Chapter 14 – August 18, 1993 – Camille #2
Erich’s eyes swam around in his head. With the way they swayed with the motion of his whiskey-fried brain, I knew I would not envy his guaranteed hangover in the morning. “A younger brother. We were separated.”
“What happened?” I prodded.
Erich rolled over to face me. I was the interrogator, and he had enough truth serum to humor me. If this was part of the story, the lore was not a planned slip. “I never knew my dad,” he said.
I could feel my lips drying out as I sucked in, ditching the awkward tic to bite my bottom lip instead.
How do I pursue the story further? This wasn’t the Erich I’ve known, and I knew I should tread carefully.
The last thing I wanted to do was make him angry or uncomfortable for telling me more than he wanted me to know.
I didn’t want to betray his trust, though I always predicted he had his own demons following him along for the ride.
He rolled to his back again, and the number of times he switched from his side to his back in this short period of time caused me to feel the drunken spins for him.
His Adam's apple bobbed gently as he swallowed to continue.
“He was some guitarist. Played on street corners and dive bars. Never met him.”
I was intrigued. I shoved back the gnawing sense of guilt to push forward in my innocent interrogation by giving Erich a solemn nod to continue.
“We lived with my grandma for a while. Then we left and my mom started seeing another guy. She had my brother. I don’t remember much else aside from living in a trailer and never seeing my grandma again…
I was born in Los Angeles.” Erich rambled, and I focused on the small drunken slips as he put words together.
He then added as an afterthought, “I don’t want to meet her, though. ”
“Your grandma? Why?” I questioned. I would be annoying him with my one-word question if he were sober.
Typically, if his silence wasn’t cause to stop asking questions, he would flick my forehead to shut me up.
“Drop it, Bambi,” he’d tell me as I rubbed the spot on my forehead and fumed at his cutesy nickname.
Erich let out one small fake laugh. The upward turn of his lips was cruel, an out-of-character response that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “She didn’t go looking for us after all was said and done. Why would I go looking for her?”
I was putting the pieces together. I got the impression it had more to do with his fear of attachment, but I digress. “So what happened to your brother?” I asked in an attempt to change the subject from his grandmother.
Erich’s gaze was distant, but I could see his brain processing where to go next.
The vulnerability in the way his eyes darkened made my heart ache.
“My mom left us,” he said. “I was eleven years old and he was only five. She just… took off. Probably figured a tour bus going across the country would be fun and there was nothing going for her raising two boys.”
Erich paused, tapping his fingers against his chest for a moment before continuing. “I caught on much sooner than he did... I fed him, took care of him, and waited for our mom to come back for weeks until someone must have noticed something was wrong and called CPS.”
The vent in the room kicked on with a mechanical whirr.
He was trying to think of how to effectively explain his story, while I was listening on bated breath for what happened next.
“So, one morning, I’m trying to stretch the last of the stale cereal in the cupboard.
We were so young we didn’t know how to cook and would end up trying to microwave ketchup and bread crumbs or eat peanut butter from the jar.
Didn’t think our mom was actually never coming back.
“Someone opened the door and we both ran, thinking it was her and she’d bring us somewhere for real food.
Instead, it was a strange woman in a blazer and a pencil skirt.
My brother burst into tears, thinking it would be like the scary news stories he heard late at night—the ones where kids were kidnapped out of their homes and found in cornfields fifty miles away.
” Erich chuckled, but it was short-lived as he realized he had mentioned something dark and not funny at all.
“I was afraid she came to tell us our mom was dead.”
It was intimate listening to Erich tell his story, and I started to wonder if he told Olivia all of this when they were together. When did she come into the story? Wasn’t our conversation originally supposed to be about her?
“I think the lady was shocked to see the inside of the trailer. The TV was on, even though I’m pretty sure the bill was overdue and days away from shut-off.
We tried to wash our dishes but neither of us knew how and would end up just rinsing them and reusing them, so we gave up on that.
