Chapter 3 #2
The first rudimentary hand-painted “RDLC” sign appeared nailed to a tree fifteen minutes after I started my trek.
After a decade of making this drive I easily recognized the exact trees and boulders that indicated where to turn.
Brush had grown taller around them, and the paint had begun to fade, but they were irrelevant when I had my muscle memory to guide me.
As I passed the threshold from real-life to camp, something shifted.
It happened every time, like I stepped through a literal portal into another world.
I could never put a finger on precisely where on the drive it happened.
As ancient pine and oak trees whipped past me and the gravel crunched beneath my tires, every cell in my body seemed to understand that I am not where I was, and I am not who I was a mere hour ago.
My driving slowed as the trees opened up to reveal the cabins and vast lake behind it, and I could breathe again.
“Sue!” I hopped out of the driver’s seat and crossed in front of my car, now coated in a thin layer of dust from the dirt road.
“How’s my girl?” Sue asked with open arms and her deep, throaty voice. It was like nothing had changed since last summer.
She radiated warmth and smelled like patchouli. Her black hair tumbled down to her waist, tied in a loose braid, and her face was dotted with freckles and sun spots from years of working out in nature. Deep smile lines sat like parentheses around her mouth.
She served as a stark contrast to my mother who was perpetually corporate and buttoned up, her own graying hair dyed a harsh blonde.
Sue was the aunt who’d sneak me wine as a teenager, and the person who would tell wild stories of her youth without the same filters other adults would use.
After she’d fallen in love with Randy at a biker bar in her early twenties, they bought the camp on impulse and taught themselves everything they needed to know to run it.
It was like she lived two separate lives sometimes.
I wanted to be her when I grew up, but twenty eight seemed late to start.
Her tanned arms wrapped around me in a bear hug and I clutched onto her, inhaling her scent and the rush of memories that flooded back with it.
“Thank you, so much, for letting me spend the week here. I really needed it.”
Sue brushed my hair away from my face and cupped my cheek in her hand. “Your mom called me up, she was all worried you’d do something extreme. I promised her I’d keep an eye on you,” she replied with a wink, then squeezed my shoulder.
This “worry” was a clear exaggeration on my mother’s part, but one I’d overlook.
I pulled myself away from her and took in the scene surrounding us, preserved in time like a snowglobe.
I could paint it from memory with my eyes shut.
Eight identical little cabins spread across a small rocky beach with Sue and Randy’s modest home and attached dining hall directly in the middle.
Beyond the beach there was nothing but mountains, woods, and the sparkling blue lake for miles.
The red dock that served as the camp’s namesake stretched out onto the water.
“You’ll be down in the first cabin there,” Sue gestured to the first of the small cabins nestled next to the expansive woods. I breathed a sigh of relief. I would be tucked away from the rest of the camp and not be sandwiched in between young families with screaming kids or rowdy fishermen.
“By the way, Dan, we only have one other guest here this week,” Sue spoke offhandedly.
I turned to her in surprise. “Only one? I know the beginning of the season is quiet but it’s never been that quiet.”
She shrugged. “Some hotshot celebrity from New York. Said he needed to guarantee privacy so he booked every cabin.”
That was new. Red Dock Lake Camps didn’t exactly show up on Google when searching for wilderness retreats in northern Maine. People found it through word of mouth or were repeat vacationers who stayed every year.
I can’t imagine someone stumbling upon this place randomly, let alone deciding to book the entire camp out sight unseen.
An image flashed through my mind of a sunglasses-wearing asshole descending upon camp with his crew of equally obnoxious buddies complaining about the bugs and lack of air conditioning and low thread count sheets like a bunch of valley-accented parasites.
“I called him when you said you were needing a getaway and he said that you staying here while he did wouldn’t be a problem,” Sue continued. “I promised him that you wouldn’t be a bother.” She narrowed her eyes at me like I would somehow manage to ruin this guy’s trip.
I barked out a laugh. “I definitely won’t be.”
If anything I’d need to seek out privacy from him and whoever he dragged along with him. I was excellent at being invisible, I could go the entire week without him and his posse knowing I was even here.
My plan was to spend my days swimming, hiking, reading, and writing. All solo.
“By the way, can I charge my laptop in your house from time to time? I’m not working, I promise, just wanting to write a bit.”
She didn’t know what my writing entailed these days, but from the glimmer in her eye she remembered the days when I’d lay on the dock feverishly scribbling something down in one of my notebooks.
“Of course, lovebug, pop in whenever you need.” Sue said with a smile.
“Dinner’s at six.” She spun on a heel and waltzed back into her office.
I turned to my car to grab the few things I’d packed. I wasn’t entirely sure what I had brought, most of my packing was done in a feverish haste from sheer excitement. My laptop and notebooks were high priority, everything else was secondary. I was mostly sure I had enough clothes to last the week.
The familiar scent of the oil used to treat the logs, pine-scented cleaner, and line-dried linens encased me when I stepped into the small log cabin.
The space was smaller than my first terrible studio apartment post-college, with enough room for one or two people to almost sleep comfortably. Almost.
When Nick and I shared a cabin we couldn’t do anything without being on top of one another. It could be romantic for some, claustrophobia-inducing for others. For us it was typically the latter.