of criticism and pain medication. She nodded off in the corner, in between heckling, dressed in an ancient, shapeless green sweater and slacks the color of split pea soup. Red Mabel plucked the cigarettes from Laverna’s mouth when her eyes closed and her head slumped forward. Rachel knew that Red Mabel helped her mother dress in the morning. The thought made her uncomfortable.
The bar was lined with eight Crock-Pots, all different makes and models, that Ronda filled with corned beef and cabbage the day before. Extension cords piled in loops behind the bar, and Rachel was extra diligent not to get tangled up and spill any drinks. She refused to serve any of the food. It smelled like an outhouse. Instead, there was a tall stack of Styrofoam plates and napkins, and a new box of plastic forks and knives. The patrons would have to serve themselves for once.
Martha Man Hands and Black Mabel played Yahtzee beside the jukebox, as far away from Laverna and Red Mabel as possible.
The Chief came in and sat right near the taps, and read the newspaper.
“I didn’t know Quinn had so many Irish,” said Rachel as she poured him a cup of coffee.
“I know the census data,” said the Chief. “Mostly Swedes and Polacks here.”
She settled the coffee in front of him, and witnessed her mother kicking Red Mabel under the table. Red Mabel’s mouth was full of cabbage, but she shouted Rachel’s name anyway.
Rachel dried her hands on the bar rag, and walked over to them.
“I went by your house this morning,” said Laverna. “I wanted to see what you’ve been up to.”
“Did you go inside?”
“Of course not,” said Laverna. “I’m not rude like that.”
“Yes, you are,” said Rachel.
“I wanted to get you a housewarming present,” said Laverna. “And a thank-you for doing your part to help out.”
Rachel stared at her mother, assuming this was a trap of some kind.
“She’s really high,” explained Red Mabel.
“Your yard is a swamp,” said Laverna.
“Apparently,” said Rachel. The clatter of the dice in the plastic cup from the Yahtzee game was unnerving.
“The guys at the county owe me a favor,” said Laverna. “I don’t want to get into the hows or whys.”
“You should have sued those motherfuckers,” declared Red Mabel.
“Anyway,” said Laverna. “I got you a truckful of topsoil. They’re gonna drop it off in your driveway.”
“Excellent,” said Rachel. She was unsure how to feel—this offer was like a kitten you pick up out of cuteness, until it hooks claws into your forearm.
“The dump truck won’t fit through your gate,” said Laverna. “So you’d better get some help.”
“And a wheelbarrow,” said Red Mabel.
“Thank you,” said Rachel. “How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing,” said Laverna. “Like I said, it was the least they could do.” Rachel was leery of gifts from her mother, despite how hard she had been working. Laverna and Red Mabel held grudges for years, gifts for themselves, she supposed.
“Bring me a beer,” said Red Mabel. “I brought my own food coloring.”
And she had. She produced a tiny plastic bottle with a pointed green tip.
Just then, Black Mabel yelled “Yahtzee!” Red Mabel’s hands clenched into fists.
“You’re not the bouncer,” said Laverna. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that.”
Rachel touched Black Mabel lightly on the shoulder as she placed fresh pints in front of them. Their table was littered with dollar bills. She did not understand why Martha and Black Mabel would gamble at Yahtzee, but people in this town would bet on just about anything.
Rachel walked back to the bar, wiped down the counter, and stopped in front of the Chief.
“You’re not wearing green,” she said.
“Anybody pinches me, I’ll punch them in the fucking face.”
Athena had told her that she would know the person when she saw them, and the Chief’s surly words made it seem fated.
“I’ve been thinking,” she began.
The Chief looked up from his coffee cup. “About what?”
Rachel lowered her voice. “I need a sponsor.”
“Okay,” he said. “But men aren’t allowed to sponsor ladies.”
“I don’t want to sleep with you,” said Rachel. “And I know you don’t want to sleep with me. Are you willing?” She twisted the rag in her hands.
“I don’t think I really have a choice,” said the Chief. “Aren’t any ladies in recovery in this town”—he looked around the bar, at the two Mabels, at Martha—“yet.”
“I’ve already been through the steps,” said Rachel. “I worked really hard. I just keep coming back to the eighth.”
“Well,” said the Chief. “I’m not allowed to tell you