Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,106
day tomorrow . . . oh wait. Do I . . . do I tell Coach Blanchard I know? Do I still call him Coach Blanchard? Or . . . Reed? Or Mr. Blanchard? . . . Or . . . ” Cal trails off, not daring to suggest he call Reed Dad.
“I’ll let him know you know, sweetie. You can ask him about it if you want. We’ll do it together,” Merry Carole says.
“I think I can talk to him about it,” Cal says.
“We can talk to him together, if you want,” Merry Carole says.
“No, ma’am. I think I want to do it on my own,” Cal says.
“Okay,” Merry Carole says, walking over to him and putting her arm around his shoulder.
“Night night. Aunt Queenie, see you tomorrow morning for our run? West is meeting us at the bottom of the hill. So be ready,” Cal says.
“Yes, sir,” I say, already tired. Cal gives Merry Carole one last hug and walks into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. Merry Carole walks back into the kitchen. I just stare at her.
“What?” Merry Carole says, opening up another cupboard. This time she pulls out something a bit harder than water. Bourbon.
“I will refrain from saying I told you so about Cal knowing far more than you give him credit for because I have to ask— how long have you been holding on to that?” I ask, gladly getting out two glasses for us.
“Days. It’s been terrible.”
“Terrible?” I ask. Merry Carole pours us each a glass and we clink glasses before drinking. I lean back against the counter.
“I just saw this—” Merry Carole starts crying again. She pulls her hankie out of her robe pocket and wipes her nose. She continues, “I just didn’t think I got to be happy.” Her body shakes as she cries, tears streaming down her face.
“Oh sweetie,” I say, pulling her in for a hug.
We hold each other in that kitchen for minutes, hours . . . who knows? We hold each other because maybe we finally believe that even we get to be happy.
And it feels terrifying.
22
One Dairy Queen double-dip swirl
Cal is quiet the next morning as we get ready to go on our run. I start a thousand conversations with him to which I get only one-word answers. Even though he’ll quicken the pace, I’m thankful West will be joining us. Maybe he’ll get Cal to talk. I slept like shit last night, tossing and turning. The meal. Those damn Starburst still sitting in my car. Hudson. Everett. And then I thought about Merry Carole and Reed and felt cautiously happy again.
Cal’s quietly stretching and I’m loudly pinwheeling just outside Merry Carole’s salon.
“You’re going to have to talk to me, you know. I’ll wear you down. See, people around here never talk about anything and that’s kind of one of the reasons I left because I looooove to ta—”
“Aunt Queenie, what are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” I say, pulling my leg up behind me. We are quiet again. I can’t stand it. I launch in again, “Are you scared? Do you think it’s going to change stuff? I mean, what are you thinking?” I stand over him arms akimbo, brow impossibly furrowed, demanding that this poor fifteen-year-old boy talk about his feelings before it’s even dawn. What kind of monster am I?
“It’s just weird is all,” Cal says, fiddling with his watch.
“Weird how?”
“It’s like when you see one of your teachers in the grocery store, you know? You don’t recognize them when they’re not in their place. And it’s not good or bad or scary or any of that, it’s just . . . ” Cal trails off. He shrugs.
“Different,” I finish.
“Yeah. I mean, are we gonna live with them? Are they gonna live with us? Are those two little girls my sisters now? Are they going to mess with my stuff? And—” Cal stops. Abruptly. He puts his hands on his hips and looks off into the early morning quiet.
“What?”
“I just never had a dad before,” Cal says, looking back at me. He continues, “But what if I don’t . . . what if I don’t do it right, you know?” Cal asks.
“Do what right, baby?” I ask, not moving too quickly to comfort him. I don’t want to spook him.
“You know, be a son or whatever,” Cal says.
“Honey, anyone would be proud to call you his son,” I say, trying to keep it together.