Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,29

warmth of the bourbon is all but gone and all that remains is the icy chill of who I’m cooking for.

“You would have a staff of two convicts—the Dent boys. I’ve handpicked them for you. They’re a father and a son who went on one drug-filled crime spree, but have since found Jesus. They’re harmless and perfect for your needs.”

“Would I be cooking for the Death House crew every day or just when there was a . . . an—”

“Just when there was an execution,” Warden Dale says, finishing my sentence.

I nod.

“You never have to know the name or what they’ve done. You just have to cook a meal and make enough of it for the four members of the Death House crew, and Captain Richter. Chaplain Boothe tends to keep to himself. And you can decide if the Dent boys get your meal, if you want.”

“Yes, sir.” Merry Carole was right. I wasn’t taking this seriously. These are real people. Real people who are going to die. Real people who have done the worst things humans are capable of. I’m . . . I’m . . . “I’m going to need another drink, Warden Dale,” I finally say.

Warden Dale stands and pours me another glass of bourbon. He does not pour himself one. I slam the bourbon down, letting the warmth move through my body. I breathe.

“Can I give you an answer at the end of the weekend? We’ve got Fourth of July festivities and I need time to think,” I say, my mind a haze.

“Yes. Absolutely. I know it’s a lot to take in. But you have to see this as an opportunity to be that last shred of humanity before these men and women meet their maker. You are offering them a bit of . . . home.” We stand and he extends his hand to me.

“Home.” I take his hand and we shake.

“Please think about it, Ms. Wake. I know you are the right person for the job.”

“I will think about it, Warden Dale. You’ll have your answer by Monday.”

“Ms. Wake?” I turn around, my hand desperately clutching for the doorknob. I have to get out of here.

“Yes, sir?” I ask. Juanita is standing and waiting to walk me back through the Long Hallway of Echoes.

“I think you’ll fit in here. Please think about it,” Warden Dale says. I nod and walk with Juanita through the hallway and front office. I walk across the parking lot and sit in my car. I turn the key and blast the air-conditioning as my car idles. I turn off the radio and rest my hands on the hot steering wheel.

“I’ll fit in here? At a prison. That’s perfect. That’s fucking perfect,” I say, putting the car in reverse and hightailing it as far away from Shine Prison as possible.

Once I get back to North Star, I park my car and head toward Merry Carole’s salon. I skirt the folded chairs and red, white, and blue streamers that Merry Carole has put out in front of her salon to mark off her territory for the parade. Country music, hair dryers, and gossip greet me again as I walk through the front door. Merry Carole is standing at the front counter talking to Fawn; she looks up as I approach.

“Laurel Coburn has an appointment in ten minutes, so talk fast and then get back to the house,” Merry Carole says, flipping through her appointment book. Fawn scans the appointment book for further “issues.”

“I’m not going to sneak out of here like a dirty little secret. I’m your sister,” I say, hating that I’m begging not to be hidden from the light of day. Again.

“I just don’t want a whole thing, you can understand that,” Merry Carole says.

“I’ve done nothing. We’ve done nothing. She has a problem with us, remember?” I ask, my blood boiling.

Merry Carole just sighs.

“It’s actually adorable that you think you can hide enough of yourself so these people will accept you, bless your heart.”

“Well, they’ll have to accept me after tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“The parents of the starting team are automatically appointed to the board of the Stallion Battalion, so once Cal gets named QB1, they’ll have to put up with me.” Merry Carole flips a small mirror on the front desk around and checks her hair in it. A quick pouf, a lip-gloss touch-up, and she turns the mirror back around.

I don’t say anything. My blood goes from boiling to running cold. I feel nothing but compassion for my beautiful