Chapter 23 – November 20, 1993 – Camille
“So this is where we’re staying for the night?” It had been only a month after we left New York City. It was cold, and now about the time of year we’d be staying South in case we hit tough times and needed to sleep in the car.
To be honest, I didn’t think much of it before when Erich told me it would take some driving to get to where we’d be staying, even though I was considering that we were in Wisconsin and it could snow any day.
We’ve done this countless times after spending the day hustling, scamming city people, or stealing and cheating our way out of the next town.
We would get as far as we could for the night and camp wherever seemed safe or hidden enough.
Especially in unlocked log cabins in the middle of the woods. The only problem was that they often weren’t heated.
I did not expect an old, tiny log house by a peaceful creek, full of life.
It was, by sight and definition, a hunting shack or cheap cabin-like getaway.
It was private, far from trouble, and no one was around.
No sign of human life as far as the eye could see.
The foliage of the trees covered the dirt road we took to get there, and I knew if I wandered too far from the car, I would be lost in the forest.
I didn’t know if I was intimidated to step foot into the newly found haven, or excited to run my fingers against the wooden walls on the inside, only to feel the comfort of imagining it was our home.
“I won it,” Erich answered as he turned off the car. “When we were at that tiny bar in town… You must’ve been at the bar. I was playing pool with some guy. Bright orange clothes, talking a big game on the deer he saw at his camp that afternoon.
“We were talking and then came the actual game. Of course, I wouldn’t turn it down, but we started bargaining anyway…
Figured we’d make it interesting.” He turned to gaze at me, his lips turning down in a frown as he remembered the night before.
His jaw was considerably set by the stress of gritting his teeth as he thought about how to continue.
“I cheated harder than usual… His end of the bargain was the deed. His request for my end was you.”
He turned his gaze back to the cabin, resting his hands on the steering wheel and leaning forward. “Jeremy” by Pearl Jam played softly in the background. “I would’ve never agreed to it if I had any doubt I’d lose.
“I was able to beat him quickly, expecting he’d take back his part of the deal, but instead he threw back his head in laughter over the situation, patted my back, and dug the deed out of his pocket.
Like he was planning on just giving it away.
I think he planned on tearing it down, since he’s been using it to cheat on his wife.
” Erich reached his hand into his right pocket, found what he was searching for, and pulled out a crumpled document.
“Must not have been a huge loss for him.”
I was still too shocked at the idea that the place could be considered Erich’s to fully register that, despite the fact that I trusted Erich, I should have been offended I was on the table in their handshake deal.
I didn’t say anything for a long time. Erich cleared his throat, still staring at the cabin.
“He said more, but I feel gross remembering it.”
My gaze toward Erich intensified, daring him to go into detail as I questioned what he meant.
His broad shoulders were stiff as he took the brunt of my laser-focused stare.
His hand came up and rubbed the back of his neck as his eyes darted back toward me, and he let out a small chuckle. “Damn, you really want to know?”
His hand dropped from his neck, and he continued.
“When he honored his end of the deal, he seemed to sober up quite a bit before talking. He told me he was hoping to pawn this place off on someone. Too much on his conscience, I guess.” He was talking through me, to himself, replaying the memory in his head.
“I wanted to be done. I didn’t care what he did here, but he went into heavy detail.
Disgusting detail. And for some reason, he thought we were enough alike I’d get it, and I’m not sure I do.
” I tried to follow where he was going with his words, but had a hard time imagining the scenario.
Erich wasn’t a big storyteller. “He then finished with ‘Yer already bonin’ her. I can see it in how she looks ’atcha. ’”
My face burned with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. Erich let out a short, awkward laugh. I couldn’t tell if it was to clear the air of the story he confessed to me, poke fun at his pervy old man impression, or to ease the mood my reaction would cause.
My shaky hand moved up to push a few strands of frizzy curls back behind my ear. I was trying hard to play it cool and couldn’t. How ironic—in a bar setting, I played the role perfectly. Yet when we were alone, I was back to what I knew best: modesty.
Erich got out of the car and walked forward without waiting for me, climbing the front steps to open the cabin door and explore the inside. After a few moments to ground myself, I followed, my face feeling slightly less flushed as I calmed down.
The second I walked in, the first smell that hit me was old wood. It was soothing and reminded me of family ski trips to Vermont or Colorado. Small inns cozied up in the mountains, our jackets and boots drying next to a roaring fireplace.
It was surprisingly clean considering the impression I had of the last owner.
There was a small hallway-like entrance, a door to the right, and a door to the left.
To the right was a small room with a couch, a coffee table in front of it, and an old TV further in front.
In that room, there was one more door, which opened to reveal a cozy bedroom with an old wooden king bed frame.
