Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,113

plastic bags filled with goldfish crackers. The boys clutch their special swimming towels to their chests as they file out onto the patio like ducklings. Merry Carole has suggested that if the pool looks scary to the boys, we can also just turn on the sprinklers. The boys eye them both. Shawn makes his way back to me as the boys walk over to the kiddie pool. They circle it suspiciously.

“This is for tomorrow then?” Shawn asks.

“Yes, sir,” I say.

“Smells great,” he says.

“Thank you,” I say.

“So you all set?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“There might be a bit more of a crowd tomorrow, but you won’t see much of it,” he says.

“Why would there be a crowd?”

“Like I said, the next two meals you’re making are for higher-profile inmates, so with that comes the media and the people with the signs and the candles,” Shawn says.

“Oh right,” I say. “Of course.”

“Don’t you worry about that, though,” Shawn says, his eyes going from me to the boys. Merry Carole has turned on the sprinklers and the boys are running through the cold spray and into the kiddie pool as their grand finish. Shawn smiles as he watches them.

“So when’s your last day?”

“Oh . . . right. Dee said she was going to tell you.”

“I hope you don’t mind—”

“No, no . . . I’m just so used to keeping it a secret.”

“Do the other guards know?”

“Yes.”

“Who’s going to be captain?”

“Big Jim. He’s been there the longest. They’ll bring in a new guard to take his place on the leg. They’ll do fine,” Shawn says, his eyes floating back to his boys. The smile returns.

“So when’s your last day?”

“Third week in August,” Shawn says.

“That soon?”

“Not soon enough, if you ask me.”

“I’m happy for you,” I say.

“Hopefully, you’ll be right behind me.”

“I’m thinking you’re probably right,” I say.

The sliding glass door opens and Reed and his two girls walk through. They meander out onto the patio while Reed closes the door behind him. The little girls stop and wait for him. They stick close.

“There you are!” Merry Carole says, walking over to Reed and the girls. They brighten up at the sight of her. Thank God. She crouches down in front of them and they lunge into her with hugs and stories of their day. Everyone else at the party may as well not be here.

Merry Carole continues, “Hey, y’all, I don’t know if you know Reed’s little girls? This is Amelia and this is Rose.” The two girls stand there in their pink bathing suits, all little bellies and chubby legs. Their silken blond hair is done up in two little ponytails, and I find myself impressed with Coach Blanchard’s ponytail prowess.

“Hey, y’all,” Reed says, waving to everyone.

“Excuse me, Queenie,” Shawn says, walking toward the patio. There’s football to talk about. The sliding glass door opens again and Cal comes out fresh from the shower. He looks awkward and moves around the patio politely. I can see that he’s making a beeline for me. Reed stops him. I can see Cal watching Reed as he speaks, at first apprehensively, but soon enough he relaxes. Reed is talking to him normally. Cal’s shoulders sink down and I can see his hands come out of his pockets as he begins using them to gesture. Cal throws his head back and laughs. Reed leans forward and continues talking through Cal’s laughter. I immediately look to Merry Carole. She is riveted. She looks over at me and just . . . smiles. I can see her breathe for the first time in days. Reed gets Cal to help him on the grill and they spend the next hour or so talking and serving up hot dogs and hamburgers. Amelia and Rose have taken quite a fancy to Dee’s boys and now all five of them are running through the sprinklers and leaping into the kiddie pool for their big finish.

I bring out the potato salad, the homemade potato chips as Reed and Cal bring over the hot dogs and hamburgers. We shift and squeeze, but we’re all finally seated around the table. I look at Merry Carole.

“Y’all, I’d like to say grace, if that’s okay?” Everyone nods and agrees. The children eye the food hungrily. I hold my hands out; on one side it’s taken by Cal and on the other by Rose. As my hand curls around the tiny four-year-old’s hand, I can’t help but let it affect me. She looks up at me with these giant blue eyes,