Laverna screamed at the answering machine. “It’s because you’re a goddamn vegetarian!”
Laverna listened for Rachel to hang up, but she didn’t. She could hear Rachel breathing. Laverna suspected that her daughter was pretending not to hang up in order to use up all of the tape on the answering machine. Instead, there came a beaten-down voice, one that Laverna had never heard before.
“Fuck it,” said Rachel. “I’ll see you at two o’clock.”
The tape in the machine whirred to a stop.
* * *
Two more painkillers later, Laverna finally floated. She could barely feel the road beneath her as she walked to the softball field. Driving was out of the question, and she was tired of asking Red Mabel for things. She didn’t care if the people of Quinn saw her zombie-walking through the streets. In fact, she kind of relished it, hoped that it might scare some children.
Bucky was the first person there. Laverna was not tolerant of players who showed up late, or showed not at all. She had seen other teams fall apart that way. She arrived at the field at a quarter to, and there was Bucky, unloading his bags. He carried them out into the field, bare of bases, and he kicked at the frozen dirt where home plate would be. He went back to the truck, and returned with two buckets of softballs.
“Laverna,” he said, and nodded.
“We’ve got two newbies. The worst in right field. I want you to hit it to her as much as possible.”
“Rachel,” he said. “I heard.”
“Right field. Hit it there.”
“You know I don’t have that kind of control,” he responded. “I suck at softball.”
“And you suck as an ump,” she said. “At least you’re consistent.”
Red Mabel emerged from the woods behind the bleachers. Laverna was thankful she wasn’t carrying the corpse of some animal. She did have her rifle slung across her shoulder, so it wasn’t out of the question to worry about such things.
“Go get me some beer,” said Laverna, collapsing on the wooden bench inside the dugout.
“Got some in my truck,” said Red Mabel. “It’s even cold.”
Laverna closed her eyes and rested against the fence. She could hear Bucky whistling inanely. Laverna thought it was Hank Williams, and then she thought it might be Paula Abdul.
“You even suck at whistling!” she screamed this at him, her eyes still closed.
Red Mabel returned, with beer and a plan. “I don’t have any straws in my truck,” she said. “I got my knife. You’re gonna shotgun these mother-fuckers.”
Laverna didn’t argue. “You are a really good nurse,” she said. She had grown up in Quinn, so she was used to shotgunning beers. The men of Quinn considered it foreplay. Red Mabel nested the beer into the space between the two boards of the bench, and she stabbed the can with her knife. Laverna sat down in the dirt and put her mouth over the hole. She nodded to let Red Mabel know she was ready. Red Mabel pulled the tab, and the beer shot into Laverna’s mouth. Laverna guzzled almost the entire can, foam all over her mouth and chin. She leaned back and belched, and Red Mabel slapped her back.
“Again,” said Laverna. Red Mabel was happy to oblige.
“Why don’t you just hold it up and let her sip at it?” Here was Bucky, trying to be helpful.
“Fuck off,” said Red Mabel. “We haven’t done this for years!”
“Nurse!” Laverna could tell she was slurring, but she didn’t care. She weaved a bit as she called out from the dirt floor of the dugout. “Give me another!”
Red Mabel delightedly stabbed the can, and Laverna filled her mouth again. She blinked, tried to bat away the sting of beer that shot into her eyes.
Red Mabel slugged a beer down in one gulp, the old-fashioned way. She wiped her mouth with the tail of her flannel shirt and helped Laverna up from the dirt.
Laverna attempted to compose herself as the Flood Girls began to arrive in their cars. Red Mabel dusted off Laverna’s jeans, wiped the beer from her chin, and kicked the empty cans underneath the bench. Satisfied, Red Mabel jogged out to third base.
Rachel showed up five minutes late, her truck rattling from the stereo. To make things worse, she brought somebody. Krystal’s son.
“What is he doing here?” Laverna gestured at Jake with her casts.
“I picked him up on the road. He told me he was our scorekeeper,” said Rachel. “Why is your shirt all wet?”
“He’s the scorekeeper for the entire league. He doesn’t belong to us. He belongs to all the teams in Quinn,” said Laverna. “And I think he knows that.” Jake shrugged, and Laverna belched lightly. He sat down next to her anyway, immaculate in his suit and tie, like a tiny Jehovah’s Witness. He carried a small satchel, from which he removed a sketchpad and a pencil case.
“Maybe he can teach you how to play right field,” said Laverna. She tried not to sound drunk as she addressed Jake. “This isn’t a game, kid. Don’t think you’re getting paid.”