Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,65

all trying to salvage a time when we dreamed beyond our reality and thought monsters were under our beds instead of peppering our family trees. We’re trying to harness those fleeting moments that turned our ordinary lives into something extraordinary. In the sepia haze of those memories, we are beautiful. I hear the key card click and try to gather myself. I’ve gotten downright sentimental in this hard-lined stainless-steel kitchen all by myself. I can’t let it happen again.

“Chef Wake,” Jace says, presenting the Dent boys.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice softer than before. Jace nods, undoing their shackles one by one.

“Chef,” Harlan and Cody say simultaneously.

“Harlan. Cody,” I say, with a nod. Jace settles himself in a chair by the door. He flips open his newspaper and leaves us on our own.

“What have we got today, Chef?” Harlan asks, scanning the kitchen.

I go over the meal with the Dent boys, pointing out their stations, hoping they begin to think of these workspaces as their own territories.

“I’ll be doing the fried chicken, but I’ve actually changed my mind about the okra. Harlan, I’m going to need you to do that, so I can get on that chess pie,” I say, scribbling and scrawling all over my to-do list.

“Yes, Chef,” Harlan says.

“We have until four PM and it’s just past ten AM. We’ll break for lunch and then get back to it,” I say, scanning my list again.

“Do you know who we’re cooking for?” Cody asks, looking to Harlan. Harlan nods yes.

“I don’t want to know,” I say, jumping in before Harlan has a chance to answer.

Jace flips his paper down and is now watching us.

“Yes, Chef,” Harlan and Cody say in unison.

“I apologize for my rudeness. I decided early on that I didn’t want to know anything about who we’re cooking for. I need this to be about the food. If I know I’m cooking for some murdering sack of shit, I’m not going to be able to do it. Y’all get that?” I ask, my voice strong and clear.

“Yes, Chef,” Harlan and Cody answer.

“Now let’s get to work,” I say, moving on.

“Yes, Chef,” Harlan and Cody say. Jace brings his paper back up and flips the page.

The day is sublime in that way I’m just going to have to get used to if I continue working here. I fit. Whatever that means. I decide to walk Harlan through how I make biscuits, thinking we’re probably going to be making them a lot. Cody looks on as he chops up the potatoes for the potato salad. I have to tell him twice not to peel the potatoes. I want them unpeeled. At least he has the good sense not to even ask where the mayonnaise is.

I start in on the crust for the chess pie. Cutting in the lard, carefully—knowing each one of those pieces will be a bite of heaven once the pie is baked. I chill the pie crust while we break for lunch. Harlan and Cody follow Jace back out into the prison, joining the other convicts for lunch. I eat the turkey sandwich I packed. When lunch is over we pick up the pace. The potato salad is perfect and in the refrigerator. Cody is cutting up okra and now Harlan is getting ready to fry it. The chess pie is done and the biscuits will go in the oven just before dinner. All I have to do is fry up a mess of chicken. I hear the key card click and see Shawn and Little Jim come into the kitchen.

“We can smell that all the way out in the hall,” Little Jim says, his eyes closed as he inhales. Shawn says nothing as he walks over to me.

“You all right?” Shawn asks, his voice low.

“I’m focusing on the food,” I say, trying ever harder to believe it.

“I’ll be back in here in twenty minutes, you understand?” Shawn asks, his head dipped, his eyes fast on mine.

“I understand,” I say.

“Good.”

“When should I have supper ready for y’all?” I ask, scanning the room.

“Four fifteen should work fine. We eat when he eats,” Shawn says.

It’s a he. My mouth goes dry and I can’t look at Shawn. I focus on my chicken. Focus on the food.

“Yes, sir,” I say, my voice raspy and choked.

“All right then. I’ll see you in twenty minutes,” Shawn repeats.

“I’d better get to it,” I say.

“Yes, Chef,” Shawn says, with a quick wink. I force a smile. My stomach is in knots as the