Nowhere but Home A Novel

21




Merry Carole’s mac ’n’ cheese



He didn’t eat the Starburst.

As I sit in my car after the guards’ supper and after we cleaned up the kitchen, I can’t stop staring at the colorful assortment of candy now littering my passenger seat. Shawn thought I’d want them. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that they were, quite frankly, the last thing in the world I’d ever want.

He ate the tamales, the cabrito was gone, the rice and beans peppered the tray as he made soft tacos from the handmade corn tortillas. He dipped the churros in the cajeta and, based on the stain left on the mug, it looks like he actually just drank the Mexican hot chocolate. He picked the pomegranate seeds out of the ensalada and really ate only the citrus. The orange soda cans were crushed and bent. He was angry. Scared. Who knows?

But he didn’t eat the f*cking Starburst.

I watch the guards pace as dusk turns to darkness. This meal was harder in every way possible. I’m already over an hour late to meet Hudson and yet I don’t move. I just need to sit here in the quiet of this car and run through tonight’s events. The guards didn’t really eat as much as the last time. That could have been about the goat more than anything else, come to think of it, but I don’t think so. The Dent boys ate their supper at the table and chairs Shawn brought in for them sometime last week. Shawn stopped Jace before he took the Dent boys back inside the prison and before I escaped out the back door to the safety of Lot B.

“We just got word that your next meal is this Friday,” Shawn said. Harlan, Cody, and I just looked at each other. We had ten days between the last two meals.

“That’s quick,” I said.

“The next two meals you’re going to be cooking are for convicts brought in from Huntsville,” Shawn said. Harlan and Cody were deathly quiet.

“Is that a thing? Is that bad?” I asked.

“They’re usually higher profile,” Shawn said, choosing his words carefully.

“Oh,” I said.

“Here’s your next order,” Shawn said, handing me a slip of paper. I took it, but couldn’t unfold the paper.

“Do you have the next one? The meal after this?” I asked.

“Why don’t we take one meal at a time, Queenie,” Shawn said.

“Oh, all right,” I said, feeling embarrassed.

“I’m just . . . I know how focused you can be,” Shawn said.

“Sure . . . sure, and I appreciate that,” I said, unfolding the slip of paper. Harlan and Cody crowded around.



Inmate #8JM-31245:

Barbecue, vegetable plate, baked beans, sweet tea, fried cherry pie, and an apple



I’m almost catatonic as I hold the little slip of paper in my hand now. Harlan, Cody, and I didn’t need Shawn to go into what “barbecue” meant. Classic Texas barbecue is a beef brisket, sausage, and ribs. A “vegetable plate” is traditionally a potato salad, raw white onions, and pickles. Not quite what most people would call a healthy vegetable plate, but this is how we do it in Texas.

As I roll down my window, hoping a rare summer breeze will find its way to me, I think about that damn apple. It’s the unique, individualized requests that affect me. First it was the Starburst, and now this apple. I’m already winding myself up about being the one who has to choose the last apple this person ever eats. And I can’t even bite into it. What if it’s mealy? Bruised? Why didn’t he just ask for a fried apple pie? I won’t have long to obsess about it and I certainly don’t need the time to practice or research. I could make barbecue in my sleep. And because this meal is going to take me two days to prepare, I really only have tomorrow off. This is a good thing.

I run Shawn’s words through my head over and over again. My next two meals are for high-profile inmates transferred from Huntsville. What does that even mean? Why would they do that? Enough. Just . . . drive, Queenie. Get to the bar and have a well-earned drink. Get to the bar and see Hudson. Everything will be better.

As I drive to Evans, I think about the night ahead. I just want to lose myself and not think about any of this. The Death House. High-profile inmates being shipped in from Huntsville. A lot of things.

I finally pull up to the bar with my mind set. I’ll knock back a couple of bourbons and let Hudson take me away fr—

“Hudson?” I ask, realizing I know one of the drunken twosome stumbling from the bar.

“I didn’t think you were coming,” Hudson says, straightening up. The woman he’s draped around catches the hint and gathers herself.

