“NO!” Laverna shoved Rachel against the wall, and Athena was there, stepping between them. Red Mabel attempted to shove a pool stick into Laverna’s hand, and encouraged her to beat her daughter with it. Athena knocked it out of Red Mabel’s hand, and it clattered to the floor. The noise was not enough to free Laverna from her tequila tunnel. She shoved Rachel again, and her hands wrapped around her neck.
“YOU RUIN EVERYTHING!” Laverna realized that Rachel was not fighting back. Her daughter closed her eyes, as her face grew red. Rachel had resigned to die at her mother’s hands, and that made Laverna even angrier.
The bartender pulled Laverna away, and she kicked him in the knee. Red Mabel provided interference with her massive body, and Athena backed her up, and the bartender was shoved away from the corner. He threatened to call the police.
“Please don’t,” said Athena. “This has needed to happen for a long time.”
“I don’t give a shit,” said the bartender. “You bitches are out of here.”
“This is nothing,” said Red Mabel. “Come drink at the Dirty Shame sometime, kid.” She reached into her heavy wool logging pants, and forced a fifty-dollar bill into his hand. He accepted the money begrudgingly, and was descended upon by the horny Flood Girls on the dance floor.
“WHY? WHY DID YOU TAKE BILLY? WHY DID YOU RUIN MY LIFE?” Laverna’s hands returned to her daughter’s throat. Rachel’s eyes remained closed, tears streaming down her mottled cheeks. Bucky crab-walked backward, barely missing the shards of broken shot glasses.
“You are choking her,” pointed out Athena. “She can’t answer your questions right now.” Athena did nothing to pull Laverna away; instead, she put a hand on Laverna’s shoulder.
Laverna dropped her hands. She breathed heavily, gasped as if she had been choked herself.
Rachel opened her eyes and remained against the wall. Laverna could not believe that Rachel was making direct eye contact, no challenge there, no fury. Laverna wanted Rachel to fight back.
“ANSWER MY QUESTIONS!” Laverna stomped on the floor, nearly lost her footing in the pool that spread from the overturned table.
“I don’t know,” said Rachel. “I don’t know why I did the things I did.” She continued to make eye contact with her mother. Laverna’s hands closed into fists. “I’ve been trying to make things right.”
“She was a teenage girl,” said Athena. “She did what teenage girls do.”
“Fuck that,” Red Mabel said, and spit on the ground. “She was the devil! THE DEVIL!”
Laverna reached back, and punched her daughter in the eye. The bartender was upon them again, but Laverna did not need to be restrained. Rachel’s head hit the wall, but she didn’t flinch. She stood there, and Laverna felt the arms of the bartender wrap around her, take her down to the wet floor.
Rachel’s face was bright red, her eye already swelling and seeping. She said nothing as she stepped past her mother. She paused only to squeeze Athena’s hand, as she walked across the dance floor and out the front door.
Laverna sputtered as she was yanked to her feet. The bartender pointed to the exit.
The Flood Girls gathered their purses. None seemed shocked at the violence; Laverna’s team had been waiting for this.
Only Athena spoke. “She’s your only child,” she said, as the Flood Girls began their exit, accompanied by the groans of frat boys. “She’s your daughter.”
“She’s our designated driver,” Laverna said, and pushed past Athena. The tequila roared through her, and all Laverna Flood could think about was how they were going to get back to the hotel.
* * *
Of course, they woke with hangovers. The Sinclairs were used to this behavior from their teammates, but not before such an important game. Laverna sent them to the lobby to find aspirin, ordered the sisters to begin praying in earnest.
Laverna had never seen such a sorry lot. She felt fear in her throat as they caravanned, and the other Flood Girls were visibly nervous as they parked in the complex of the softball fields. These greens were actually green, not polka-dotted with knapweed and spotted with gopher holes. Today, there would be no invasion of white-tailed deer, tumbleweeds of pollen, gales of blizzard, or riots over Rachel. Three separate fields, flanked by grandstands, and an enormous tiered structure of restrooms, concessions, and a perch for the announcers. She saw the microphones and the PA system, and said nothing. The fields, divided by tall white clapboard, glittered as the automatic sprinklers ratcheted and stopped, sinking back into the earth. The Flood Girls trudged and dragged duffel bags, sought similar refuge in the cool of their cement dugout. The infield collapsed on the freshly painted bench. Martha vomited, and the noise of the splatter sent Della into dry heaves, revealing yet another weakness. Laverna’s outfield was in better shape, but white-faced with nerves.