Nowhere but Home A Novel

28




Kettle corn and a Coke



I don’t eat with the guards or sit in my car after the meal is done. I clean the kitchen, say my good-byes, and flick off those kitchen lights one last time. I have to get out of here. When Shawn brought the tray back in, he couldn’t look at me. I knew something was wrong.

“She said thank you,” he said, looking down at the ground.

“What?”

“She said it was exactly like she remembered,” he said, his entire body deflated. Shawn set the tray down on the counter and when he finally looked at me, all I saw was pain. His face was tense, the tears mutinously welling up. I just shook my head, unable to say anything. So we just stood there and let ourselves cry. Again.

I speed down the highway, my window wide open. I think about fresh strawberry ice cream and saying thank you. I think about closure and moving on. I think about peace and being okay. I think about complicated monsters and cruel blue eyes—that I didn’t inherit. I think about Arabella’s ultimatum and a marriage I knew was a sham. I drive through the center of town and continue on toward Everett’s. Past the houses and up into the hills. Past the Paragon Ranch gate until I find the dirt road once again. I pull down the long dusty road and my headlights illuminate Everett’s home. I turn off my headlights and am stepping out of my car as the door opens and he steps out onto the porch.

“I read in the papers about Yvonne Chapman,” he says as I climb the steps of his porch. His white T-shirt and jeans are casual. The glasses and bare feet are downright intimate.

“You know, she ordered the Number One.”

“What do you mean, she ordered the Number One? Like the one your mom used to make?” Everett ushers me inside his house as Arrow does his gruff barking routine only to grow weary and plop down on his plaid dog bed.

“Yeah. For her last meal,” I say.

“Oh my God,” he says.

“I talked to her.”

“What?”

“Yeah.”

“What did she say?”

“She just wanted to know that I was okay,” I say.

He steps forward and speaks. “Queenie, honey, you’ve been thr—” I stop him. I reach up and I just kiss him. With everything I’ve got. He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me into him. I break from him and try to let it all in. I survived the war, but now it’s time to take off my armor and set it proudly in its place of honor. It’s time for me to choose someone to be in my world without any battlements at all.

“I love you. You’ve undone me in every way. I don’t care how we’re together just as long as I don’t have to spend another day apart from you. I just don’t work without you,” I say.

“Does this mean you’re staying?”

“Yes.”

“For good this time?”

“Yes.”

Everett’s eyes are fixed on mine. He brings both of his hands to either side of my face. I lean into his touch and close my eyes. He leans down and kisses me. He pulls back only enough to whisper in my ear, his lips centimeters from my skin.

“I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.”

Everett takes me in his arms and I feel it all. The scope and breadth of a love I’m finally allowing to expand to its full size after being kept in a box for far too long.

After however many minutes (hours?), I finally tear myself away from Everett. Merry Carole is going to be waiting up for me for sure, and we have much to discuss.

“So I’ll see you at the game?” Everett asks, standing on the porch as I walk to my car.

“Absolutely. And about all the family stuff with your paren—”

Everett cuts me off. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll make it work.” I nod. We’ll figure it out. We’ll make it work. This time? I actually believe him.

Lighter, I walk down the path to Merry Carole’s. Unencumbered. Free. How is that possible? I open the door and walk through the darkened house. I turn on my light and pull my little notebook out of my luggage. I sit down right there on the floor and begin writing. The well-used recipes, the process . . . I clip the pen into the spiral of the notebook and tuck the notebook back into my luggage. I put on my pajamas and turn off the light in my room. I feel my way down the hallway and creak open the door to Merry Carole’s room.

“You still up?” I ask.

“Come on, then,” Merry Carole says, flipping her blankets back. I tiptoe over to the bed and climb inside. I just sit there.

“I talked to her.”

“You what?” Merry Carole sits straight up in bed and looks down at me.

“I talked to her.”

“And what did she have to say for herself?” Merry Carole’s voice is anxious and terrified.

“She just wanted to know we were okay.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. I thought it was going to be this whole conversation about forgiveness and Momma, but she was just . . . she was just worried about us.”

