Black Mabel stuck a lit cigarette in Laverna’s mouth and began to unzip pockets. She pulled out Baggies and Baggies of pills, and laid them out across the coffee table. She began to move the Baggies around, in some strange order, like it was a shell game. Finally, she held up a Baggie that contained seven small green pills.
“This oughta do the trick,” said Black Mabel. “Truckers love them when they’re trying to come down off of speed.”
“Fabulous,” said Laverna. “There’s a twenty on the kitchen table.”
Black Mabel came back with the money. She ashed Laverna’s cigarette. “I hope they help. You look like shit.”
“I need another favor,” said Laverna. “You’ve got to put one in my mouth, and get me some water.”
“It’s only seven o’clock,” said Black Mabel. “Are you sure you want to go to sleep right now?”
“Goddammit,” said Laverna. “What the hell kind of drug dealer are you? Give me two.”
Black Mabel did not protest. Laverna swallowed the pills she placed on her outstretched tongue.
“Do you want me to come back later and check on you?”
“No,” said Laverna. “I want you to leave.”
An hour later, she lay in bed, incapacitated, too drugged and dreamy for sleep.
When Red Mabel showed up, she cursed Black Mabel for drugging her friend. Laverna could barely talk, just muttered about the pills.
“Do you itch anymore?”
“No,” said Laverna. “I can’t feel anything.”
“That’s good,” said Red Mabel.
“I can’t stop the thinking.”
“That’s not good,” said Red Mabel. “What is it?”
“Rachel,” said Laverna.
“Of course,” Red Mabel said, and sat down on the bed, held La-verna’s hand.
Laverna had no more words. She lay there and thought of the year her life burned down.
Snow White
Jake was on the roof again. Rachel drank coffee and spied on him through her kitchen window. He wore a pair of thickly padded snowmobile overalls, black and neon green. She knew he did not snowmobile. He wore a black fake fur coat that was much too big for him, and a black wool cap with fake fur on the brim. Even the beads in his hands were black. He stopped briefly at each bead as he pulled the chain through his fingers. His pauses were too short to be prayers, and he didn’t seem the religious type. He stopped when the light caught the small silver cross at the end, and dangled from his hand. She was transfixed, and could watch this for hours. She did not need cable television. Rachel knew for certain that he had left the rosary on her doorknob.
Fourteen years ago, she had spied on the house she now owned, watching and waiting for her father, who never seemed to be at home. Rachel had come full circle, but her path had been circuitous and reckless, unlike Krystal’s: she had never moved from the same trailer. Krystal lived in the trailer with her brother, Rocky, and just like everyone else, he was in love with Rachel. Unlike everyone else, he was bashful about it. They were orphans, or maybe their parents had abandoned them in Quinn like kittens in a cardboard box. The trailer was unsupervised by real adults—Krystal and Rocky were simple, like children, living on macaroni and cheese mixed with tuna fish, and Rachel slept on their couch and learned to love their casserole. Laverna was just grateful to have Rachel out of the house.
Jake opened his Walkman and flipped over the cassette. Perhaps the love of music was genetic. Rachel and Krystal had taken a road trip to Seattle in September of 1977 to see Fleetwood Mac, and they were both in love with Lindsey Buckingham. Rachel was twelve going on eighteen, and Krystal was eighteen going on twelve. Krystal proved this by getting high on cocaine and having sex with a stranger in their hotel room. To be fair, he was a glamorous stranger, an actual roadie for the band, although he was only responsible for wiping down Mick Fleetwood’s cymbals.
Krystal found out she was pregnant, and that’s when the fun stopped. Rocky took care of Krystal and the baby. Rachel returned intermittently, to give Rocky cash for beer, and she pretended to be interested in the baby while Rocky went to the gas station. Krystal was just another young mother in Quinn, unwashed hair, fat and poor in clothes from the thrift store. Rachel watched out the window to avoid looking at Krystal, focused on any sign of life in her father’s trailer. It was a relief when Rocky would finally return with a twelve-pack.
The trailer remained the same, and the boy took to the roof to es-cape it.
She continued to spy, drinking cup after cup of coffee, until the boy had to flip the cassette again. Rachel looked at her watch and cursed. The coffee was an attempt to propel herself to an AA meeting, the first one she would attend in Quinn. She had chosen an outfit and fixed her hair and makeup hours ago, then forgot about her nerves while she spied on the boy. All she had to do was grab her coat and purse, and drive.