TEN



Emma was so sick she could just drive you nuts sometimes. First of all she shows up at Papa's bruised under the eye and all bent out of shape--I mean just raving nuts--like there's catshit on the bedspread again or something--and it turns out she has this plan, you know, another one of her plans for how they're going to handle visitation. It's like that's all she has been thinking about for a week, and so she comes flouncing into the workshop, first thing, just raving away about it, how things're gonna change.

And the bizarre thing is she's all done up in this new outfit that's the first thing she's bought in years that doesn't look just weird...I mean this poplin straight skirt that's perfect for her and a blue oxford cloth button-down blouse that makes her look so cool, and she blows it right away, just when he and Bethany had been arguing and there really seemed a chance that maybe it wasn't too late afterall.

Then she calls Airhead a concubine! I mean...first of all, she thinks she's so damn smart that nobody's going to know what the word means because nobody's ever read half her dippy books or even seen a Walt Disney movie, you know? And then to say that about Airhead... It made Papa nearly puke. I mean, all Airhead's good for is sweeping up the sawdust on the shop floor anyway, that and wasting good cherry wood, which is practically all he ever talked about at the house, until it drove Bethany and the vegetable eaters as crazy as me. Airhead's this, and Airhead's that, you know, and in comes weird Emma with her fancy secret word...and even that's not the beginning of her latest crap.

Her big plan is from now on Papa's got to bring me up to Syracuse on his own, and he's got to get me there or else I can't have visitation, or he can't, or whoever it belongs to...

I mean, I can just imagine it! Me and the vegetable eaters in the back of this rust bucket pick-up truck that can hardly get out to McDonalds, let alone to Syracuse, while he and Bethany sit up there and nag at each other in the front seat, catching their butt on the springs in the seat and choking in the exhaust from the broken muffler.

Meanwhile Emma's got this rented Buick that's boss, sitting out in front of the shop, and she's wearing new clothes, and she's still raving like the same old weirdo about child support and lawyers and concubines, the shiner under her eye making her look like she's winking.

So I started crying, you know, halfway cuz I couldn't help it, but mostly to get them to stop acting wired and weird. So he grabs me and calls me his little pickle or something in French, and she's tugging at my arms and saying we can talk this out later by phone, and Airhead's still pushing her broom around the shop because she can't get anything else to dance with her, like Papa says.

It was bizarre.

And it got worse...

We're halfway to Syracuse, and I'm finally getting most the wood chips out of my hair and stuff from Papa's crazy hugs, and Emma's calming down enough to relax her fingers on the steering wheel--although she's still smoking cigarettes one after another like she's daring me to say something about why she started again, when out of nowhere she tells me she's been spending time with Flynn!

Fucking Christ! Can you imagine! I mean that's how she tells me something as important as that! After a hundred goddamn miles or so, and in her teacher-teacher tone, all la-di-dah and serious like someone's having a baby, you know, "Molly dearest, I just feel that I must tell you, darling, that your mother has been spending the whole goddamn week with about the most important person in the world..."

Something like that, you know.

I mean, I'm almost creaming my jeans and there's Emma talking like Flynn died or something, and she just has to wait until now when we're hanging over the side of a cliff on a ratty highway to tell me.

I mean, I almost wanted to grab the wheel and make her turn around and tell that to Papa Yves and the vegetables, you know.

But then she's crying!

Emma is so positively weird you just never know with her. She's crying and getting real heavy about how I have to help her, and then how I have to help him, can you dig that? Me help him and she's crying so strange and sad that I wish she never told me and I only just overheard it staying up all night sometime when she didn't know it, because I just don't know what to do, or how she thinks I'm ever gonna help anybody. And beside that I'm starting to feel icky about it, you know, like when you get something for a present that you've been pushing for for months and thn it doesn't seem right anymore, you know.

I mean, what if Flynn was fat or dumb? or a faggot?

What if he was like some uncle you never met? Or worse, what if he loved her, and he wanted to marry her, and she already screwed it up by acting so weird without anybody there to keep her straight?

Probably got a black eye walking into a wall...

So I asked her what I'm supposed to do to help him, and she says I don't know honey, I don't know, just like that, biting her lip to stop crying and right then she gets a ticket for speeding on radar, I swear! Right then.

"How dern long does it take to do a person's fortune anyways?" Restless complained, but the girl just kept mumbling and dealing her cards.

