“I will ask the doctor,” said Krystal.
“Would you rather I go see Dr. Black Mabel?” Laverna exhaled out of her nose, and Krystal removed the cigarette, and ashed it for her, wedged it back in the corner of her mouth.
“Of course not,” said Krystal.
“I knew I could count on you,” said Laverna.
“Actually,” said Krystal, “that’s why I’m here.” Krystal sat down in a dining room chair, directly across from Laverna. The table was littered with straws, magazines, pill bottles, empty bottles of whiskey, and three different ashtrays. The pies seemed out of place.
“Please tell me that you have morphine in your pockets.”
“No,” said Krystal. “I have to quit the Flood Girls.”
At this kind of news, Laverna’s blood pressure would normally rise, her face would get hot, and her fists would ball up. The painkillers, the antianxiety pills, and the whiskey prevented this from happening. Still, she attempted to make her face appear as angry as possible.
“You better have a brain tumor or something.”
“I took a new shift at the hospital,” said Krystal. “It pays more, and you know we have a new mouth to feed.”
Laverna knew this. She was sick and tired of hearing about the baby. Two summers ago, she had to listen to Krystal talk about it in the dugout, had to deal with the morning sickness. Krystal had always vomited discreetly, usually in a plastic grocery bag that she would neatly deposit in the metal garbage can behind the dugout. Regardless, Laverna had forced Krystal to play through her fifth month. Right field never saw any action anyway.
“I see,” said Laverna. “You will be missed.” This wasn’t really true—Krystal was a terrible softball player. Occasionally, she would get a good hit, usually a single, but by her fifth month, her stomach was sticking out, and she struck out every single time, didn’t even swing.
“I found a replacement,” said Krystal. “And I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
“You are full of good news today,” said Laverna. “Ash my cigarette.” Krystal obliged, and Laverna regarded the terror on her face.
“Rachel.”
“You mean my daughter?”
“Yes,” said Krystal. “Believe me, I asked every single female I know. I almost opened the phone book and started dialing numbers at random.”
“You should have,” said Laverna. “She’s already working at the Shame. I don’t want her wrecking my fucking softball team.”
“She didn’t want to play,” said Krystal. “If that’s any consolation.”
“It’s not,” said Laverna. “What are you going to do with that baby?”
“Bert will be home at night,” said Krystal, and at that, Laverna couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Bert was useless, had never held a job. He was not suitable for child care. He had proven to be terrible in emergency situations, not that Laverna thought the baby would be held up in an attempted robbery.
“Of course he will,” said Laverna. “He’s a fucking deadbeat. Put my cigarette out.”
“I’m sorry,” said Krystal.
“You should be,” said Laverna. “Rachel is uncoordinated and mouthy.”
“Perfect for right field,” said Krystal.
“I’d like you to leave now,” said Laverna.
“Okay,” said Krystal. Laverna noticed that Krystal had tears in her eyes, overreacting as usual, as she pushed herself up from the dining room table. Laverna didn’t give a shit. It served her right.
* * *
Her second visitor arrived a half an hour later, and instead of pie, he brought flowers. They were the first flowers she had received, after an entire week of convalescence. She didn’t count the poinsettia from the Chamber of Commerce because Red Mabel had already thrown it into the river.
Jim Number Three presented her with a massive arrangement of lilies and tulips. He must have gone to Ellis for these, as there were no florists in Quinn. Laverna decided that he could stay for more than ten minutes. Plus, his presence might make Red Mabel jealous, and illustrate what could happen when her primary caretaker abandoned her.
“I’m so sorry,” said Jim Number Three. “If I had been there, that kid would’ve been taken down immediately.” He placed the flowers in front of Laverna, and she leaned forward, to smell them.
“Light me a cigarette,” said Laverna.
“I broke both my legs once,” said Jim Number Three. “Fell off a ladder and landed on a wheelbarrow.”
“Jesus,” said Laverna. He gave her a lit cigarette out of his own pack.
“I was in bed for weeks,” he said. “The only thing that saved me from going insane was having my mother read to me.”
“How old were you?”
He had to think about it. “Forty-three,” he said.
“I was kind of hoping I could do the same for you,” he said. “It would be a pleasure to read a book to the prettiest woman in town.”