She made the last payment four months ago, and despite the fact that it was January, she and Red Mabel had celebrated by drinking bottles of champagne and running around the yard topless.
The house was set far enough back that she had no fear of floods. The riverbank was mighty but sloped gradually. The first year she lived there, she spent a hundred dollars on crocus and paperwhite bulbs, threw them off the back deck scattershot, and now the crocuses came up in March, and then the paperwhites in May. Between those flowers and the buttercups and forget-me-nots that grew there naturally, she considered herself a master gardener.
Red Mabel mowed Laverna’s lawn, and fixed everything that needed fixing, and cleaned the gutters. She even hung the lights at Christmas.
Laverna was taken care of, and knew she would never marry again. Jim Number Three was a plaything, a diversion. Laverna wanted to live her life like a desperado, unencumbered and free to shoot back whenever necessary.
This was why it pained her to call the Chief.
His wife answered. Laverna knew her peripherally, from the grocery store or the post office or city council meetings. The Chief’s wife occasionally attended the Fireman’s Ball, but she always left early.
She seemed scared, however, when Laverna identified herself.
“He’s not here,” she said. “Do you want me to give him a message? Is there something wrong with your chimney?”
“I would call 911 if I had a chimney fire,” said Laverna. “Just tell him to come see me when he has a chance.”
“At the bar?”
“At my house,” said Laverna. She scratched at her strange pale arms. They had grown a scraggly fur during her convalescence.
“Oh,” said his wife.
“It’s not what you think,” explained Laverna. “This is about my daughter.”
“I love Rachel to death,” said his wife.
“Are you kidding me?” Laverna was suddenly angry; she hated not knowing things.
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind,” said Laverna. “Just send him this way.”
He arrived a few hours later, in his special red pickup truck, emblazoned with QVFD on the door. He carried jars of something.
She met him at the door.
“Apple butter,” he said, and handed her the jars. “From the missus.”
“Is it like applesauce?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Is it like jelly?”
“No.”
“Then what the hell is it?”
“You wanted to talk to me?”
“Sorry,” said Laverna. “Come in.”
She ushered him out to the back deck. The river was running high, and giant pieces of bark and fallen trees rushed past, and closer to the bank, swirls of dead leaves spun in fast eddies. Today, the river was muddy, the color of the apple butter.
Instinctively, Laverna grabbed two beers from the refrigerator but then put them back and brought out Bubble Up instead. He would have to drink from the can.
She handed him the soda and sat down on a wooden deck chair. He lit a cigarette, and she pushed an ashtray toward him. They watched osprey swoop down at the water and then return to their bald perches across the water.
“I suppose you’re wondering why I asked you here,” she said.
“Nope.” The Chief was the only man in Quinn who Laverna could not intimidate.
“How do you know?”
“There’s only one thing you and I have in common, Laverna.”
“How is she doing?”
“Why don’t you find out for yourself?” The Chief refused to make eye contact, and continued to stare out at the river.
“I’ve got nothing to say to her,” said Laverna. “I just need a body in the right field.”
The Chief puffed on his cigarette and finally turned to look her square in the eye. “What exactly do you want from me?”
“She’s scared of the ball. She covers her face with her glove and she won’t swing at anything.”
“Rachel isn’t scared of the ball, Laverna. She’s scared of you.”
“I’m not following.”
“If she does nothing, she can’t screw it up.” The Chief removed his ball cap. “She does nothing, because she doesn’t want to make a mistake.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.” Laverna looked out at the riverbank. A month ago, the crocuses had appeared, blue flowers pushed up through inches of whiteness and revealed themselves, polka-dotted the entire snowy bank.
“She doesn’t want to disappoint you,” he said. “I figure she’s done enough of that.”
“She disappoints me by not catching the goddamn ball,” said Laverna.
“Then why did you put her on the team?”
“I told you,” said Laverna. “I had no choice. There’s only so many women in this goddamn town.” They watched a giant gray log come down the river, dragging through the high grass along the shore. It was an ancient thing, riddled with holes from woodpeckers.
“You know she’s no good at sports,” said the Chief. “You’re up to something.”
“I guess I want to keep my eye on her,” Laverna confessed.
“That’s my job,” said the Chief. “You can stop doing that.”
“Can you blame me? I mean, Jesus Christ, she completely ruined my life.”
“That’s what kids are for,” said the Chief.