Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,62
Blanchard is not Wes McKay, and you are not that seventeen-year-old girl anymore,” I say.
“But don’t you see? All this? Makes me feel exactly that. Seventeen and helpless,” Merry Carole says, searching for the word “helpless” deep in herself. Even the very word is hidden away.
“Oh honey,” Fawn says.
“I spent my entire childhood being thrown over for a man. I know what that feels like and I am not going to subject my boy to that feeling. No, Reed and I—well, there’s just no future there,” Merry Carole says, the emotion bubbling up from so deep within her.
“But Coach Blanchard is—,” Fawn says.
“Coach Blanchard is what?” Cal says, standing in the doorway to the salon.
The entire salon grinds to a halt. All of us. Horrified. We look from Cal to Merry Carole. She looks . . . pisssssssssed.
“What about Coach Blanchard?” Cal asks again.
“Oh hey, sweetie, we were just talking football,” Merry Carole says, her cheeks flushed, her voice high and nervous.
“Oh okay. Can I borrow some money? A couple of the guys want to go catch a movie just to get in some air-conditioning,” Cal asks, approaching a very relieved-looking Merry Carole. As Merry Carole and Cal wind through whose mother is driving the boys, when he’ll text her to check in, and which movie they’re seeing, I wonder where Everett fits in all of this. Merry Carole is so scared of being vulnerable that she’s willing to forgo her own happiness to protect herself. Am I any different? What am I willing to do and put up with just so I can feel in control and protected?
“That was too close,” Merry Carole says, watching Cal walk outside to meet his friends. She turns and speaks to the three of us as one. “I will figure out what I want to do about Reed in my own time. Until then, y’all need to stay quiet about it.”
“That’s all we ever are,” I say.
“Queen Elizabeth,” Merry Carole warns.
“Honey, I’m not going to say anything. Of course I wouldn’t dream of it, but I do wonder what it is we’re ashamed of, you know?”
“I’m not ashamed of my relationship with Reed,” Merry Carole says.
“Oh, it’s a relationship now?” I ask. Fawn and Dee move in closer.
“He’s the best man I’ve ever known.” Merry Carole is reverent. The entire room swoons. Merry Carole rolls her eyes and walks over to her station, readying for her next client. She continues, “I have to figure this out on my own. And if Cal has heard the rumors and asks me about it, then we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” We all nod in agreement.
“Now you and Everett, on the other hand,” Merry Carole says, her voice cutting through Willie Nelson’s twangs like a knife.
“There is no me and Everett,” I say.
“What?” they ask in unison.
“Like you said, there’s no future there. He loves his parents and Paragon,” I say.
“And he loves you,” Dee says.
“I know that. I do. And he knows I love him. But it’s just not going to work out. We can’t sneak around anymore . . . I don’t think it makes us happy. We start getting sad about the situation pretty much right away. It wasn’t always like that. Maybe when we were younger we thought it could be different? We had a chance. I think we both know we don’t have a chance anymore.”
Merry Carole, Dee, and Fawn are quiet. Sad.
“So that’s it?” Dee asks.
“I don’t want it to be, but I don’t know what else to do,” I say.
“Well, is there anyone else who could take your mind off Everett?” Fawn asks as delicately as she can.
“There is this guy at the prison. He’s spectacular. Now he has the potential to be quite the distraction,” I say, my voice almost as forced as the smile that cracks its way across my face.
“Queen Elizabeth, if you are about to tell me that you are dating a convict . . .” Merry Carole holds her broom in one hand and looks as though she’s about to pounce.
“No, NO!” I say, not even realizing that’s what it sounded like.
“Oh my God, I thought she was going to say that, too,” Dee says, her hand clutching at her chest.
“No, NO? God, you guys. Right, I’m going to keep my decades-long love affair with Everett Coburn, pillar of society, a secret but announce that I’ve fallen for a convict and it’s perfectly normal.” No one thinks that’s as hilarious as