“Clearly,” I say, looking from him to the woman. She is that woman. The woman you pick up in a bar one night who you couldn’t pick out of a lineup the next day. Thin, blond hair, questionable makeup, and a giant neon sign over her head that says you can take her home and never have to call her again.

“Can you excuse us?” Hudson says to the woman, motioning for her to go back in the bar. She stumbles inside.

“You don’t know her name, do you?” I ask.

“I think I knew it at one time,” Hudson says. That sinking feeling about Hudson rises to the surface. We’re all little plastic army men he’s moving around some battlefield on his bedroom floor. Objects. Not people. Hudson continues, “You really should have called.”

“No, I’m actually glad I didn’t,” I say, turning back around and heading to my car. I don’t need this bullshit.

“So that’s it?”

“Yep.”

“Is this about the other night? At Delfina’s?”

“You mean you don’t think stumbling out of a bar with another woman on the same night you’re supposed to meet me is enough of a reason for me to take off?” I ask, approaching him.

“Well, a departure yes, but this feels a bit final.”

“Does it?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Good. Because it is,” I say, continuing to my car. Hudson follows.

“I’m only here for the summer, what did you think was going to happen?”

“Shipping off to war, are we?”

“What?”

“You’re heading back to Austin, Hudson. To teach. You’re acting like this is your last night ashore.”

“You being hilarious about this is really inconvenient.”

“Then I’ll just be on my way.”

“I think it’s about that guy—that coin-toss guy. I’m a professional, remember?”

“How about you save your condescending, dimestore psychoanalytic bullshit for a time when you don’t have Barbie F*cksalot waiting for you.” Hudson looks over his shoulder and back at the girl by the bar.

“It doesn’t take a fancy degree to know what’s going on with people, Queenie,” Hudson says, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. Of course I didn’t know he smoked.

“Oh, I get it now.”

“Get what?”

“You like to play with your food, don’t you?”

“What?”

“When you came at me at Delfina’s the other night, I knew something was off about you.”

“There’s nothing off about me.” He takes a drag off his cigarette.

“Sure there is. People are interchangeable to you. I mean, look at this. I wasn’t here, you got another one. No harm, no foul.” I motion to the other woman, still by the bar.

“That’s not—”

“You’ve got nothing, so you find people to feed off of. To empty. So you can feel something. And then you go home to your absent, lecherous father and your martyred, shallow mother and tell them tales about what a bad boy you were, hoping they’ll finally pay attention to you. See? No fancy degree needed, just like you said,” I say, my voice getting calmer and calmer.

“That theory only works if I can add a bit of an addendum.”

“What?”

“The trashier the girls the better.”

I slap Hudson’s face without thinking. He actually looks shocked. He claps his hand on his cheek and his eyes flare momentarily. And then he smiles.

“Watch your f*cking mouth,” I say, pointing at him. My finger is one inch from his face.

“Oh, did that hit a bit too close to home?”

“You know it did,” I say.

“Hey, you guys okay?” The woman stumbles over to us from her perch by the bar. Hudson wraps his arm around her as she tumbles into him.

“You’re not as unique as you like to think,” I say to Hudson.

“Neither are you,” Hudson says, tugging the girl closer. She flicks her cigarette into the gutter.

“He waxes his eyebrows,” I say to the woman, pointing at Hudson.

“What?” She tilts her body back and takes a better look at Hudson. He turns away from her and they stumble back into the bar. Hudson doesn’t look back.

I climb inside my car and watch as they walk down the pristine Evans street, and past the adorable B and B I will never see the inside of. The Starburst shift and slide on my front seat as I get on the highway and drive toward North Star.

I made a meal for a young man today who was too young to know any better. At least that’s what everyone kept saying during supper. “Too young to know any better.” “He didn’t have a chance,” they repeated. They felt worse about this kid than they did about the first man I cooked for, because they felt he wasn’t responsible for his actions. I imagine the family of the store clerk he shot would think differently.

