The Flood Girls (45 page)

The Chief and his wife sat in the back by themselves. Bucky steered Rachel over to them, and she sat down next to the Chief, who was holding on to his wife's hand tightly.

There were no flowers. Rachel hated this place, the plainness, the cheapness; apparently there would be some sort of wake afterward—one wall was lined with those same card tables, covered in things wrapped in tinfoil and wax paper.

The door of the church opened, and a girl with dyed-black hair stomped past in heavy boots. She wore a black leather jacket and torn blue jeans. The congregation turned to stare. Rachel could smell her leather jacket as she sat down in front of them, the leather wet from the falling snow. The Chief tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned around and glared at him.

“Misty?” The Chief seemed flabbergasted. “How did you get here?”

“Hitchhiked,” she said, and turned back around.

“There are no flowers,” said Rachel, and nobody responded.

She wanted to stand up and scream at the top of her lungs. This place was so empty and quiet and everything was too new, and Jake was a kid who appreciated things that were loud, things that had a previous life of their own. Jake's funeral should have been held at Buley's, not a place that still had pieces of masking tape around the doorjambs, a place that still smelled of fresh paint.

As if she had been conjured, Buley and Rocky entered the church. Rachel knew that nothing would keep Rocky away from his nephew's funeral, even if his presence was unwanted. He helped Buley sit in the empty pew across from Krystal and Bert, a pew meant for family.

Bucky put his arm around Rachel, and the Chief's wife offered her a handkerchief, the real kind, cloth, and the fact that Jake would have appreciated that made her cry even harder.

Reverend Foote came out onto the raised stage, entering from a little door off to the left.

Rachel gritted her teeth as he walked to the pulpit.

He led them in prayer. Rachel glanced over at Bucky, who was watching her closely.

She could not focus on his words, just kept staring at the row of card tables, thinking about how none of these people who belonged to this church belonged to Jake; they were here out of duty, and then to eat.

The parishioners began to sing “We Shall All Be Reunited.” The Chief opened up the songbook and placed it on her lap, but she refused to acknowledge it, and it fell to the floor and made a thump as it landed. It slid beneath Misty's bench, and Misty kicked at it, and it came to rest between the third and fourth row.

Reverend Foote smiled when the song was over, and began to talk about lives cut short, about how God had a plan for each and every one of them. She could see Bert nodding his head.

Rachel found herself staring at the coffin. In truth, she had suspected that the size of it would gut her, but it wasn't terribly small. Jake had been a little over five feet tall. He had just seemed so waifish and slight in real life. The coffin was plain, and brown, and didn't look like expensive wood. It didn't even seem polished. It didn't gleam in the lights that shone on the reverend.

Reverend Foote was speaking about the survivors, Krystal and the baby, and Bert, and those in the church who had gotten to know and cherish Jake. At that point, Rachel was ready to start throwing casseroles, but she just pulled her jacket tighter around her.

Reverend Foote talked about lambs in heaven.

Rachel heard the door as it opened behind her. She didn't turn around.

Then Rachel smelled something familiar. She immediately twisted in her seat.

She would know Athena's perfume anywhere.

In came Athena, lightly dusted in snow, wearing her usual giant black shift dress, but a scarf in all the colors of the rainbow, tied around her neck.

The parishioners turned in their seats to stare, and the reverend stopped his sermon, as the long line of women marched behind Athena, up the aisle, and Rachel didn't recognize them until they were upon her.

Each squeezed her shoulder before taking a seat in the pews.

Here was Ginger Fitchett, in an exquisite vintage Chanel suit, black wool, the skirt hitting just at the knees, pillbox hat pinned to her dark hair, and a thin polka-dotted veil.

Shyanne was right behind her, wearing a long silk sheath, the décolletage and the hem framed by fans of delicate black lace. The sheath was split up the side, and one of her long, beautiful legs was revealed with every step. She was wearing opera-length evening gloves and a giant black hat. A small stuffed bird perched along the brim in a nest of feathers. She was wearing turquoise heels.

