Chapter 24
The cool water cradled me as I floated naked on my back, arms spread wide, staring up into a sky so blue it seemed painted. Not a single cloud, just that endless wash of blue stretching from horizon to horizon, broken only by the dark branches of the trees at the edges of my vision.
I realized I had looked up at the sky more in two months at this cabin than I had in twenty-two years in Seattle.
Being out here stripped away the ceiling that city life puts over your head.
Not just the physical ceiling of drywall and insulation, but the mental one.
The constant awareness of walls and schedules and the next thing demanding attention.
Out here, the sky was just there. Waiting to be noticed.
I had found a rhythm in these woods that I never knew existed.
The deep darkness after sunset, darker than anything I had experienced in the city, made the stars so bright they seemed close enough to touch.
I slept better than I had in decades, waking before dawn feeling genuinely rested instead of just less exhausted.
And my body had changed. I could feel it even without a scale.
The waistband of my jeans gaped where it used to pinch.
My belt had migrated to a hole I had never used before.
The soft padding around my midsection, accumulated over two decades of sitting at a computer investigating insurance claims, had burned away.
In its place, I could feel the hard edges of muscle I had forgotten I possessed.
The work had done that. Hauling lumber for the roof repairs.
Prying off rotted siding and nailing fresh boards in place.
Clearing brush along the pond's edge with Scout and her goats.
Bringing in Claire's first tea harvest, the leaves destined for processing and sale.
She had gotten a good price for that first batch.
Two more harvests to go before the season ended for the year.
But the work was not finished. The wood stove inspector had found problems with the piping.
Nothing urgent since we were still in late spring, but it would need replacing before October brought the storms. The propane tank was running low.
The septic system needed checking, though I had that scheduled.
And hanging over everything was the foolishness with the electricity.
My lawyer friend had looked into the county's threat. Marcus Webb said the regulation was real, some obscure requirement about minimum parcel sizes and utility connections that Harlan Foster had apparently unearthed and weaponized.
My friend was investigating how to fight it, but the timeline remained unclear. Losing power to the cabin would cripple me. My work as an independent Construction Defect Consultant and Expert Witness happened entirely online.
As long as I had internet, I could make a good living. The business was picking up, referrals coming in from old contacts who remembered my reputation. Just in time, too. The money from cashing out my 401k would not last forever.
A splash disrupted my thoughts.
I found my footing in the chest-deep water as Scout swam toward me. She stood up a few feet away, water streaming down her naked body, her wet blonde hair gleaming like spun gold in the sunlight.
She moved into my arms and we kissed, her breasts pressing against my chest, her legs tangling with mine beneath the surface.
"How are things going?" I asked when we broke apart.
"Put the pot to simmer about twenty minutes ago." She wiped the water from her eyes. "Should be ready in a few minutes."
I made a face I could not quite suppress.
"I'm still not entirely sure about eating raccoon."
"Slow-braised raccoon is delicious. You'll see."
"If you say so."
"I do say so." She wrapped her arms around my neck. "First, I cleaned and skinned it, removed all the fat and the scent glands. That's the part most people skip. They leave the glands in and wonder why it tastes musky." She wrinkled her nose. "Dilettantes."
"Scent glands. Noted."
"Then I soaked the meat overnight in salt water with a little vinegar.
This draws out the gamey flavor. This morning, I browned it in bacon fat, added onions and garlic, then the root vegetables.
Turnips, carrots, and potatoes from Claire's garden.
Covered it all with beef stock and let it braise low and slow.
" She smiled up at me. "The meat falls right off the bone when it's done right. "
"You make it sound almost appetizing."
"It's good to eat meat caught on your own land.
" Her expression grew serious. "Free animals.
Not cooped up in cages, tortured by factory farms. This raccoon lived its whole life in these woods, eating what it wanted, going where it pleased.
It had one bad moment at the end. That's more than most creatures get. "
I pulled her closer, feeling the warmth of her body against mine despite the cool water.
"That's a fair point."