Hudson. I should be angrier. Instead, I can’t stop thinking about Everett. I get off the highway and find myself driving through the town square, past Merry Carole’s house and on into the hills where Cal and I run every morning. It’s black as pitch up here at night. I drive past the Paragon gate and think. I know he inherited some land from his grandparents. I remember us going and taking a look at it. I slow my car to a snail’s pace as I try to remember. I turn off the radio and roll down the window. I make a few turns. Wrong ones. Flip a U-turn. Another couple of turns and a few dead ends later and I’m pulling down a long dirt road that I recognize. There it is. At the end of the dirt road. Everett’s home.

I shut the lights off like they do in the movies, but it’s too late. The porch light comes on and the front door opens. Everett. Arrow is just behind him, barking and wobbling in the doorway. He’s calming the old dog and telling him to cool it.

I roll to a stop, finally turning off the car. I don’t know why I’m here. My stomach is somewhere in my throat. I collect the Starburst on my passenger seat and crawl out of my car, slamming the door behind me. I can see it in Everett’s entire body when he realizes who it is. He walks forward and out onto his porch. He’s wearing a white T-shirt and some plaid pajama bottoms and is barefoot. His hair is uncombed and he’s wearing glasses. Everything about how unguarded he is right now breaks my heart. Maybe that’s why I’m not mad at Hudson. Because the first thing I thought about after driving away from Evans wasn’t what I’d lost with Hudson, it was what I’d lost with Everett. Hudson never had a chance. Of course, he knew that.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” I say, walking the apparent nine miles to his house from where I parked.

“Ah, yes. I’m going blind in my old age. I didn’t know you knew where I lived,” Everett says.

“You showed this land to me once. When you first got it,” I say, stepping up onto the porch. Arrow waddles over to me, tail wagging, still half-barking. “Hey, boy . . . look at you. All grown up. That’s a good boy.” I hold my hand out to let him smell it and he finagles an entire pet out of the opportunity.

“That’s right, but you haven’t seen the house yet. You brought candy?” Everett asks, stepping aside and gesturing for me to come inside. Arrow launches himself into the house first.

“No, I haven’t seen the house. And this is the last-meal candy that I don’t know what to do with. He didn’t eat it,” I say, walking inside Everett’s house, holding the handful of Starburst aloft. Everett shuts the door behind me.

Everett’s house is not as grand as I would have thought based on the amount of land around it. Arrow waddles over to his dog bed, his feet skidding a bit on the dark hardwood floor. He plops down and sighs, letting his head fall on the cushion, still watching our every move.

“I know. He’s getting old,” Everett says, walking over to the large gray sectional and shutting off the sports recap playing on the flat-screen TV. The flat screen’s positioned over the large fireplace that anchors the far wall. The great room is just that. Great. High ceilings with exposed rafters soaring to and fro. French doors and wood paneling. Warmth and light combined in a way that makes you want to sink into Everett’s house with a cup of tea, a good book, and watch the seasons change. This isn’t helping the situation.

“He’s such a great dog,” I say, not knowing where to stand or why I’m here.

“No, he’s not,” Everett says, looking just as awkward.

“I’m sorry I barged in on you,” I say.

“I’m glad you did. Can I get you anything or did you just want to eat last-meal Starburst?” Everett walks through the great room and gestures for me to follow him. I oblige, still clutching the Starburst.

“I don’t know why I brought them,” I say, walking into his kitchen. Open shelving and a well-used wooden country table invite, but don’t overwhelm you. He opens up the refrigerator and pulls two beers out. He cracks them both open and hands one to me. I take a long drink.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the table.

“He was a kid. I knew it, too. His last meal was clearly trying to re-create Christmas. And he asked for Starburst, but then he didn’t eat them. I’m finding it’s those little personal things that are getting to me. The other guy ate the ranch dressing that I just happened to add at the last minute. I mean, what if I hadn’t added it?” Everett sets his beer down on the table and reaches over and pries loose the Starburst from my hand.

“I’d heard you were making last meals,” Everett says, setting the stack of Starburst down on the table.

“Yeah.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

“Not good, but good. It’s weird, I know, but the part where I’m in that kitchen and we’re making this luxurious, once in a lifetime meal and everything has to be perfect—that fits. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier. But it’s this. This,” I say, motioning to the Starburst.

“Yeah, I can see that being tough.”

