Book of Days

by James Rubart

  A moment later the sun sank lower in the sky and the illusion vanished.

  "Let's go." Taylor turned back the way they'd come.

  "What did you just show me?"

  "Nothing." Taylor rubbed the back of his neck. "What's the toughest part about your wife's death?"

  "You're not going to tell me why you stood me in front of the mountains?"

  "No." Taylor scuffed along the dirt path, kicking at pinecones. "Sorry, Cameron."

  Cameron stuffed his hands in his coat pocket. Was Stone part of the plan to drive him out of his mind? "The toughest part? The regrets. Stuff you wish you could take back, wish you'd done or said. The things you wish you could forgive yourself for."

  "There are some things you should never forgive yourself for. With some things"—Taylor bent down and picked up a rock—"it simply is not possible."

  "Really?"

  Taylor hurled his rock at a tree twenty yards below them. It smacked into the pine dead center, the sound reverberating through the park. "Really."

  The sun had given itself over to twilight by the time they reached Taylor's truck. Neither spoke till they were halfway back to the Ski Inn.

  "I like you, Cameron. You're strong. You've lived through pain and sorrow. Now stay strong. And for your own sanity, get out of Three Peaks now. And until you leave, stay away from Jason."

  "What's the history between you two?"

  "None of your business."

  Taylor didn't speak again till Cameron stepped out of the older man's truck and ambled toward his MINI Cooper.

  "Cameron!"

  He turned to look at Taylor who leaned out his window.

  "I'm serious. I'm only looking out for you." Taylor pointed his forefinger at him. "Stay away from Jason, for your own good. Got it?"

  Cameron didn't answer, but on the other hand, Taylor didn't wait for a response. He peeled out of the parking lot and didn't look back.

  CHAPTER 24

  On Wednesday morning Cameron stood at the bottom of the library stairs and peered at Ann over the top of his triple-shot latte, trying to stop the butterflies from playing rugby in his stomach.

  "You coming up?" she called down to him.

  "Eventually. I need another sip of wake-up juice first." He took another drink of his coffee and climbed the stairs.

  Her auburn hair was pulled back, and it didn't look like she was wearing makeup. It should have made her less attractive, not more. Why couldn't she be ugly?

  When he reached the top of the stairs, he toasted her with his coffee and made a choice. Today he wouldn't beat himself up for his growing attraction toward Ann. He'd stay in the moment. No projecting what might happen in the future. They were feelings, nothing more.

  He walked over and opened the library door for her. They settled at the back of the library at a large polished table that looked like it was constructed from old barn siding.

  "This kind of table would be cool to have in my house," Cameron said.

  "I have something just like it in mine."

  "Really?"

  Ann nodded.

  Interesting. The same taste in furniture too.

  She scooted her chair closer to the table. "Did you get anywhere looking into those rock spots?"

  Cameron grimaced and clacked his teeth together. "Nothing. Yes, those six places around the world have this type of rock, but I couldn't find any mention of a legend similar to the Book of Days. I don't know where Jason snagged his information, but it doesn't show up anywhere on the Internet or in any history book in this library."

  "So let's—"

  "Let's not. I need to take a break from thinking about the book, and I promised I'd help you look into your family's past."

  "Really?" Ann's face brightened.

  As she spread out her notes on the table, Cameron said, "Why don't you give me a quick recap of what you know for sure and what you suspect."

  "I don't know much for certain. I don't even know my mom's maiden name."

  "You never asked her?"

  "I was a kid; it wasn't the most pressing question on my mind, and I don't ever remember her talking about her history except one time when I overheard her say, 'When I lived in Oregon.'"

  "So how can you know Three Peaks is the part of Oregon where she lived?"

  "Because of this."

  Ann pulled out a photo that showed a girl—eleven, maybe twelve years old—who had just let go of a tire swing out over a river. Her long arms and legs were splayed in spread-eagle fashion, lit like gold by a late afternoon sun. Her features were obscured by her thick reddish blonde hair, but you could tell she was smiling.

