Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,128
to his chair by the door. I’ve left something for him. He looks over there and does an immediate double take. He walks over to his chair and looks at the basket I left him, then to me. “Open it!” I say. He obliges. The smell hits him first. An entire batch of churros, a thermos of Mexican hot chocolate, and a pint container of cajeta. And it’s all his. He arranges the items back in the basket just as they were and just as meticulously closes the basket back up. He walks back over and hesitates, but then comes in for a hug. His holster and gun bump my hip as he pulls me in close, thanking me for being so thoughtful. He breaks away awkwardly and says he’ll fetch the Dent boys for me. He takes his basket with him when he leaves.
I set out ingredients and begin to sketch the day ahead. I imagine Yvonne sitting in that little cell with the chaplain talking about mortality, regrets, and God’s mercy. The other night I had the strangest feeling that she’d find out it was me. Somehow there’d be this moment where I’d be unmasked. But maybe that was just another one of my nightmares. The kitchen door clicks and Jace walks in with the Dent boys. I smile and know I’m going to miss them. But that thought actually begins to shift and morph into the germ of an idea.
“You’re leaving?” Cody asks, walking over to me.
“Yes,” I say.
“It’s been our pleasure,” Harlan says, extending his hand to me. I take it and we shake hands. His hands are calloused and rough, but his handshake is firm and confident. I extend my hand to Cody and he takes it. He won’t look at me as we shake hands. I tilt my head down and make eye contact with him and he finally smiles.
“Warden Dale says the Dent boys are going to be in charge of last meals until they get out. He said he was a futurist, I don’t know. Something about the future. I can’t remember,” Jace says from his chair by the door.
“Oh yeah?” I ask.
“Yes, ma’am,” Harlan says.
“Y’all will do great,” I say.
“Yes, Chef,” they say.
“Well, why don’t we get started,” I say. I made the decision not to tell anyone here about my relationship with Yvonne. I don’t need a bunch of hangdog expressions as I work through my last day. I imagine the guards are already on edge simply because Yvonne is a woman. This will be a first for Shine. I lay out the schedule and guide Cody through the mashed potatoes and green beans. I put Harlan on the cream gravy while I start in on the fresh strawberry ice cream and pecan pie. The Dent boys leave for lunch, but I don’t stop to eat. I can’t. I move around the kitchen, cleaning and busying myself for as long as I can. I know she’s just outside these walls. As the day moves on, I’m getting more and more antsy. But I don’t dare leave. The pecan pie is in the oven and the ice cream is chilling in the freezer. As the walls settle in around me, I finally sit.
I let my eyes follow the clean silvery lines of the kitchen all the way around the room. I feel the tears begin to fall down my cheeks, tickling their way along the side of my nose. I taste their saltiness on my lips as I swipe at them with my sleeve. I think about that job in Portland. I realize it’s not what I want anymore. I’m not the same chef I was just a few months ago. Hell, I’m not even the same person I was a few months ago. I’ve cried more in the last few days than I ever did in the ten years I was running.
I don’t want to work in a kitchen, I want to work in my kitchen.
I want chairs that don’t match and a porch with a swing. I want mason jars filled with wildflowers in the center of rustic wooden tables. I want flickering candles and a fire in a fireplace. I want mismatched dishes and old-timey silver. I want people to be able to smell what’s cooking a mile away so that even though they don’t know the address, they’ll still find us. I want a honky-tonk band and couples dancing under colorful lanterns.