After school, Jake walked outside into the new snow that was slowly falling, back and forth like a feather. He knew of other places in America where they had things called snow days. These did not exist in Quinn.
It was only three o’clock, but already the sky outside darkened with the threat of another snowstorm. It took him fifteen minutes to descend the hill and cross the streets to the library, which was irritating, considering a person could walk through the entire town in under ten minutes during the summer. He slogged his way through the snowbanks, perspiring under his hat.
At the library, Peggy Davis pretended to roll the dates on her stamper. Upon closer inspection, her fingers were black with ink, so maybe she wasn’t pretending. She didn’t like Jake, either. He never turned in a book past the due date, but she remained suspicious, scandalized by his salacious choices in reading materials. Jake combed through the catalogs and filled out the forms to request books from the bigger cities in Montana, but he never got his books. He suspected that she threw away his requests, as if she were embarrassed to obtain Erica Jong’s Fear of Flying from Absarokee, the only library with a copy in the entire state. He hated Peggy Davis because she destroyed Quinn’s best chances for a feminist revolution. Plus, she once asked him to leave during a John Birch Society meeting in the back room, even though the library was open. Jake hoped that one day she would be replaced by a young woman with a mysterious past, who wore only black and had an active sex life, just like the librarians in the books he read.
Jake left the library with two Stephen King books, and skidded his way up the snow-packed streets to the Sinclair. He knew that Martha Man Hands was working. One of the Sinclairs mopped the beer aisle. He wasn’t sure which one it was. All he could see was a long braid and an even longer jean skirt.
He had written Misty five letters, and bundled them with a rubber band. He had found a half-used box of cream-colored stationery at the thrift store—the paper was thick, and flecked with dots of lavender. Misty would hate it, but Jake didn’t care. He asked his mother for stamps and carefully wrote his return address on the envelopes, even though he and Misty grew up in the same trailer court. The doctors at the detention center could be giving Misty electroshock therapy like Frances Farmer, so he didn’t want to risk it. He was concerned about the weight of the paper, so he used two stamps for each envelope.
He handed the stack to Martha. As usual, she was preoccupied by the police scanner. It was chimney-fire season, and Martha, like all the other residents of Quinn, listened for her own address.
“You know where the post office is, kid.” She pushed the envelopes back across the counter with her giant hands.
“I don’t have an address for her,” he said. “I know we got in some trouble, but I would greatly appreciate it if you could send these to her. She must be lonely.”
“They’ve called me four times already,” said Martha. “Sounds like she’s already running the joint. She lit some girl on fire.”
“That sounds about right,” said Jake.
“I’ll send them,” said Martha. “But just this once.”
“Thank you,” said Jake. “Have you been sending her care packages?”
At this, Martha cackled, and when he left the Sinclair, she was still laughing.
The Calling
Laverna insisted that Red Mabel dress her in layers. Dressed in a pantsuit and a mock turtleneck and a scarf, she was ready to cause chaos among the patrons at the Dirty Shame. It was officially the first day of spring.
Ginger and Martha sat at poker machines, drinking wine coolers.
Laverna waited until Ginger cashed out, and Martha lost whatever she had put in, then gestured to a table with her casts.
Tabby approached the four women at the table, bearing baskets of peanuts.
“I’ve decided that this is a team meeting,” said Laverna.
“There are only five of us,” pointed out Ginger.
“We’re the most important five,” said Laverna. “Your drinks are on the house.”
“I guess that means I’ll be right back,” said Tabby, and she returned with more wine coolers and another pint of beer for Red Mabel. Tabby sat backward on a chair and reached over to touch Laverna on the shoulder.
“She’s useless,” said Tabby.
“She’s worse than Krystal,” said Ginger.
“We don’t have any other options,” said Laverna, as Red Mabel lit a cigarette and stuck it in her mouth. She exhaled, and Red Mabel plucked it out and set it in an ashtray. “We are stuck with her.”
“Are you sure?” Ginger took a deep swallow.
“Yes,” said Laverna. “Patty said no, thanks; she’s joined a book club. Maggie joined another team, or so she says. Maybe we have a bad reputation.”
“Excellent,” said Red Mabel.
“Can we make Ronda move faster?” Ginger was being serious.
“I pay the lady,” said Laverna. “I can’t get her to move fast at her regular job.”
“Why is Rachel so afraid of the ball?” Tabby took a drink out of Ginger’s bottle.