Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,75
sleep. A single thought dances around the edges of my brain, threatening my dreamy imaginings of staying in North Star.
Everett.
I close my eyes ever tighter and push those brown-and-yellow- pinwheel green eyes as far from my brain as I can. I sigh and finally drift off to sleep.
I spent all Saturday starting to experiment with the next last meal’s recipes while Cal watched TV. Shawn called last night and said that the inmate’s grandmother was from the mountain area just outside the city of San Cristóbal de las Casas. As Cal watched the game, I finally finished my research. I nearly lost it when I realized that the tamales from this region use a banana leaf, but I managed to find a small Mexican market just a few towns over that actually sells them. All I have to do is heat them up the day of and everything will be fine. It’s a more difficult version of the tamale, using a light, sweet mole in the pork filling, but it should be delicious.
It’s now early Sunday and I hear Cal moving around the house in the haze of early morning. I check the clock, it’s just after six. I slept okay, but still had nightmares. The kinds of nightmares in which you’re running through Escheresque mazes and never quite find a way out. It’s been only two days since I made my first last meal. I have a little over a week until my second one and I’m already obsessing, as evidenced by my pork tamale and cabrito cook-a-thon yesterday. I need to busy myself. I flip off my sheet and walk out into the house. Cal’s in the kitchen trying to stem the tide as an avalanche of plastic bags filled with my tamale experiments tumbles out of the freezer.
“I just wanted some ice,” he says, picking up a couple of bags and stuffing them back inside the already full freezer.
“I know, I’m sorry,” I say, picking up the remainder of the bags and finessing them back into the freezer.
“First you make me an omelet and don’t tell me until after I’ve finished that I just ate goat,” Cal says.
“But when you fell for the goat soft tacos later that day . . . ,” I trail off. Cal shudders.
“Where do you even get goat?”
“I found this great butcher who had all this different stuff,” I say.
“Different stuff? Wait, I don’t even want to know. I’m sure I’ll be tricked into some more experiments soon enough,” Cal says, finally getting that glass of water.
“You’re up early.” I say, smiling. Cal rinses his water glass and places it on the dish strainer.
“So are you.”
“I’m going on a run; you’re welcome to join me,” Cal says, walking out into the dining room. He sits down and starts lacing up his gym shoes.
“I think I will, actually,” I say, surprising even myself. This is exactly what I was looking for.
“Really?” Cal says as I walk down to my bedroom. Merry Carole walks out of her bedroom, cinching her robe tightly around her.
“What’s going on around here?” Her voice is a yawn.
“Aunt Queenie is going with me on my run,” Cal says.
“Really?” Merry Carole says, stopping in my doorway as I pull out an old pair of sweats from a dresser drawer.
“Really,” I say, sliding the sweats on. I rummage around in my closet and pull out my gym shoes and walk back out into the front of the house with Merry Carole.
“Church is at nine fifteen, so I’ll have breakfast ready for y’all when you get back,” Merry Carole says, walking into the kitchen and flipping on the coffeemaker. It burbles and shudders to life.
“Oh yeah,” I say, lacing up my shoes.
“Yeah,” Merry Carole says, folding her arms across her chest.
“I forgot about that,” I say, standing.
“I didn’t. I’ll have your outfit picked out by the time you get back as well. Now run along,” Merry Carole says, shooing us out the door.
“Don’t open the freezer, Momma,” Cal warns.
“What? Why?” Merry Carole says, eyeing the appliance.
“Just don’t. And don’t ask what was in those soft tacos, either,” Cal says. I can only smile as I see Merry Carole’s face turn pale.
The early morning mist settles around Cal and me as we walk down the driveway and out into the town square. Cal begins to stretch. I mimic him as much as I can.
“So how’s practice?” I ask, stretching my leg back in