“Your house is beautiful,” I say, looking around.

“Thank you.”

“Okay. I’d better head home. Thanks for the beer and for listening,” I say, walking over to the trash can to throw my beer bottle away.

“You don’t have to go,” Everett says, standing.

“Yes, I do.” I can’t look at him. With his glasses and his messed-up hair. In this house that I can’t sink in and stay forever. I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t have seen what it is I can’t have. It’s better than I could ever have imagined. I grab the handful of Starburst and Everett steps forward.

“Queenie.” Everett puts his hand on my arm and it immediately soothes me. I lean into him and close my eyes. I can’t look at him or else I’ll stay. I breathe. Think clearly. I open my eyes.

“I have to go,” I say, forcing out the words. I bend around his body and walk toward the front door. Everett follows.

“What did you mean the other day about knowing how this ends?” I ask, turning away from the door and facing Everett.

“You and me. That’s how this ends,” Everett says, stepping closer.

“How do you know that?”

“Because it’s the only thing that keeps me going.”

“But—”

“Did you ever stop to think that I wanted to go with you? That night you left?”

“What?”

“Did you ever consider the possibility that I wanted to leave North Star as much as you did, but couldn’t?”

“No.”

My simple answer catches Everett off guard.

I continue, “You seem to think I possess some superhero level of confidence or ability to read your mind. I felt rejected and lost right up until I hit that blinking red light at the outskirts of town. I mean, I’d seen the movies. I thought you were going to come running down the street—preferably in the rain—and stop me from leaving,” I say, my voice hollow and far away.

“But I didn’t.”

“No.”

“I was waiting for you to burst into that chapel—you know, when they say let him speak now or forever hold his peace. I imagined you saying something like, ‘I object!’ and then coming down the aisle, taking my hand, and leading both of us out of there.”

“But I didn’t.”

“No.”

We’re quiet for a long time. Standing in that great room with the weight of our past hanging between us. Arrow snores loudly in the corner.

“I’d really better be getting home. Merry Carole is probably waiting up.”

I step forward, hesitating just a bit, and pull him in for a hug. I feel him sigh and then wrap his arms all the way around me, pulling me in even closer. I nestle into his chest as he folds over me. I sigh, the softness of his T-shirt against my cheek.

“It was good seeing you,” he says, right into my ear. Low. A whisper.

“You, too.” We break apart and I shift the Starburst from one hand to the other.

“And now that you know where I live . . .” Everett trails off. I smile and nod as he opens the door for me and we walk out onto the porch. I walk down the steps and climb back into my car, scattering the handful of Starburst onto the passenger seat once again. I start up the car and turn on my headlights. They light up Everett standing on that porch. I take a deep breath and turn my car around and make my way back down that long dirt road.

I drive back through North Star in a daze. He wanted me to stop the wedding? So both of us kept waiting for the other one to step in and save us from ourselves. I pull down Merry Carole’s driveway, shut my car off, and just sit there for a second. The silence of the car soothes me as the heat builds from the closed windows and my buzzing energy. I grab my knives, leave the Starburst, and walk inside the warmly lit house.

“You’re home early,” Merry Carole says, sitting on the couch with Cal.

“Yeah,” I say, walking toward the kitchen in a daze.

“Have you eaten dinner?” Merry Carole calls from the living room.

“I had lunch,” I say from the kitchen.

“There’s leftovers in the fridge. I made my macaroni and cheese,” Merry Carole says.

“Oh nice,” I say, pulling the casserole dish from the refrigerator. I serve myself up some mac ’n’ cheese and wait in the kitchen as the microwave spins. Merry Carole walks into the kitchen.

“You okay?” she asks, craning her neck to make sure Cal is still in the living room.

“I may have just slapped Hudson in the face,” I say.

“What happened?” Merry Carole asks.

“I was late to the bar and he was already leaving with another woman,” I say.

“Oh,” Merry Carole says, taken aback.

“But it’s fine. He’s not—”

“He’s not Ev—”

“Well, there’s that. But there was something off about him,” I say.

“You’re not just saying that?”

