Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,71

say, speaking of things I didn’t even know I’d thought about.

“The myth that people can possibly be ready to die is one of the cruelest,” Hudson says, taking another long swig of his beer.

We are quiet.

“I haven’t talked about life and death in a long time,” I say, curling my foot up beneath me on the bench. I’m closing in on myself. I’m thinking about that day. The principal and his squeaky shoes, being wrenched away from Merry Carole, complicated monsters, and a mother with the cruelest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.

“I think about it all the time,” Hudson says.

“I hear you’re an expert,” I say with a beleaguered smile.

“Yeah, well.”

“What does that mean?” I’m happy we’re moving on to another subject. I’m also happy we talked about it. I feel . . . better. Lightened ever so slightly.

“It means I’m trying to be heard in a room of screaming people, I guess. My opinions and thoughts are . . . completely new and revolutionary. This whole summer is about trying to put some power behind my words,” Hudson says, gesticulating wildly.

“You’re here to keep it real then. Get a little street cred,” I say.

“Academics are hard core, yo,” Hudson says.

“That was painful,” I say.

“I know—I was midway through it and I could have totally stopped before the ‘yo,’ but I didn’t. I just went for it,” Hudson says, laughing.

“Yeah. Totally,” I say, poking fun at his Californianisms.

“Don’t even get me started on the way you people talk, or should I say the way y’all talk,” Hudson says. I drain the last of my beer. Hudson continues, “You want another round?” He scans the room for the cocktail waitress.

“No, I’ve got to get home. My sister will be waiting up for me,” I say, wanting to just crawl into my bed and dream of anything but Shine Prison.

“I’ll settle up the tab and meet you out front?” Hudson says, draining his beer.

“Sounds good,” I say, standing. Hudson stands. I keep forgetting how tall he is. How did I get here? Sitting at some snobby bar in Evans, of all places. And with him. I don’t know if I could have had that conversation with anyone else. Whatever happens with Hudson, I am grateful he was here tonight.

“What are you thinking?” Hudson asks.

“What?” I ask, caught off guard.

“What were you thinking just then?” he asks, standing in front of me now. My face colors as though I’ve been caught red-handed. Can this motherfucker mind-read? Hudson continues, “Oh, you’re totally telling me now. It’s good, huh?” He folds his arms across his chest.

“I was just thinking that even though I have no idea how I landed at this bar of all places, I’m happy I did,” I say, deciding to tell the truth (some of it anyhow).

“Is that all?” Hudson asks, stepping closer. I look up at him.

“And that you’re taller than I thought,” I say, finally making eye contact with him.

“Am I?” he says.

“I don’t know if you’re being purposely obtuse or just being a dick,” I say, his body so close now.

“Probably a combination,” Hudson says. He slides his hand behind my waist and pulls me into him. I’m caught off guard and hear myself (horrifyingly) gasp. “Oh well, that’s kind of adorable, isn’t it?” he asks, just before quieting me with a kiss. His mouth is warm and I can feel him smirking even now. I hear the older women at the other table making comments. There might be hooting and hollering. As the humidity settles in around us, I can hear Miranda Lambert singing about the house that built her. I can’t help but smile. In front of God and everybody, Professor Hudson Bishop kissed me.

And you better believe I kissed him back.

“You sure you still have to get home?” Hudson asks, as we finally break from each other.

“I’m sure,” I say, not moving one inch.

“Then you’d better get going,” he says, pulling me in again. My heart swells as Shine Prison falls away. Hudson is fast turning into the antidote for the horror of what goes on in the Death House. I break from him again.

“Time to go,” I say, with a smile.

“Fine. Meet you out front?” he asks, swiping my bangs to the side.

I nod and walk into the bar before I get lost in him again. The music is pounding and loud, couples move and sway across the tiny dance floor. I shift and jostle through the crowd and find myself unable to think straight.