Flies everywhere, dirty clothes, an overflowing trash can.
I’d say we did okay with what we had, but it was definitely not normal or clean.
Wouldn’t doubt a rat or two was living in the cupboards.
“She asked us if we wanted to go to In-N-Out, and we both forgot that this strange woman could be an enemy. She had to be one of the good guys if she was about to take us out for burgers and fries. We were running to her van, jumping in and putting the seatbelts on. When we got to In-N-Out, we nearly climbed over each other and fought to be the first one in the door. I’ll never forget how great it smelled after starving for so long. ”
The smooth narration convinced me that Erich had mixed feelings about that day—a happy, yet sad memory for him.
“We got our burgers and fries, she got a coffee, and we sat down. She asked when the last time we saw our parents was. I told her I didn’t have a dad, but my brother Steven hadn’t seen his dad in about three years.
I went on about how our mom liked rock music and let us watch TV whenever we wanted.
I would’ve continued if Steven didn’t say our mom never came home.
Her attention was on him after that, and she pushed forward, asking when she left.
“Steven didn’t exactly know time yet and shrugged, saying maybe a few days. But I knew it was more like a few weeks, maybe even over a month, and corrected him. Neither of us thought much of it at that point. She would come and go, but never left us for so long before.”
“I caught on sooner than Steven, who was stuffing his face. I asked her if our mom was okay. She shook her head and said she didn’t know anything about her.
Because our mom wasn’t around, we had to go with her to a new home until they could find her.
Neither of us argued, since she promised we’d have better food and there were plenty of other kids. ”
He paused, uncrossing his arms to run a hand through his hair. I admired the way it seemed darker in the dim light as it fell back into place—the effort wasted.
I waited for him to continue, facing him with my cheek resting in my propped-up hand. Instead, his eyes drifted across each brown circle on the ceiling. I figured I could ask my questions.
“So… an orphan from Los Angeles ends up finding broken girls to commit petty theft across the country while he runs from his own demons. Great pitch for a New York Times bestseller.”
It wasn’t that I didn’t believe him. I wasn’t trying to mock him for telling me. It explained his distaste for going to California and his refusal to bring me earlier that day. I’d feel the same way about Mississippi, even though both were big states and the chances of being recognized were slim.
“That sums it up pretty well.” His lips curved in a short chuckle before he clenched his jaw, his cheeks hollowing in the dim lamp light.
“I never left Los Angeles, even after my brother and I were separated. Our mom never came to claim us. I don’t think they ever found her.
They found Steven’s dad, but he didn’t want the responsibility of raising Steven, let alone me.
He signed off his rights in a heartbeat.
If they found my grandma, it must’ve been the same story.
Steven was adopted, and I was left to rot in that home for two years before I was moved into foster care. I was thirteen.”
“What was it like?” I asked, slightly astonished the system had split them up so quickly.
“The first home wasn’t awful, I guess. I was put in a smaller one and didn’t have to deal with many issues.
” Erich shrugged. “I think they were hopeful someone who knew me would take me in, or that our mom might come back and they could chew her out before finally being rid of me… but they gave up. I was getting older, and they had to do something with me. Not a lot of people want to adopt older kids with behavior issues. It’s easier to take them young so they don’t remember what life was like before. ”
“Foster care is a gamble… but I didn’t have it so bad. I was often with couples who either wanted to make a difference or were thinking about adopting but weren’t sure. They tried to be patient. I was a handful. Never lasted long.”
“So that was when Steven was adopted?” I asked.
Erich shifted, pulling a pillow under his head as he lay back. He got comfortable before continuing. He was sobering up faster, and I felt my window for questions closing.
“I was pissed when I was told Steven was adopted. They didn’t let me say goodbye. They wouldn’t tell me anything. He’d forget about me pretty quickly with a new family, but it wasn’t as easy for me to forget him.
“Then came juvie when I turned sixteen. Over the stupidest shit. I was stealing car radios and selling them on street corners.” His eyes darkened as he slipped back into the memory.