  A boy and another girl stood on the bank watching her, one pointing at her as she flew through air. But they were bathed in shadows, the light too dim to make out their features.

  "Your mom?"

  "Yes." Ann turned the picture over. "Look."

  In blue ink was scrawled, Jennifer flies! July 22, 1963.

  "Where'd you get the picture?"

  "It's the only photo I have of her. I barely remember what she looked like as an adult." Ann tossed the photo onto the table. "Not that I'll ever care."

  "What you do you mean you won't ever—?"

  "Are you kidding?" Ann stared at him as she squinted and gave little shakes of her head. "She was drunk almost every night, and on the nights she wasn't, she was 'riding the horse.'"

  "The horse?"

  "Heroin."

  Cameron nodded. "Is that what she ODd on?"

  Ann rocked back in her chair, arms folded. "Yep. All of a sudden I was hearing about lots of things I'd never heard of before. It was quite an education for an eleven-year-old kid."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Yeah, me too."

  Cameron took her hand. "Really, I'm sorry."

  Ann flushed and pulled her hand away. "Thanks, but it's eons in the past."

  "So you've forgiven her?"

  Ann shifted in her chair.

  "You need to forgive her."

  She gazed out the window, then eventually looked at him. "I know."

  "Remember what Jessie always used to say about bitterness?"

  "It's like cutting yourself and thinking the other person will bleed to death."

  "Something like that." Jessie didn't just say it. She lived it, always forgiving people who didn't deserve it. And she'd taught Cameron you couldn't be free without forgiving people, including yourself.

  Ann steepled her hands and rubbed her forehead with her forefingers. "Do you mind if we focus on my history?"

  "No problem." Cameron picked up the photo of Ann's mom. "So how does this prove—?"

  "I've memorized every part of this picture, every shadow, every ripple on that river, the contours of the bank, the mountains in the background . . . I'd recognize this spot no matter if it was winter, summer, spring, or fall. And I've used Google Earth to look at every image of every river in all of Oregon."

  A second later it struck Cameron like thunder. It was close to the spot on the river where he'd first met Taylor Stone. "Oh, wow, that's Whychus Creek."

  Ann nodded. "I've shown this picture to a good chunk of the people in town. No one recognizes my mom, or if they do, they're not admitting it."

  "How would someone recognize your mom when you can't see her face?"

  "I know it's a long shot, but three other people were there the day the picture was taken. Don't you think one of them would remember it?"

  "I only see two others on the bank."

  "Someone else had to take the picture."

  He stared at the photo. Would anyone remember a tire-swing adventure from over forty years ago? Maybe. Maybe not. "So what's my mission, should I choose to accept it?"

  "Help me find old school photos, someone who recognizes my mom in this picture, someone who will admit it, find the other kids in the shot . . . There has to be something or someone who can tell us about this picture."

  "I'm on it."

  Ann stood. "I'm going to g
rab a stack of old newspapers from the early sixties. The local swimming hole might be profiled in a small-town paper and that's the kind of shot they'd put next to the story."

  She sauntered off and Cameron watched her go. Her mom's overdose wasn't eons ago. For Ann it was seconds ago. She needed to let it go.

  "Finding everything you need?"

  Cameron's head whipped around to the source of the voice. Susan Hillman stood to his left. She worked here? She must have told him. Why couldn't he remember? Rhetorical question. Think!

  "I forgot you worked . . ."

  "You forgot I work here? I never told you, so you're forgiven."

  "You didn't tell . . . ? I mean . . . right, I remember that you didn't."

  "Are you okay, Cameron?"

  "Great. And you?"

  Susan just smiled. "How goes the quest?"

  "Actually I'm not here for me; I'm here for a . . . friend, who is doing some research."

  "Is your friend five-seven, auburn hair, leaning toward red, nice figure, and piercing green eyes?"

  He laughed. "Possibly."

  "She's a pretty gal. Seems sharp enough too. And from what I've seen, kind as well."