The Sinclairs came next, in matching dresses, long, ebony silk, flapper style, the hems heavily beaded, fringes hanging and clattering, the strands of beads making a racket as the Sinclairs eased into the pew. Their hair was up in complicated buns and twists. They had enormous amounts of hair, and it had been secured all over with black lacquered combs, sparkling with tiny rhinestones.

Della Dempsey marched behind them, in a cunning little cocktail dress, dark as night, the top formfitting, satiny and scalloped at the bustline. Her skirt was covered in peacock feathers, and she floated past them, and took her seat.

Martha Man Hands followed, and the girl named Misty turned away, in an attempt to hide herself. Martha wore a top that was jet-black and corseted tightly. Her arms and shoulders were bare, and her voluminous skirts were made of piles and piles of dyed dark taffeta. She wore a single ostrich feather in her short hair, clipped in place by several black barrettes.

The procession continued with Diane Savage Connor in a little black dress, the kind Audrey Hepburn made famous, white gloves, long strands of pearls, a black hat with a white satin bow pinned in her long black hair.

Next came Ronda, in a ball gown, black and enormous, skirts turning into a train behind her, wet from the snow. The train was two yards in length. A rhinestoned jacket covered her shoulders. The dress was surrounded by a cloud of black chiffon that began at her waist and followed down to the train. In her dark hair was a giant headband, bejeweled with tiny green amethysts. This was a giant dress for a giant woman, and she had trouble sliding into the aisle.

Tabby had been attempting to hold Ronda's train, and her breasts ­threatened to spill out of her dress. She wore a tiny black bustier, made entirely of rosettes, and a full skirt embroidered with a dazzling bird of paradise.

Red Mabel followed closely behind, and there was an audible gasp from the church as she stepped forward. Red Mabel wore a black tuxedo with tails, a black shirt and a white bow tie, a cummerbund the same material as Athena's scarf. She wore a shiny top hat, which she removed and tipped at Rachel and Bucky. Red Mabel stopped, waiting for the woman she was escorting.

Laverna revealed herself, making a late and grand entrance as always.

Rachel burst into tears again, but for all the right reasons.

Her mother had been saved for last.

Laverna's gown glittered and sparkled, and it threw off light all around the bare walls of the church. The bodice was tight, and Rachel was surprised at her mother's curves. It clung to her, cap-sleeved, every inch covered in silver rhinestones and black bugle beads. Her skirt was Western style, complete with a black crinoline that grazed the floor. It swelled out and around her, the skirts layers of black ruffles, each peaked with a dusting of rhinestones, every layer roped with black pearls. Her hair was a wig, a giant blond beehive that was Victorian in style, ropes of the same black pearls orbiting it, a giant black butterfly with jeweled wings perched at the very top. Following behind was Frank, unleashed, wearing a little black sweater, rhinestones glued to his collar.

At this point, Laverna could not fit in the pew with the rest of the Flood Girls, so she sat down next to Rachel, lowered herself with her hands, her legs stuck out in the aisle, the crinolines and hoops too large to fit. Frank jumped up on her lap, and made a nest in all of the bustles.

After Laverna had wedged herself in, Reverend Foote cleared his throat.

The parishioners ignored him, still turned around in their seats, mouths open. Rachel could see Bert's face, scarlet with rage.

The walls of the church were cast with flickering lights, the reflection from all the rhinestones.

Rachel knew that Athena and Buley had organized all this. The dresses had come from the thrift store, had been rented in Missoula, or stolen outright. Buley might have sewn some herself. Rachel nodded at her former sponsor. Athena clutched at her scarf made of rainbow colors and smiled sadly in return.

The reverend clapped his hands together, to regain the attention of his congregation, and resumed the service. Rachel didn't mind, because she was surrounded by her team, surrounded by the Flood Girls.