“I had a one-track mind. I needed to find my brother. I already knew Steven was in New York, so that’s where I needed to go. ”
I had a feeling his story was about to get darker, and I wasn’t sure I wanted that part. “Did you escape, or did you just serve your time?” I asked quietly.
“I was let out six months later, but my foster parents never came back to pick me up. So I walked off.” He flashed a mischievous smirk.
“By the time I broke into enough cars to buy a Greyhound ticket to New York, it had already been five years since Steven was adopted. I’m not sure what I thought I’d accomplish.
” His fingers tapped nervously against his chest again, and I forced myself to stay present.
I had a lot of questions. Did the people in his life not care enough to notice he disappeared? How many foster homes had he been in before shifting to crime?
“What happened in New York?”
He let out a short chuckle. “I got to the place that handled my brother’s adoption, and the front desk lady basically told me to fuck off…
politely. I didn’t have a plan after that.
Didn’t consider they wouldn’t share that information, and getting there had been impulsive in the first place.
Plus, I’d spent all my money on the bus ticket. Didn’t want to go back to Los Angeles.
“I walked outside and made it two blocks before the mental break hit. I started kicking trash cans and yelling. Then a girl yelled at me to shut up and stop kicking her trash can. I was about to yell back until I turned and saw her watching me with big brown eyes that were a lot kinder than her sharp tongue. That was Olivia. Her mother is Mystique Braun—fortune teller, psychic, midwife… and whatever the opposite of a midwife is if you go to her for… you know.” He coughed awkwardly.
“Olivia forced me to come inside and meet her mother.”
I nodded, unable to hide the way my lips turned down. The disappointment was lost on my whiskey-soaked companion. I was slightly jealous of this Olivia girl—of whatever she’d been to him—but also curious.
“I stayed with them for a little over a year, trying to figure out where I’d go next. I fell for Olivia… hard,” he said softly.
A sharp pain bloomed in the center of my chest as the pieces clicked into place. Erich and Olivia had history—real history. I’d always assumed he had experience with girls, but I’d never expected a name. A story.
Erich’s face flushed when he caught my expression, and I knew it wasn’t the alcohol this time. “That was too much. None of it matters…”
I shook my head, heat rising to my cheeks. “Don’t. It’s okay. I’m glad you trust me enough to share that.”
He went quiet. The whirr of the vent filled the space as he considered how much more to say. The way his arms crossed over his chest told me he wasn’t willing to go further. “She was with me for a while when I left New York.”
My neck stiffened from how long I’d been sitting like that, and my arm ached from propping myself up.
I pushed off the bed, careful not to put weight on my Jell-O arm.
I didn’t need to hear more. Part of me knew he’d only told me because he still felt something for her—love, fondness, something—and it stung.
I wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it. He didn’t need to know how I felt.
“I’m going to sleep,” I said. “Are you staying up?”
He considered, then shook his head. With a grunt, he sat up on the edge of the bed, feet hitting the floor. “I’ll move.”
“No, don’t.” I held up a hand to stop him. “The bed’s warmer than the floor, and I’m not bothered by you sleeping next to me.”
In fact, I wanted him to.
He studied me for a moment, then seemed to decide it wasn’t worth arguing. He unzipped his jacket, tossed it across the room, and shifted to the far edge of the bed, fluffing his pillow. I knew he hadn’t slept in a bed since meeting me, and guilt crept in at the thought.
I wanted to tell him he’d fall off sleeping that close to the edge, but I bit my tongue. Some battles weren’t worth it.
I slipped into the bathroom, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and came back out. He was already fast asleep, exactly where I’d left him—nearly hanging off the edge of the bed. He hadn’t bothered with the blankets or to change out of his jeans. The alcohol and the memories must’ve worn him down.
I tiptoed over, eased under the covers, and turned off the light. He didn’t stir. His breathing was soft and steady, and it soothed me.
A rare thing. One that probably wouldn’t have happened if he’d been more careful at the bar.