Ah, but the world had changed, Restless thought. What with a bed to sleep in where the old fussbudget boiled the sheets sanitary-like; and meals; and a teevee where you didn't have to touch no dial, only push a button on the control, which, too, kept things clean as a baby's farts.

And now there was the little princess around to keep things interesting. Willard was sure she was the same kid came to visit once and he touched her hand so's to see if he could; and, what's more, he was sure she was the same kid he's seen on the diamond outside the nuthouse window.

She denied it all, or rather let it sorta wash off her like he was just an old man talking, but she was a real prospect nonetheless and now it turns out she can tell fortunes from baseballs cards, though she takes her sweet time.

Molly had eighteen cards in all, including the two Kelloggs which told you the most about Flynn, but she was only working with seventeen because of the World Series year card that Emma had in her wallet, wherever she was now with Flynn.

She had to go over the cards to remember how they worked, because mostly she had done this for herself before, herself and Emma and strange Julie at school. The vegetable eaters weren't interested even though Bethany made a big deal about how creative it was and how it was just like Tarot cards, which it wasn't at all.

So when the old weirdo in the paper mask asked her about what she was doing, she told him, and then he got all excited about it and Aunt Bertie turned the teevee up so she could hear and Molly agreed to do it so she could shut Willard up.

There were four suits, two red, a brown and a blue: St. Louis, Philadelphia, San Diego, and Toronto. There were two special cards, the Kelloggs, and only two cards in the blue suit, which was good because the blue suit didn't always mean good news.

The shorter of the red suits was only three cards with the World Series gone, and it meant change and growth.

The first card was number 538 and it had two pictures of Flynn, in the big one throwing, and the little circle picture shows him standing in his stretch. It was a rare card and so it meant great fortune was coming. Flynn said they rushed and took it at Spring training because he was in the college league the year before when they usually took them.

It looks like the Cards will have to find a place for the
sensation prospect, Flynn, who tore up the Rookie and PONY
leagues with his blazing fastball. Jack could round off
the Cards potent staff.



Next to the story part there was a cartoon that was supposed to be Flynn, pitching in a mortarboard, with a caption that read, "Jack brought Iowa to the College World Series for the first time." Under the cartoon and the story was his minor league record. This card meant sudden success.

The missing 1964 card, Molly knew by heart. It just said, "Flynn had a very impressive winning percentage in his rookie year. The hard-throwing right-hander gives St. Louis at least a double threat for years to come."

Willard said Flynn wasn't wearing his hat because the Topps people thought he would be traded, but Willard didn't know much anyway.

If she had the card in the pack, it would have meant success will come soon.
The 1965 card was the dumbest looking photograph. Flynn looked like a fish or something with his jaw dropped. The cartoon on the back was dippy too. "Flynn's pitching helped the Cards in their fantastic pennant stretch," it said under it.

The card meant waiting when you used it for a fortune.

1966 was a great card, and it meant good luck because the little caption on the cartoon said "Jack looks to be a 20 game winner," and he did win twenty that year, even though he only got seventeen the year before. Plus his picture was pretty foxy for those days and they didn't have that dumb team pennant across his chest like the year before.

The next year started the second red suit. These were the hardest cards to read because they had real mixed meanings, and they depended a lot on what cards were next to them when you read your fortune. Like the first one, for instance, which usually was a good card because it had a great picture and an autograph, plus two cartoons on the back. But sometimes it could mean unexpected changes when it was next to the wrong card, because unexpected changes were what happened to Flynn.

"A real fireballer," the first cartoon panel said, "Jack struck out over 200 for the 2nd straight year," it continued. But the little story told the unexpected changes, "Jack's trade to the Phil's rocked the baseball world. This 20 game winner should be the perfect complement to veteran right-hander Jim Bunning. Together they may just get the Phils on track."

Willard had snorted when he saw this card. "Naw," he said, "Stupid-ass Cards trade Flynn and first thing you know Clee-minty breaks Gibson's leg. They was lucky to get to the series after that trade, sweety...was a bad year for injrees all round, this fellow Conigliah or something damn near got his head knocked off..."

"Don't swear to the child!" Bertie said.

"She gotta get used to life around baseball," Willard snapped back.

It was that kind of card, the '67, it got people riled because it was so weird, even if it was the year she was born.

Ninety-sixty-eight was just plain bad news. First of all the card had this stupid border around the picture, and then the picture showed Flynn with some machine behind him. It was all junked up and blurry. Then the little story on the back just seemed like the Topps people didn't know what to say. "Flynn paid-off the Phil's investment with a second straight 20 game season and a third straight 200 strikeouts, earning him an all-star appearance."

