“Krystal!” The woman on the porch was genuinely excited to see his mother, but Krystal responded by handing him the baby and shutting the door until it was just a crack. He could hear his mother whispering, and the woman laughed. Krystal shut the door, and Jake could hear the blonde stomping her feet as she left the porch.
Jake held the baby as Krystal anxiously checked out the kitchen window, carefully wrapped the casserole dish in tinfoil, and slid it into the oven. He watched as she took a deep breath, attempting to gather herself. This was amazing to him, this side of his mother. When Bert freaked out, Krystal did not react, because she knew better.
Krystal drew back the curtains and opened the living room window. The winter air blasted through, and Jake could see the blonde in her own yard, waiting for Krystal, peering up over the fence.
“You have some nerve,” said Krystal.
“Didn’t you get my letter?”
“No,” said Krystal, and Jake knew she was telling the truth. Only Bert was allowed to get the mail, and he had probably thrown it away.
“I tried to apologize,” explained the woman. “I owed you that much.” Jake wondered if the woman had taken the rosary he had left on her doorknob and what she had thought of it. In this town, it could be considered a warning.
“Bert told me not to talk to you,” said Krystal. “He warned me you were back in town.”
“Jesus,” said the woman. “We used to be friends.”
“Rachel Flood, we were never friends. You just used me for my car.”
“That’s not true,” said the woman, apparently named Rachel, and apparently related to Laverna. He shivered as the winter air invaded the living room. He did not want to miss any of this, and he pulled the baby closer and snuck up behind his mother.
“Listen for his truck,” said Krystal. “Bert cannot see this.”
“What happened to you? We used to have fun.”
“You ruined everything,” said Krystal. “I haven’t worn lipstick in nine years. Do you have any idea what that’s like?”
“I just wanted to take a shower,” said Rachel. “My bathtub seems to have fallen underneath my house.”
“Gross,” said Jake quietly. Rachel stepped back from the fence and held up her shower caddy. Again, he studied her. Until five minutes ago, Jake had thought that his mother was the prettiest woman in town. But here was a specimen who stared back with defiance and held herself with perfect posture. Supermodel style—chin up, tits out.
Jake considered his own outfit—he changed his clothes when he came home from school, every single day. This afternoon he had dressed in black slacks, a black sweater vest over a white button-down.
“No,” said Krystal. “Why are you always trying to get me into trouble?”
“Fine,” said Rachel. “I’m in town to make amends. You were on the list anyway. How can I make it up to you?”
Krystal was silent. Jake watched Rachel, stomping her feet in the cold, waiting for an answer. He wondered what kind of coat she would normally wear and was lost in this reverie when his mother’s answer came, short and certain: “Softball.”
“What the hell?”
“I’ve been living in fear of your mother for nine years,” said Krystal. “Lying to her makes me a nervous wreck. It’s your turn.”
“No way,” said Rachel. “I don’t play sports.” Jake was delighted, and pretended to read his book. He could not imagine this woman playing softball. She did not deserve the indignities of sweat and constantly swirling dust, sharing the field with sasquatch Red Mabel.
“Right field,” insisted Krystal. “It’s not really a sport.”
“I don’t run,” said Rachel. “I mean, I’ve run from cops and stuff, but I don’t really remember it.”
“Take my spot,” said Krystal. “It’s the least you can do. If you leave us alone, I’ll buy you a new bathtub. But you can’t tell Bert. I can’t stand seeing you dirty. I mean, I’m not a complete bitch.”
“Are you really that scared of my mom?”
“Yes,” said Krystal. “Consider it a housewarming gift.”
“Fine,” said Rachel. Jake heard the faint rumble of Bert’s truck.
“The first practice is in a few weeks,” said Krystal. “Maybe you should start jogging or something.” Krystal slid the window shut and drew the curtains.