“Well, damn,” Merry Carole says, leaning over and pulling a tissue from her bedside table. “Damn,” she says again, sniffling into the tissue once more. I slide under the covers as Merry Carole lies down. I nuzzle into the pillow, and Merry Carole and I face each other in the darkness of her bedroom. Rose water. I breathe it in.

“She said thank you,” I whisper.

“She what?”

“She told Shawn the dish was exactly how she remembered it.”

“Oh my God.”

“I know.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“It’s not like—I mean, we’ve been walking around with this for years. It felt shitty for years, but making this meal did something. Talking to her did something. I can’t believe y’all were right, but you were. It’s like I’ve stopped spinning, if that makes any sense,” I say.

“No, it does.”

We are quiet.

“So were you going to call that guy from Portland tomorrow then?”

“I don’t know if I’ll have time. I’ve got to get my Stallion Batallion cheers and big foam finger ready.”

“The game is after—” Merry Carole sits up in bed and throws her arms around me. She scrunches back under the covers squealing with delight. She pulls the blankets up over her shoulders and smooths my bangs out of my face. “I’m so glad. I can’t wait to tell Cal.”

“Me, too.”

“Night, Queenie.”

“Night night, Merry Carole,” I say, snuggling up to her.



“If you don’t hurry up, I swear I’m going to leave without you, Queen Elizabeth,” Merry Carole says, appearing in my doorway in one of Cal’s jerseys, black pencil pants, and a pair of black peep-toe heels. Her blond hair is the closest to Jesus I think I’ve ever seen it and her makeup is “camera ready” as she likes to say. Rose and Amelia crowd around her as she makes a face at them regarding my unhurried pace. The girls giggle as they shift their Stallion Batallion gear around. Rose and Amelia are wearing the matching gold sundresses Merry Carole bought for them. Merry Carole has done their hair up in pigtails, accentuated with black and gold ribbons that trail down their backs. Merry Carole has a giant gold foam finger tucked under her arm, a pair of pom-poms in one hand, and four gold-and-black seat cushions in the other. Each of the girls has her own set of pom-poms, which they can’t help but shake throughout our little sisterly chat.

It’s game day.

“I’m ready, I’m ready,” I say, sliding into my pair of Converse All Stars. I spin around and let Merry Carole approve my outfit. Jeans and a genuine Cal Wake jersey. WAKE #5. She nods her approval.

“Yes, it’s beautiful. Now let’s go!” Merry Carole says, rolling her eyes at the little girls like I’m crazy. The girls titter and shake their pom-poms.

It’s finally cooling off a bit, so our walk to the high school’s football field is turning into a pleasant one. I hold Amelia’s hand as Merry Carole holds Rose’s. With Reed coaching, it’s up to Merry Carole to take care of the girls. She couldn’t be more excited. We fall in line with the rest of the town as we queue for the stadium. Merry Carole searches the crowd.

“Dee said she was going to meet us,” Merry Carole says.

“I’m sure she’ll find us,” I say, holding tight to Amelia as the crowd ebbs and flows. Merry Carole picks up Rose as we make our way to the entrance. We’re early enough that we get great seats right in front, on the fifty-yard line. Merry Carole settles the little girls on their cushions. I scan the crowd. Whitney and Wes sit just a few bleachers over with their two little ones. We share a narrow-eyed acknowledgment of one another. As the bleachers fill, Dee and Shawn find us. They are both wearing Cal’s jersey. They sit their boys down next to Amelia and Rose and settle in themselves. Fawn and Pete weave through the crowd and squeeze in next to Merry Carole. They’re also wearing Cal’s jersey. Six Wake jerseys all in a row. We are eleven in total. From the back it must look like quite the Wake army.

Shawn and Pete go on a food run and come back with kettle corn and Cokes for everyone. Shawn looks like a great weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Dee tells me he couldn’t be happier with the sheriff’s.

I see the Coburn clan gathering on the side of the field for their turn at the coin toss. Even though Reed asked Everett to do it, he’ll probably have the entire dynasty come up.

