“None of us will go,” said Laverna. “We’ll do whatever you want.”
“I hate him,” said Rachel, still sobbing, and Laverna didn’t know if she was talking about Reverend Foote or Bert, but figured that it didn’t really matter. All Laverna could think about was the mercy rule. She wished for an umpire to call the game.
There had been enough loss.
* * *
Laverna stopped by Rachel’s house every single night. She sat with Rachel while she worked her day shift, tried to give her some time off. Rachel refused. Laverna understood, had also lost herself in work when her heart had been broken, nine years earlier.
The funeral would be Saturday morning. There was no announcement in the newspaper, just a small article on yet another hunting accident. The report did not even mention the names of those involved, those absolved. At the Dirty Shame, Laverna learned that the funeral was private, and only for the congregation.
Laverna knew her daughter well enough, knew that Rachel could not stay away. The other Flood Girls would not have gone to the service. The other Flood Girls were ready to burn the church to the ground.
Benediction
Rachel slept fitfully, and between every nightmare, she smoked a cigarette on the front porch. The last hours of night bore a dampness, a threat of snow, the temperature the coldest in months. Summer and softball seemed like impossible things.
She lay there, and said her prayers, and forced herself to pray for Krystal, even though she didn’t want to.
Today was the funeral, and all Rachel could think about, all that preoccupied her mind, were the clothes he was going to be buried in.
She knew she had no say, knew that he would not have left directions. As organized as Jake was, he would not have thought it necessary to create a will.
Bucky was going, because the Chief demanded it, even though the funeral was private. Closed to the public, and closed casket, because the injuries were so devastating. There would not be a chance for Bucky to see what he was wearing and report back to her.
Jake had so many suits. A storage shed full of them. Krystal probably bought a cheap black suit from Pamida, brainwashed. Reverend Foote would approve. No ascots or funny hats or pocket squares.
Rachel settled into the fact that she would never have any way of knowing. Instead of plastic flowers, she would bring something with flair to where he was buried, every year, until she herself was gone.
She found herself thinking of the women in black, the women in Missoula, standing solemnly on the bridge.
She was lost in this distraction when she realized Bucky was calling her name from the hallway.
“Rachel?”
“What?”
“Are you decent?”
“Yes,” she said. He stood in the doorway of her bedroom, impossibly tall and slim in his dark suit. They had spent enough time together that she had grown accustomed to his teeth. He was handsome.
“I knocked and knocked. You really gotta start locking your front door.”
She rolled over, away from him, and pretended to look out the window.
“Leave me alone, Bucky.”
“It’s not right, Rachel. It’s not right for you to stay here. You have to come with me.”
“I’m not going,” said Rachel. “None of us are.”
“That’s why you have to go,” said Bucky. “Somebody from the Flood Girls ought to be there. He was one of you.”
“You’re going.”
“Chief’s orders,” said Bucky.
“Well, he’s not the chief of me.”
“I thought he kind of was.”
“Not about things like this,” said Rachel. “I don’t want to see Bert, okay?”
“I get that.”
Bert was a free man, absolved, clean. He continued to insist on the sudden appearance of a deer, that Jake stepped in the way. The coroner and the sheriff declared it a hunting accident. They were so common around Quinn, that it was probably not even investigated. Rachel wished that Nancy Drew was real, but this was a mystery that would never be solved. How Krystal could stay with Bert was perhaps the biggest mystery of all.
“I don’t want to see Krystal, either.”
“It’s not always all about you, Rachel.”
“Fuck you, Bucky. I hear that enough at AA meetings.”
“It’s not,” he said, and sat down on the bed. “You are gonna hate yourself later if you don’t go.”
“I don’t want to go to the church. I don’t want to see that stupid fucking reverend. I don’t want to see Krystal. I don’t want to see Bert. That’s it. I’m done arguing.”
Bucky got up from the bed, and started sliding hangers on the rod he himself had hung, looking for clothes.
“Do you want a dress?” He held up the first black thing he found, which was actually a sundress. “Just tell me, and I’ll find whatever you want.”
She sat up in anger, and was ready to yell at him, but did not. She wasn’t angry with him. Her chest got tight, and she pushed herself out of bed, and the tears started coming.
“Is it snowing?”
“A little,” said Bucky.