Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,127

pulling his earbuds out as he looks at us standing in the kitchen.

“Are you guys fighting?” Cal asks.

“No, sweetie. We’re done fighting,” Merry Carole says, smoothing her hand over my arm as she starts making breakfast.

“You need any help?” I ask.

“No, sweetie. Thank you, though,” she says.

“So we’re not mad anymore? Is Aunt Queenie staying?” Cal asks, walking into the kitchen.

“We don’t know yet, honey,” Merry Carole says, looking from me to Cal.

“Oh, okay then,” Cal says, clearly disappointed. He sits down at the table with me, not meeting my gaze.

“We don’t have to decide everything right now,” I say. Merry Carole just shakes her head.

I fill my coffee mug once more and grab a fried pie from a Tupperware container in the fridge and meet Merry Carole in the salon later that morning. Cal went off to practice with as many questions as he’d had the day before. I called Warden Dale once the house was empty and agreed to cook for Yvonne Chapman. I also told him that her meal would be my last. I have to go forward and not back. Working at Shine Prison has changed me. I was forced to face some hidden truth that I was in no rush to uncover in each of these meals. With Yvonne’s meal I’ll exhume the last of the secrets. The experiment is over. It’s time for me to leave Shine Prison.

The next step is not as clear. After looking over the Raven offer, it sounds like just what I was looking for. They have a clear (bordering on fussy) vision for their menu, as they should have, but not in all the ways I’d like. They skew toward a more organic fresh fare, which I’m a fan of, but they also pride themselves on offering a healthier alternative to today’s comfort food. This is the part I could do without. I can see the clientele now, asking to substitute for the dairy and take off the bread and does this come without the meat and on and on. I’m afraid it wouldn’t take long before I was throttling some hipster in a knit cap with a lactose sensitivity problem.

As I said, this is exactly what I was looking for. Before. Before the little experiment. As I walk up to the salon, I let that idea bounce around in my head. What am I looking for now?

27

Inmate #354-M15:

Chicken fried steak with cream gravy, mashed potatoes, green beans cooked in bacon fat, one buttermilk biscuit, and a slice of pecan pie with fresh strawberry ice cream

I pull Mom’s skillet from my canvas bag as the lights flicker on in the Death House kitchen. It’s Friday morning. I didn’t need any test batches or research for this meal. And yet preparing to come in here today took everything I had. I had nightmares all week of squeaky shoes and muddy cemeteries punctuated by shotgun fire. I finally crawled into bed last night with Merry Carole sometime around three AM. She said she was waiting for me. My morning run with Cal and West felt good, and as I reached the ridge of that mountain I was thankful I saw Everett and Arrow ambling into the horizon. I stopped and chatted, but found myself unable to speak freely. I want to tell him everything and I just don’t know how. Instead, I talked about what happened at the churchyard with Whitney and the boys. He said he was sorry for missing that. He hasn’t been at church lately. He didn’t say why. In the end, I used the boys as an excuse to get out of there. In truth, I felt way too exposed. And once again, I was waiting for him to step in and save me from myself.

The kitchen door clicks and Jace walks in.

“It looks like you’re lying in wait,” Jace says, motioning to the skillet in my hand.

“Oh yeah,” I say, trying to loosen up. Jace walks over to me and just stands there.

“So you’re leaving today and Shawn is leaving today. Was it something I said?” Jace’s stumbling attempt at a joke is endearing.

“Of course not,” I say, smiling.

“Well, if I don’t get the chance to say it later, it’s been a pleasure,” Jace says, extending his hand to me. I set the skillet down on the counter and take his hand, mine quickly enveloped in his.

“I appreciate that. And thank you for being in here with me. It made all the difference,” I say, motioning