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