Nowhere but Home (30 page)

“So when's your last day?”

“Oh . . . right. Dee said she was going to tell you.”

“I hope you don't mind—”

“No, no . . . I'm just so used to keeping it a secret.”

“Do the other guards know?”

“Yes.”

“Who's going to be captain?”

“Big Jim. He's been there the longest. They'll bring in a new guard to take his place on the leg. They'll do fine,” Shawn says, his eyes floating back to his boys. The smile returns.

“So when's your last day?”

“Third week in August,” Shawn says.

“That soon?”

“Not soon enough, if you ask me.”

“I'm happy for you,” I say.

“Hopefully, you'll be right behind me.”

“I'm thinking you're probably right,” I say.

The sliding glass door opens and Reed and his two girls walk through. They meander out onto the patio while Reed closes the door behind him. The little girls stop and wait for him. They stick close.

“There you are!” Merry Carole says, walking over to Reed and the girls. They brighten up at the sight of her. Thank God. She crouches down in front of them and they lunge into her with hugs and stories of their day. Everyone else at the party may as well not be here.

Merry Carole continues, “Hey, y'all, I don't know if you know Reed's little girls? This is Amelia and this is Rose.” The two girls stand there in their pink bathing suits, all little bellies and chubby legs. Their silken blond hair is done up in two little ponytails, and I find myself impressed with Coach Blanchard's ponytail prowess.

“Hey, y'all,” Reed says, waving to everyone.

“Excuse me, Queenie,” Shawn says, walking toward the patio. There's football to talk about. The sliding glass door opens again and Cal comes out fresh from the shower. He looks awkward and moves around the patio politely. I can see that he's making a beeline for me. Reed stops him. I can see Cal watching Reed as he speaks, at first apprehensively, but soon enough he relaxes. Reed is talking to him normally. Cal's shoulders sink down and I can see his hands come out of his pockets as he begins using them to gesture. Cal throws his head back and laughs. Reed leans forward and continues talking through Cal's laughter. I immediately look to Merry Carole. She is riveted. She looks over at me and just . . . smiles. I can see her breathe for the first time in days. Reed gets Cal to help him on the grill and they spend the next hour or so talking and serving up hot dogs and hamburgers. Amelia and Rose have taken quite a fancy to Dee's boys and now all five of them are running through the sprinklers and leaping into the kiddie pool for their big finish.

I bring out the potato salad, the homemade potato chips as Reed and Cal bring over the hot dogs and hamburgers. We shift and squeeze, but we're all finally seated around the table. I look at Merry Carole.

“Y'all, I'd like to say grace, if that's okay?” Everyone nods and agrees. The children eye the food hungrily. I hold my hands out; on one side it's taken by Cal and on the other by Rose. As my hand curls around the tiny four-year-old's hand, I can't help but let it affect me. She looks up at me with these giant blue eyes, still in her swimsuit, her hair slicked back from the water. And she smiles. Beautiful. Open. She pulls her hand (and mine with it) up to her nose and scratches it. Another smile.

Come on.

Merry Carole speaks, “Thank you, Lord, for the feast you have provided us with and for your continued love and guidance. Thank you for blessing me with a strong and healthy boy any mom would be proud of. Thank you, Lord, for the friends and family who have gathered here today. Thank you for sprinklers and hot dogs on a summer day. In Jesus' name, amen,” Merry Carole finishes, her eyes fluttering open as the tears start to come.

“Amen,” we all say together. Everyone begins to pass around food. Rose has yet to let go of my hand. I curl my fingers tighter and resolve to dine one-handed this evening.

It is a loud, raucous dinner. Hooting and hollering and arguing about football. Rose finally decided she needed the use of her other hand somewhere around her second hot dog. I excuse myself and walk inside in search of the Texas sheet cake. Merry Carole and Reed follow me.

“We thought we could make the announcement with the cake,” Merry Carole says as Reed takes a bottle of champagne and a bottle of sparkling cider out of a grocery sack.

“Oh, that's perfect. Do y'all want to carry the cake out?” I ask.

