“You don’t have any kids,” said Laverna.
“Exactly,” said the Chief. “I wrecked enough things on my own. I’ve spent the last twenty years making it up to my wife.” He stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. “I’m way ahead of you. Been playing catch with her for the last few weeks.”
“Tell your wife thank you for that apple stuff.”
“I will,” said the Chief.
“I never thought she would come back,” admitted Laverna.
“It would do you some good to forgive her,” said the Chief. “It might even make you a happier person.”
“You’re not exactly Mr. Sunshine,” she said.
“That’s because I’m still trying to forgive myself,” he said.
He left her there on the back porch. She heard him drive away, and she sat there and watched the river. There was no telling what could float by next.
The Flood Girls versus Quinn Lumber Mill
Jake predicted disaster. This was the first game of the season, and the Flood Girls were playing against another team from Quinn. The bleachers were completely full.
He arrived at the softball field at five thirty. The outfield was freshly mowed, and Jake could smell the grass from his seat on the far left of the bleachers. Bucky’s white sneakers were stained green from the clippings.
Jake watched as Bucky secured the padded, puffy squares to each corner of the diamond. He laid the flat mat of home plate after using his measuring tape, and nodded to Jake in the bleachers. He and Jake were the only paid employees of the league, and they behaved like professionals.
“Nice outfit,” called out Bucky. Jake wore his black sailor pants and a white shirt with epaulets. He knew that he looked like a sailor and didn’t really care. If there was a flood in Quinn, Jake was ready to command the ship.
“Thanks,” said Jake, ignoring the tittering among the crowd. He was used to such a reaction. “I wanted to make sure we matched.” And they did—Bucky wore his umpire’s uniform, also black and white, the shirt divided into vertical stripes. Bucky looked down at his outfit and shook his head.
Jake opened his scorebook, brand-new for 1991, and carefully inscribed the names into the boxes with a pencil. He had a special pencil case just for softball, and it contained eighteen pencils, two sharpeners just in case one malfunctioned. It also was loaded with cough drops, allergy medication, and a cloth handkerchief to offer others, to be polite.
Laverna had had her casts removed, and she handed him her roster on a piece of notebook paper. Her bare arms were nearly the same color as the casts had been. They looked scrawnier, too, although he doubted tending bar had ever made her muscular.
“This is going to be a shit show,” she said, and waited for him to print the names into his book. Although several people in the crowd clamored for her attention, Laverna stared grimly out onto the field.
“Bucky is a professional,” Jake assured, and finished copying down the last player of the Flood Girls. “He’ll keep this under control.”
“Might need stun guns,” muttered Laverna. “I know all these people. And they’re assholes.” Nervously, she returned to her dugout with the roster.
Jake looked around the bleachers and wondered if the ten dollars he was paid per game would be worth it today. He was supposed to remain unbiased, but his allegiance would be with Laverna’s team. His project was coming along, he supposed, the seventh shirt nearly finished. He had considered making shirts for himself and Bucky, but that would only result in cries of favoritism. The Flood Girls could use all the help they could get, but Jake would behave like a professional. He could not afford to lose this job.
The Flood Girls were playing the ladies from Quinn Lumber Mill, but the bleachers were full of firemen’s wives, ex-wives, widows, or daughters. The people who surrounded him in the bleachers had sharpened their knives for Rachel, and they did not hide their hatred. They leered at her in the dugout, snickered when she let the balls roll past during warm-up. A small town never forgets, or forgives. Rachel was still a mistress and a murderess in their eyes.
The Flood Girls’ fans sat in the rear corner of the bleachers. The pack of old men came to cheer on Laverna, and take delight in the chaos. They had been coming to support the Flood Girls for as long as Jake had been keeping score, and Jake supposed that Laverna’s team provided the most entertainment in the league. All the old men looked the same to Jake, except for the Chief. Rachel told Jake that he was her sponsor, and Jake had read enough of the AA books to know how difficult the job must be. Especially today.