Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,53
says.
“Okay, so let’s get started,” I say, standing tall.
I set Harlan up first in charge of the ranch beans. Cody looks on, listening as I run through the ingredients. Jace makes a comment about why don’t I just use the canned kind, craning his neck to find the immediately recognizable black can with the western-style writing, “Ranch-style Beans” that can be found in every kitchen in Texas. I hold my tongue only because it’s my first day and I don’t want Jace to take out my insolence on the Dents. I give him a charitable laugh and move on. He goes back to his newspaper. Harlan starts in on the ranch beans as Cody and I start on the slaw. He’s cutting and preparing all the ingredients and we’re officially off and running.
I settle in happily with my secret barbecue sauce where no one can see. I covertly add the ingredients and set it to the side. I check on Harlan and Cody periodically as the hours pass and they continue to cruise along. We’re actually quite a good little trio. Cody is slow, and in the time it’s taken him to prepare the ingredients for the slaw, Harlan is already through with the ranch beans and on to the cobbler. The day flies by. I am happier than I’ve been in . . . Jesus, maybe ever. I’ve never felt this at home in a kitchen this quickly. It throws me every time I look over at Jace and see his holstered gun or the clear outline of his bulletproof vest.
I’m in a prison, but it feels like home.
As the time for supper nears, I put the brisket into the oven for just a bit to heat it back up. Harlan finishes the last touches on the cobbler, while Cody stirs the ranch beans. I set the table with whatever institutional dishes and cutlery the small makeshift dining room has to offer. In the months to come, this is where everyone will congregate and share a meal the day of an execution. I want to make it as comfortable and homey as I can, hoping that this gathering place and this food can act as some kind of mental balm for what is in store. So we can eat and not be so alone in all this. I hope.
The table is set and I’m carving the brisket.
“That’s a nice smoke ring, Chef,” Harlan says.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” I say, with a smile. Harlan smiles and then we quickly hide our camaraderie from Jace and his holstered gun.
As the guards, Warden Dale, and Hudson gather around the table, I make up plates for the Dent boys.
“Eat,” I say, setting a plate in front of each of them, knowing if I sound authoritative enough, they won’t want to disobey my orders.
“Yes, Chef,” they say, bending over the counters and settling into their meal. I’ll make it a point to remember to ask Shawn if I can have a table and chairs for them in the future. I continue, “There’s sweet tea in the fridge, help yourself,” I say, walking out into the dining area with the brisket. All of the men are standing around the table. I set the brisket in the middle.
“Sit, please,” I say, pulling my chair in and finally sitting down after a full day. The men sit once I’m settled. A full day has flown by. I’ve yet to notice how tired I am.
“This looks delicious, Ms. Wake!” Warden Dale says, sitting at the head of the table. Shawn is seated at the other end of the table, opposite the warden.
“Thank you, Warden Dale, and thank you for giving me this opportunity,” I say.
“You keep cooking like this and you won’t ever have to worry,” Warden Dale says, taking the plate of brisket being passed to him from Little Jim. He takes it and serves himself. Everyone passes full plates and serves himself. I can see each one let the smells of the meal waft over them with closed eyes and memories of home.
“This brisket must have taken you hours,” Hudson says, sitting next to me.
“A brisket like this takes all night, son,” Shawn says, not even looking at Hudson. All of the guards laugh.
“Then you’d better walk me through how to serve this before I embarrass myself further,” Hudson says.
“Definitely,” I say, passing the brisket to Shawn, at the head of the table.