* * *
Jake worked on the laundry basket, folding the load he had removed from the dryer. He washed all of the laundry for the household because he was the best at it, and because he insisted. When Bert finally came through the door, he ignored Jake and his piles on the living room floor. Bert sat quietly on the couch. He held no beer in his hand and did not ask Krystal to fetch him one. Jake hoped that Bert had an infection from the cut on his hand, that he had a rare blood fever.
Krystal wiped down the kitchen table and plucked the baby from her high chair, placed her carefully inside the playpen. Bert continued to stare out into space. Bert took pills for his blood pressure, so Jake ruled out a stroke.
Finally, Bert asked to speak with Krystal privately. Jake gathered the laundry and fled to his bedroom. He turned on his stereo so he would not have to listen to their conversation.
Bert did not allow Jake to shut his bedroom door completely. Krystal appeared in his doorway, fifteen minutes later. She didn’t have the baby, which meant she wanted to discuss something serious.
She sat down on his bed, in the clear space among the stacks of his clothes. She examined a vest that was black and had a dark purple backing, and pretended to admire it.
“This is nice,” she said, and neatly folded it.
“You hate it,” said Jake.
“It’s not my style, honey.”
“I’ll put it in the storage shed,” he said.
“Have you made any new friends?”
“No,” he said.
Krystal did not respond, clearly distracted. “I have good news,” she said, clasping her hands together.
Jake carefully considered this. “But you just lost the baby weight.”
“Jake, you have to stop reading women’s magazines. Did you notice something different about Bert?”
“Are you kicking him out?” Jake’s heart leaped in his chest.
“No, honey. Something happened.”
“Okay,” said Jake as he folded a fitted sheet. He was the only member of the household who possessed this ability.
“He almost died. He’s a different man now.”
“I’ve heard that before,” said Jake. “And nobody even shot at him. It was an attempted robbery.”
“Oh, Jake,” Krystal said, and sighed.
“Whatever. You are always coming in here and making promises that he’s changed his ways, and that things are going to be better. And that lasts a couple of hours until he gets pissed off at me.”
“He’s been saved,” whispered Krystal.
“From what?” Jake handed her the properly folded fitted sheet.
“Saved,” repeated Krystal. “Like in a spiritual way.”
At this, Jake guffawed. Krystal glared but remained calm. She smoothed the sheet with the flat of her hand.
“I figured that’s what you meant,” he said, and stopped grinning. He knew his mother’s face and could see the pain it caused her.
“He’s in a better place now,” she said. “He has all sorts of plans for the future. I haven’t seen him like this since we started dating.”
“He’s been in a bad mood for two years,” said Jake. “Does this mean he’s going to get a job?”
“Like it or not, we have a baby now. He’s the head of this family,” said Krystal. “He’s had a hard life.” Jake turned away from her and pretended to examine his closet, because there were tears in his eyes. He was sick of all of the excuses. “Honey, I promise you. Everything is going to change around here.”
“That’s what you said about the baby,” said Jake.
“Bert’s getting baptized next week,” she said. �
��He really wants you to be there.”
“Did he say that?” He turned and addressed her directly. “Did those words really come out of his mouth?”
“No,” said Krystal.
“That’s what I thought,” said Jake.
“You will be the best-dressed person there,” said Krystal. “I just know you have a baptism outfit somewhere in here.”
“Of course I do,” snapped Jake.
Krystal handed him a stack of shirts, and Jake hung them, waiting for his mother to leave, for this conversation to be over.
“I’m not getting baptized,” said Jake, still refusing to look at her.
“This is about Bert.”
“It always is,” Jake said, and continued to stare into his closet until he heard his mother leave.
The Biggest Problem
Laverna was discharged from the hospital two days after she had been admitted. They let her go early, because she was a particularly cantankerous patient.
The casts were ridiculous. Laverna felt they could have done better, done something more convenient, and told the doctor so. Her arms were stuck straight out in front of her and propped up on tiny rods attached to a removable harness. Laverna had sustained extensive injuries up to her biceps, and now she had no use of her arms.
