Chapter 24 #2
"That's the tragedy of the human condition." She pushed open the cabin door. "If you live a long life, you often end up alone. Unless you're fortunate."
The smell hit me full force as I stepped inside. My stomach rumbled loud enough to hear.
Grace was sitting at the kitchen table, a plate in front of her covered with small golden shapes. She looked up and smiled.
"The raccoon smells incredible. Seriously, my mouth has been watering for ten minutes."
"All as expected, truly." Scout moved to the stove and lifted the lid of the Dutch oven. Steam billowed up, carrying that rich aroma. "Another few minutes and we're ready to serve."
I approached the table and looked at what Grace had brought. The golden shapes were small pastries, flower-shaped, glistening with what looked like honey.
"What are these?"
"Yakgwa." Grace pronounced it carefully. "Korean deep-fried honey cookies. My grandmother's recipe. Flour, sesame oil, ginger, and honey. That's it. Simple ingredients, no oven required."
"No oven?"
"You fry them in oil, then soak them in honey syrup." She pushed the plate toward me. "They keep well. Which matters when you're living out of a car and don't have refrigeration."
I picked up one of the small pastries. It was heavier than it looked, dense and fragrant.
"Go on," Grace urged. "Try it."
I bit into it. The outside was crisp, almost like a cracker, but the inside was chewy and sweet. The sesame oil gave it a nutty depth, and the ginger added a subtle heat that lingered on my tongue.
"Grace." I stared at the half-eaten cookie in my hand. "This is incredible."
"Right?" she beamed. "My halmoni used to make them for every holiday. Said the recipe came from her mother, who brought it over from Korea."
Scout came to the table and took my yakgwa, biting into it thoughtfully. Her eyes went wide.
"Fantastical."
"Language," Grace said, grinning.
"This is truly amazing." Scout took another bite, chewing slowly. "What's in this again?"
"Flour, sesame oil, ginger, honey. A little rice wine to help the dough come together." Grace shrugged. "Simple stuff. The technique is what matters."
"These would make an excellent dessert after the raccoon," I said.
"That's the plan." Grace looked pleased. "I figured I should contribute something if I'm crashing your dinner party."
"You're not crashing anything." Scout returned to the stove. "You were invited. Thomas, can you grab the sun tea from the porch? The one made from Claire's leaves?"
I went to the front porch where a large glass jar sat in a patch of afternoon sunlight.
The tea inside was the color of amber, clear and bright.
Claire had given me a batch of her processed leaves to try, and I had been making sun tea with them for the past week.
It was good, better than anything I had bought in a store.
I picked up the jar and turned back toward the cabin.
Through the open door, I could see Scout and Grace at the stove, their backs to me.
Scout was ladling braised raccoon into bowls while Grace held them steady.
They were talking about something I could not hear, and Grace laughed at whatever Scout said, a genuine laugh that lit up her whole face.
I stood there in the doorway, holding the jar of sun tea, and took in the scene.
My small cabin, built by hands I would never know, repaired by my own.
The table set, the smell of braised meat and root vegetables grown nearby.
Two young women working together at the stove, serving food, their voices overlapping in easy conversation.
The late afternoon light streaming through the windows I had cleaned and sealed against the coming winter.
Six months ago I had been sitting in an Airstream trailer in an RV park outside Seattle, my marriage broken into pieces. I was forty-five years old with nothing to show for two decades except a 401k I was about to cash out and a solid understanding of how things fall apart.
Now I had this. A cabin in the woods. Land that was teaching me how to care for it. Neighbors who had become something more than neighbors. A young woman who had shown me things about myself I had forgotten were possible. Another young woman who needed help, but was not ready to ask for it.
Life could change so fast. I had learned that lesson the hard way. And I was learning it again now, but in reverse. The same speed that could tear everything down could also build something new.
Grace turned and saw me standing in the doorway. "You okay, dude? You look like you're a million miles away."
"Just thinking." I stepped inside and set the sun tea on the table. "About how different things are now."
Scout brought two bowls to the table, the braised raccoon steaming, surrounded by chunks of caramelized vegetables. The meat was dark and tender, falling apart at the edges.
"Different good or different bad?" Scout asked.
I looked at her, then at Grace, then at the cabin around us.
"Different good," I said. "Definitely different good."