When Jake returned from Missoula, he was full of hope and ideas and leftover Chinese food gobbled in the truck. They returned on Sunday afternoon, just as the clouds gathered in a portent of storm.
Rachel had to use her headlights, and they shone on Martha’s trailer house. There was a stone in his throat, and just like that, the good feelings were gone. Jake had two bags of clothes from the thrift stores in Missoula, and Rachel agreed to store them in her trailer for safekeeping.
Rachel sensed his trepidation, and waited, parked in front of her own house, her truck still running. She grabbed his wrist.
“You can live in Missoula,” she said. “You can wake up every morning in that town and be yourself and do the things that you were born to do.”
“I know,” said Jake.
“Five years,” she said. “You just have to make it five more years, and then you can go wherever you want, and be whoever you want, and nobody can stop you.”
“Okay,” said Jake. They continued to sit there, until Rachel reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out a business card.
“This is from Athena.”
“She’s a tax lawyer?” He studied the card. “I don’t pay taxes.”
“Her address and phone number are on the back. She wants you to stay in touch with her. She likes you.”
“Okay,” he whispered.
“Ready?”
“I think so,” he said.
They unloaded the back of her truck, and Jake made his way across the gravel to his house.
The porch light was on, which was a new thing. It was as if they were welcoming him home, but he had never gone anywhere without them, so he was unsure. He felt like knocking for some reason, but opened the door after taking a few deep breaths.
He found Bert in his usual place, quiet and reading his Bible. He didn’t acknowledge Jake’s entrance, and Jake hustled to his bedroom. He could hear Krystal giving the baby a bath. He removed the duffel bag beneath his bed and examined his work. He was nearly done, still had to finish two shirts, and he had decided to stitch all the collars and sleeves. He only worked on these shirts at Rachel’s house, when she was not home. He slid a chair in front of his bedroom door, just in case.
He lost himself, caressing the familiar fabric, the thick stitching, but Jake felt different. He realized that he had forgotten to take any pictures. He returned everything to the safety of the duffel bag. As he collapsed on his bed, he realized that pictures weren’t necessary. Some things would stay inside you until the day you died.
The Flood Girls versus Ellis Methodist Church
Rachel slept in, and when she woke, she said her prayers and reminded herself that this was just softball. She had no control over the outcome, but she could control her effort, and her outfit. Outside, it was raining lightly. The game was scheduled for noon. She took a bath, and meditated in front of the brick altar. She was in a Zen state when she picked out her clothes.
Rachel pulled up to the field thirty minutes before the game, as instructed. Laverna rolled her eyes at Rachel’s choice of clothing: jean shorts that had been dyed black and hung with ripped fringes of hem, over neon green spandex, and a giant black T-shirt with a bloody skull on it. She and Jake had gone shopping for cleats in Ellis, even though they both despised entering a sporting goods store. She bought the first black pair in her size, but then Jake had found neon green laces at the cash register, which at least made them unique. She had practiced with the Chief in her Doc Martens, but even with two pairs of wool socks, she still ended up with blisters.
The T-shirt was actually appropriate. Rachel wished that she wore her pentagram necklace, something she bought for a Judas Priest concert in Missoula that she was kicked out of. This game would be played against the Methodists from Ellis.
All the other girls paired for the warm-up, leaving her to toss a ball back and forth with Ronda. She watched the opposing team, all in matching uniforms: pink T-shirts with tiny gray crosses above the right breast, gray sweatpants, pink socks. In her previous life, Rachel would have beaten them up on sight.
Laverna recited the batting lineup in the dugout, and even though it was raining, she removed a clothespin from her pocket and attached the paper to the chain-link fence. Rachel watched as the ink began to run.