“No, he had this switch. It’s like people became objects really quick. It was weird.”

“Is he a sociopath?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t know—wow, maybe. He started talking to me about victims’ families and how they feel this and that happens and what did I think and had I experienced that when my mom was murdered—at Delfina’s he was talking like this.”

“What? Why would he do that? That’s none of his business.”

“I know. I think because it’s what he’s studying he forgot that he just doesn’t get to demand that information. He treated me like one of his test subjects.”

“That’s crazy.”

“I’m glad I didn’t get any further with him,” I say.

“No, it’s good that you’re completely in love with someone else and therefore incapable of starting up anything new with anyone else. How is . . . everything else?” Merry Carole gives me a quick wink and smiles. I choose not to share with her my little detour to Everett’s house right at this particular moment.

“It was a tough one. He was young. And . . . I knew it, you know? I just knew it. He wanted candy, but then he didn’t eat it? It was Starburst. Did you know there’s like ten thousand flavors of Starburst now? But why wouldn’t you eat it? Shawn gave it back to me and . . . what am I supposed to do with it? I don’t want to throw it away because . . . I just don’t want to throw it away. I don’t want to eat it, either, because that just seems particularly gruesome. And if I give them away it’s like . . . hey, little girl, here’s a dead murderer’s candy. Ugh, I don’t know. So the candy’s in my car and I wish it would just disappear. Then Shawn came in and said my next meal is this Friday and it’s barbecue, which means—”

“An all-nighter,” Merry Carole finishes.

“Exactly,” I say.

“Well, maybe we can make it fun. Invite Fawn and Dee over,” Merry Carole says.

“Oh my God, that’d be great,” I say.

“Then we’ll do that,” Merry Carole says. The microwave dings and I pull the dish out and find a fork.

“You were going to tell me something?” I ask.

“I’ll tell you later,” Merry Carole says, checking the living room once again.

“You’re kind of freaking me out,” I say, burning my mouth as I try to eat Merry Carole’s mac ’n’ cheese too soon.

“Don’t be. It’s good. Trust me,” Merry Carole says.

“If the situation were reversed, you’d have me tied up in some torture chamber right now making me talk,” I say, eating another bite too soon. My taste buds are now officially burned beyond recognition.

“True,” Merry Carole says. Cal walks into the kitchen.

“What are you guys whispering about?” Cal asks, leaning on the breakfast bar.

I look from Merry Carole to Cal and back to Merry Carole.

“Your momma and I were just tal—,” I start in.

Merry Carole interrupts me. “Baby boy, I have some big news.” I almost choke on my mac ’n’ cheese.

“What . . . what is it?” Cal asks, looking from Merry Carole to me.

“Don’t look at me, I have no idea,” I say. Merry Carole puts her hands on her hips and looks down. She takes a deep breath and steadies herself. Cal and I just wait.

“Momma, what’s going on?” Cal asks again. I look at Merry Carole.

“Honey, Reed and I, you know, Coach Blanchard?” Cal and I nod. Merry Carole continues, “Coach Blanchard and I are . . . well, he proposed. He wants to marry me.”

Cal just stands there. Time stops. Merry Carole looks petrified.

“I knew y’all were dating, but I didn’t know it had gotten so serious,” Cal says.

“You knew we were dating?” Merry Carole sputters. I look like the cat that swallowed the canary.

“Sure. For about a year now, right?” Cal asks. Merry Carole just nods. She’s starting to lose it. I take her hand, squeezing it tightly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, sweetie. I didn’t know how I felt about him and I didn’t—”

“How do you feel about him?” Cal asks.

“I love him,” Merry Carole manages.

“Then you should marry him,” Cal says.

Merry Carole begins to cry, which quickly turns into happy hysterics. As do my tears. Cal comes around the breakfast bar and sweeps her up into a hug.

“Why are you crying? Momma? Why are you crying?” Cal asks, squeezing her tighter and tighter. The tears run down my cheeks as I watch my sister completely break down. Cal’s lip quivers, he’s trying hard to be the last one to break. His eyes well up and the tears begin to fall.

“I was so scared to tell you,” Merry Carole says.