She held Bucky's hand, and she held her mother's hand, and things seemed the way Jake would have wanted, and she was content.

The reverend began speaking again, and then Frank let out a sharp bark and jumped down from Laverna's lap. They had never heard him bark before, and watched as he marched up the aisle. The front rows murmured as he made his way to the front of the church. He turned around when he reached the platform, and sat in front of the coffin, staring defiantly at the entire congregation.

Frank guarded the boy who was going to be buried. The reverend called for the owner, but Laverna ignored him.

This time, Frank wasn't going anywhere.

T
he Fireman's Ball, 1992, and the fire hall was stifling hot, as usual, but Rachel stood by the barrels of fire, reluctant to leave the side of Red Mabel, who was telling some story about a grizzly bear. Red Mabel did not like it when people abandoned her in the middle of a story.

Rachel was in the corner with Laverna, Red Mabel, and Martha. They were drinking beers, while Rachel sipped on her soda. Conversation turned to Rocky Bailey, who had been made an honorary volunteer fireman.

The jitterbuggers made asses of themselves in the back, tripping on hoses, but dancing on, carelessly, recklessly, happily. Rachel admired them for this.

Martha's daughter, Misty, was hiding in the corner, sucking face with one of the volunteer firemen. Martha was too drunk to notice her, and Rachel didn't feel like warning Misty about what her future held.

Across the hall, the Chief was in deep conversation with Bucky. Bucky held the coffee can with the ticket stubs. He had apparently been promoted.

During the last four months, Red Mabel had been preoccupied, plans spinning behind her eyes. She was a huntress, and Rachel hoped the assassination would be messy, but remain covert. Bert had it coming.

Jake was buried behind New Life Evangelical, and there wasn't anything the Flood Girls could do about it. He was the first to be buried there, which would have pleased him. Ginger and Rachel planted a dogwood bush behind the headstone, despite the reverend's protestations. To silence him, Ginger promised to return with one of Red Mabel's guns. In the winter, the bare branches of the dogwood were a bright red, the only bright thing in all that snow. Laverna and Rachel hung a rosary from the branches, and the parishioners kept removing it. There was no shortage of rosaries at the thrift store, and Buley was happy to provide replacements.

Rachel watched as Laverna nearly fell into a barrel, but Red Mabel reached out and caught her in time. Diane was deep in conversation with her latest beau, the hippie from Missoula. Rumor at the Dirty Shame was that the two were building an A-frame out in the wilderness. They danced together by the utility sink, so close they seemed to be melting into each other. A flash from the dark corner, Black Mabel and her new white teeth, selling something illicit to an impressionable young fireman. The Sinclairs were nowhere to be found. They did not, and never would, attend such things. Ginger Fitchett and Della argued about something that had to do with the decorations. Ginger kept pointing upward and shaking her head. She appointed herself the decorator of the entire town of Quinn, her version of continuing Jake's good works.

Ronda attempted to sell raffle tickets, but she just stood silently in front of people until they grew uncomfortable and emptied their pockets. Jim Number Three gave her a twenty-dollar bill. He was the only volunteer who took care of his uniform—his polo shirt was neatly ironed. Rachel respected that, and she also admired his tenaciousness. He approached Laverna, but stopped short, pretended to inspect a fire extinguisher latched to the wall. Rachel did not understand the necessity of a fire extinguisher amid all those hoses, but understood being nervous here. Once upon a time, she had stood by herself, trying to appear inconspicuous.

Rachel touched his arm as she passed him, and Jim Number Three smiled gratefully. Her mother lectured Red Mabel about machine guns.

“Everyone will know it was you,” Laverna said, and accepted a kiss on the cheek from her daughter.

“I can't help it,” said Red Mabel.

Rachel wrapped an arm around Laverna's neck, and agreed with Red Mabel. “You have flair,” said Rachel. “You should never be ashamed of it.”