  "Wait till you get to know her."

  Susan swatted Cameron on the shoulder and chuckled. "Can I point you in a helpful direction?"

  "If you're offering, yeah, you can. Take a look at this."

  Susan sat in a chair next to him and he slid the photo of Ann's mom in front of her. "Do you know who this girl is?"

  Susan's face flushed and she pressed her lips together. After a few more seconds, she stood. "I'm so sorry, Cameron, but I can't talk to you about this photo."

  "What?" He squinted at her. "Are you joking?"

  Susan licked her lips and glanced around the library. "I don't think it would be right for me—"

  "Why can't you tell me about this picture?"

  "I can't."

  Cameron rapped the edge of the table with his palm. "It's important!"

  "Out of respect for . . . an old friend, please don't ask me about it again." She walked off, her soft-heeled shoes making muted clicks on the floor.

  He ground his fingers into the top of his skull and smacked the table again.

  A few minutes later Ann returned without any papers in hand. "Guess what?" She slid into her chair next to Cameron and sat sideways in it, her legs crossed. "The microfiche of the Three Peaks Post from May of 1963 to September of 1963 seems to have vanished."

  Cameron didn't answer.

  "What's wrong?"

  "I want to strangle somebody."

  "What happened?"

  "Susan Hillman knows the people in your picture, but she won't talk about it."

  Ann's face went slack. "She won't? What? I mean, she does?"

  "Without question."

  "Why won't she talk?"

  He rubbed his temples. "No clue. Once again we bump into the Three Peaks' Wall of Secrets." Cameron leaned back. "Susan won't talk. Taylor won't talk. Jason is a psycho. And I'm losing my mind. Literally."

  "So what are you going to do?"

  "Slip some truth serum into the town water supply."

  "Seriously."

  He had to hold it together. Going crazy wouldn't get him to the book or help them figure out Ann's history, and something told him the two were connected somehow. "Someone removed the microfiche from the summer of '63 because of that picture. So all we have to do is get a hold of hard copies of the paper from that time period."

  "Taylor Stone ran that paper for eighteen years. He might have copies," Ann said.

  "He would've been only eleven or twelve when that picture was taken."

  Ann slapped her hands on the table and leaned in. "Let's go to the paper."

  "Somehow I think they'd be missing those issues." Cameron drummed his fingers on the library table. He blew out a laugh. Of course! He knew exactly who to talk to. Unbelievable. Maybe his memory was returning.

  It was time to pay another visit to Arnold Peasley and his newspaper museum.

  CHAPTER 25

  After saying good-bye to Ann, Cameron sat in his car determined to find something to take his mind off Jessie, his memory loss, the book, Ann—everything. Even if it wasn't good for him. Yes, he and Ann were making progress on her history—Peasley had agreed to see him Friday afternoon—but he was still buried in six feet of Three Peaks dust in his search for the Book of Days.

  The Peak Me Up Bar & Grill flashed into his mind. The sting of Jack Daniels and Wild Turkey had led him down a path of emptiness for six months till he'd broken its hold, but when there was little to live for, the city of Empty wasn't a bad destination. A few drinks couldn't hurt.

  He pushed open the maple-colored bar door and ignored the voice inside screaming to walk away. Maybe it was Jessie's voice. Maybe his dad's. Maybe his own. It didn't matter. He was going to get plastered, kiss the world good-bye for two or six hours, and love every second of it. Or at least give it an Olympic effort.

  The bar was empty except for two fortysomethings who racked balls on a faded green pool table and the bartender who stared at a television that wasn't turned on.

  Cameron sat at the bar on a maroon stool with silver legs that looked like it had been minted yesterday. No balls dropped on the break, so the second man stepped up and tried to sink the six ball in the right corner pocket. He sank the eight ball instead.

  The perfect commentary on Cameron's life.

  "You're Cameron Vaux." The bartender said it as if he were required, no emotion behind the greeting.

  "Yeah, and you're the bartender."

  The bartender nodded, as if slightly perturbed.