“You can wiggle your thumbs,” said the doctor hopefully. “That’s a good sign.”
“I don’t hitchhike,” said Laverna.
Red Mabel refused the wheelchair, as she and Laverna had managed to absolve themselves from any official hospital policy. Red Mabel opened every single door as they made their way through the hospital lobby, and they watched as the nurses finally relaxed at the front desk. Red Mabel’s truck was jacked up on giant wheels, and she had to push Laverna up into the passenger seat. Laverna rested her casts on the dashboard as they drove back to Quinn. On the ride home, plans for revenge against the Clinkenbeards were discussed, but none seemed ruthless enough.
“I think we should capture a bear and set it loose in their kitchen,” suggested Red Mabel.
“No,” said Laverna. “I think we should cast a spell. We need witch books. You’re going to have to take me to the library.” Red Mabel ignored this, as Laverna’s latest round of painkillers had finally taken effect.
Red Mabel helped Laverna inside her house and led her to the couch. She offered to make her coffee, but Laverna asked for a beer instead, although she quickly discovered that drinking was just as impossible as smoking. She sent Red Mabel to the grocery store for straws, and her truck was gone for more than an hour, most likely staking out the Clinkenbeard residence.
When Red Mabel returned, they found that the phone was also a problem. Red Mabel had to dial, and stick the receiver in between Laverna’s shoulder and ear. Laverna liked to talk on the phone, liked to issue proclamations to her staff and spread gossip, or start gossip, but now it was uncomfortable for her to twist her neck for so long. Red Mabel held the phone up to Laverna’s ear, and she called Tabby at home and warned her that she would need paper and a pen for all of the directions she was about to unleash.
“I don’t trust Rachel one bit,” said Laverna. “You need to watch her. Keep her away from the men. Keep her away from the jukebox. Do not let her talk to the jukebox vendor, or she will change every single goddamn song to heavy metal. Music like that will only encourage those silver miners to create havoc and destroy things. I’ve had enough destruction, thank you very much.”
“Okay,” said Tabby.
“Now,” demanded Laverna. “Write these things down.”
Laverna launched into the day-to-day operations she would no longer be able to micromanage. Laverna had memorized the numbers of the beer vendors, as well as the number of the man who leased the poker machines. Laverna had not memorized the number of the food distributor. Every week, Ronda just handed the driver her order form, silent as usual.
“I also want you to keep an eye on Ronda’s orders,” said Laverna. “If you think she’s ordering extra food to steal for whatever goddamn tribe she’s from, you call me. Immediately. I don’t want free fried chicken from the Dirty Shame being eaten in every teepee across the Northwest.”
“Okay,” said Tabby.
“Are you writing this down?”
“Of course,” said Tabby.
“Your biggest problem is going to be Rachel. She’s always been my biggest problem, but I have suffered life-threatening injuries, and I simply can’t deal with her right now.”
“I thought he just shot your arms.”
“Shut up,” said Laverna.
Red Mabel took the phone away from her. She could hear Tabby squawking something, but the conversation was over as far as she was concerned.
“Light me a cigarette,” demanded Laverna, and Red Mabel obliged.
Ten minutes later, Laverna asked Red Mabel to put her to bed. It took half an hour rearranging pillows and bedding until Laverna was comfortable. It was going to be hard for her to sleep with her arms stuck straight out in front of her, but the whiskey was opened, and Red Mabel administered dosages until Laverna passed out.
* * *
The next morning, Laverna was moored at her dining room table, using her thumbs to page through magazines, but she could not concentrate on anything she was reading. It was the first day of March, and spring remained an obscure idea. She really wanted a cigarette, but Red Mabel had left to park her truck outside of the Clinkenbeard residence. Red Mabel did this every single day, just parked there, for at least an hour. This had not brought any results; no Clinkenbeard ever emerged from their house, although Red Mabel had claimed she had seen some curtains rustling.
