The last week of March were days when the cloud cover lifted, and the sun was so pale and ineffectual that it did nothing to warm the gusty winds that blew sideways and rang Laverna’s large collection of wind chimes. She leaned down to sip at a cup of coffee, and watched from the kitchen window as the chimes clattered against one another, producing a cacophony of sound. She could tell it was a cold wind. The river was dotted with white caps.
When the knock at the door came, Laverna didn’t hear it at first, over the clanging symphony on her back deck.
“Fuck,” she said, when the knocking resumed again.
“Come in,” she said, and she watched the doorknob turn and the Sinclairs enter, followed by Reverend Foote. “Take off your shoes,” she said.
“You,” Laverna said to the taller Sinclair. “Fill up my coffee cup.” The taller Sinclair did what she was told, and Laverna pointed at the couch with her bright white casts, as she settled in the recliner, the TV tray stacked with phone books, a heightened perch for her coffee cup and straw.
“What do you want?” Laverna glared at the couch, at the row of redheads.
Reverend Foote spoke, quite loudly, landing on his consonants like they fell from a great height. This was a sermon, but Laverna knew a sales pitch, even one wrapped in Jesus.
“Sister Joy and Sister Jeanette speak very highly of you and asked this morning if our church could be of service. They are two of my favorite parishioners, so of course I came over to see if there is anything you might need.”
“Who the hell are Joy and Jeanette?” Laverna watched Reverend Foote blanch. “You’ve got nuns up there?”
“I’m Joy,” said the taller, white-knuckling the droopy sleeve of her sweater.
“Jeanette,” said the shorter, refusing to meet Laverna’s eyes.
“Of course,” said Laverna. “I’m really fucked-up on pills.” She made a show of laughing, knowing these names would slip her mind the minute they left.
“The sisters tell me that they play on your softball team,” said Reverend Foote. “If we had enough able-bodied women, perhaps we would field a team of our own!” He pressed his hands together, eyes lit up. “I played second base in high school, and I delighted in the camaraderie.”
“If you field a team, we’ll cream you,” said Laverna. “These two here are pretty much useless, but they don’t talk much, and I like that.”
“They are quiet,” admitted Reverend Foote. “I’ll give you that. But they are fiercely devoted and are valuable, hardworking members of our church.”
“And they have practice in two hours,” she said. “A scrimmage,” added Laverna, proudly. She called in her usual favors, and the Flood Girls were playing against an assortment of Little Leaguers, and maybe a few girls from T-ball.
“Wonderful,” pronounced Reverend Foote. “I know you are a well-respected member of this community, Miss Flood. May I call you Laverna?”
“No,” she said. “You’ve got to spend some money at my bar first.”
“Our congregation is too frightened to bring you the usual casseroles, and for that I apologize. I try to teach them to fear no one, to walk with God, but apparently you have a reputation.”
“No shit,” said Laverna. “What do you want?”
“Only to reach out a helping hand, if you should ever need it.” He leaned forward. “I trust you know Brother Bert Russell.”
“Bert? He’s in your church? He’s a useless piece of shit. And he owes me money.”
“And that’s why I’m here,” said Reverend Foote. “I understand that you employ his son.”
“That’s the league,” said Laverna. “I’ve got nothing to do with it.”
“Brother Bert is trying to become a better man. It would really help if he could provide for his family.”
“Send him into the woods with a fucking chain saw,” said Laverna. “That’s what real men do around here. I’m not a goddamn job service.”
Red Mabel burst through the door, stepping on the reverend’s loafers and the Sinclairs’ cheap white sneakers. She stood on top of the pile of shoes and stared at the couch.
“There’s three redheads in this house,” said Red Mabel. “That’s bad luck.”
“No shit,” said Laverna. “They were just leaving.” They stood, and Red Mabel moved from the pile of shoes. “The reverend here was asking if Bert could keep score.”
“We’ve already got the pansy,” said Red Mabel.
“Bert joined their church,” said Laverna. Red Mabel laughed at this, as Reverend Foote and the Sinclairs pulled on their shoes.
“Is it a church for morons?” Red Mabel opened the door for them, and shooed them out with a flick of her hand.
“It is not,” said Reverend Foote. He stood up straight, and Red Mabel puffed her chest until he had to take a step backward.
“You’re letting in all the cold air,” said Laverna.