Rachel soaked her purse in the kitchen sink, dumped in an entire box of baking soda. She did not pay attention in chemistry class, but vaguely remembered that baking soda counteracted acid. She wasn’t sure if formaldehyde was an acid, but she was determined to save the purse. While it soaked, she called Krystal.
“We’re going,” said Rachel. “Don’t even try to argue with me.”
“Why do you call me? I’m right next door.”
“Rocky gives me the creeps, and your baby is always shitting.”
“It’s a bad idea,” said Krystal. “I heard Red Mabel got a hold of a flamethrower.”
“Don’t wear hair spray,” said Rachel. “And it’s not a bad idea. It’s a fun idea.”
Krystal was too easy. “I guess,” she said.
“I’ve got wine coolers,” said Rachel. She waved at Krystal from the kitchen window. “Hang on a second.” Rachel decided to check Black Mabel’s stash. She left the phone on the kitchen counter, removed a brick from behind the impotent fireplace. She waved the glassine envelope at Krystal and picked up the phone. “And coke!”
“Come over at seven,” said Krystal. Rachel watched her hang up the phone, her lips so pink they were visible across the gloomy yard.
The purse was not salvageable. Rachel dug in her closet for another purse. There was so much time to kill. She chose a pink T-shirt she had cut in half, cut again into fringes, each fringe weighed down with a giant safety pin. She had to wear clothes for a quick getaway, so she reluctantly put on jeans, black denim, splattered with bleach. Instead of heels, she wore army boots. She might need to run. Despite the threat of the flamethrower, she sprayed her hair into giant blond curtains.
Satisfied, she sat on the couch. She still had an hour to kill, so she opened her spiral notebook and continued the work on her application essay. She was determined to go to the University of Montana and study business, get a degree, and learn how to be cutthroat, and return to Quinn for a hostile takeover of the Dirty Shame. Her essay was about her drunken mother abandoning her, for pity points. Rachel left out the parts about fucking her drunken mother’s boyfriend, and the subsequent negligent homicide.
It had happened on that couch.
Rachel had lost interest in Billy within a week of seducing him. He could not understand why she turned so cold, but kept coming to Frank’s trailer. She tolerated him for months, because she had no other friends. He was in the same boat, kept getting his ass kicked every time he came out of the woods. Even the other Petersens turned on him. Rachel could not understand why he didn’t return to Georgia—Laverna’s power did not extend past the Continental Divide. Billy was needy, and Rachel hated needy. But she was lonely, and he worshipped her. She tried to break up with him, but he kept returning, every weekend, Frank’s house the only safe place outside of the woods. When winter came, and the logging crew disbanded, Billy returned to the butcher shop, which made Rachel even more disgusted. She made him shower two times before fucking.
On Christmas Eve, he showed up at Frank’s trailer with a mangled face. He had been beaten up so badly he couldn’t see out of his left eye. Whining, ugly, and smelling like steak, Rachel could barely tolerate him. Thankfully, Black Mabel had a new line on painkillers, and Rachel popped four Percocets, and stared out the window at Krystal’s house, where it seemed like Christmas. Rocky had hung lights. There was no Christmas cheer in Frank’s house, just Billy’s complaints and Rachel’s drug haze. At least the house hung with green smoke.
Billy drank fourteen cans of beer in two hours, lined up each empty on the coffee table. He usually drank, but not this much.
“Your mother has a vendetta,” he slurred.
“Duh,” said Rachel.
“I want to take you away,” he said.
“I don’t think so,” said Rachel. “I think it would be better if we went our separate ways. It would be harder for Red Mabel to track us down.”
“I can’t leave without you,” he said, tears seeping out of his one good eye.
“Please,” said Rachel. “Go. Without me. Like, tomorrow.”
“I ain’t leaving you,” he said, sobbing now.
Rachel rolled her eyes and pulled away from him. “My mother would report you for kidnapping her teenage daughter and transporting her across state lines. That’s a federal crime and shit.”
“I WON’T LEAVE YOU!”