Winsome Shankley walked into the Dirty Shame for his red beer at ten o’clock. She knew him from high school, the bad boy, the kid with money and the only new car in the parking lot. His parents moved to Quinn from California, determined to keep Winsome out of trouble. He owned the Booze and Bait, a bait shop and liquor store, and he kept dilettante hours, just afternoons, and sometimes, not at all. He was still cute enough, with the same floppy brown hair and the same sad eyes. He was handsome, because he didn’t look like a local. He had originated from a completely different gene pool. Not that Winsome didn’t do his best to share his DNA with the women in Quinn, and the surrounding county.
This was her morning routine. Today was Thursday, and at ten o’clock she poured Winsome’s beer, and waited. Winsome was already half-lit when he walked through the door. She could tell he was drunk because he was grinding his teeth, something he unconsciously did after his fourth or fifth drink. Every drunk had a tell like a bad poker player.
“Fuck,” Winsome said, and rubbed his eyes as he staggered before her. Gene Runkle kicked a stool toward him, and Mrs. Matthis bent over her crossword, her tongue poking out as she concentrated.
“Fuck is right,” said Gene Runkle.
“I saw your mom outside,” said Winsome to Rachel. “She’s peeking through the window right now.”
Rachel turned her head, and sure enough, saw the flash, the white of the casts. She expected Laverna to barge through the door, but nothing happened. Her mother was a terrible spy, had always left the espionage to Red Mabel.
“I bagged some broad from Ellis last night,” said Winsome. “When I woke up, she was gone. So was my stereo.”
“Lesson learned,” said Rachel. “Shop local.”
“She wasn’t even that cute,” said Winsome. “And I can’t file a police report. I don’t know her name, and I can’t remember what she looks like.”
“All those Ellis girls look the same,” Rachel said, and poured Winsome a beer and a tomato juice. The girls in Ellis had mean mouths and clumpy mascara, big Swedish noses and extensive scrunchie collections. Flannel shirts tied in knots right below their breasts, tight jeans so new and stiff they resembled deep vein thrombosis. The girls in Ellis all wanted to be blond, but none had discovered toner, and as a result, they were easily distinguishable by the orange in their ravaged hair, corralled by the scrunchies manufactured by the hundreds in their home economics class.
He slid a five-dollar bill across the bar.
As if she could smell the money from outside, Laverna decided to make her entrance.
“Winsome!” Her mother stood in the doorway, the snow swirling around her feet and onto the floor. Red Mabel held the door for her. The casts made Rachel think of the zombie dance from Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.” Laverna’s hands hung out in front of her, as if she were permanently waiting for her nails to dry.
“Fuck,” said Winsome, once more.
Laverna and Red Mabel took the stools on either side of Winsome. Her mother sniffed at the air. “Jesus, Rachel. It smells like a high school girl in here.”
“I put potpourri on every table,” said Rachel. “Ambience.” She was proud of the little dishes, filled with pine needles and cinnamon sticks and dried lavender.
“It looks like witchcraft,” declared Laverna. “Give me a cigarette.”
Red Mabel stuck a lit cigarette in her mother’s mouth, her beefy arm knocking against Winsome’s beer. It sloshed over the brim. Rachel grabbed his pint glass and wiped underneath it.
Laverna was squinting. Smoke drifted directly into her eyes.
“Where’s that war whoop?”
“Ronda doesn’t come in for another hour,” said Rachel. “You know that. Can I get you ladies some coffee?”
“We were just stopping by,” said Laverna. “I’m still on vacation.”
“Sure,” said Rachel.
“Your mama has never taken a vacation in all the years I’ve known her,” said Red Mabel. “She’s earned it.”
“Spying isn’t much of a vacation,” said Rachel. Winsome hunched and cowered over his beer, as if Red Mabel was going to smack him at any minute.
“Don’t worry,” said Laverna. “We’ve got other places to be.” She stood up stiffly—the cigarette still perched in place. She gave Rachel a long, hard look. “I’ll be stopping by, from time to time. Nice to see you, Winsome. Hands off my daughter.”
“Okay,” said Winsome.
Laverna and Red Mabel slunk out the door, and Rachel exhaled. She poured herself another cup of coffee, and listened to Winsome grinding his teeth.
When she got home, it was already dark.
Bucky’s truck was not in her driveway, neither was the special truck the Chief drove.
She was nervous when she stepped inside her house. The living room carpet had been pulled, and the floor was a patchwork of old and new lumber. Bucky had fixed the soft spots. Her thoughts drifted to what color of carpet she should choose, until she remembered the bathroom.
Tears came when she saw the bathtub, exactly where a bathtub should be. The fixtures gleamed, and a leftover Christmas bow was scotch-taped to the new faucet. A bottle of cheap bubble bath rested on the seat of the toilet. Krystal had somehow succeeded in hiding this expense from Bert.
Rachel said a prayer of gratitude and stripped off her clothes.