The Flood Girls (38 page)

The run tied the game up. Laverna knew the importance of this game, as it was her job to keep track of such things, but didn't say anything to her team. She didn't want to jinx it. She looked up at the bleachers, and Jake was grinning. He had done the math.

The miners then inched ahead by one, a line drive that passed right through Ronda's legs, and Rachel surprised them all by running, galloping, to scoop it up and throw it. She actually threw it to Tabby at the cutoff, but not before the miners scored.

At the bottom of the sixth inning, Laverna was distracted. Krystal stood outside the dugout, waiting quietly for Laverna to notice her. Laverna supposed that Krystal had come to the softball game for the first time this year to show her support for her son. Laverna was wrong. When she finally turned around to acknowledge Krystal, a folded-up piece of paper was shoved through the chain link. Krystal said nothing. Laverna plucked the paper, as Krystal had left it to dangle there. It was a check for one thousand dollars.

“I'm trying to make things right,” said Krystal. “It's been eating at me for years.”

Laverna shoved the check into her pocket and turned back to the game, refusing to acknowledge Krystal's explanation. Laverna knew; she had always known.

Instead, Laverna listened to Krystal walk away. Secretly satisfied, she shouted for the benefit of the fans in the bleachers. “WHY DOES EVERYBODY KEEP FUCKING WITH ME?”

She glanced over her shoulder, and Krystal had reentered the bleachers, her head hung down as she took a seat beside her son.

The Flood Girls had the last at bat. Diane made it to second base, thanks to the slothful infield, and Martha Man Hands struck out.

Laverna placed an arm on Ronda's giant shoulder, as her cook warmed up by swinging two bats at the same time, always a bruiser.

“You've got this,” said Laverna. Ronda, expressionless as usual, just handed Laverna the extra bat and marched grimly to home plate. Laverna was on the verge of needing an antianxiety pill, but Ronda entered the batter's box stoically, no fear registering on her face. Laverna watched the outfield back up toward the fence—when Ronda beat her bat on home plate, they backed up even farther.

Ronda stepped into the batter's box and swung with all her considerable might, the ball sailed over the fence, and the game was over.

The Flood Girls won, nine to eight.

Jake came running into the dugout, and as expected, he had done the math. He jumped up and down as the Flood Girls gathered around Laverna. Math had never been their strong suit, but they knew something was different.

“We've made it!” Laverna put an arm around Ginger, kissed Tabby on the cheek. “The Flood Girls are headed for the tournament!”

The old men in the bleachers continued to applaud, even as the crowd dispersed. Bucky threw his cap into the air. The Flood Girls were shocked, but hoisted their coach up in the air, Red Mabel doing all of the heavy lifting.

J
ake's thirteenth birthday was on the second day of August. School was still out, and he was thrilled to finally, officially, be a teenager, although he wasn't expecting much.

It took him almost an hour to dress and prepare himself for this auspicious day. He knew there was no party planned. Unlike his classmates, there would be no roller rink rented for an afternoon, or a trip to the water slides in Spokane.

Jake decided on white linen. He had the pants, and a short-sleeved button-down. It was not muddy, and this was one of the five months of the year that didn't seem like winter. White linen would be safe, because the sun had finally come out to stay in Quinn.

After rummaging around, he discovered that he did not own any white shoes, and this came as a surprise to him. He chose a pair of light brown loafers, soft leather, and a straw fedora with a dark brown leather band.

Krystal made his favorite breakfast—cold spaghetti. It was an odd choice for a favorite breakfast, but Jake grew up with a single mom, and he always loved leftover spaghetti in the morning. Krystal obliged, prepared it the night before, mixed the sauce and the noodles together, put the entire pot into the refrigerator.

They sat together at the kitchen table, and Krystal watched him eat.

“Do you feel any different?” Krystal handed him the salt and pepper shakers, which had actually been a birthday gift to her, found at Buley's when he was nine years old. The shakers were pewter candles, in matching pewter holders, with orange glass flames perforated by tiny holes.

“Laverna always says that age is just a number,” Jake said, and carefully wiped the corners of his mouth with a cloth napkin.

“Do you have any big plans?” Krystal waited for Jake to respond, but he kept eating spaghetti. “I'm going to make you a cake this afternoon,” she said. “Do you want to invite Rachel over?”

“Sure,” said Jake. He knew that Krystal had to work at seven, so there would be no party, just the cake and the presents, and then she would put on her scrubs and drive to Ellis for yet another night shift.

After breakfast, Jake walked around the trailer court and then ventured farther into town. He had on his headphones, the cassette playing as loud as it could possibly go, despite the repeated warnings from his mother. The headphones were old, at the point in their life that he had to repeatedly wiggle the connection in order to get both sides of them blaring. Once he found the sweet spot, he held his thumb there.

He wanted to see if Quinn looked different as a thirteen-year-old. He walked past the Dirty Shame, and he wanted to have coffee with Rachel, but Tabby's car was parked in front.

He cut across the softball field, the grass still wet from the sprinklers. His loafers stained from the water, and it pained Jake that he would have to ask to borrow Bert's boot spray. He continued up Main Street, listening to Sinead O'Connor, and passed the post office. The movie theater had no poster outside, and the marquee announced that it was closed for repairs. This happened a few times per year, when Ron, the owner, went fishing in Idaho, or when the roof collapsed. The roof was constantly leaking, and more than once, Jake had been caught in a sudden deluge during a movie. Ron offered no refunds for this. Sometimes, little pieces of the ceiling would fall during a screening, coating the audience with tiny clouds of plaster. Jake was amazed that nobody had been injured—even going to see a movie in Quinn was a dangerous proposition.