“Why?” Cal leans down close, wiping her tears.

“Because it’s always been just us. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me and I never wanted to risk it.” Merry Carole takes a hankie out of her robe pocket and blows her nose. She takes a deep breath, but the tears still stream down her face. I am quiet, hysterical, but quiet. Merry Carole squeezes my hand tightly. I sniffle and grab a paper towel, blowing my nose.

“You and Coach Blanchard. Getting married,” Cal repeats, almost to himself.

“Yes,” Merry Carole says. She looks terrified again as Cal searches her face.

“Aren’t you supposed to have a ring?” Cal asks.

“I have it, but told Reed I wouldn’t wear it quite yet. He wanted to propose with all you kids around. I want it to be a surprise when you see it,” Merry Carole says.

“I like Coach Blanchard,” Cal says, trying to figure this all out.

“You do?” Merry Carole asks, her voice cracking.

“Yeah,” Cal says, nodding.

“What do you think about us becoming a family?” Merry Carole asks.

“I think I’d like that,” Cal says. His voice is a hopeful whisper.

“You would?” Merry Carole squeaks out, the tears starting again.

“Yeah,” Cal says.

“I would, too,” Merry Carole says, pulling him in for a hug.

I just stand there and watch, clapping my hand over my mouth and trying not to cry too much. Merry Carole holds Cal tightly in her arms. She smooths his hair and assures him it’s going to be okay as he just nods and lets her comfort him.

“I’m so happy for you,” I say as they finally break apart.

“I’m so happy for me!” Merry Carole says, tears still streaming down her face.

“So, maybe invite Reed and his girls to our little barbecue,” I say, taking another bite of the mac ’n’ cheese. Cal leans back on the breakfast bar.

“What little barbecue?” Cal asks.

“We are not inviting those little girls over here so you can serve them murderer meat,” Merry Carole says, pulling a glass from the cupboard.

“Murderer meat?” Cal and I break into hysterics.

“You know what I mean,” Merry Carole says, pouring herself some water.

“Honey, they don’t have to know who some of the meat is being cooked for. We’ll grill hamburgers and hot dogs while the murderer meat smokes away,” I say. Merry Carole is thinking. Cal and I wait.

“Fine. This might be a good thing. Have everyone together,” Merry Carole says, looking at Cal. He smiles, but he’s still mulling this over.

“I’m off to bed. Early day tomorrow . . . oh wait. Do I . . . do I tell Coach Blanchard I know? Do I still call him Coach Blanchard? Or . . . Reed? Or Mr. Blanchard? . . . Or . . . ” Cal trails off, not daring to suggest he call Reed Dad.

“I’ll let him know you know, sweetie. You can ask him about it if you want. We’ll do it together,” Merry Carole says.

“I think I can talk to him about it,” Cal says.

“We can talk to him together, if you want,” Merry Carole says.

“No, ma’am. I think I want to do it on my own,” Cal says.

“Okay,” Merry Carole says, walking over to him and putting her arm around his shoulder.

“Night night. Aunt Queenie, see you tomorrow morning for our run? West is meeting us at the bottom of the hill. So be ready,” Cal says.

“Yes, sir,” I say, already tired. Cal gives Merry Carole one last hug and walks into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. Merry Carole walks back into the kitchen. I just stare at her.

“What?” Merry Carole says, opening up another cupboard. This time she pulls out something a bit harder than water. Bourbon.

“I will refrain from saying I told you so about Cal knowing far more than you give him credit for because I have to ask— how long have you been holding on to that?” I ask, gladly getting out two glasses for us.

“Days. It’s been terrible.”

“Terrible?” I ask. Merry Carole pours us each a glass and we clink glasses before drinking. I lean back against the counter.

“I just saw this—” Merry Carole starts crying again. She pulls her hankie out of her robe pocket and wipes her nose. She continues, “I just didn’t think I got to be happy.” Her body shakes as she cries, tears streaming down her face.

“Oh sweetie,” I say, pulling her in for a hug.

We hold each other in that kitchen for minutes, hours . . . who knows? We hold each other because maybe we finally believe that even we get to be happy.

And it feels terrifying.