Book of Days

by James Rubart

  "I'll never forget this trip," his wife added.

  "But we won't remember every moment of our lives, will we?" Jessie asked.

  "Not all. We'll cut out the boring parts, but we'll definitely remember the highlights," Cameron said.

  "So where do our memories go when we forget them or . . . when we die?"

  "Oh boy," chimed in the other man. "Look out, Jessie's going deep again."

  Cameron's smile faded. He'd said almost the same words to his dad the last time he saw him six years earlier.

  "Where do the memories go?" the wife of the other couple said. "I thought everyone knew they went to Tasmania."

  The other couple laughed. Cameron didn't and stopped walking.

  Jessie stopped as well, but the other couple kept moseying along, plunking blue cotton candy into their mouths.

  "Are you all right?"

  "Great." She forced a smile and bonked Cameron on the head with her Mickey Mouse balloon.

  "Wow, I like that, keep doing it please."

  Jessie slumped onto a bench, a statue of Walt a few yards behind her, and Cameron slid down beside her and wrapped her in his arms.

  "What's going on? Are you bummed because Pirates was shut down this trip?"

  "I'm fine, Cam, really."

  "And I'm Goofy, really."

  She pulled her Mickey balloon into her chest. "Maybe God writes our memories down, hmm?"

  As Cameron crossed his leg, the loss of his father welled up in his heart. Yeah it would be wonderful if God did.

  He missed his dad so much. His laugh, his kindness, his quirky sense of humor. Where were his dad's memories? When he was losing his mind, did the memories float into nothingness, or were they stored somewhere for eternity?

  Cameron hadn't thought about his last conversation with his dad in months, maybe a year. A book with all days in it. He sighed. If only it were true.

  A hundred years from now, even fifty, would anyone remember his dad answering his phone at home with "Joe's Bar and Grill, Joe speaking"?

  Would they remember the swimming contest he had with his best friend's son in the community park? Would they recall the banner hanging over the pool that said, Old Age and Wisdom Beats Youth and Hair Every Time?

  "Sitting in this park where make-believe comes true, you could almost convince me your God does exactly that. I wish He did."

  Jessie turned and looked over his shoulder toward the lights of Space Mountain. "What if it's true? What if it could be more than a wish? What if He does write down what happens in our lives, in everyone's life?"

  "Like some cosmic high-school yearbook put together by the supreme being of the universe?"

  "Something like that." She turned away.

  Cameron shook his head and gave what he imagined was a melancholy smile. Jessie sure could stretch her imagination beyond the confines of normal human cogitation. "I love your insanity. One of the countless reasons I'll love you for eternity."

  He watched the back of her head, the breeze making her hair wave like ribbons, waiting for her to look up at him.

  "Baby?" Cameron reached out and touched her elbow.

  Still no turn back.

  "What is it?" He shifted till he saw her face. A pair of tears wound their way down her tanned cheeks. "Talk to me."

  "Life is so short."

  "Not for us. Twenty-eight now means you're stuck with me for a least another fifty years. Maybe sixty."

  "So short."

  Her hands were cold as he took them.

  "Why are you saying that?"

  "I'm okay, really." Smiling, she took his hands and placed them on her cheeks. "I'll tell you later, okay?"

  "How about telling me now?"

  She stood and offered her hand. Cameron took it, raised her long fingers to his lips, and kissed them.

  "Just promise me you'll remember this conversation, okay?"

  "I will. Always and forever."

  CHAPTER 32

  Cameron sat in Java Jump Start on Saturday morning tapping his foot in double-time waiting for Ann to arrive, wishing for a better camera than the one on his cell phone. One iPhone with a two-year contract? $99. A Three Peaks white chocolate mocha? $3.75. The look on Ann's face when he told her what he'd found? Priceless.

  He sipped his drink and skimmed a brochure on white-water river rafting and another one on joining Broken Top, apparently one of the premier private golf courses in the area.

  Where was she?

  He glanced at his watch again.

  Five minutes later Ann walked in with a knowing smile. She winked at him and ordered what sounded like an extra hot caramel macchiato.

  After getting her drink, she slid into the dark brown chair next to Cameron. "I had a riveting dinner last night with Taylor and Tricia Stone."

  "And I had a fascinating search party with Arnold Peasley." He toasted her with his cup. "Do you want to go first?"

  "Sure, even though I can tell you're about ready to explode."

  "Guilty as charged. But I promise to contain myself."

  "I'll give you the headlines. First, Tricia confirmed that Taylor definitely knows more than he's telling about the Book of Days, and second, when I showed them my mom's photo, Taylor just about had a heart attack. He actually got up and left the room right after I pulled out the picture. I asked Tricia about it, and she said me describing that photo convinced her of something she suspected from the moment she first saw me."

  "That's it?"

  Ann flicked him on the forehead with her ring finger.

  "Hey, that hurts!"

  "Good." Ann took a drink of her caramel macchiato. "What do you mean 'that's it?'"

  "I was trying to be funny."

  Ann gave him a plastic smile.

  "You want to hear about my visit with Arnold?" He folded his hands and leaned forward on the table.

  She nodded.

  "We didn't do any digging."

  "You mean he wouldn't let you look, or he didn't have any papers from the sixties?"

  "I mean, we didn't have to do any digging. Not only did he have the papers, old Pease went right to the three papers in question so quick I think he should rename himself Dewey."

  "What?"

  "Dewey Decimal, don't you remember that from library when you were a kid?"

