pointed at her sandwich.
* * *
Above him, Jake could hear Black Mabel continue to shovel. He kept sewing, occasionally stopping to watch out the window as giant drifts came cascading down, until they piled so high that the window was blocked from snow from the roof. He had no fear that Black Mabel would slip and fall. Black Mabel was a capable woman, and if she fell, she would only land safely in the enormous banks of snow.
Mr. Sunshine
Laverna’s casts were removed in the third week of April. She was able to smoke her own cigarettes whenever she wanted to, and enjoy baths by herself. She loved Red Mabel, but she enjoyed having the house to herself. She no longer had to bite her tongue as Red Mabel bathed her; the humiliation of being naked and cradled near her best friend’s armpits was exacerbated by the smell—Red Mabel needed a bath of her own.
There was one visitor who she tolerated; Jim Number Three continued to stop by in the afternoons and read to her. They were three-quarters of the way through Roots, and Red Mabel had taken to calling him Kunta Kinte behind his back.
Laverna bought the property on the river in 1983. She couldn’t live in the house that she once shared with Rachel. Everywhere she went, she saw another reminder of her asshole daughter.
At the time, there were no neighbors. It was a half acre surrounded by aspen trees on one side, and a weeping willow on the other. Behind the house was the river—usually muddy brown, but on good days, green like an old bottle.
She took out a loan to buy a brand-new trailer house, and to place it on a permanent foundation. In Quinn, that made it a real house. Nobody could drive it away ever again.
She made the last payment four months ago, and despite the fact that it was January, she and Red Mabel had celebrated by drinking bottles of champagne and running around the yard topless.
The house was set far enough back that she had no fear of floods. The riverbank was mighty but sloped gradually. The first year she lived there, she spent a hundred dollars on crocus and paperwhite bulbs, threw them off the back deck scattershot, and now the crocuses came up in March, and then the paperwhites in May. Between those flowers and the buttercups and forget-me-nots that grew there naturally, she considered herself a master gardener.
Red Mabel mowed Laverna’s lawn, and fixed everything that needed fixing, and cleaned the gutters. She even hung the lights at Christmas.
Laverna was taken care of, and knew she would never marry again. Jim Number Three was a plaything, a diversion. Laverna wanted to live her life like a desperado, unencumbered and free to shoot back whenever necessary.
This was why it pained her to call the Chief.
His wife answered. Laverna knew her peripherally, from the grocery store or the post office or city council meetings. The Chief’s wife occasionally attended the Fireman’s Ball, but she always left early.
She seemed scared, however, when Laverna identified herself.
“He’s not here,” she said. “Do you want me to give him a message? Is there something wrong with your chimney?”
“I would call 911 if I had a chimney fire,” said Laverna. “Just tell him to come see me when he has a chance.”
“At the bar?”
“At my house,” said Laverna. She scratched at her strange pale arms. They had grown a scraggly fur during her convalescence.
“Oh,” said his wife.
“It’s not what you think,” explained Laverna. “This is about my daughter.”
“I love Rachel to death,” said his wife.
“Are you kidding me?” Laverna was suddenly angry; she hated not knowing things.
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind,” said Laverna. “Just send him this way.”
He arrived a few hours later, in his special red pickup truck, emblazoned with QVFD on the door. He carried jars of something.
She met him at the door.
“Apple butter,” he said, and handed her the jars. “From the missus.”
“Is it like applesauce?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Is it like jelly?”
“No.”
“Then what the hell is it?”
“You wanted to talk to me?”
“Sorry,” said Laverna. “Come in.”
She ushered him out to the back deck. The river was running high, and giant pieces of bark and fallen trees rushed past, and closer to the bank, swirls of dead leaves spun in fast eddies. Today, the river was muddy, the color of the apple butter.
Instinctively, Laverna grabbed two beers from the refrigerator but then put them back and brought out Bubble Up instead. He would have to drink from the can.
She