This card meant that things were not what they seemed and the next year's card proved it. "One of the premiere fireballers in baseball, Jack managed to pick up thirteen wins despite arm troubles and an uneven performance. The Phillies know he can finish games for them and they look for him to come back to his All-star form after a minor dip."

A minor dip sounded dumb. Flynn looked worried and hurt in his picture on the front. This card meant that someone was going to die, or something real bad would happen.

"Fellah could be dead or something before you got to his fortune," Restless said.

"You want it right? Or do you just want me to make up something for you?"

He laughed his funny stairstep laugh: hee hee hee, his voice cracking into a cough.

1970 was a mysterious card, you had to really think about what it meant, especially since it was one of the two years she had Kelloggs cards for, and they were good. The Topps card from the red suit showed Flynn looking kind of grim but handsome, like some sort of wise, sad prince. The little story under his name and stuff showed that he was serious, "Jack improved his winning percentage by 70 points last year, and seems to be regaining his strike-out form. He's known as a loner and serious thinker."

Molly hadn't seen all that many baseball cards, but she was sure there weren't many that said something like that. The cartoon was also fairly serious. "Jack K'D 18 batters in his first start with the Phil's in '67."

The card meant something like you had to think and make up your mind, but success could come if you worked at it.

The Kelloggs card for that year was a wild card, because it was 3-D and because it told so much about Flynn. If it turned up in the right place, it meant really good news or great changes even though Flynn didn't do so well for a few years after that, and Kelloggs didn't put him on a card until 1973. The picture showed him on his follow-through, looking really determined and strong. There was a little circle in the form of a baseball with his name across the center, and his autograph was written sideways down his uniform. It was the new autograph, which she didn't like as much as the simple one on his early card.

The back of the Kelloggs card was boss! Besides all the usual stuff about right hand, height, and weight, it listed hobbies as "Fishing, Antique boats, and star gazing." Molly figured the last one was a joke, but she knew that her Papa had fixed an old boat once for Flynn.

The little story on the back was maybe the best one of all. "One of the most consistent performers among NL pitchers," it said, "Jack is an articulate and careful young man. Many feel he has a career ahead of him in broadcasting. Although he has had some consistency problems, he has one of the strongest arms and best heads among veteran pitchers. Never a league leader, he is nonetheless always among the best. A really steady performer with real velocity, he once struck out 271 in a season."

Something about that story made her want to cry sometimes; she liked the card almost best of all.

The '71 card had an autograph again and a picture of Flynn smiling kind of goofy-like but nice. That year they put a copy of the picture on the back instead of the cartoon. The story made the card mean a reverse in fortunes.

"Flynn had some strong outings toward the end of last season after suffering arm troubles and family tragedy. It was a year in which some other fine young pitchers also suffered set-backs, and Flynn looks to regain his 20 game winning form this season. FIRST YEAR IN PRO BALL: 1962 FIRST GAME IN MAJORS: 1963"

Under the story they only gave the last year's season record and Life. '70 was the worst year of all, 6 & 7, a 4.22 ERA, but his Life ERA was 3.13, which was still real good.

The San Diego cards were what Molly called the brown suit, and they were cards that told you about people around the person whose fortune you were telling, because Molly was sure that Flynn didn't really like California, though she didn't ask him yet.

The first one was the only other one without a hat, and she was pretty sure that Mr. Willard was right about that meaning a trade in this case because you could see that Flynn was wearing a Philadelphia shirt even though the letters around the top said PADRES.

There was only a one-line story, "Jack will give the young Padres a proven performer," and the cartoon was a little quiz, "How many times has Jack K'D 200 batters in a season?" The upside-down answer said three, but it was a mistake, since he struck out 200 for Philadelphia before he was traded and the numbers below showed it.

Willard said that meant the card was probably worth a hundred dollars; Molly knew he was nuts.

The card meant that someone new would enter your life.

'73 was a great card, it meant someone would bring you good fortune or good news, because it was the year after Flynn had his no-hitter, and another 20 game winning season. "Flynn did it all last year," the story said, "No-hitting the Reds, leading the SD staff with 23 complete games, and setting a club record for SOs and shutouts."

The cartoon showed Flynn with a microphone. "Jack works as a broadcaster in off-seasons," it said.

"Hah, he did the danged weather!" Willard said. He was looking over her shoulder now, impatient for something to happen.