The flannel sheets were in a bundled mess, and there was a pillow thrown across the room.
It had a small closet and a wooden dresser at the foot of the bed, as well as a fireplace next to the door facing the bed.
To the left of the hallway was a kitchen-like room.
There was a fridge, but the power was off, and the fridge door was ajar.
The stove seemed as if it could use some help as well, but the sink had running water, much to my amazement.
There must have been a well on site. Finally, there was one last door in the kitchen that led to a closet-sized bathroom.
A dirty shower and bathtub hybrid took one side of the wall straight ahead, with a toilet a foot away and a sink right across from it.
“What do you think?” Erich asked, trying to turn the light switch on and off with no luck. “It’s small, but it’s something. I can maybe get rid of it tonight if you don’t like it.”
It was the best possible arrangement I could imagine.
I was so happy with it and the fact that it wasn’t a campground at a state park or a cheap motel room with stains on the bedsheets and bullet holes through the window.
I held back a small, hysterical chuckle that turned into a laugh, and the next thing I knew, I was crying.
Ugly cries, and they sounded like I was snorting and laughing.
Erich was silent as I continued to cry hysterically. He finally spoke up. “I mean… I could give it back. We could leave. We could find somewhere el—”
I shook my head, and I could only imagine I looked psychotic with tears running down my face, with a smile. “No, it’s perfect. I’m just so happy.” Maybe there was still a God out there for me, and he was answering my prayers.
The first few days in the cabin were mostly spent cleaning, finding the well and learning how it worked, playing in the creek, and mapping out an emergency route to town if the situation arose and we were without a car.
Erich drew a map with our curvy dirt road, going so far as to tie rope or ribbon around trees for every half mile on the road until the path got to the cement road that would go straight to town.
I think he had the path down to every rock in the road by heart, but the trail markers were for me in case I needed to go into town while he was away and couldn’t take me with him.
We had a permanent home. Somewhere we didn’t have to lie, cheat, or steal in order to stay. There was no more running or hiding. We could be comfortable there.
So, Mercer, Wisconsin, became our residence. Erich had a job, and I never thought I’d see the day. He worked in the kitchen at a motel with a bar and restaurant that attracted fishing and camping tourists in the summer and snowmobilers in the winter.
He would come home late at night. I could never sleep until he was back.
I could hear animals outside the door… fighting, mating, passing by.
The forest scared me, and I always imagined what horrible things could happen to him at that time of night with no one around.
What if he drove into a tree, or hit an animal? Yet he never failed to return.
While he was gone during the day, I often cleaned, cooked, wrote in my diary, or read the books he would bring back for me from locals at the restaurant.
Once we had the TV hooked up, I’d watch the news to stay in touch with the world.
Out of habit, maybe it was to make sure there wasn’t a national alert due to my absence. There never was.
I tried to pick up a hobby like fishing…
but that did not work out well. I caught one tiny bluegill and nearly got pulled into the creek as I tried to reel it in with all of my excitement.
Erich then tried to coach me on setting the hook and reeling swiftly rather than with my whole body.
Once I finally had the line pulled in, I couldn’t bring myself to unhook the little guy.
His gills were gasping, his mouth opening and closing laboriously.
The hook was caught up in his mouth and through the gills.
I cried thinking the poor little fish was in pain, and Erich had to free him through actual tears of laughter as I sobbed with guilt.
I decided then and there I would not be catching dinner any time soon.
Despite my failure in catching a meal, Erich fixed the stove within the first few days of us living there and was able to get the power connected with a small down payment of hustled money from our life on the run.
Content. How do I find any other words to describe that? I was never bored, despite the fact that I spent a lot of time alone at home.
We shared the cozy bedroom. Most of the time he slept on the couch unless I left a big enough space next to me for him to come to bed and stay on the far end, away from me like I would give him some kind of illness.
Erich didn’t have to sacrifice jackets and blankets anymore.
We had a fireplace to keep us warm during the cold nights.
Even if I was playing house, imagining how maybe one day he’d feel the same way I did since we were settled down and had our roles together, he was unfazed by my lingering feelings. Sleeping in the same bed was only a necessity, and it was on occasion.
I think after our encounter in New York, he had growing suspicions I wanted him to love me…
but he played the ignorance card well. Olivia was likely right—I was only a “little brother” to him.
I couldn’t bear to ask what changed his mind about finally settling down, either.
I very well could be the pet cat he couldn’t care for anymore.
He was dropping me off at the old farmhouse down the road out of mercy rather than bringing me to a shelter.
Even though holding my ground and remaining confident got us there from New York, I still had a hard time maintaining that aura. And comparing myself to a pet was degrading.