Rachel raised her hand. “Have we made it to the tournament before?”
“Shut up,” said Laverna as Tish returned with another round of drinks, including a fresh can of Diet Coke. “We’ve got a good team,” said Laverna. “Minus a few question marks.” Red Mabel pointed at Della, who blushed, and Rachel, who ignored her. Rachel watched as the headlock in the back degenerated into some sort of crabwalk leg wrestling. The cribbage boards had been abandoned. “I’m certain that you veterans will help whip these girls into shape.”
“You got it, Coach,” said Diane Savage Connor, always the team cheerleader.
Laverna scowled. “First practice is in a week. Get your gloves out of the closet, girls. This year, let’s try not to embarrass ourselves.” Laverna’s version of a pep talk elicited cheers from the usual suspects. Her entire outfield remained quiet.
The other teams in the league had uniforms. The other teams in the league had burly batters and outfielders who darted for balls like they were lottery tickets falling from the sky. The other teams practiced four times per week. The Flood Girls had Laverna, and this year, she had already been shot and hijacked by the return of her daughter. Nothing worse could happen.
Her positive thinking was interrupted by the silver miners, as usual. Elvis and her crew yanked another miner by the feet, pulled her past the Flood Girls. Laverna checked to make sure the woman was conscious. The miner sliding across the floor had a baby face, and a shaved head that struck the legs of several empty chairs. Drinks sloshed out of cups. Laverna called for napkins as the baby-faced miner was pulled out through the entrance. The open door blasted away the gloomy haze inside the Dirty Shame, and the team squinted and shielded their eyes as the sun reflected off the snowy banks piled on the street. The Flood Girls watched her feet slide through the dirty slush on the sidewalk, followed by the last of the miners, making her way outside. The door shut by itself, extinguished the light of another winter day in Quinn.
* * *
Laverna could not acclimate to the casts. She knocked things over with her permanently outstretched arms, coffee mugs, ashtrays, wall clocks. Red Mabel always cleaned up the mess.
The worst part was the sleeping. She was still in considerable pain, even though the doctor promised that it would get better, day by day. Like most men, he was a liar. Laverna was now sleeping on her side, one pillow under the cast on her left arm, and three extra painkillers just to make that tolerable. She found herself waking every other hour, stuck there, partially mummified, and she would peer at the bare left wall until she could sleep again. She decided to get a piece of art, a seascape or something, so at least she’d have something to stare at.
The second worst part was the itching inside of her casts. She begged Red Mabel to burrow around, stick objects inside, combs, a fireplace poker, a toothbrush, anything.
Tabby or Ginger came at lunchtime to feed her. Red Mabel was always busy at lunchtime. Laverna doubted it was anything nefarious, just that Red Mabel was exhausted from caretaking. Laverna endured the chatty Tabby saying complimentary things about Rachel, while spooning tomato soup into Laverna’s mouth, and stabbing cut-up pieces of grilled cheese sandwich with a fork. Ginger was slightly better. She always brought real food from a restaurant, and while she fed Laverna she talked about business and filled her in on the gossip she pocketed at the Sinclair.
Laverna had a plan. She needed Black Mabel, and Ginger agreed to find her. Ginger had survived cancer and tried all of the experimental therapies. There were rumors in Quinn that Ginger continued to grow marijuana in her greenhouse.
That evening, Laverna heard the distinctive rumble of Black Mabel’s Subaru Brat. She did her very best to come to a sitting position on the couch, and this act took so long that Black Mabel was already in the door by the time Laverna accomplished it.
“Jesus Christ,” said Black Mabel. “It’s roasting in here.”
“I need drugs,” said Laverna.
“Okay,” Black Mabel said, and unzipped her long leather jacket. Many pockets were hand-sewn into the lining, and Laverna knew they contained Black Mabel’s stashes. Laverna was nearly salivating.
“I need something to help me sleep, and I need something to get rid of this itching.”
Black Mabel considered this. “I don’t have anything to help with the itching. All my pills make people itch even more.”
“I don’t care,” said Laverna. “Just give me something that will knock me out. And light me a cigarette.”