Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,11
home now,” Merry Carole says.
“It’s like you’ve seen a ghost,” I say.
“No, no . . . time just goes by so fast is all,” Merry Carole equivocates.
I see her studying me. This is not good. While I’ve always viewed Merry Carole as the only family I’ve got, Merry Carole has always treated me as her very own life-size doll. My entire childhood consisted of her dressing me up, doing my hair, and slathering me in makeup. She would hold entire beauty pageants in our backyard. I’d come out in different looks, her commentary peppering my walk down the plywood runway until she tearfully put a tinfoil tiara atop my perfect hair.
Merry Carole flips my lank brown hair over my shoulder, letting my split ends trail through her long fingers.
“Don’t even think about it,” I say.
“It’s just . . . there’s no body, no height at all. Are you using any products? Any products to speak of?”
“Yes, Merry Carole. I’m using a can of hair spray every day and this is the end result.” I can feel my smile coming back. Having Merry Carole step back in as my constant caretaker makes me feel safer than I have in years. She and my split ends will be dueling in the town square at high noon.
“I don’t even understand what you’re talking about right now. And you’re not wearing any makeup, not even lip gloss. I can’t—” Merry Carole is beside herself. She wouldn’t dream of going to the mailbox without her face on. I have visions of her house catching on fire and she takes a quick second to check her face in the mirror before fleeing.
“I showered this morning.”
“A shower is just the . . . I can’t deal with this right now,” Merry Carole says, waving her hand over all of me to indicate that I am the offending this. The front door opens and slams shut.
“You’ve only got two bags?” Cal asks, carrying my two pieces of luggage.
“I travel light,” I say. Merry Carole rolls her eyes at my clichéd answer.
“Where do you want ’em?” Cal asks.
“Oh, I, uh . . .”
“Not you, Queenie. Momma, where do you want ’em?” Cal says, laughing. As if I would know.
“Can you put them in the guest room, sweetheart?” Merry Carole says, turning for the kitchen.
Cal heads toward the back of the house with my two bags. Merry Carole motions for me to sit down at the dining table.
“Can I help with anything?” I ask.
“Not tonight. Tonight you are the guest of honor,” Merry Carole says, bringing plate after plate of food from the kitchen. There are barbecued ribs, biscuits, corn on the cob, and on and on. My mouth is watering just looking at it. Cal emerges from the guest room, waits for Merry Carole to sit, and then seats himself. She slaps my hand as I reach out for the plate of ribs.
“All right then, Jesus,” I say then quickly correct myself. “Sorry.”
Cal laughs.
Merry Carole takes my hand and Cal the other. We close our eyes.
“Thank you, Lord, for the feast you have provided us with and for your continued love and guidance. Thank you for blessing me with a strong, healthy boy who any mom would be proud of. But on this night I want to thank you for bringing my baby sister home safe and sound to us, oh Lord. In Jesus’ name, amen.” Merry Carole finishes, her eyes fluttering open as mascara streams down her face. She has yet to let go of my hand.
“Amen,” I say, squeezing her hand and smiling as I try to swallow a wave of tears.
“Amen,” Cal says, watching us like a tennis match.
“Now dig in so we can get to burning them clothes of yours,” Merry Carole says with a wink.
4
Crow
(and two eggs over medium, wheat toast, house potatoes, and a cup of coffee)
I sleep like the dead. I remember starting to think about New York and being back in North Star and where I was going to go next and then the sun cracks through the red, white, and blue window treatments, letting me know it’s morning. I dreamed of nothing, and looking at the deep indentation I made in the little twin bed, I didn’t move all night.
“Good morning.” I yawn, walking into the kitchen.
“Good morning,” Merry Carole says, turning around from the kitchen counter.
“Cal still asleep?” I say, pulling a stool up to the breakfast bar.