“No, you go on ahead, Queenie. It looks really good,” Reed says, twisting the metal cage off the top of the champagne.

“Oh, don't pop it in here. I'm sure the girls will love to see it,” Merry Carole says, her hand resting on his arm. He melts at her touch. He looks from her hand to her face and lights up as she smiles at him. He's such a stoic man usually that seeing him so affected by her childlike excitement renders me speechless. Love. The promise of time together.

Reed opens the sliding glass door for Merry Carole and me. I can see Cal take in what's happening. And he smiles. From ear to ear. He looks from his mom and Reed to Amelia and they share this little moment. It's just a small smile and then a recognition that they can't ruin the surprise. I see Amelia straighten up and try to hide her smile in the least covert way possible. Apparently not giving away the big announcement involves telling Rose she needs to clean her face of some of the ketchup. Rose obliges.

I set the cake in the middle of the table and all five children immediately get onto their knees and inch closer to the cake. I sit back down between Rose and Cal.

“We wanted to thank y'all for coming out here tonight. I know it's a weeknight and we've all got an early day tomorrow. It means a lot to us,” Merry Carole says, lacing her arm around Reed's waist. Dee takes the napkin from her lap and dabs at her already teary eyes. Fawn just squeezes Pete's hand, looking at Merry Carole and Reed. They can barely contain themselves.

“I'm here to tell you that Merry Carole has made me the happiest man alive by saying she'd finally marry me,” Reed says, pulling the engagement ring from his pocket. He clumsily opens the box and with trembling hands kneels down on one knee and reaches up to place the ring on Merry Carole's finger. The crowd goes wild—we're clapping and oohing and awwwwing. Reed stands and kisses a weepy Merry Carole. But before anyone can speak, Reed continues, “And she's given me something—” Reed's voice catches. It's just as much a shock to him as it is to all of us.

“Daddy? What's wrong?” Amelia asks, her little brow furrowed. Dee leans over and comforts Amelia as Rose absently reaches for my hand. I am there and take it once again. I smooth my hand over Cal's back as we all hold back a wave of emotion.

“Nothing, baby girl. I just . . . I thought I knew how much pride a man could feel by being your daddy.” Reed can't help but smile as Amelia and Rose sit tall. He continues, “But to think that I now have a family . . .” Reed gets choked up again. There's not a dry eye in the house. He manages one last sentence. “And a son any man would be proud to call his own.” The tears stream down our faces as Reed walks over to Cal. Cal stands and is immediately enveloped by Reed. I look up and see Cal close his eyes and then, embarrassed, hide his face in the crook of Reed's neck. Reed puts his hand on the back of Cal's head and smooths his hair, comforting him. I hear Dee sniffle and ask Shawn to pass her her purse. She needs her tissues, she says when the boys ask her why. Fawn just leans on Pete, watching as Cal and Reed hug. I look from Cal and Reed to Merry Carole. She's officially crying, dabbing at her mascara to no avail.

I look over at Rose and she just smiles.

“Cake,” she says, lifting up her hand (and mine) to point at the decadence she feels is being ignored in the center of the table.

“Who wants cake?” I ask, to Rose's delight. Reed takes his place next to Merry Carole and they share a kiss only when they think they're not the center of attention. I see Merry Carole whisper “I love you,” as they stand together. He wipes her tears and says he loves her, too.

“We'd love some,” Dee finally squeaks out, as her boys begin to revolt against all the gushy stuff that's clearly taking time away from the important things in life.

Like cake.

24

Inmate #8JM-31245:
Barbecue, vegetable plate, baked beans, sweet tea, fried cherry pie, and an apple

I load my canvas bags filled with groceries, other supplies, and the barbecue into my car the next morning after my run with Cal and West. Cal is getting back to his old self, although he's still a bit fragile. From the normalcy of West's conversation, I'm guessing that Whitney hasn't talked to him yet. I hope she does. I trust she will. I saw Everett and Arrow this morning. We made small talk as I wheezed and tried to catch my breath, all the while screaming in my head, “Why didn't you tell me what your mother did?” Instead I just begged for water and told him I'd see him tomorrow.