The local police begged Red Mabel to stay out of it, to let them handle the Clinkenbeards. They knew Red Mabel’s predilection toward violence, because they had been on the receiving end of it, many times. They also knew that Red Mabel had dynamite, but knew better than to bring that up.
Red Mabel was the one who lit Laverna’s cigarettes, and also the one who gave Laverna a bath every morning. At first, this was embarrassing for both of them, but the whiskey helped.
There was a knock at the door. Laverna yelled for Red Mabel out of habit, but she was gone.
“Come in!” Laverna hollered as loud as she could. She needed a cigarette and was too irritable to prop herself up on her casts and maneuver out of the dining room chair.
Krystal Bailey was laden with three pies, one tin in each hand, and the other balanced carefully in the crook of her arm. Laverna said nothing as Krystal laid the pies out in front of her.
“Two banana creams, and a rhubarb for Red Mabel,” said Krystal.
“Give me a cigarette,” said Laverna. Krystal reached for Laverna’s pack and slid a cigarette into the corner of Laverna’s mouth. Krystal lit the cigarette for her and pretended to cough.
“As a nurse, I really must warn you about smoking. It slows the healing process.”
“Fuck off,” said Laverna. “Can you get me some more painkillers?”
“I will ask the doctor,” said Krystal.
“Would you rather I go see Dr. Black Mabel?” Laverna exhaled out of her nose, and Krystal removed the cigarette, and ashed it for her, wedged it back in the corner of her mouth.
“Of course not,” said Krystal.
“I knew I could count on you,” said Laverna.
“Actually,” said Krystal, “that’s why I’m here.” Krystal sat down in a dining room chair, directly across from Laverna. The table was littered with straws, magazines, pill bottles, empty bottles of whiskey, and three different ashtrays. The pies seemed out of place.
“Please tell me that you have morphine in your pockets.”
“No,” said Krystal. “I have to quit the Flood Girls.”
At this kind of news, Laverna’s blood pressure would normally rise, her face would get hot, and her fists would ball up. The painkillers, the antianxiety pills, and the whiskey prevented this from happening. Still, she attempted to make her face appear as
angry as possible.
“You better have a brain tumor or something.”
“I took a new shift at the hospital,” said Krystal. “It pays more, and you know we have a new mouth to feed.”
Laverna knew this. She was sick and tired of hearing about the baby. Two summers ago, she had to listen to Krystal talk about it in the dugout, had to deal with the morning sickness. Krystal had always vomited discreetly, usually in a plastic grocery bag that she would neatly deposit in the metal garbage can behind the dugout. Regardless, Laverna had forced Krystal to play through her fifth month. Right field never saw any action anyway.
“I see,” said Laverna. “You will be missed.” This wasn’t really true—Krystal was a terrible softball player. Occasionally, she would get a good hit, usually a single, but by her fifth month, her stomach was sticking out, and she struck out every single time, didn’t even swing.
“I found a replacement,” said Krystal. “And I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
“You are full of good news today,” said Laverna. “Ash my cigarette.” Krystal obliged, and Laverna regarded the terror on her face.
“Rachel.”
“You mean my daughter?”
“Yes,” said Krystal. “Believe me, I asked every single female I know. I almost opened the phone book and started dialing numbers at random.”
“You should have,” said Laverna. “She’s already working at the Shame. I don’t want her wrecking my fucking softball team.”
“She didn’t want to play,” said Krystal. “If that’s any consolation.”
“It’s not,” said Laverna. “What are you going to do with that baby?”
“Bert will be home at night,” said Krystal, and at that, Laverna couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Bert was useless, had never held a job. He was not suitable for child care. He had proven to be terrible in emergency situations, not that Laverna thought the baby would be held up in an attempted robbery.
“Of course he will,” said Laverna. “He’s a fucking deadbeat. Put my cigarette out.”
“I’m sorry,” said Krystal.
The Flood Girls Page 7