  "Sorry, I'm probably not happy enough for happy hour right now."

  "What can I get you?"

  "Mr. Jack. Double shot."

  Thirty seconds later the drink sat next to him, its mellow whisky smell tempting him. But really, there was no temptation. The battle was over. Daniels had won.

  He slid his fingers around the shot glass and watched the liquid bounce against the sides like a miniature pond in the wind.

  Just a little liquid to set him free.

  Cameron carried the drink over to a booth in the darkest part of the bar and stared at it. It was a good choice. As long as he was forgetting things, he might as well forget the futility of his life for a while. He ignored the voice still yakking away in his head and lifted the drink to his mouth.

  "Nothing compliments a double shot of Jackie D better than a double-decker mushroom and Swiss burger over at The Sail & Compass."

  Cameron whirled to find the source of the familiar voice.

  Taylor Stone stood to the left of the front door, next to the electronic dart board, arms folded, one ankle crossed over the other as he leaned back against the wall, a little knowing smile on his face.

  "Mr. Stone. Good to see you."

  Taylor sauntered over to the bar and sat next to him. "I suppose I could go through all the 'you don't want to do this, and are you sure this is the best choice right now speech,' but you're too smart for that to work. So let me just bluntly say you know where this road leads, so before you toss that double shot down your throat, why don't we get some food in your stomach?"

  He stared at Taylor, then at the glass. Taylor Stone, his rescuer. Irony rears up to take a bow. Taylor Stone, the thorn in his flesh. Taylor Stone, the man with hidden answers about the Book of Days. Taylor Stone, the man with his own demons.

  "Will you talk about the book?"

  Taylor pushed himself up from the barstool and folded his arms again. "You coming?"

  Why not? Cameron took another look at the shot glass. He threw down a twenty-dollar bill, set the drink onto the middle of Abe's face, and strode with Taylor out the front door.

  When Cameron stepped outside, he stopped to let his eyes adjust to the sun pounding down and turned to Taylor. "The burgers are decent?"

  "The best. Let's go."

  The Sail & Compass carried its theme
throughout the restaurant. Pictures of sailboats adorned every wall, a drawing of an ancient-looking compass covered the front of the menus and the napkins. Even the ceiling was covered with the night sky, little white dots representing the constellations—nature's map for sailors.

  They ordered and watched a Seattle Mariners' game on the big screen inside the bar while waiting for their food to arrive.

  When the game went to commercial break, Cameron turned to Taylor. "It seems odd to have a sailing themed restaurant this far inland."

  "Maybe this is the closest people around here will ever get to the water."

  "They could take a drive. It can't be over one hundred and fifty miles to the ocean from Three Peaks."

  Taylor tilted his head to the side. "Want to bet?"

  "Sure, loser pays for the burgers."

  "One hundred and fifty-seven miles to Newport. I win. You lose."

  Cameron tossed his cardboard coaster at Taylor and hit him in the stomach. "You want to know why most of our conversations start off okay but drift into the realm of animosity?"

  "Sure, enlighten me." Taylor grinned.

  "Probably because I get too close to the truth, pick away too much of your scab that covers it up, and you can't handle the pain."

  "Probably true."

  Cameron expected Taylor to respond with anger, but he didn't.

  A moment later their plump waitress with her megawatt smile shimmied up to their table with their meals. As soon as Cameron's plate skidded to a halt on the table, he grabbed a handful of French fries and shoved them in his mouth.

  "What are you doing there, sailor?"

  "Trying to counteract the effects of Mr. Jack."

  "Uh, hello? You and Mr. Jack didn't end up meeting this afternoon." Taylor laughed.

  "What?"

  "You didn't throw down that shot, Cameron. Are you okay?"

  No. Not in front of Stone. Think. Did he swallow the drink? That's right, Taylor came and he . . . paid for it but didn't . . . Oh, wow. Cameron's stomach knotted like he'd swallowed a sixteen-pound bowling ball. He had to get a grip, keep Stone from seeing him panic.