The marching band plays as the crowd gets ready. I’m sandwiched in between Amelia and Dee as we wait for the game to start. The cheerleaders line up on the side of the field, carrying the painted banner that’s for the Stallion Batallion to burst through. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, allowing myself this moment. I am surrounded by family. I deposited my savings in the local credit union and managed to secure a small business loan. I have meetings with a few contractors starting next week. I’ve turned that spiral notebook I hid in my luggage into a journal, a sketchbook, and a menu planner all in one. I’ve sent two letters to Shine Prison addressed to Cody and Harlan Dent, letting them know that when they get out, they have a job waiting for them in North Star. I even sent a thank-you card to that jerk Brad Carter at the McCormick.

I’m okay.

The cheerleaders run onto the field, pulling the painted banner across the walkway. I sit up straight and crane my neck to see if the team is gathering behind the banner yet. I can see Everett taking his place on the field, flanked by his family. He’s talking to Gray about something, resting a hand on his shoulder. Gray bows his head just enough so he can hear Everett over the marching band and growing crowd noise. Everett re-situates his cowboy hat as he leans in to speak to Florrie. He picks up one of her little girls who absently plays with the buttons on his shirt. I notice the kids, and even the grandkids, for that matter, don’t really interact with Felix and Arabella. All that childlike joy and exuberance is probably bad for his heart. Or so Arabella would have us believe.

The team gathers behind the Stallion banner and the crowd goes wild. The marching band launches into the school song. We all stand, hooting and hollering. Amelia and Rose stand up on the bleachers shaking their pom-poms and wooohoooing with all their might. The buzz of the team gets louder and louder and louder, sounding like they’re going to be blasted on the field from a cannon. The first player tears through the banner and the crowd goes wild. Several confetti explosions burst into the sky and, as the rest of the team runs through the now shredded banner, confetti falls all around them.

And there’s Cal. Merry Carole beams. Cal’s got his head down and looks rather serious for a boy running through gold-and-black confetti.

“He looks nervous,” Dee whispers, leaning over so Merry Carole won’t hear.

“I know,” I say, watching as he makes a beeline for the sideline. Reed and his coaching staff, all wearing matching black polo shirts with rearing stallion insignia, trot out last. With his baseball cap pulled low, Reed doesn’t look into the stands, either. He focuses on the sidelines.

“Isn’t that Wes’s old jersey?” I ask, pointing at West. Merry Carole tears her gaze away from Cal and Reed and scans the rest of the team for West. She finds him just as he’s turning around. MCKAY. In big bold letters. Merry Carole just smiles.

“That’s amazing,” she says and swoons. We look over to Whitney and Wes and they’re also wearing a couple of Wes’s old jerseys. As are DeWitt and Cheryl—happily now playing the role of grandparents. I point this out to Dee and Fawn, who launch into a symphony of awwwwws.

The opposing team bursts out onto the field and settles into their sidelines. The referees come to the center of the field, calling the captains of each team as well as the coaches to join them. One of the team parents presents the head referee with a microphone and there is much thumping and feedback as they figure out exactly how this newfangled apparatus works. The referee finally tugs the microphone away and thump, thump, thumps it to make sure it’s on.

“WELCOME, oh wow, that sure is loud. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to a new season of football!”

The crowd applauds. The referee thumps and thuds the microphone as he asks Reed a question. Reed nods and motions to Everett on the sidelines.

“At this time, Coach Blanchard of the North Star Stallions would like to make an announcement.” The referee passes the microphone to a very irked-looking Reed. Reed takes it.

“Thanks for coming out, y’all. It looks like the whole town showed up. It’s a tradition here in North Star to choose someone from our community to do the opening-game coin toss. This year the North Star Stallions have asked Everett Coburn to do us the honor.” More applause as Everett runs out onto the field. He keeps his head down and his cowboy hat low. Fawn, Dee, and Merry Carole all look over at me. Pointedly. I immediately blush, but despite their smug sideways glances, trying to embarrass me, I finally feel free to stare unabashedly at Everett. My man. Reed passes him the microphone and the crowd settles into a momentary silence.

