Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,125

shove me aside and tell me I’m doing it wrong? I turn the rotted piece of wood over and over in my hand as I replay Merry Carole’s simple answer of “apparently not.” The quiet settles around me once again.

I choose to go forward.

I throw the rotted piece of wood back in the pile with the rest of the planks and walk down the street, back home to Merry Carole’s. I’ll call Warden Dale first thing tomorrow morning.

I will make Yvonne Chapman’s last meal.

I walk down the manicured path to Merry Carole’s house. She and Cal are standing in the kitchen. I walk in and they immediately stop talking.

“What’s going on?” I ask, my announcement taking a backseat.

“I was on the computer and your e-mail was open; I didn’t know it was yours. I heard a ping and I thought it was mine, you know?” Cal says, looking from me to Merry Carole.

“An e-mail came for you,” Merry Carole says, holding out a sheet of paper. I walk over to the kitchen and take the sheet of paper from Merry Carole. It’s from Neal Howard at the Raven. He’s confirming our conversation about the executive chef position and following up with some details.

“Merry Carole, I—”

“You had no intention of staying,” she says.

“No, I mean . . . yes,” I say, stuttering and stumbling over my words.

“I actually thought you were . . . no, never mind. You just do what you want,” Merry Carole says, opening up the refrigerator. She slams the door immediately. “You told me you were going to at least stay for the wedding.”

“Let me explain,” I say.

“Are you taking it?” Merry Carole asks.

“I don’t know . . . I don’t—”

“It says they want you to start next week. So you’re also going to miss Cal’s opening game,” Merry Carole says, steadying herself on the breakfast bar. Cal just looks . . . crushed. Merry Carole walks through the kitchen toward the front door, sweeping past me in a rage. “Cal, why don’t we go on over to Reed’s for supper.” Cal nods and walks out of the kitchen and right past me. He can’t even look at me. Merry Carole wraps her arm around the boy, and they walk out of the house, slamming the door behind them.

What have I done?

26

Leftover fried cherry pie and not enough coffee in the world

I wake up early the next morning. Cal’s bumping around the house before his morning run. I flip my sheets off and walk out into the rest of the house just as the front door slams.

“Come on,” I say to a darkened house. I grab Cal’s sweatshirt by the door and run out of the house in bare feet and my pajamas pulling the sweatshirt on over my head. Cal’s still stretching just in front of the salon as I come barreling toward him.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“On my run,” he says, bending over for another stretch.

“I know yesterday was weird, but I swear—”

“This whole thing goes away when you tell me and Momma that you’re not taking that job. You get that, right?” Cal asks.

“Yeah.”

“So . . .”

“You know how when I first got here you asked me why anyone would want to leave New York City and come back to North Star?”

“Yeah.”

“And that all you can think about right now is going to UT and getting out of North Star?”

“Yeah.”

“But do you know that in-between place? Where you’re excited to go to UT, but kinda scared to leave home?”

“Yeah,” Cal says, not able to look at me.

“That’s where I am right now. I’m in that in-between place. I don’t quite know where I want to be,” I say.

“Momma wants you to stay here,” Cal says, finally taking out his earbuds.

“I know,” I say.

“Are you wearing my sweatshirt?” Cal asks, tilting his head as it dawns on him.

“Yeah . . . sorry,” I say.

“All right then. I’m going to go ahead and run. I’m not trying to leave without you, but West is waiting.”

“No, that’s all right. You go on ahead, but I’m back on tomorrow. Say hi to West for me,” I say. Cal beams. We’re both thinking it. Say hi to your brother for me.

“Yeah, all right,” he says, putting his earbuds back in and running out through the center of town. I watch him trot away through the early morning haze. I walk down the driveway and back into the house.

“What are you doing?” Merry Carole asks, standing in the kitchen.

“I