The Flood Girls (10 page)

L
averna 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.

“You should be,” said Laverna. “Rachel is uncoordinated and mouthy.”

“Perfect for right field,” said Krystal.

“I'd like you to leave now,” said Laverna.

“Okay,” said Krystal. Laverna noticed that Krystal had tears in her eyes, overreacting as usual, as she pushed herself up from the dining room table. Laverna didn't give a shit. It served her right.

Her second visitor arrived a half an hour later, and instead of pie, he brought flowers. They were the first flowers she had received, after an entire week of convalescence. She didn't count the poinsettia from the Chamber of Commerce because Red Mabel had already thrown it into the river.

Jim Number Three presented her with a massive arrangement of lilies and tulips. He must have gone to Ellis for these, as there were no florists in Quinn. Laverna decided that he could stay for more than ten minutes. Plus, his presence might make Red Mabel jealous, and illustrate what could happen when her primary caretaker abandoned her.

“I'm so sorry,” said Jim Number Three. “If I had been there, that kid would've been taken down immediately.” He placed the flowers in front of Laverna, and she leaned forward, to smell them.

“Light me a cigarette,” said Laverna.

“I broke both my legs once,” said Jim Number Three. “Fell off a ladder and landed on a wheelbarrow.”

“Jesus,” said Laverna. He gave her a lit cigarette out of his own pack.

“I was in bed for weeks,” he said. “The only thing that saved me from going insane was having my mother read to me.”

“How old were you?”

He had to think about it. “Forty-three,” he said.

“I was kind of hoping I could do the same for you,” he said. “It would be a pleasure to read a book to the prettiest woman in town.”

“That's kind of strange,” said Laverna. But this entire month had been odd, and he was age appropriate, and vaguely handsome. If he read to her, maybe Red Mabel would try harder.

He helped Laverna to the couch, assisted her in lying down on her back, her casts stiff and pointing at the ceiling, the plaster still so white that it was painful to behold.

He had brought
Roots
, because it was the longest book he owned, and the word around town was that her recovery was going to take months.

“Never read it,” said Laverna. “Didn't watch the miniseries, either. To tell you the truth, I wasn't that interested. We didn't have slaves in Montana.”

Jim Number Three ignored this statement, sat back in the love seat, and turned to page one.

He finished the first chapter by the time Red Mabel finally returned. As Laverna had hoped, Red Mabel seemed suspicious. She marched straight past them without saying a word, and stomped into the kitchen.

Laverna listened, and could hear Red Mabel eating the entire rhubarb pie.

B
ert's truck was in the driveway, and he was never home when Jake returned from school. He was usually at the bar. This was the new Bert, the one who had the revelation, saved and shaved. No bird shot had touched Bert's body, and he claimed it a miracle. Although he had avoided its flight, he did have a bruise on his shoulder from when he had encountered Red Mabel in the grocery store. She had punched him for not coming to Laverna's aid.

Inside the house, Bert sat next to a redheaded man. Instead of beer, the coffee table in front of the couch held two Bibles, side by side, held open with matching macramé bookmarks. Jake removed his snow boots, and the two men watched him silently.

Jake hoped he could make it to his bedroom in continued silence. Unfortunately, the redheaded man stood up and offered his hand. Also unfortunate, because it revealed the monstrosity of the man's suit, the color of a burnt-sienna crayon. His white shirt was brand-new, spoiled by the tie. Jake liked vintage clothing, but the tie was a disco disaster, much too wide, striped in orange and mint. Nobody had ever told this man that redheads could not wear these colors, and the man was pink in the face, sweaty.