Page 17 of For a Goode Time Call…
I’d chosen the shop location primarily because it was close enough to the main drag of Ketchikan that I’d get decent traffic, but mostly from serious tattoo lovers rather than cruise ship tourists looking for butterflies and barbed wire cheap and quick. The other main reason for the location was the fact that there was a bit of a yard behind it, just big enough to allow me to put a tiny house down.
Liv followed me out back, and stopped when she came into view of my home. “Wow. Not expecting that.”
I grinned. “Right? Wouldn’t know it was back here, would you?”
She shook her head. “It’s lovely. Looks…cozy.”
“More space on the inside than you’d think. I studied a lot of different designs and layouts before I built it.”
She halted, turned to look at me. “You built it?”
I nodded. “Yep. My cousin Lewis did an internship for an architect up in Anchorage. I drew up the design and had my cousin’s boss look it over. I’ve got a shit-ton of cousins, so once I bought the raw materials, it only took a dozen of us a couple of weeks to put it up. Helped that one of my other cousins works for a home builder out of Juneau, so he made sure we didn’t fuck anything up. Only things I paid to have professionally done were the plumbing and electric.”
Liv grinned at me. “And, let me guess, you have cousins who got you discounts?”
I laughed. “I wish. But no. Out of pocket, full price, local union boys.”
She eyed the home again: steeply pitched roof to make room for the loft, dormer, doors on either end, which I call front and back but really are just left and right side of the house, in through the living space and out through the kitchen.
“Well. You did a marvelous job. If you weren’t a tattoo artist already, I’d say you could have a career building these.”
I couldn’t help but feel a little pride. “Thanks. I’ve thought about that, actually. Still may do that, just for some variety from doing tats.” I led her to the front door, meaning the left side. Opened the door for her, let her precede me inside.
Cassie was on my couch, a bowl of soup in her lap, wrapped up in one of my giant flannel blankets. She saw us come in, and seemed to perk up a little.
“Hi, Mom.” Her eyes flitted to mine. “Hi, Ink.”
“Feelin’ better, huh?” I asked, taking a spot against the wall in the kitchen, where my bulk wouldn’t be in the way of mother and daughter.
Cassie nodded, lifted the bowl of soup. “Yes, much better. This soup is amazing. You made it?”
I bit back a grin, anticipating the other half of this conversation. “Yep. Old family recipe.”
She spooned a bite, and when she’d finished she glanced at me. “What kind of meat is it? Not beef, not pork, not chicken, or fish.”
I waited, let her finish the last few bites before answering. “It’s, uh—like I said, old family recipe. An’ when I say old, I meanrealold.” I grinned. “It’s moose soup.”
She blinked at me, and then stared down the empty bowl, going a little pale. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Moose. Moose meat. I did a thread piece on Fox last week, and he traded me a nice haunch of fresh moose.”
She let out a sigh, and I could see her working through it. “Well. I knew it wasn’t the usual suspects, so I can’t say I’m shocked. And itwaspretty delicious. Not as gamey as I would have assumed it would be.”
“Well, it’s fresh. I froze a good bit of it for later, but I’ve been makin’ soup from it ever since I got it. Gotta use the right cuts for soup, and those parts don’t freeze as well. It’s lean, too. Healthy for you.” I glanced at Liv. “Care for a bowl?”
She smiled, taking a seat next to Cassie on my couch. “Yes, please. I haven’t had dinner yet, so if you have enough, I’d be delighted.” She accepted a bowl from me, inhaling the steam. “This smells amazing.”
“Moose soup was a staple around my house, growing up. At my house, or Juneau’s, or go into any of my cousin’s houses pretty much ten months outta the year and you’ll find moose soup simmering on the stove. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve poured some into a Thermos and taken it out hunting with me.”
Liv tried a few bites, her face brightening. “So, you’re a talented tattoo artist, you built this house,andyou’re a great cook?” She glanced at Cassie. “Probably the first time I actually approve of your friends, Cassandra.”
Cassie stuck her tongue out. “You loved Amy and Britt. Can’t pretend you didn’t.”
Liv shrugged. “I love you, and you loved them, so I accepted them. Not the same thing.”
Cassie frowned. “Wait, what?”
“They were not the greatest influences on you, if you want the truth.” Liv met her daughter’s eyes. “Amy’s home life was…troubled, at best, and I was never entirely comfortable with you spending time at her house. Britt was a sweet girl, but a little flighty. Between the two of them, you got into more trouble than I think you would have left to your own devices.”
