Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,32
cook the meal and that’ll be that.”
“I know, that’s kind of what I was thinking,” I say.
“Is the money that good? I mean, it’s not like you have any expenses here. Why . . . why take it if there’s some question about it, you know?” Dee is being very careful with her words.
“As I was leaving, Warden Dale said that I was the right person for the job. That I’d fit in there. No one’s ever said that to me before,” I say.
“Really?”
“Yeah, I get these jobs and there’s always all these explanations and addendums about ‘taking a chance on me’ and how hiring me is ‘out-of-the-box thinking,’ and on and on. This was the first time someone just flat out said they wanted me and only me.”
“It sounds like you’ve made up your mind,” Dee says.
“The last time I got fired, my boss talked about how I didn’t have any passion for the food unless I was complaining about their recipes. Like I had none of my own, you know?”
“But you do.”
“I know. So why didn’t I make them?”
“Maybe because you’ve been making those same recipes since you were a kid? I can see how you would have gotten burnt out,” Dee says.
“I guess.”
“Maybe you thought you’d find another way to cook that you liked better.”
“But I didn’t. And then I just forgot everything. And started yelling at tourists for putting ketchup on their eggs.”
“Chance puts ketchup on his eggs. It’s disgusting.”
“Different strokes, right?” I say, my stomach turning.
“I guess. Makes me think I’ve failed as a parent is what it does.”
We are quiet.
“I don’t know. Something about being able to cook food for real Texans, and that it has to be perfect? That’s speaking to me something fierce,” I say.
“I can see why you’d like that,” Dee says, not making eye contact.
Dee continues in an awkward blurting out, “Laurel was in particularly fine form this afternoon. I think Merry Carole was right about not having you in the salon.”
“I just think it’s all so futile. Like there’s anything we could do or have done already to make it so they don’t hate us. It’s their little pastime at this point. It’d be like taking away scrapbooking or making deals for people’s souls. And Merry Carole playing into it isn’t helping. They’re going to smell it on her and . . . I just hate to think of what’s going to happen,” I say.
“Laurel’s been different ever since the divorce,” Dee says, taking another sip.
The bar sounds muffle around me. My breath is yanked from my body and I can only focus on that tiny straw in Dee’s impossibly pink drink.
“The divorce?” My voice is raspy as I settle deeper into the tiny chair.
“Yeah, sure. She and Everett got divorced about a year after they got married. It barely lasted a minute,” Dee says, her voice now a conspiratorial whisper.
Everett. I can’t even form a thought. I just keep thinking his name inside my head. Everett. Everett.
“I didn’t know that,” I say, finally managing some kind of quasi-understandable succession of words.
“They said it was on account of her not being able to have babies, but . . .” Dee trails off.
“But?” I can’t breathe.
Dee looks surreptitiously around the bar—she decides we’re far enough away from the denizens of the Hall of Fame and curls her body over the wooden table. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.
“I know they’re from good families and all that, but I just never thought there was anything between ’em, you know? She was okay in high school, but holy smokes, she just got meaner and meaner,” Dee says, her voice a tiny whisper. I wonder if it’s that Laurel has gotten meaner or is this what happens to the women who love Everett Coburn?
“Yeah,” I say. I can’t feel my body. I can’t feel my face, but I start to feel the littlest of embers warming inside me. I haven’t felt this heat in years, definitely not since I left North Star. We could pick up right where we left off. We’ll take our place in the shadows and . . . and I can be whole again. Even if it’s just for a little while. Or . . . or does he even love me anymore?
“You look like you’re going to be sick,” Dee says, putting her hand on my shoulder as if she were comforting one of her little boys. She continues, “Here. You want another beer?” I am definitely going