“You heading out?” Merry Carole says, coming out of her bedroom cinching her robe. Last night's party went on until a little after eight thirty, but with the kids there were baths and bedtimes for all. I, on the other hand, set timers and checked on my brisket all night. I am worn out as I pour coffee into my travel mug and look forward to coming home right after this meal. Pure exhaustion is the only thing that's keeping me from getting melancholy about not driving over to Everett's beautiful home for a drink after.

“Yeah, I just want to get this day over with,” I say, twisting the lid tight on my travel mug.

“I'll wait up for you,” Merry Carole says. She reaches up to the cabinet for a coffee mug and I catch a glimpse of a sparkle.

“Well, look at that. Are you wearing your engagement ring?” I ask, walking over to her and grabbing her hand.

“Yes,” she says, downright defiant. She holds out her hand, finally flashing the diamond proudly. It's a beautiful ring, and more beautiful that she's finally letting herself wear it—even after Whitney's little cubic zirconia dustup the other day.

“And are you going to keep it on outside this house?”

“Yes. And I'm going to meet Cal over at the Homestead for breakfast. Then I might just pop on over to the post office for absolutely nothing at all,” Merry Carole says, giddy.

“Damn right you will,” I say, the emotion of yesterday still near at hand.

“Okay, you'd better get going. I'll tell you how far Piggy Peggy's mouth dropped open, don't worry. I'll also make sure she knows how you had to dump Hudson for being too clingy, not to worry,” she says.

“You're a genius,” I say, grabbing my keys off the counter. Merry Carole walks over to the door and opens it for me. She stands aside as I walk out into the morning air.

“I'll be here when you get back,” she says, shielding her eyes from the already glaring sun. I nod and she gives me a quick wave before closing the door behind me. I climb into my car, put my key in the ignition, and . . . the Starburst. Gone. I turn the key and remember that my keys were next to the door when I left this morning on my run. They were on the counter when I returned. As I back out of Merry Carole's driveway I imagine my sister sneaking out in her pajamas without her face on, grabbing those Starbursts, and throwing them into the abyss.

I wanted them to just disappear and she made it so. Love. I drive through the town square, past that red blinking light and out onto the highway with a smile on my face from ear to ear.

Things sometimes work out.

I park in Lot B, gather up all my canvas bags, and trudge the few feet to the back door of the Death House. I didn't see any media or anyone with signs or candles, but then again I'm early. Maybe they get here later? Maybe I'll see them on my way out? I slide my key card and the door clicks over. I turn on the lights and as they flicker on I await Jace. I set my canvas bags on the ground and start unpacking. The kitchen door clicks and I stand up.

“Hey there,” Jace says, standing at the door.

“Hey, yourself,” I say, going back to what I was doing.

“You ready for today?” Jace asks.

“Yep,” I say, setting the brisket on the counter in its tinfoil wrapping. I unpack the ribs and the sausage and set them out, as well.

“Everyone's all amped up about today,” Jace says, stepping forward.

“Oh yeah?” I ask, setting up Harlan and Cody's station.

“You don't know, do you?” he says, his hand resting on his gun.

“No, sir. I prefer not t—”

“We're puttin' down the Teacher's Pet,” Jace says. I look up at him.

“That serial killer?” I ask.

“Yes, ma'am. They brought him over here thinking there wouldn't be as much press and all that. So far, they're right,” Jace says.

“I didn't . . .” I lean against the counter. I stayed up all night making brisket for a man who . . . I can't . . . I need to focus on the food. There's no time for that.

“Didn't you wonder what that apple was for?” Jace asks, pointing at the apples I've set out on the counter. I was going to choose the best one.

“No,” I say, breathless.

“It was his signature. He left an apple at every crime scene. That's how he got the name,” Jace says.

“I didn't know that,” I say. So is this now a crime scene? I grow illogically scared. Is this guy planning something? No, Queenie. This is about some sick fuck getting one last hurrah before he dies. That's all. I'll give him his apple. It'll be his last.