He finally decided that thirteen didn't feel any different. His shoes were wet, and he had not worn socks, so he squished his way up the front steps and entered his house.

Rachel was waiting for him, sitting in the kitchen with his mother. On the kitchen table, there were two things: a gift-wrapped box and a pale blue envelope.

“Happy birthday, kid!” Rachel leaped up to hug him. “The box is from Athena.”

Inside were a
Rocky Horror Picture Show
T-shirt, the sound track on cassette, and the movie itself, the VHS still wrapped in cellophane.

“You'd better hide those from Bert,” warned Krystal, as she began to clean up the baby, who still had some red sauce on her cheeks.

The envelope contained a fifty-dollar gift certificate to JCPenney.

“From the Flood Girls,” explained Rachel. “Ginger has this idea that your underwear and socks come from the thrift store, and they won't stand for it. I didn't want to correct them. I know that Krystal buys you those things.”

“I do,” said Krystal as she picked up the baby. Jake could tell that she was trying to prove she was a good mother.

“The nearest JCPenney is in Boyce Falls,” pointed out Jake. “This is great. I can use it to order stuff from the catalog, right?”

“Wrong,” said Rachel. “I'm driving you there. Today. And we're hitting every thrift store on the way. You can buy whatever you want. My present to you.”

Jake bought two complete suits in the town of New Poland, one seersucker, the other houndstooth, and a half-used can of leather spray. In Boyce Falls, Jake purchased two pairs of slacks, one pair bright red, and the other gray with tiny pink squares. He also picked out a stack of paperbacks and a winter coat, green wool with a giant black fake-fur collar. Rachel paid for everything.

At JCPenney, he used the gift certificate and spent twenty-nine dollars on new white T-shirts, packages of socks, and a collection of boxer shorts in every color. He spent the remaining twenty-one dollars on a pair of white sneakers, a purchase that Rachel balked at. Jake insisted that she trust him, and he promised that he would never, ever use them for sports.

They drove back to Quinn, Rachel slightly speeding. The trip to Boyce Falls and back had taken the whole day, and it was six o'clock when they arrived in Rachel's driveway. They carried his bags of purchases into his house, and he was thankful that Bert was still gone, on yet another long drive with Reverend Foote. He would be home within an hour, because somebody had to watch the baby. Jake would not. It was his birthday.

They ate yellow cake with chocolate frosting, and Krystal gave Jake presents: Bert gave Jake a bag of deeply discounted birdseed. Krystal gave Jake a new Walkman and new headphones. As they ate the cake, Krystal began telling tales from her nursing career about teenagers with tinnitus. She was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Krystal came into the kitchen with Laverna, who was holding a black bandana. Knowing Laverna, Jake did not think this was particularly strange.

“We've got a date,” announced Laverna. She approached Jake with the bandana and tied it around his eyes.

“Okay,” Jake said, and he trusted all of them, so he said nothing as he was led out of the house. Rachel held his hands, and he could hear a car door opening, and then he was sinking down, and he knew they were in Laverna's car. Jake remained silent as the motor roared to life, and listened as Laverna gunned it once they hit smoother streets, revved it to make a spectacular noise.

“We just passed Bert,” explained Rachel. “Don't worry. We made sure to wave.”

They slowed, the car making angry sounds as Laverna slid to a stop. Rachel helped Jake out of the bucket seat. She led him into a building that smelled familiar, and then she was assisting him down a slight slope. Rachel maneuvered him into a cushioned chair.

He was confused when the blindfold was removed, because he was in a dark place. He could sense Rachel on his left and Laverna on his right.

Then he smelled the popcorn.

Just then, the movie screen flickered to life, and in the bluish light, Jake turned around in his seat in the front row and realized the entire theater was empty. It was just the three of them.

Rachel presented Jake with popcorn and a soda.

“Laverna arranged all of this,” she said.

“Ron owes me a favor,” said Laverna.

“Thank you,” said Jake. “It must have cost you a fortune.”

“Just wait, kid. It's gonna be worth it.” Laverna popped a handful of Junior Mints into her mouth, and she squeezed Jake's shoulder with the other hand.

The movie began, and Jake shivered.

Somehow, Laverna had performed a miracle.

It was the new Madonna documentary,
Truth or Dare
. It had been out in the big city theaters for only a few weeks, but Jake knew that it would never, ever come to Quinn.

Tonight, it had. Jake was certain it was a one-night engagement.

The movie was amazing. It seemed that Ron even turned up the volume. The concert footage was thunderous.

After the credits rolled, and the screen flickered out, Jake could talk again.

As they entered the lobby, there was Ron, who sighed as he stood beside the popcorn machine.

Laverna stopped Jake with one hand. “Ron has something for you.”

Ron grumbled and reached below the counter, and handed Jake a rolled-up poster. Jake pulled off the rubber bands, revealing the movie poster for
Truth or Dare
. Madonna was lying in the foreground, one hand disappearing into her crotch, wearing a black dress and surrounded by silky bedsheets. She looked out at them expectantly. Above the title, the tagline read:
THE ULTIMATE DARE IS TO TELL THE TRUTH.

Jake swooned and hugged Laverna fiercely. He hugged Rachel, too, as Ron crossed his arms and stared at the three of them.

“Not really my cup of tea,” said Ron.

Jake knew exactly where the poster would go—behind the clothes hanging in his closet. Bert would never see it, but Jake would know it was there, always there, and that was enough.

He knew it was an unlucky number, but thirteen might just be his best year yet.