Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,14

want to come?”

“I’ll go with you to the Homestead.”

“A negotiation, eh?”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready for my coming-out party yet.”

“Now’s as good a time as any, right? I mean . . . realllly think about it.”

Sighhhhhhhhhh.

“You know I’m right,” Cal says.

“You just want more food.”

“How dare you.”

“Fine.”

I mope and pout down the hallway and take a shower with big shampoo bottles and everything. I put on what I think is my best outfit and then decide very quickly that everything I’ve brought is either checked pants for the kitchen, jeans, or black. Meaning, I have nothing to wear in the throes of this hot and humid Texas summer. I throw on a T-shirt and some jeans, which I immediately regret as the entire lower half of my body turns into a sweat-based soup just outside Merry Carole’s front door. We walk the two blocks to the Homestead and by the time Cal opens up the door to the old diner my hair is smashed against my face and my entire body is shimmering with sweat. The sunglasses I put on to hide my horror at being back in North Star have fogged over due to the humidity.

The air-conditioning hits me in a welcoming burst. The Homestead is just as I remember it. A long counter stretches down one side, the grill and soda fountain just behind it. A large menu with the same twenty or so items on it is painted high up on the wall behind the counter so everyone can see—one whole side dedicated to just pie. Small wooden tables line the other wall leading to the back where the diner opens up to booths and waitress stations. The smell of grease and beef is kept to a minimum because of the owner Sheldon Brink’s motto that his standards are as high as a good Texas woman’s hair. Cal and I grab a booth near the back as I try not to notice the stares.

“Queenie Wake?! Rumor has it you were in town. It’s not often we get a car with New York plates driving through town on a Sunday night. Most townsfolk are in church or home with their families.”

“Hey . . . hey,” I say, quickly checking the girl’s name tag—Peggy. Peggy? Oh shit—Piggy Peggy. She was a couple of years ahead of me in high school and hung out with the popular kids.

“I know! I’m not Piggy Peggy anymore!” Peggy gives me a quick twirl, letting me see her much thinner figure. If I remember correctly, and I know I do, it was her own bitchy friends who gave her that moniker.

“I didn’t think you were ever Piggy Peggy,” I say.

“Oh sure . . . sure. I know. I’m just . . . Wow. Look at you.” Peggy folds her arms across her chest, tucking her pad of paper and the pencil under her arm as she gives me the once-over.

“Yep,” I say, narrowing my eyes at Cal. Peggy shifts her gaze over to him.

“And look at this boy, huh? North Star’s pride and joy! An incoming freshman and already he’s going after varsity quarterback!” Peggy reaches out as if to pat Cal on the back, but then pulls back, deciding to just rest her hand on her hip. Going after? I thought he was already named varsity quarterback?

We all just stare and smile at one another—and by “we all” I mean everyone in the Homestead. While everyone has done their best to pretend they have continued eating and talking, I feel the gazes boring into me. I should never have come here. And by “here” I mean North Star. Coming to the Homestead was just the momentary craziness of not being able to say no to my nephew.

“Coffee?” Peggy asks, snapping out of her haze.

“That’d be great. Thank you,” I say.

“Just water for me,” Cal adds. Peggy clucks a quick you’re welcome and is off.

“I shall set aside my momentary hatred of you for bringing me here for a second as I clarify—I thought you had that varsity quarterback position?” I ask, my voice just over a whisper.

“Oh, I do. Piggy Peggy’s just pissed that her friend’s little brother didn’t get it.”

“Is he older?”

“No, he’s a freshman just like me. He doesn’t even want it. He’s a great wide receiver.” Cal’s confidence is unnerving, yet familiar. Sounds like me talking about cooking.

“Okay, here y’all go—one coffee and one water. What else can I get you this morning?” Peggy says, setting down our beverages,