The Spokane Quilting Society wore real baseball pants, metal cleats instead of plastic nubs. They dove into the dirt and practiced sliding, allowed only in tournament play. Laverna whispered to Frank that she hoped nobody got hurt.
Laverna stood for the majority of the game. She only looked away once, at the bottom of the third inning. The Flood Girls were overwhelmed by the onslaught of heavy hitters, and the Spokane Quilting Society scored nine runs in the span of fifteen minutes. Laverna couldn’t bear it and turned her back as the bases filled once more. She hugged Frank tightly, and kissed him on the head. Laverna steeled herself by studying the long wooden bench, and her throat caught at the sight of the line of purses. Her girls: a designer handbag that only Ginger could afford, grommets and spikes on Rachel’s punk rock wallet, a Day-Glo fanny pack for Tabby, Della’s half-moon snaking with fake gold chains, cheap canvas totes for the Sinclair sisters, Diane’s prim pocketbook, a drawstring bag that once held Crown Royal for Martha, Ronda’s fringed leather coin purse, and a red-and-white beer cooler for Red Mabel, who would never carry something womanly. Even though they had been abandoned by their owners, the purses remained, left in the exact same order as the Flood Girls batted. This game was bittersweet.
Rachel was responsible for their only two runs, hitting the bruiser on first base in the face with a line drive. She ignored the bleeding nose and darted to second base, ran her fingers through her long blond hair when the old men screamed out her name. Her violence inspired Red Mabel to swing the bat like an ax, and her home run brought them both in. By the fifth inning, the umpire called the game. Twenty-four to two. The mercy rule.
The Flood Girls gathered around Laverna in the dugout, not dejected, not disappointed. In the bleachers, the fans from Quinn rose, stood, and clapped for the Flood Girls, despite the loss. Laverna saw the Chief embrace Bucky, and that was when she knew this season was truly something to be proud of.
Red Mabel passed around cans of beer, and the Flood Girls shook them in the air, their version of pom-poms. Diane counted to three, and when the tabs were pulled, a geyser of cheap beer showered their coach. Frank dove for safety under the bench. Drenched, Laverna was too emotional to protest, as the beer dripped down her face and her arms, pooled in the dirt at her feet.
More cans were opened, as the Flood Girls toasted Laverna, and toasted one another. The baby-blue T-shirts darkened, soaked in alcohol, and dripped as the girls pulled one another into embraces. For once, Ronda hugged back.
Klemp barged into the dugout, baseball cap pushed down to her eyes, her face as surly as always. She marched straight to Laverna and stuck out her hand.
“This is a nice surprise,” said Laverna. She shook Klemp’s hand, and the girl’s grip was just as assured as her batting.
“Been here the whole time. Thought you were going to win the whole thing,” said Klemp. She did not let go of Laverna’s wet hand. “Shit happens.”
“Yes,” said Laverna. She leaned down to Klemp’s height, her knees popping at the effort. “In ten years, you’re going to be a Flood Girl, and we will be unstoppable.”
“Whatever,” said Klemp. “In ten years, you’ll be dead.”
“Jesus,” Laverna said, and stood back up. She let go of Klemp’s hand and pushed her out of the dugout. “I’m not that old.”
Laverna knew they would return to these fields. The roster might not be the same in ten years, but they would battle their way through many seasons to come.
Quinn would always make new Flood Girls. Laverna had no doubts about her hometown, knew that it created devils and angels, queens and boy princesses, gritty souls that could survive anything.
* * *
In the parking lot, Laverna was silent as they loaded into the Suburban. Tabby hoisted herself up into the driver’s seat, Laverna riding shotgun as always. Red Mabel and her enormous duffel bag took up the entire second row, Bucky and Rachel in the back. Hundreds of softball fans weaved through the lines of vehicles, sweating as they made their way to the fields for the final rounds of play. All these people arriving, just as the Flood Girls limped their way back to Quinn.
“Seat belts,” called out Tabby cheerfully. She turned in the seat to make sure Red Mabel had heeded her orders.
“Shit,” said Laverna. “We’re going to have to go to that damn mall. I forgot to get something for Jake.”
“We got first place,” said Red Mabel, as she unzipped her duffel bag, removed dirty laundry and warm cans of beer. She smirked as she pulled the bag open wider. Inside, Laverna saw glimmers of gold. The first-place trophy was revealed. Red Mabel lifted it in the air, one corner of her smirk tugging into a crooked smile. Jake would adore the fake marble columns and the cross of sparkling softball bats, just as much as Laverna adored Red Mabel and her nefarious ways.
“Drive!” Laverna commanded, and threw a pair of filthy sweatpants over the trophy, just in case anybody was watching.
Erica Kane