“Well, I'll go get the Dent boys for you,” Jace says. He leaves. Now I'm alone in the kitchen, in the same building as that monster. With what he did. And now I have to . . . it's fine. I can make barbecue in my sleep. I've already done most of the work anyway. Harlan, Cody, and I will just focus on the guards' supper. We'll cook for us. The kitchen door clicks and Jace walks back through with the Dent boys. Jace takes up his place in his chair and flips open his paper. The Dent boys walk over to me.

“Jace told me,” I say, motioning at the reading guard.

“I can't believe it,” Harlan says, just shaking his head.

“I remember when they finally caught him, you remember? I mean, everyone was on the lookout for him. Women wouldn't go anywhere alone, everyone was locking their windows at night, I mean—” Cody is getting himself worked up. And he's IN prison.

“The good part is, I did most of this last night. I smoked the brisket, the sausage, and the ribs already. The barbecue sauce is made. So we'll make the potato salad and the fried pies, but I think the key is to focus on cooking for us and the guards' supper,” I say, scanning my to-do list. The Dent boys nod in agreement.

“That doesn't seem like a lot at all,” Harlan says, disappointed.

“It's not, but it'll keep us busy,” I say.

“Yes, Chef,” Harlan and Cody say.

“Okay, so, Cody, why don't you get started on those cherries over there for the fried pies,” I say. He nods and obliges. I continue, “And, Harlan, why don't we get started on this potato salad,” I say.

The morning goes by and I am able to focus on the food. I find myself cruising through the preparation, no heart really going into it. Harlan and Cody are slower today, which is good. We're also not as careful. Not as driven. Not as emotional. Everyone's on edge, but no one is somber like they were the last time. We break for lunch, and I decide to eat my turkey sandwich out by where the guards congregate. I don't want to be alone in that kitchen. Not even for an hour. I sit with Big Jim and Little Jim as they talk about football. LaRue gets in on the action, but I can tell he's nervous. This is the highest-profile convict they've ever had. And in a few hours LaRue is going to be buckling down the left arm of one of the most gruesome serial killers in Texas history. This guy has definitely gotten in all our heads.

Jace is slow bringing the Dents back from lunch and we have only two hours before it's time. We do what we can, but cutting the meat and making the fried pies has to happen at the last minute, so we are stalling at this point. We clean up the kitchen as much as possible, which will be nice in terms of getting out of here faster. We even play a quick hand of Go Fish (Cody wins). When the clock ticks down to just an hour until Shawn walks through that door, we spring into action.

Harlan fries up the pies, and I begin on the meat. The sausage is ready to go and the ribs are glistening and perfect. My barbecue sauce is my best-kept secret. It was Momma's and her momma's before her and on and on up the family tree. A good barbecue sauce should be as complex as the bouquet of a fine wine. It should have notes of sweetness, acidity, and a hint of pepperiness. The kitchen door clicks and Shawn walks in.

“How y'all comin'?” he asks, on edge.

“Good,” I say, looking up from the brisket.

“Good. I'll be back in twenty minutes,” Shawn says with an efficient nod.

Harlan grabs the tray without any fanfare. He sets it down on the counter and puts a plate in the center. I plate the brisket, sausage, and ribs. Cody scoops up a helping of the potato salad while Harlan cuts a white onion and pulls the pickles from the jar. He sets them on the side. Cody pulls a few slices of white bread from the wrapper and tucks them under the plate. Harlan brings the plate of fried cherry pies over and sets two down on a side plate.

“He didn't ask for ice cream?” Jace asks, wandering over as the plate is in its final stages.

“No, sir,” I say.

“He probably forgot to ask for it,” Jace says.

“His loss,” I say, pouring the sweet tea into a large plastic cup. We stand around the tray.

Two minutes.

We just stand there as the brisket steams and the scent of the barbecue wafts over us. Harlan sets a couple of napkins down on the tray, as well. Cody clears his throat.

One minute.

I pick up the tray and turn toward the door. The door clicks over and Shawn walks into the kitchen.

“Take it,” I say, holding it out for him. Shawn nods, takes the tray, and as Jace holds the door open for him, leaves with it.

