“I wanted to know what I was getting myself into.”
“I’ve lived here all my life,” said Laverna. “That’s what you really need to know.”
“Yes,” he admitted. “I guess it is.”
“I need to use your bathroom,” she said. He helped her from the couch and escorted her to the rear of the trailer house, while opening the second button of his regulation polo shirt. He was a consummate gentleman. He flicked on the bathroom light and left the door slightly open. She did have to pee, but her arms prevented her from wiping. She could not ask for his assistance, but she didn’t really care.
When she was done, she shook herself dry and used the edge of the countertop to push her sweatpants back into place. She stared into the bathroom mirror and checked her teeth, even though she hadn’t eaten anything but peanuts and pills for the last six hours. She used her casts to push the door open wide enough for an exit. It was hard to flirt without hands, and she had long ago stopped wearing her hair long enough to toss. She growled at him when she returned to the living room.
He grinned at this, patted the empty cushion beside him.
“Your daughter is awfully nice,” he said. “It’s hard to raise kids with manners, I suppose.”
“My daughter is an animal,” said Laverna. “I’d prefer not to discuss her.”
“Okay,” said Jim Number Three. He leaned over and kissed her on the lips. “You might be the prettiest woman in this whole town. I think I’ve met most of them.”
“Have you ever been electrocuted?”
“Not really,” he said. “A couple of shocks, but that’s to be expected.”
“Sure,” she said. “I’ve never really known an electrician before. I’ve always relied on Red Mabel when it comes to fuse boxes and shit like that.”
“I went to school for it,” he said. “I had a calling, I guess.”
“My mother had a calling,” she said. “She made the mistake of listening.”
“I have a license and certification and everything.” He kissed her again, and she felt her body swell with the pills, rise up to meet him. It had been a long time since this had happened to her.
“You could spend the night,” he said.
“I sleep late,” she said. “And I’m terrible when I wake up. Mouthy.”
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll be gone when you get up.”
An ax leaned in one corner of his bedroom. It was the regulation ax, the wooden handle inscribed with QVFD. She asked why he kept it at home, if it was a prop to impress the ladies. He nodded his head and undressed. He removed her panties, hung them from her cast.
He was careful as he lowered himself on top of her. To maneuver around her injuries, he placed his hands underneath the plaster that cut into her armpits, raised himself back up slowly. She was thankful he was in excellent shape. Jim Number Three did push-ups for the next twenty minutes.
His penis was a neat curve of flesh, slightly crooked. Her doctor would be pleased; they were being so cautious. He kissed her breasts in between every push-up. She felt top-heavy with pills, and wanted to ask him his last name. Instead, she watched his muscles bulge, and she found herself counting. At one hundred and fifty, she became his cheerleader. Excitedly, she counted out loud, delighted by his physical prowess. He was drunk but accurate, every push up truly impressive.
It felt strange to be so rigid, to have sex like this, her arms cemented in a permanent ninety-degree angle. Jim Number Three continued to do all the work. Each time he entered her, she smelled the top of his head, and she imagined she could smell the smoke in his hair, imagined that he would climb a ladder to save her.
Spin
The first Saturday of April, at 3:00 p.m., the Flood Girls were scheduled to play their first game of the season, versus the Eunice Volunteer Dispatch.
When Rachel woke up that morning, it was still snowing. She peered out her window at the billowing curtains, thick as the kinds that hung in theaters, ruffling, changing direction. She knew it was ferociously cold.
The phone call came from Ginger Fitchett at eleven o’clock.
“Game is called,” said Ginger. “As you can tell, there is a blizzard outside, and as much as we hate those ladies