Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,123
flattered; is there any way that I can think about your offer and get back to you?”
“Oh sure. Sure. I understand that it’s a lot. I have your e-mail. I’ll send you the details: pay—the chef’s residence is on the same plot of land—hours, and vacation days.”
“That sounds perfect,” I say.
“Queenie, I’ll need to hear back from you by the end of next week, you understand.”
“Sure, and once again thank you so much for thinking of me.” Neal and I sign off and I look up to find myself just outside the church cemetery. The bustling churchyard is alive with good news and I freeze.
The broken-down picket fence that corrals North Star’s departed is covered in vines and overgrown underbrush. I creak open the gate, wiping the dust and dirt from the wood onto my Sunday best. I tuck my cell phone into my pocket and pick my way through the ancient headstones and makeshift crosses, names of cowboys branded onto them as if they were cattle. I swallow hard as the emotion burns in my throat. I chalk the sensation up to what happened with the McKays. Chalk it up to a lot of things.
What am I doing here? Is it curiosity? Not enough melodrama for one day? Do I think after all I’ve gone through in the last few weeks I’ll have a different response to this cemetery than the one I had all those years ago? Is this a test? Some kind of ritual I can put myself through to prove that I’m over her? Is this about Yvonne Chapman and her fresh strawberry ice cream? Black holes and dusty plots of land. Flaming red hair and cruel blue eyes. The first of many tears slides down my cheek.
The humidity settles around me as I make my way to where I know Mom is buried. The grass itches and tickles my legs, the dampness of the air and the earth gather inside my sandals as I walk around the graves and headstones like a cat burglar trying to avoid the laser beams in an upscale museum.
Brandi-Jaques Wake
1963–1998
The Number One
She was only thirty-five? I remember her as being so much older. She was barely older than I am now. Within a matter of seconds, I’m losing control and unable to stop my own bawling. How did I get here? My sobs are coming from a place so deep it terrifies me. The only word that comes to me is why. Why? Why me? Why you? Why did it have to end that way? Why weren’t you the mother I wanted you to be? Why didn’t you love me? Why wasn’t I enough?
“Queenie, sweetheart?” Merry Carole comes up behind me.
“I’m fine,” I howl. I’m wailing like a lunatic at our mother’s grave.
“Oh sweetie,” Merry Carole says, pulling me in close. Rose water and Aqua Net. Home. Love.
“Why didn’t she love us?” I ask, my face buried in the crook of Merry Carole’s neck.
“I don’t know, my love. I don’t know,” Merry Carole says.
“Aren’t parents supposed to love their kids?” I ask.
“Apparently not,” Merry Carole says. We break apart from each other and she wipes my tears away, smoothing my bangs down. Cal passes me a handkerchief. I thank him and I’m momentarily embarrassed that he’s here to see my full-blown breakdown.
“Aren’t you supposed to tell me that people love in different ways and—”
“I don’t want to lie to you, sweetness and light,” Merry Carole says, her chin up in pure defiance.
“Not even in my weakened state?”
“Especially not in your weakened state,” Merry Carole says with a smile.
“I think I’m going to go see the little plot of land,” I say, blowing my nose.
“Honey, you don’t have to,” Merry Carole soothes.
“No, why not make today a hat trick?” I say.
“Do you even know what a hat trick is?” Cal asks.
“Three of something?”
“Yeah, but it’s usually three good things; I’m not so sure—”
“No, this is good. These are good,” I say. I must look like a wreck.
Cal just keeps quiet and takes my word for it.
“Will you tell Reed, Cal, and the girls I’ll see them at supper later?”
“Sure.”
“You can say something, you know.” I motion to Mom’s grave.
“I’ve made my peace,” Merry Carole says, entirely calm.
“Am I going to get there?” I ask, envying her cool demeanor.
“Today was a start,” Merry Carole says as we walk out of that tiny cemetery and leave Mom behind us. Hopefully for good this time.