to Ellis took about twenty minutes, the entire route an old highway that paralleled the river. The road was notorious for patches of black ice, and the route was marked with white crosses; so many people had died on these eighteen miles that a hospital was a necessary thing.
At four o’clock in the morning, there was no traffic, but Rachel still drove slowly.
She had never been a cautious driver, even after she got sober. At the moment, fear flooded her body, an engine given too much gas. Rachel knew what the fuel was, knew who had caused this adrenaline to invade her blood. Rachel’s hands on the steering wheel were tight fists, white from clenching. She only released one hand on straight stretches of the highway, to wipe at the sweat collecting on her upper lip.
Athena and Rachel had done a fourth step every single time Laverna returned a letter. Each inventory had been meticulous, but Rachel never received closure. She would never admit this to Athena. Rachel was willing to admit her own faults, where she had acted out of fear or selfishness. Secretly, she held on to the belief that Laverna was responsible. Laverna loved only money and power. When her mother attempted to trust men, she got bit every single time. Rachel was willing to admit to Athena that she had pierced her mother’s skin whenever the opportunity presented itself, whenever Laverna got too close. Laverna had given up before Rachel was old enough for a bra, and that was not what mothers were supposed to do.
“Your mother did the best she could with what she had,” Athena said, after every fourth step. “Your mother is just a person, with flaws of her own.”
Rachel would nod, and stare at the unopened envelope in her garbage can.
As she drove toward Ellis, Rachel took deep breaths and concentrated on the worst stories she had heard at meetings. Rachel had been hell-bent on destroying herself, and she had mostly avoided collateral damage. She had never killed a family of four while drunk driving, had never left a baby to freeze to death in a car while drinking at a bar in the middle of winter. She was a relatively good person, had only broken hearts and occasionally the law.
* * *
The nurse at the front desk waved Rachel silently through; Laverna was the only emergency at four o’clock in the morning on a weeknight.
Laverna was still in the emergency room. Rachel stood outside the curtain and listened to Red Mabel. She could see her thick black boots, the laces untied and the tongues bulged out. Red Mabel had huge, perpetually swelling feet.
She listened as Red Mabel plotted her revenge on all the Clinkenbeards, even the infants. Chain saw attacks, poisonings, arson. Rachel could not hear her mother respond.
Rachel finally gathered enough courage to step past the curtain, and saw why. Laverna was asleep. Red Mabel held a chunk of Laverna’s hair and petted it softly.
When she finally noticed Rachel, Red Mabel stumbled back and almost knocked over a crash cart.
“You,” said Red Mabel.
“Yes,” said Rachel.
“I told you I never wanted to see you again. I warned you what would happen.” Red Mabel crossed her mighty arms, green work shirtsleeves stained with the blood of Laverna or something poached, filthy white socks exposed as she stood on the shell of her boots to seem taller.
“I’m not scared,” said Rachel, hoping that Red Mabel could not sniff out this lie. “I have a right to be here.”
“You have some nerve,” declared Red Mabel. “I saved her life.” Red Mabel grunted and stepped forward to pull the sheet down around Laverna’s chest. Rachel saw her mother’s arms thickly bandaged, fingers lost in enormous mittens of gauze.
“Where’s the doctor?”
“Good question,” said Red Mabel. “He went to go get something for her pain. That was half an hour ago.”
“Thank you,” said Rachel. “Thank you for being here.” She sat down on a metal folding chair. Despite the sharp odor of freshly waxed floors, she could smell the sawdust that covered Red Mabel’s pants.
“The only reason I’m not choking you is because the doctor gave me a sedative.”
“He gave you a sedative?” Rachel was incredulous. “And he didn’t give my mom any painkillers?”
“Triage,” she said. “That’s what he called it.”
“Can we have a truce? Just for now?”
“Let me think about it,” said Red Mabel.
They both stared at Laverna, who was still sleeping.
“What did they give you?”
“Valium,” said Red Mabel. “Twice the usual dose,” she added proudly.
“How is she?”
“They think the bird shot shattered her arms. Broken radius, or radial, or some shit. A chip in her elbow bone. She’s lucky.”
“Oh,” said Rachel.
“All right,” said Red Mabel. �
��I thought about it. A truce for tonight. That’s fine. I need a cigarette.”
Outside the hospital, Red Mabel smoked in silence and rocked back and forth on her boots. In nine years, she hadn’t aged, but her face was blank in the floodlights of the parking lot. Rachel was thankful for the double dose of Valium.
“How have you been?”
“You ain’t got no right to ask me that,” said Red Mabel.
“Fine,” stated Rachel. “How long is she going to be in the hospital?”
“Dunno,” said Red Mabel. “She was conscious in the ambulance. She was talking, and she knew her arms were shot to shit.” The nurse from the front desk came through the sliding doors of the lobby and sat on a curb, lit a cigarette of her own. “You’re gonna need to step up. Somebody has to cover, and you’re the only one with experience. Your mother made the decision.”
“I’m an alcoholic,” proclaimed Rachel.
“Who isn’t?”
“I’m not supposed to be around booze,” said Rachel.
“Tough shit. You’re gonna take the opening shift and swap with Tabby. It’s already been decided. You ain’t supposed to be drinking on the job anyway.”
“I’m not comfortable with this,” said Rachel.
“Word around town is that you need a job,” said Red Mabel. “And your mama needs your help. The bar opens at eight in the morning. That’s too early for you to act like a whore.”
“Jesus,” said Rachel. “I just don’t want to be tempted. That’s all.”
“I worked in a silver mine,” said Red Mabel. “Doesn’t mean I had to own every piece of jewelry.”
“You stole dynamite,” Rachel pointed out.
The Flood Girls Page 5