“Thank you, Coach Blanchard, for recognizing Paragon Ranch. We are truly proud to call ourselves members of the Stallion Batallion,” Everett says to more applause. Everett continues, “I’d like to bring out the entire Coburn family to help with tonight’s coin toss, if you don’t mind?” The entire Coburn clan trots onto the field, gathering around Everett. I know I should probably look at this family with disdain. I know Merry Carole, Fawn, and Dee are doing just that right about now. But I can’t. I can’t take my eyes off of Everett. He turns around and looks at his family as they wait expectantly behind him. He turns back around and looks out into the crowd. He continues, “You know . . . we’re actually missing one person. I’m going to ask that person to join me down here on the field. It’s the woman I love, and as most of you already know, have loved my entire life.”

All eyes shoot to me.

Dee shoves me into a standing position. I look at Merry Carole, who’s sitting there with her hand clapped over her mouth. I smile at her and look back down on the field. Cal has taken his helmet off and is looking from Everett to me. I just stand there.

“Queenie Wake, come make an honest man out of me,” Everett says, staring right at me.

And before I can think, I thread my way through the various feet and knees of the packed bleachers, the muffled sound pounding in my ears. I hop down the stairs and run across the field looking at no one but Everett. He hands the microphone to Reed and steps forward. I leap into his arms and he catches me. I knew he would.

This is you. This is now.

Damn straight it is.





Acknowledgments




I think as I get older I begin to ask questions about what it’s all about, why we are here, and what it is I’m searching for. And then Neil deGrasse Tyson goes and says it way better than I could ever imagine: “We are all connected to each other biologically, to the earth chemically, and to the rest of the universe atomically. That’s kinda cool! That makes me smile and I actually feel quite large at the end of that.”

This life is about connectivity. People. Love.

Period.

I am thankful—like a quivering mound of flesh when I think of them thankful—for my family. Mom, Don, Alex, Joe, Zoë, and Bonnie. And Poet, of course.

Thanks to everyone at Fletcher and Company.

Appreciation to the team at HarperCollins: Carrie Feron, Tessa Woodward, Lauren Cook, Jean Marie Kelly, Mary Sasso, Seale Ballenger, and on and on.

Thankful praise for Kerri and her adorable fam, Marilyn, Christine, Paige, Henry and Norm, Kim and the Crazies, Kim and Mark, David and Kathie, Nicole and Bekka, Dave and Jen, Mark and Sara, Alyssa, Michelle, Kurt, Matthew, Milly, Mia and Nikki, Scott, Larry and Ricca, Sharon, Jane, Juanita, Donna, Glo, Kit and Margaret, Lynn and Rich.

Thank you to Randy Barbour for helping me not embarrass myself when it comes to all things Texas. Thanks to Nina and Matt for showing me around Austin. Thanks to the Katy House in Smithville, Texas, for putting me up while I soaked in their beautiful city.

Thank you to my readers. You make me teary just thinking about how great you are.

And thank you to Mariage Frères tea, the open road, and great music.





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About the author



Meet Liza Palmer

LIZA PALMER is the author of Conversations with the Fat Girl, which became an international bestseller during its first week of publication and hit number one on the Fiction Heatseekers List in the UK the week before its debut. Conversations with the Fat Girl has been optioned for a TV series by HBO.

Palmer’s second novel is Seeing Me Naked, about which Publishers Weekly says, “Consider it haute chick lit; Palmer’s prose is sharp, her characters are solid and her narrative is laced with moments of graceful sentiment.”

Entertainment Weekly calls her third book, A Field Guide to Burying Your Parents, a “splendid novel” and Real Simple says it “has heart and humor.”

More Like Her is Palmer’s fourth novel. The book received a starred review from Library Journal in which they said, “The blend of humor and sadness is realistic and gripping, and watching Frannie figure out who she is and what matters is gratifying.”

After earning two Emmy nominations for writing during the first season of VH1’s Pop Up Video, Palmer now knows far too much about Fergie.

Nowhere but Home is her fifth novel.