Best Laid Plans

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Inside, Halmuni set the table knowing it was, at last, time. What had tickled the back of her neck that afternoon felt different from any fall breeze she’d ever experienced before. It seemed to almost carousel warmly around her and she thought she could almost taste it, like summer peonies with the slightest undertones of day-old salmon. Halmuni wasn’t entirely sure, but she was hopeful enough to strike a match and place the lit candle in the window.

Andy would be knocking on her cabin door tonight. (“Finally, finally” she whispered, furtively and gratefully into the flowery breeze) knocking on the door tonight. Andy had been placed in her arms - a soft little bundle – when she had turned sixty-three and a half. She was no spring chicken, but strong-boned nonetheless. She’d only just carted the last of her husband’s moth-eaten clothes to Goodwill a month ago when June, her only daughter, crashed their family Subaru into a telephone pole. June had died immediately, along with a husband so new that he still didn’t have a tan line on his ring finger.

“It’s a damn shame,” the young officer said as he lowered the infant into her trembling arms. “I think she meant for this little guy to go too.”

Later, Halmuni learned that the nearby captain had choked on a mint when he overheard his colleague and angrily murmured a tight-jawed command into the rookie’s ear. The next morning, the crestfallen officer showed up at her door with a bouquet of supermarket flowers. Of course, she’d graciously murmured her forgiveness, and invited him inside for tea and rice cakes. But his words were already seeping into her pores like a poisonous serum.

She would replay his words every day. When Halmuni first brought the baby home and carefully deposited Andy into a hastily borrowed bassinet, she’d sank into a nearby chair. “June wanted…” she let her voice trail. Impossible.

The next day, as everyone at the Dollar Store cooed at her babbling grandson, she gripped the infant socks with tight, blue fists as the truth hit her afresh. The officer’s casual remark swarmed through her head like an angry buzz of bees. She wanted to end. She wanted it all to end.

As Halmuni changed her first diaper in forty-five years, her eyes met Andy’s they gazed at one another, each contemplating their own secret thoughts. This little one wasn’t supposed to make it, she mused quietly to herself.

After a third sleepless night of avoiding dark memories, Halmuni strapped Andy onto her slightly hunched back and made the shuffling walk to her neighbor and friend. Betsy, herself a plump and fair-skinned woman, had all the gumption Halmuni wished she had. The first time they’d met, Betsy had brought over a still-steaming mulberry pie and held out a hand. “I don’t know any Korean,” she grinned. “But I’m sure ready to learn if you’d relieve me of this hot-as-cock pie.” Now, Betsy pushed opened her door and gasped happily at the sight of the napping baby on her friends’ back.

“Look who’s here!” her voice at least two octaves higher. (Why did all women do that? Halmuni wondered). As they settled down for tea, Betsy stroked Andy’s cheek with the faintest touch and seemed taken aback when his eyes opened dazily and greeted her with a toothless grin. “What a darling child.”

Halmuni unraveled the straps of her makeshift baby carrier – an old blanket that’d been carefully knotted around her waist. Andy, now alert, let out a whimper for his mealtime. “I don’t know if I can do this,” Halmuni swallowed and finally croaked with dried lips. Her eyes slid down to Andy, suckling hungrily from the warmed bottle. Such a perfect baby.

And then, the anguish. How could she do this? With a free hand, Halmuni dropped her head into her palms and groaned softly. Betsy reached up to gently pry Halmuni’s fingers from her face. There was a firm squeeze, more reassuring than sympathetic. “You can do this,” Betsy smiled kindly. And then pressed a few aspirins into her hand. “I know you, dear friend. You can do anything.”

And true enough, she had done it. Andy was a surprisingly easy baby, with bright, straight teeth filling up his dentist-shunning smiles. He was always a cuddler, giving her the tightest squeezes as he started school and disappeared with a wave into his school. As a high school junior, Andy scoffed at the brochures she’d collected from the local community college. He’d become quite the looker, often slowing when he passed a mirror. “It’s my ticket out of this podunk,” he told her, too excited to be embarrassed. “I have dreams, halmuni. More school won’t get me anywhere.” She nodded gravely as though she accepted his decision, but inwardly, she was relieved. What her late husband had left in his bank account was enough to feed another mouth, but only for so long.

So instead of applications and college essays, Andy spent the bulk of his time on his phone. Propping it against various makeshift tripods – the rice cooker, her sewing basket, the fireplace. He’d taken all kinds of pictures, calling them his “poor man’s headshots” until somehow, impossibly, he landed his first professional modeling gig. She’d haltingly typed the state’s name into Google and researched late into the night. When she came across the headlines of the wildfires swallowing highways whole, she ignored the clock and watched the dystopian videos until birds heralded a new morning. Andy found her asleep atop the laptop the next morning and gently kissed the keyboard grooves in her cheek.

“There are lots of tall buildings in Los Angeles,” he promised with a reassuring grin. Before long he was off, giving their cabin one last wistful stare, then kicking the leaves to the nearest sidewalk where the taxi patiently waited. Andy had hung out of the window, blowing kisses all the way around the corner. And just like that, it was back to one setting at the table.