“Now let's get you some supper,” I say, setting down two plates for the Dent boys. I serve up some barbecue, some potato salad, and set a fried pie on each. They pour themselves some sweet tea. Jace walks over just as we finish. The Dent boys' two plates sit in front of us on the counter.

I look from Harlan to Cody then to Jace. We all join hands once more.

“Bless this food, Lord. Let it transport and remind us all of better times. Let it cleanse and purify. Let it nourish and warm. In it, let us find peace. In Jesus' name, amen,” I say.

“Amen,” the men say.

The Dent boys retire to their table and chairs while I ready the guards' supper. I set up the guards' table and clean the rest of the kitchen while I wait for their return. When Shawn returns, we sit down and can't wait to dig in. Brisket is passed, smoke rings are complimented, and stories are told. Shawn is tense and distant. I chalk it up to the weight of today's events all falling on his (soon to be retiring) shoulders. The guards eat every morsel I've made, but grow tense and edgy as the time nears to do their next job. They don't talk about their charge at all, but from the shared glances, this guy is doing a serious number on them.

They thank me for dinner. And leave. To do their job.

The Dent boys and I quickly clean the kitchen. We want to get out of here as fast as we can tonight. The stench of this man sticks to us all and I can't wait to take a shower and climb into bed . . . with Merry Carole. This guy is freaking me out. The kitchen door clicks and Shawn walks in with the empty tray.

The apple is still there. Uneaten.

Harlan grabs it off the tray and throws it away.

“Cody, why don't you close up that trash bag,” Harlan says. Cody pulls the garbage bag out of the can where the apple is. He knots it and stands there.

“I'll take it out back,” Jace says, taking the bag from Cody.

None of us mentions the apple again.

Jace takes the Dent boys back to their cells after our good-byes. As Jace is walking out of the kitchen, Warden Dale joins Shawn and me in the kitchen. They exchange a look and Warden Dale passes me a slip of paper. Too bad I'm not a futurist, I'd love to know what all this fuss is about.

 

Inmate #354-M15:

Chicken fried steak with cream gravy, mashed potatoes, green beans cooked in bacon fat, one buttermilk biscuit, and a slice of pecan pie with fresh strawberry ice cream

 

“Is this some kind of joke?” I ask Warden Dale, the blood rushing from my head.

“No, ma'am,” Warden Dale says.

“This is the Number One. My mom's famous meal from her old restaurant back in North Star. It's even written the same, just like on the menu,” I say, holding the piece of paper as if it's infected. Warden Dale is quiet. Shawn is watching me. Studying me.

I scan the paper once more.

 

with fresh strawberry ice cream

 

My stomach drops as I steady myself on the metal counter. Shawn steps forward. Just in case. Warden Dale holds his ground. The kitchen swirls around me and I can hear my own breathing in my ears.

“This is Yvonne Chapman's order. I'd know it anywhere,” I say, my voice desperate and breathless. I hold the paper up and thrust it at Warden Dale. “Why am I holding Yvonne Chapman's order like I'm back working at that damn shack?” My voice gets louder as an explosion inside me ignites everything. All of the delicate rebuilding, all of the intricate emotions I'd started untangling in the past few months go up in flames. Complicated monster or not, this is beyond the pale. My insides will soon turn to embers as I can only continue to stare at the paper.

They wait. As it finally dawns on me.

“No . . . no . . . no way. No fucking way,” I say, shoving the piece of paper at Warden Dale.

“Queenie,” Warden Dale says.

“You want me to make this meal, my mother's famous meal, for the woman who killed her? You want me to stand in this kitchen while the woman who made my sister and me orphans is just a few feet away from me, just behind that metal door I'm never supposed to go into? What makes you think I wouldn't go over there and do it myself? I mean, if anyone had the fucking right to kill Brandi-Jaques Wake, don't you think it should have been my sister or me? And if we didn't? If we were able to control ourselves, don't you think Yvonne Chapman should have been able to? Was it really that bad? She could have just thrown us out, Warden Dale. Why didn't she just throw us out? She didn't have to kill her!” I scream, slamming the piece of paper down on the metal counter.