Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,86

I turn and walk out the door that Hudson is holding open for me and feel somehow cleansed. They may rule this town and control the gossip, but tonight?

Tonight I won.

18

Barbecued pork ribs, coleslaw, white bread, and a slice of peach pie

“Queen Elizabeth Wake, get your bottom in this house,” Delfina says, tugging me inside by the arm.

“Yes, Mrs. Delfina,” I say, while being squeezed and crunched to death by a tiny woman pushing seventy. She pulls me close, wrapping her arms around me and reaching up to kiss me on the top of my head. She’s always been a tiny woman, not an ounce of fat on her. And the way she cooks, she should be as big as . . . well, as the people who eat her food.

“And who’s this fine-looking man you’ve brought with you?” Delfina shunts me aside and takes Hudson’s hand, acting like a schoolgirl.

“Mrs. Delfina, this is Hudson Bishop. He’s not from here,” I say.

“You’re telling me he’s not,” Delfina says.

“Ma’am,” Hudson says, his face coloring.

“Get on out back now. Pansy will bring y’all a plate,” Delfina says, shooing us out into her backyard. I nod and oblige her. We walk out the back door and onto the patio.

“We don’t order?” Hudson whispers.

“Delfina brings you what she’s cooking and you say thank you,” I say, whispering.

“This night just keeps getting better and better,” Hudson says, taking my hand and squeezing it tight.

Delfina’s Place is known only to locals and apparently patrons of a particular B and B in Evans. Delfina Mack is part of the DNA of North Star. She started cooking at her momma’s side as soon as she could walk. I used to hang around here a lot as a kid, picking up whatever I could. Delfina knew I didn’t have much in the way of a home life, so she obliged me. Although, sometimes she would try to wheedle Mom’s recipes out of me and vice versa. It’s hardly an understatement to say that the two women were competitive.

We walk out into the backyard; swamp coolers clunk and boom on the edges of the potholed lawn. The huge smoker sits over on the side of the backyard, Delfina’s only son at the helm. The smell of oak and barbecue permeate the air around the small house. Delfina was always on one side of town and Mom was on the other. Delfina uses oak for her barbecue and Mom (and me) always used hickory. People said that you could tell where North Star was solely based on the competing smells that met in the air just above the town. That little weevil of an idea pops back up. Our plot of land. It’s still there.

“There’s a table in the back,” Hudson says, gesturing toward the table. I nod and smile, finding myself a bit distracted by the possibilities. About a lot of things. I hold Hudson’s hand a bit tighter.

Plastic chairs sit around small tables, and benches line a big wooden community table that runs down the center of the lawn. White Christmas lights are thrown absently over wash lines, but it’s perfect. Delfina’s Place is heaven on earth. Everyone talks and laughs over the swamp coolers, eating the best food this region has to offer. I wonder where I would fit in. Would I carve out my own place just like Momma did? Would I do better? The same? Different? Where would my cooking fit into North Star’s tradition?

Hudson and I settle into the table in the back of the yard.

“Queenie Wake, well, look at what the cat dragged in,” Pansy Mack squeals, setting down two sets of cutlery wrapped in paper napkins. Pansy is one of Delfina’s nine daughters. All nine girls are named after some kind of flower. Her oldest and only son, however, is simply named Steve.

“Hey there, Pansy,” I say, smiling.

“And who do we have here?”

“Pansy Mack, this is Hudson Bishop. He teaches over at UT,” I say, looking from Pansy to Hudson.

“Nice to meet you,” Hudson says, offering his hand. She takes it and shakes it ever so slowly. Pansy is all big tits, blue eye shadow, and cackling laughter. She’s been married more times than I can remember, but she’s also the first person to buy you a beer or bring you a plate if you’re going through something. She’s also the same person who makes a point of reminding the Wakes that they’re a bit lower than the Macks in the town bogeymen