Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,47
a place that cages people? Is it because the stakes are so high? That for once my intensity is right on target? That it’s life or death and that one plate has to be perfect and I get to be as focused as I want and it’s just another day at the office? Or is it because everyone here either has a gun or is a convict and my little sob story is just run of the mill? Maybe it’s all of the above.
“The kitchen is down that hallway, we’ll go there next. But I wanted to show you where the inmates go when it’s their time,” Shawn says, motioning to an unmarked metal door. He continues, “There is an outer room where the Death House crew congregates; there is a cell; there is a hallway with a clock, a phone, and a choice of religious reading material. There are five members of the Death House team because each one of us is in charge of a specific region of the inmate. As the captain, I handle the head and chest, should he try to rise off the gurney or resist. The Jims each handle a leg, and the younguns, Jace and LaRue, each handle an arm. Do you understand?” I nod. I get what Shawn is telling me. Each man handles a region. My mind spins and avoids trying to understand anything deeper than that. I try not to think about Yvonne Chapman and her clickable name on that prison’s Web site that’ll tell me one day that her appeals have been exhausted and she, too, will be sitting in some tiny cell somewhere with five men, each assigned to a region. My breathing quickens and I make a vow right there and then not to check that prison Web site again. Shawn continues, “And then there is the execution room. I need you to promise me something, Queenie,” Shawn says, taking me aside. I am lost in thought. Yvonne Chapman. Complicated monsters. Lost. Spiraling around under the semantics of “each man handles a region of the inmate.” Shawn repeats himself, “Queenie?”
“Yes,” I say, my eyes darting back and forth from the unmarked metal door to Shawn.
“I need you to never come over here to this side. I made that promise to Dee when she found out you took the job. So, we clear?” Shawn asks, his eyes boring into mine.
“Yes, sir,” I say, falling into line just like the rest of the crew. I refocus on Shawn and the task at hand and try to leave Yvonne Chapman in that far, faraway prison where she belongs.
“Good. Now come on,” he says, walking toward the kitchen and away from that unmarked metal door. Shawn swipes his key card and we walk into a makeshift dining area and the kitchen just beyond. It looks like any other cafeteria and kitchen. The kitchen is immaculate, I can smell the cleaning products from where I’m standing. Crisp lines of cabinets over slick white floors. There are high, barred windows that light shines through, but are frosted to make anything blurry just beyond. I walk through the kitchen testing and inventorying what it has to offer. A workable cooktop, a nice-size walk-in, and plenty of preparation areas. I set the brisket, still in its foil, down on one of the counters. I’ll reheat it (something I do, but other Texans swear against) and slice it about five minutes before everyone sits down. No passion, my ass.
“What’s through here?” I ask, pointing to a door.
“Our parking lot.” Shawn walks over, swipes his key card, and opens the door for me. Lot B. As in boy. Not D. Not D. Shawn closes the door and continues, “All right, then. I hear you’re cooking supper for us today,” Shawn says, leaning up against one of the metal counters.
“Yes, sir,” I say, poking around in the kitchen some more. Tons of space in the pantry, work stations for the infamous Dent boys.
“Well, that just made my day,” Shawn says, a smile breaking across his face.
“Mine, too,” I say.
“Jace is going to bring in the Dent boys for you. One of the guards will always be in the kitchen with you. So you don’t need to worry about that. They’re harmless anyway. They’re getting out in less than a year, so they’ve got no call to act out,” Shawn says, scanning the kitchen.
“Good . . . good,” I say, my mind mercifully busy. No time to think about