Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,132
canister feels cold against my hands. I blink and refocus. A smile. Her favorite.
Three minutes.
Harlan brings the pecan pie over. I slice the pie and place it on a smaller plate. I scoop the fresh strawberry ice cream out into a bowl and place it on the other side of the tray. I pour a glass of sweet tea for her. She didn’t formally request it, but that’s what she always used to have a pitcher of in the fridge.
Two minutes.
Harlan brings over the still steaming biscuits while Cody readies the honey butter. Jace sets his newspaper down and walks over. I choose the best chicken fried steak and place it on the plate, finishing the meal.
My last last meal.
We stand around the tray. Just staring at it. Forever in awe. The chicken fried steak will be just as she remembered it. The biscuits will flake just like they used to. The pecan pie will be sweet and will take her back to those times she sat at the tables just outside the shack on a summer’s day. And for once, she’ll have fresh strawberry ice cream to go with it.
We take one another’s hands.
“Bless this food, Lord. Let it transport and remind us all of better times. Let it cleanse and purify. Let it nourish and warm. In it, let us find peace. In Jesus’ name, amen,” I say. Tears stream down my face as my eyes flutter open.
“Amen,” the men say.
The key card clicks and Shawn walks through the kitchen.
“Queenie, it’s time.”
28
Kettle corn and a Coke
I don’t eat with the guards or sit in my car after the meal is done. I clean the kitchen, say my good-byes, and flick off those kitchen lights one last time. I have to get out of here. When Shawn brought the tray back in, he couldn’t look at me. I knew something was wrong.
“She said thank you,” he said, looking down at the ground.
“What?”
“She said it was exactly like she remembered,” he said, his entire body deflated. Shawn set the tray down on the counter and when he finally looked at me, all I saw was pain. His face was tense, the tears mutinously welling up. I just shook my head, unable to say anything. So we just stood there and let ourselves cry. Again.
I speed down the highway, my window wide open. I think about fresh strawberry ice cream and saying thank you. I think about closure and moving on. I think about peace and being okay. I think about complicated monsters and cruel blue eyes—that I didn’t inherit. I think about Arabella’s ultimatum and a marriage I knew was a sham. I drive through the center of town and continue on toward Everett’s. Past the houses and up into the hills. Past the Paragon Ranch gate until I find the dirt road once again. I pull down the long dusty road and my headlights illuminate Everett’s home. I turn off my headlights and am stepping out of my car as the door opens and he steps out onto the porch.
“I read in the papers about Yvonne Chapman,” he says as I climb the steps of his porch. His white T-shirt and jeans are casual. The glasses and bare feet are downright intimate.
“You know, she ordered the Number One.”
“What do you mean, she ordered the Number One? Like the one your mom used to make?” Everett ushers me inside his house as Arrow does his gruff barking routine only to grow weary and plop down on his plaid dog bed.
“Yeah. For her last meal,” I say.
“Oh my God,” he says.
“I talked to her.”
“What?”
“Yeah.”
“What did she say?”
“She just wanted to know that I was okay,” I say.
He steps forward and speaks. “Queenie, honey, you’ve been thr—” I stop him. I reach up and I just kiss him. With everything I’ve got. He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me into him. I break from him and try to let it all in. I survived the war, but now it’s time to take off my armor and set it proudly in its place of honor. It’s time for me to choose someone to be in my world without any battlements at all.
“I love you. You’ve undone me in every way. I don’t care how we’re together just as long as I don’t have to spend another day apart from you. I just don’t work without you,” I say.