Several of the girls from Eunice Volunteer Dispatch were related to Della. The pitcher and first base were Della’s sisters. The entire Dempsey clan was in the bleachers, and none of them had eyebrows. Jake sat in the front row, surrounded by the seven dwarfs. They had attended every home game, and offered up advice after every AA meeting. Keep your eye on the ball, wait for your pitch, running forward to catch a pop fly was much easier than running backward. Rachel couldn’t help but think these suggestions were also metaphors for sobriety.
The rest of the bleachers were filled with faces that had become familiar, the people of the town. Rachel was thankful Shyanne was here to keep her out of the batter’s box.
However, Shyanne twisted her ankle in the fourth inning, running like a colt, after nailing a ball clean to the fences.
She limped into the dugout. Rachel looked on nervously as Ginger immediately started fussing. Laverna pretended that she knew what she was talking about, and diagnosed it as nothing.
“Walk it off,” Laverna commanded. “It’s not even swollen.”
That was a lie. As they all watched, it grew larger.
The Flood Girls went back to the field, and Tabby surprised everyone by catching a ball that shot three inches off the ground, diving into the dirt before it could make contact. She brushed off her chest, and waved at her sister, Tish, who was emitting bloodcurdling screams from the bleachers, off her medication once again.
“Calm down!” Laverna screamed into the bleachers. These screams were a distraction, and off-putting. “Take your fucking medication!”
Tish was chastened by this. Rachel knew that Laverna had let Tish close down the bar for a rare hour, so that she could finally see her sister’s softball game. This was a mistake, as Tish was extremely excitable. Her face crumpled as she grabbed her keys and left at the top of the fifth inning. Rachel understood this—Tish would rather be serving drinks than let herself be a target for Laverna.
Ronda showed off her guns by catching a pop fly and then throwing the ball all the way from the outfield to Red Mabel at third base. This was the second double play in Flood Girl history. Rachel ran in from the field and hoped that their luck would continue, that Shyanne would be standing in the dugout, ready to bat.
She wasn’t. Shyanne continued to sprawl across the bench, her ankle elevated on a pile of purses.
Rachel nervously adjusted the lineup, attached to the chain link with a clothespin, and a lump rose in her throat when she saw she was on deck.
It was the top of the sixth inning. The Flood Girls were behind by one, eight to nine, but Rachel wasn’t worried about a loss. She was worried about the crowd.
As Rachel stepped up to the batter’s box, the bleachers became completely silent.
Bucky turned around and strained to look through the chain link. He seemed determined to avoid a melee, because if the game was called short, he wouldn’t get paid. She watched as he dusted off home plate with extra care. He winked at Rachel, and she swallowed down the fear in her throat.
Rachel swung the bat around to warm up her arm, and the crowd was still. She wondered if Red Mabel was aiming a sniper’s rifle at them.
It was a ball. Bucky called it. From the bleachers came a few snickers, some tittering. Rachel could hear Jake cough nervously.
The next pitch was a thing of beauty, a high, impossibly perfect arc, and Rachel swung and missed.
“Strike,” called Bucky.
There was laughter now, but no one had screamed out any slurs.
Rachel figured they were past that now. It was enough for the people of Quinn to watch her fail.
But she didn’t. Rachel kept her eye on the ball and swung at the next pitch. The ball flew over the third-base line and stayed in play. Rachel remembered what to do. She ran to first. She blew her mother a kiss.
The citizens of Quinn gasped, and the seven dwarfs stood up to applaud. Rachel’s single brought in Della, and the contingent without eyebrows delighted. Ronda continued her streak and hammered a slow pitch, sent it rocketing over the head of the woman in right field. Even though Ronda was right-handed, she was always full of surprises. Her triple brought in Rachel, and just like that, Bucky called the game.
The Flood Girls were victorious, eleven to nine.
* * *
Monday morning, Gene Runkle sat at the end of the bar. Rachel didn’t mind him or Mrs. Matthis—she saved her anxiety for the appearance of Winsome, and had planned a speech where she reiterated that it had been only a one-night stand. Gene was celebrating, but he wouldn’t say why, just kept raising a gray finger for another shot of Crown Royal.
For once, Rachel had to pry the gossip out of him, on his fifth shot.
“Caught that fucking dog last week,” he said. “It was like Moby Dick or some shit. An endless hunt.”
“Bullshit,” said the silver miner who looked like Elvis. She leaned across the bar on an elbow and ordered her first beer of the day. “It was the Klemp girl who caught him.”
“Whatever,” said Gene. “It’s done!” He raised his glass and saluted himself.
* * *