He swiped the Kelloggs card from her hand and touched her in the process. Molly waited for him to say something about that, but he let it go without saying anything.

"Just look at this thing," Willard said, "shining like a three buck whore."

"Mr. Walker!" Aunt Bertie shouted. "I insist..."

She had ears for stuff like that.

"Beg yer pardon, Maam," Restless said, "but just look'it this picture, will you? Is that the way a man's supposed to look? I ask you?"

Bertie was in the middle of a long set of commercials, so she did come over. Molly was sure she was surrounded by nuts.

What was the big deal about the picture? It wasn't 3-D but it was some special sort of picture and it had a kind of sparkle to it. Flynn was shown laughing inside a crest shape, with his last name under him like a little banner. He looked like a real California movie star.

"Jack was so handsome then," Bertie said, and although it was kind of weird that she said it just then, Molly wanted to tell her that he was still handsome now.

"It ain't that," Willard said. "It's the whole she-bang! Ball players now act like a bunch of sweetasses, you ask me, and it's stuff like this makes 'em that way."

"Mr. Walker," Bertie snapped, "I insist!"

"You can't argue with histr'y!" Willard said.

"Why ever are you here in this house, Mr. Walker?"

Why are any of us here, Molly thought, but then Willard said it, and it made her laugh. Aunt Bertie scowled at them both, and it made Molly feel bad, but then Bertie's show came back on and she just sort of slid away from them.

The next three brown cards, 74, 75, and 76 were kind of blah, and they meant things like "someone will keep you waiting for news" or "someone will disappoint you," and they didn't interest Molly, even to read.

The '74 had a little cartoon of Flynn in a boat and it said he was a fishing guide in off-season, which wasn't quite true. The story did tell you that Flynn had won a big salary in arbitration, but that only meant that the card was about money. The seventy-five had a quiz instead of the cartoon, and it was about this guy VanderMeer who pitched two no-hitters once. And the '76 didn't even have a story or autograph, only a cartoon fact about Red Schoendienst hitting a 14th inning homerun to win an All-Star game. Because Schoendienst was once Flynn's manager, the card could mean that someone from your past would do something.

That left only the blue suit, both cards from when Flynn went to Toronto and changed leagues. The '77 was the better of the two of them, even though it didn't have any story or a cartoon about Flynn. It was better because it came after he pitched another 20 game season, which they should have said something about, because he always did it after he was traded. Since the blue cards really decided your future, this one meant that you could expect continued success.

The '78 meant that the future would bring trouble, but also mixed blessings, if that made sense. It was Flynn's last year, and the year that he got into all the trouble about fighting with that guy, even though he won twenty again. The card had a little game on the back instead of a cartoon, and you were supposed to play pretend baseball with them or something. Flynn's card had an "X" and some half-circles for the diamond, and it said "Ground Out" on the bottom, which wasn't very good.

And that was Flynn's whole life.

"All right," she told Willard, "Shuffle the cards while you think of your question..."

"What question?"

"Your fortune question!" she said. This really was going to be a drag, and she wondered why she ever started.

"Why I gotta have a question to have my fortune told?"

She sighed and Bertie cleared her throat and glared, so Willard did what he was told.

He slapped the cards together so hard she thought he would bend one and ruin it.

"Now what?" he said.

She took the cards from him without answering and dealt them into the three rows that gave you past, present, and future.

It was so weird. She'd never seen the cards like this before. She felt the tears coming to her eyes, and she didn't want to tell him.

Bertie wasn't watching her show. She gazed from the Lay-Z-Boy like she was watching the school play or something. Willard sat there and looked at Flynn's different faces, his eyes bugging out from over the top of his paper germ-mask. Nobody talked. A lady on the television said, "I suppose I should weep for him, but I don't feel a thing. He's dead, that's all."

Molly felt one of the little headaches starting in the space behind her eye, like someone stuffed cotton in there and you couldn't itch it.

There would be more rain this afternoon. Already the sun had been snuffed by the grey clouds in off the river. Emma had said she didn't know when they would be back.

Molly tried to think of a way to say it so it didn't sound so bad. She wished they weren't watching her, it was only a girl's game, something you did when you were lonesome, not some big fancy deal with hangmen and the Queen of Cups.

You were loved in the past, but someone brought you bad luck. Now there is change coming into your life. You may come into some wealth, but there is death in your future, rapid change, a trip by water, a sad-eyed lady with dark hair.


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