"My father taught me that. Respect what you kill. Use all of it. Waste nothing." She tilted her head, remembering. "Speaking of my father, the Dutch oven I'm cooking in has a story."
"Tell me."
"He traded deer skins for it, back when I was maybe eight or nine."
"Traded with who?"
"Old man Hendricks. He had a farm about five miles north of here that his relatives still own.
Hendricks raised goats and chickens and kept mostly to himself.
My father brought him two doe hides, both properly tanned and softened.
Hendricks wanted them for a doeskin vest he was making.
He said store-bought leather didn't have the same feel. "
"A vest from two deer hides?"
Scout grinned. "Hendricks was a large man.
Anyway, my father showed up with the hides and paid for them.
Then Hendricks brought out this Dutch oven.
Said his wife had used it for forty years before she passed, and he had no use for it anymore.
Too many memories. He wanted it to go somewhere it would be appreciated. "
"That's a nice story."
"It gets better. My father looked at the Dutch oven, looked at the deer hides, and the cash paid, and said the trade wasn't fair.
The Dutch oven was worth more. He tried to give some of the cash back, and Hendricks got upset, said he didn't want charity, said his wife's pot was worth exactly two deer hides and some cash bills.
They argued about it for nearly an hour. And then--"
"Hey there!" a voice called out from the edge of the pond.
I turned, startled, and saw Grace standing on the bank near the willow tree. She wore her usual hoodie despite the warm day, jeans rolled up at the cuffs, and she carried a paper grocery sack in her arms. Her dark hair was artfully mussed up.
"Grace." I shifted in the water, suddenly very aware of my nakedness. "Good to see you."
"I heard there was a special dish being prepared." She smiled, though I could see the fatigue in her face. Living in a car took its toll. "Room for one more at the table?"
Scout answered before I could. "There's plenty of raccoon for all of us."
"Music to my ears." She held up the grocery bag. "Didn't come empty-handed. Made a special treat for y'all."
"We're looking forward to trying it." Scout began wading toward the bank. "Head on up to the cabin. We will get dressed and join you."
Grace waved and headed toward the cabin, the paper sack crinkling against her hip.
I watched her go, then looked at Scout. "You invited her?"
"I did." Scout reached the shallows and stood, water running down her body in silver streams. "I stop by her car sometimes when I see it parked on your driveway. Just to check in."
"Thank you for that." I waded after her. "I worry about her. Living in that RAV4, working at that motel. It's not ideal."
"Grace Kim is tougher than she looks." Scout grabbed her towel from the branch where she had left it. "I respect her independence. It takes fortitude to live like that. Most people would have given up and gone home by now."
"Does she have a home to go back to? It didn't seem like it when we talked."
Scout shrugged, rubbing the towel through her hair. "She doesn't talk about it with me either. I don't push."
I climbed out of the pond and found my towel, drying myself quickly.
The warm breeze felt good on my wet skin.
I watched Scout as she dressed, pulling on her canvas pants and the patched but clean denim shirt she always wore.
Her body was lean and strong, the product of a life spent outdoors, working with her hands, eating what the land provided.
We had been intimate several more times since that first night at her secret place. Oral sex, mostly. I had shown her things about her own body that surprised and delighted her.
Scout was still a virgin. There was no rush. She was enjoying the journey of discovery, and I was content to let her set the pace.
"So Hendricks just gave your father the Dutch oven?" I asked, pulling on my jeans.
"Traded. There's a difference." Scout grinned as she buttoned her shirt. "But yes. And that pot has cooked more meals than I can count. Venison stew, rabbit, squirrel, possum."
"Possum?"
"Tastes like pork if you prepare it right." She saw my expression and laughed. "I promise to ease you into that one."
We walked across the grass toward the cabin, the late afternoon sun slanting through the trees. I could smell the braised raccoon before we reached the porch, rich and savory, the scent of meat and herbs and root vegetables mingling together.
"Hendricks died a few years after the trade," Scout continued as we climbed the steps. "My father went to the funeral. He said there were only four people there, including the preacher. Hendricks had outlived everyone who knew him. The people who live there now are distant relatives."
"That's sad."