Read Online Nowhere but Home by Liza Palmer - Free Book Online Page B

night.
    â€œDee says you’re going to be in town for a while,” Shawn says, as the meal winds down.
    â€œOh, does she?” I ask, giving Dee a wink.
    â€œOh, I uh . . . I was just thinking if you were planning on staying, I know of someplace that’s hiring. If you’re looking,” Shawn says. The crowd erupts in laughter as Fawn tells a story about Mom’s fryer catching fire one time and the drunken denizens of the Drinkers Hall of Fame offering their help by throwing their beer at the flames. I’m happy for the ringing laughter and Fawn’s hysterical storytelling. I don’t know how to answer Shawn’s question. Shawn continues, “The job is temporary, if that helps.”
    â€œAny job can be temporary,” I say, trying to lighten the mood and move Shawn along.
    â€œBut this job is temporary ’cause people can’t seem to stand doing it longer than a few months,” Shawn says, looking over at his boys to make sure they’re not listening. They’re not. My curiosity is piqued.
    â€œWhat is it?” I ask.
    â€œI work over at the prison, not the main one in Huntsville, mind you, but the one over in Shine—just a short piece down the road,” Shawn says. I nod.
    â€œHe’s the captain of the Death House team,” Dee says, her voice a whisper.
    â€œI’m not going to be there much longer, mind,” Shawn says.
    â€œIt’s just too hard on him . . . on all of us. We’re going to get into local law enforcement. He’s not far off from joining the county sheriff’s,” Dee says proudly, her arm laced around the back of Shawn’s chair.
    â€œSo what would I be doing?” I ask.
    â€œYou know how they make last meals, right?”
    â€œI thought Texas stopped doing that?” I ask. I remember reading the articles about Texas putting a stop to the long-standing tradition because of one particularly disgusting convict gluttonously ordering a decadent last meal and then not touching a bite of it.
    â€œThe new warden is ambitious,” Dee says.
    â€œHe thinks he’s going to be the next W,” Shawn says with rolled eyes.
    â€œHe found some anonymous donor and has proclaimed he’s still going to make the last meals for the condemned,” Dee says.
    â€œThat’s where you come in,” Shawn says, motioning to the full-to-bursting plates on the table.
    â€œYou want me to make the last meals for the condemned? Are you serious?” I ask, my question breaking through the other conversations at the table.
    â€œThey’d be lucky to have you,” Shawn says, his paw of a hand bringing up his beer bottle and taking a giant swig. Merry Carole is now listening to our conversation. Everyone else is riveted to Fawn’s tall tales. Shawn continues, “Just think about it.”
    â€œI will. I appreciate you thinking of me. Thank you,” I say.
    â€œYou don’t have to decide now, either. You go in for the interview, see if it’s even something you want to do, and then you decide,” Dee says.
    â€œIt’s creepy though, right?” I ask.
    â€œIt’s definitely not for everyone. Shawn’s only been the captain for a few months and he’s just . . . well, we’re ready for him to move on,” Dee says.
    â€œLast meals,” I say, almost to myself.
    â€œI’ve always looked at it like, if this is the law, then the least I can do is bring my integrity to the job,” Shawn says.
    â€œHow many meals are we talking?” I ask.
    â€œI’ve heard Huntsville can go up to two a week some months. But over at Shine we do more like three or four a month,” Shawn says.
    â€œAnd I never—”
    â€œYou never even know their names or what they’ve done, Queenie. I mean, you can ask, but it’s not information you have to know. You get an order. That’s it. They come over to the Death House that