Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,120

We’re off in our own little worlds, staring off into space. Both of us. Cal looks from Merry Carole to me and then back to Merry Carole.

“She took ’em both out,” I finally say.

“Both of ’em,” Merry Carole repeats.

“Her husband and your momma?” Cal asks. Merry Carole and I just nod.

“And the rest of the town? They couldn’t care less. I heard some woman at the store talking about it and she laughed, saying, ‘It’s not like there was any humans involved,’ ” Merry Carole says.

“You never told me that,” I say.

“Yeah,” Merry Carole says, nodding.

“And the thing of it was, if she hadn’t shot her husband, too? She would have been out a long time ago,” I say.

“Oh absolutely,” Merry Carole says.

“How come?” Cal asks.

“Shooting Momma was what any good Texas woman woulda done. They were in his bed; Yvonne was doing the Christian thing by putting us up for a time. She came home early from work and there they were. So she walked into their garage, pulled out the shotgun, loaded the shells, and . . .” I trail off.

“Holy shit,” Cal says. Merry Carole doesn’t even chastise him for his language.

“So not only was her husband catting around, but he was doing it with Brandi-Jaques Wake. Which—,” I say.

“She couldn’t allow,” Merry Carole says, sipping her tea. Her eyes are distant. Elsewhere.

“Why didn’t she just divorce him?” Cal asks.

“Because he’d ruined everything she had worked for and he had to pay,” I say.

“But they’re dead and now she’s the only one paying,” Cal says.

“Not true. We’re still paying. You’re still paying,” I say.

“So what are you going to do?” Merry Carole finally asks.

“There’s no way I’m making that meal for that woman,” I say.

“Why not?” Cal asks.

“It feels like this might bring some weird closure, you know?” Merry Carole says.

“People love throwing that word around,” I say.

“Who are you telling? Of course I understand the weight of the decision you have to make. My point is that this—” Merry Carole stops. She gathers her thoughts and continues, “We’ve let this one event that we had nothing to do with define our lives. Now it feels to me like you came back to North Star for a reason whether you knew that going in or not. This may not be a coincidence at all.” Merry Carole leans forward. She reaches across the dining room table and takes my hand in hers. She continues speaking. “I think it’s time for both of us—for all of us—to stop paying for something Momma did.”

“And how does me making this meal do that?”

“I don’t know, but the fact that you don’t want to makes me think it’s exactly what you have to do,” Merry Carole says.

“I’m not even sure that makes sense,” I say.

“I think it’d be cathartic. Maybe for all of us,” Merry Carole says, clearing the table.

“You don’t think this is the least bit twisted?” I ask.

“Oh, it’s completely twisted. But it might just be the jolt we need,” Merry Carole says.

“How can you be so calm about all this?” I ask.

“Well, first off, I don’t have to make the meal, but I think you need to do this more than I need to be mad about Yvonne and what she did and how Momma probably deserved it. I think it’s time we put this in the past where it belongs,” Merry Carole says.

Later, as Merry Carole bustles around the kitchen and Cal gets ready for bed, tonight’s conversation settles around me like dust. I feel inordinately scared. Living in the past has its benefits. Closing the door on this means I have to look to the future.

25

Dairy Queen double-dip swirl cone

As I lie awake the next two nights, I realize I’ve defined myself by things I can’t see and people who aren’t around anymore. I’ve been hunting a ghost for my entire life and so has the pitchfork- and torch-wielding mob of North Star townspeople.

For someone who struggles with faith, I base a lot of my life on things I can’t see. All these years looking for the answer and it comes down to the simplest question.

Do I want to go backward or forward?

I believed going on all these adventures meant that I was jumping into my future with everything I had. I left North Star thinking I’d seen the last of the chains and the masks and the pitchfork-wielding mobs. With my two pieces of luggage, I’d brag that I liked to travel light, insinuating that the