Rachel said nothing as Jake left with his mother. As usual, Krystal didn’t get it. Rachel was angry all over again, and went into the yard, where she kicked at the tiny tufts of grass, and the bare spots where the new soil and seed had yet to take root, until Bucky restrained her.
“She’s not pressing charges,” said Rachel.
“I know,” said Bucky.
* * *
Although she knew it was a private ceremony, Rachel still found herself begging Bucky to be her date. He made excuses.
“I’ve only got one suit,” he said. “It’s black. And I need to save it for funerals. I get a lot of mileage out of that thing. Especially around here.”
Instead, he promised that when she got back, he and Black Mabel would have the rest of the siding installed.
The church was so new that it smelled like plastic wrap and carpet glue. It was a small space, with room for fifty: ten pews on each side, every seat taken.
Rachel did not see one familiar face. She was wearing a simple gingham sundress and uncomplicated brown sandals, but she still felt overdressed and inappropriate.
The congregation sat in their rows and whispered lowly to each other at her entrance. She took a seat, and stared back at them, boldly.
The men were in identical suits, purchased at Pamida. Every woman wore a long jean skirt, with panty hose visible at their ankles, and each had a white long-sleeved blouse that Rachel recognized as a Simplicity pattern. She shuddered.
The front of the church was bare, except for a freshly built platform, and a tall, freestanding candelabra. None of the candles were lit.
Krystal walked down the aisle without a veil, without bridesmaids, without flowers. Rachel couldn’t help but think she deserved it.
At least she got to wear the wedding dress she had chosen months before, when Bert was still a heathen. Thankfully, she had the foresight to choose a dress that was long-sleeved and demure.
The ceremony was insanely boring, endlessly polite. Rachel kept her eyes on Jake, who stood up front, and off to the side. He kept the swollen eye out of sight, so he stood at a weird angle. Most of the time, he looked down at his shoes.
She was shocked at his outfit. No flair whatsoever. Brown slacks, brown jacket, white shirt. No tie, no pocket square, no hat, no shoes with platform heels. Plain loafers, the kind with no tassels.
The reception was held outside. Rachel found Jake immediately, and they sat together in the grass, watching the line of people lay out hot dishes and cold salads on folding card tables.
Bert glared when he saw them together, and Rachel met his eyes without fear. Jake’s hand reached up to touch his eye.
Reverend Foote approached them, and Jake busied himself with blowing the tiny stars from dandelions gone to seed. Rachel knew that this was how dandelions spread, multiplied, and hoped they would infest the entire church property.
“Reverend Foote,” he said, and held out his hand.
“Paula Sherwood,” said Rachel, and shook.
“I’m pretty sure that’s not your name,” said the reverend.
“It’s the name my satanic cult gave me,” said Rachel. “I know it sounds awfully pedestrian. We like to remain inconspicuous.”
“Thank you for coming.” He pulled his hand back and reached down to touch Jake’s head. Rachel put an arm around Jake as he flinched, narrowed her eyes at the reverend.
“I’m here for Jake,” said Rachel. “And the macaroni salad.” Rachel flashed devil horns on her right hand, until the reverend left, stammering. They continued to watch the wedding party, and Rachel lost herself in counting shoes with Velcro closures.
“Why isn’t Rocky here?” Rachel assumed he would have been invited.
“Bert says we’ve already got one freak in the family.” Across the lawn, Bert was kneeling in the grass, deep in prayer, as the parishioners filed past him. Instead of wedding gifts, they dropped baskets of food as they passed. A tradition for the man of the family, perhaps, cheap plastic weaves straining to hold the cans of beets and green beans. It was up to Krystal to thank them, as Bert remained in prayer.
“We’re not poor,” said Jake, as he watched this parade of cheap dress clothes, offering up dusty cans from their pantries. “We don’t even go to the food bank.”
“This church is weird,” said Rachel. Bert continued to kneel, and Reverend Foote placed his hands on Bert’s shoulder blades, a blessing. Rachel could see Bert’s forehead, sweating with the calisthenics of prayer. He was shaking now, and the parishioners shouted out glad tidings as they continued to pile the food around him.
“If he starts speaking in tongues, I’m kidnapping you,” said Rachel. “This is some fucked-up church.”
“I think I caught him speaking in tongues at home,” said Jake. “Or he was choking on a piece of steak.”
Rachel pulled a dandelion from the grass and held it in front of Jake’s face.
“Your mom didn’t get her flowers,” she said. “But I think you need a corsage.”
Rachel took the dandelion and slipped it through the buttonhole of Jake’s jacket. They watched the wedding guests milling about, until the reverend’s wife announced that it was time for pictures.
“Aren’t you going to go up there?”
“No,” said Jake. “I refuse. I don’t want to be in any of the pictures. Because of this.” He pointed at his eye, still swollen, ringed with a circle of yellow and blue bruises.
Jake’s absence didn’t seem to bother Krystal or Bert. They held the baby and stood with the pine trees proud and sturdy behind them.
The reverend’s wife gave them directions on posing, something Jake should have been doing.
Bert held the baby while Krystal leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.
“My family!” He announced this to applause as the camera flashed.
Rachel could not bring herself to look at Jake. She sat in the grass and reached for his hand.
The Flood Girls versus Sullivan’s Best Western
Laverna drank her coffee, until her reverie was interrupted by Red Mabel, pushing her way into the house, holding a box of yellow cake mix.
“It’s my birthday,” said Red Mabel. “I share this day with Joan Van Ark and Geronimo.” Red Mabel pulled two unbroken eggs from her coat pocket, and gifted these as well.
“I’m not going to make you a cake,” said Laverna. “I’ve got shit to do.” She handed the eggs back to Red Mabel, who pitched them into the sink. Red Mabel left, and Laverna stared at the eggs, cracked and dripping all over the dirty dishes.
* * *
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 ci
garette 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.
The Flood Girls Page 23