Andy hadn’t discussed it much, but she knew his work would be all-consuming. He wouldn’t have much time or money to buy a plane ticket and hike two bus routes back to their cabin. And sure enough, fourteen years had passed with fewer and fewer words. There were postcards here and there, but she’d learned not to be sentimental about such things. She’d give the hastily scribbled postcards a curious lookover before tossing them into the recycling bin, but she searched his name on Google at least once a month. She couldn’t help her lips from curling happily at the corners when she saw him alongside a few other familiar faces from movies she’d seen with Besty.

An empty nester for the second time, Halmuni embraced her retired life. She tended to her garden and occasionally ventured over for tea dates with Betsy. But that strange breeze had brushed past the back of her neck this morning. It was time. She lit the candle in her window, remembering that the day after Andy left, she’d been struck by a moment of wistfulness and vowed something stupid like keeping a constant candle vigil for her grandson’s return. That silly sentiment passed before the white candle even left its packaging, so she was slightly surprised that the brittle wick even held a flame at all.

She’d rushed to the supermarket – the good one that was an entire bus ride away – and filled the grocery cart far closer to capacity than she had in years. Then she’d worked tirelessly to prepare all the old favorites. Fatty galbicchim with tender, sweet meat hanging desperately to the bone. Two slender, pan-fried galchi filets. A milky oxbone broth so saturated with marrow that ribbons of it clung to the top of the bowl. Halmuni remembered them all.

Just as she filled a frosty mug with a beer (A handsome treat for a handsome man! he’d always cheer rousingly), there were three quick taps at the door, their special knock. With a gasp, she flew to the door. Within seconds, strong, eager arms rushed in to pull Halmuni in. Then she was being swung around until she gasped for him to put her down. “Halmuni, I’m home. About damn time, right?” Then he stopped mid-step as he caught sight of the heavy dinner table that she’d covered with a festive handkerchief. With the groan only a desperate man could know, Andy staggered toward the table. “Home cooking. At last.”

The steam curled prettily toward the ceiling as Halmuni snatched the cloth with a flourish. She watched with a pleased and proud smile as he lifted the bowl of hot broth to his lips.

Two hours later, Andy leaned back in his chair and pulled the beer into his throat with long, satisfied gulps. Once the last foam disappeared, Andy clattered the mug onto the vinyl-covered table, with just a little more force than necessary.

“A handsome treat for a handsome man, I always said!” he roared, slapping his hand onto the table. Halmuni cocked her head, appraising her grandson’s droopy eyes and deep belch. Jet black locks fell across his eyes, revealing twin pools of inky depth.

Could it be?

“Well? I’m back!” Andy jeered, slapping her leg. “Aren’t you going to greet your husband?”

Halmumi swallowed thickly and opened her lips. “So you are, yeobo. Welcome home.”

His lips curled into a sneer. Andy’s lips. His sneer. “Flapping your gums at me? In MY house? You’ve spoken six words out of ten, dog. Hope they're worth it.” Here, he stopped to stare at her, a slow smile creeping. His hands pulled suggestively at his belt as Halmoni frantically counted how many minutes had passed since he first sat down to eat. She had to stall.

She licked her lips and inhaled sharply. “I’m going to go well past ten tonight, yeobo,” Halmoni rasped. It’d been so long. While vocal chords remembered what to do, a fire in her belly roared up her throat. “You’re only home…because I…brought you back,” she whispered, getting just a little louder with each successive breath. A purple flush was creeping up his neck and she prayed it would happen soon. “Betsy’s special capsules. One to bring you back, and another to kill you. I’ve crushed them both into your meal.”

“That dried up COW?!” he roared, lunging at her throat. She ducked and he missed, but just barely. “The town looney put together some shit drug and you think you’re done with me?” He stood up fast now, the chair beneath him clattering loudly to the floor. Halmoni whimpered and backed away as he pulled his belt out of its loops.

His whole face wore an alarmingly deep color, Like a ripe eggplant, Halmoni decided with some wonder. His eyes bulged, filling his eyelids until he resembled a frog. He walked a little more doubtfully now, as if blinking in code. She ventured a cautious step toward him and his lips opened and closed, gasping for air.

“I’ve been waiting for you, you monster.” Her voice now ice. “I was patient, and now it’s finally over.” She continued with a cold grin as Andy slid to the floor now, hands clutching his throat. “You’re over.”

Halmoni gazed down at him and then calmly spit on his left eye as Andy squirmed and writhed on the floor. His gasps were becoming shorter now, until finally he pulled his fingers into a loose fist. He stared up at her, tears in his eyes, and finally rapped on the rubber baseboard.

Knock, knock, knock.

Three faint knocks.

Halmoni gasped, clutching the sweater material at her chest. “It’s done. It’s done. It’s finally done,” she repeated like a mantra, hugging her thin shoulders tightly and rocking in place.

She needed to tell Betsy.

Grabbing a shawl from the nearest coatrack, she opened the door, and nearly fainted at the face that greeted her.

Her son-in-law stood at the top doorstep, baring all his teeth up at her with a wild, crazy-eyed grin that felt too familiar.

“Hi honey,” he said, testing this voice for the first time. “June wanted both of us gone because she figured out what I could do.” Here, her son-in-law dropped the smile so suddenly that she found herself wanting it back.

Halmoni backed into the house as her now twice-killed husband strode toward her, caressing his belt buckle tenderly.

“Best laid plans, right yeobo?”