  "You're getting off track, Cameron. Tell me what you found."

  "Right, we were talking about . . ." His mind went blank. Was it libraries? Why would he and Ann be talking about libraries? He took a long drink of his white chocolate mocha as the bowling ball returned to his gut. It was a nice slice of pop psychology to tell himself not to worry about the future because life could end at any time. But it didn't work so well when the loss of his mind made living in the present a nightmare.

  He grabbed the edge of the table. Tight. Maybe it was time to see a doctor. Find out if his memories were disappearing because of stress or because his mind was truly—

  "Do you want me to insert a drum roll here?" Ann said. "Are you thinking drawing out the suspense will make it more exciting when you tell me?"

  Think! He was telling her about . . . basketball? No, was it? Someone who used to play . . . Peasley! Arnold's newspapers. Yes. The article from the sixties.

  "Are you sweating?"

  He wiped his forehead with a napkin and tried to smile. "Coffee that's too hot always does that to me."

  "So are you going to tell me about what you found?"

  Yes, he would tell her. And she would know about her history. And then they would find the book. His memories would return and his mind would be healed. Now snap out of it. Focus on Ann. Upbeat. This will rock her world.

  "Are all four legs of your chair securely on the floor?"

  "You think this is going to knock me over?"

  "It might." He leaned in on his elbows. "Thanks to Arnold, I know who your mother was, who your grandmother was, along with a few of your other relatives."

  "Are you kidding?"

  "You re
ady for this?"

  "Tell me!" Ann punched Cameron in the arm.

  "Your mom's maiden name was Coffee, spelled just like the drink, right?"

  "Right."

  He waited for her to react but Ann sat with eyebrows raised, as if asking why this was a revelation.

  "I don't hear any bells going off yet."

  "And your grandmother was named Josephine. Last name Coffee."

  "Okay." Ann still didn't react. The anticipation on her face remained.

  Was she in shock or not surprised? How could she not be surprised?

  "You're acting like this should mean something to me."

  "Don't you get it? Coffee."

  Ann held her hands wide with a bewildered look on her face. "I'm sorry; I'm still missing a piece of the puzzle."

  "Annie's maiden name was Coffee."

  "Taylor's Annie?" Ann's face went white and she covered her eyes. "Oh my gosh. Are you saying . . . Annie is my aunt?" She said it half as a statement, half as a question. "She was my mom's sister."

  "Yes."

  "That means . . . Taylor Stone is . . . my—" Cameron nodded as Ann fell back in her chair and clunked her drink to the faux marble table. "He's my uncle."

  "Yes, he is. Uncle. Or uncle-in-law. Does he stay your uncle even though Annie isn't living?"

  "Unbelievable." She put her face in her hands. "Taylor Stone is my uncle."

  "Looks that way."

  Ann slumped further down in her chair as her arms fell to her side. "Wow. That's about as weird as you can get." She let out a long, low whistle. "How did you figure it out?"

  Cameron pulled a copy of the Post from 1963 out of his briefcase and slid it in front of Ann. On the front page was the same picture of her mom she'd showed Cameron three days earlier. The caption read, Summer in Three Peaks Always Means Kids and Swimming.

  Ann snatched up the paper and skimmed the story. "Swimming spot . . . rope swing . . . where the kids . . . Jennifer and Annie Coffee, Jason Judah, and Taylor Stone enjoyed an adventure together on . . . Oh my." The paper fluttered out of Ann's hand.

  She looked up at him, eyes wide. "I should have seen it. Maybe Taylor did. Maybe he's known about me my whole life."

  "I don't think so. I watched him when you came onstage at Jason's reception. He looked like he'd seen a ghost, not a long-lost relative. And I think I know why."

  "Tell me."

  "This is the part I'm glad you're sitting down for. And the reason Taylor reacted like he did. Ready?"

  Ann nodded once, her eyes riveted on his.

  "Take a look at this." He held out another yellowed newspaper.

  She reached out her hand but Cameron didn't hand it to her. "It would be easier to look at it if you gave it to me."

  "Just making sure you're ready."

  "I told you, I'm ready."

  "This is a picture printed in the Post a few years later."

  Ann squirmed in her chair and stared at Cameron, anticipation spread over his face. "Will this freak me out?"

  "Maybe. It might be a bit of a shock, but you need to see this."

  Ann looked down at the picture and her pulse spiked. It was a wedding announcement and a photo of the couple about to be married. Her head instantly felt like she'd taken a huge bite of Thai food with five-star seasoning.

  She was looking at a picture of herself standing next to Taylor Stone.

  "How in the world did they . . . ? It's me. Why would someone—?"

  "No, it's a picture of Annie."

  Ann pulled the newspaper closer and rubbed the grainy photo with her finger. "I can't believe . . . this is too strange . . ." She trailed off not knowing what to say.

  "Explains a lot, doesn't it?"

  Ann nodded, not sure she could trust her voice.

  "When Taylor first saw you it was like seeing Annie, as if she'd come back from the dead."

  "But why wouldn't he come talk to me about it? Meet me, tell me who I looked like?"

  "I don't know."

  "It makes no sense, Cameron. When I showed him the photo at dinner, why didn't he tell me who I was and who my mom was?"

  "Excellent questions." He shook his head and shrugged.

  Ann set the paper down and scooted back from the table, the legs of her chair sending out a screech like a wild falcon. "I've got to talk to Taylor."

  She stood and stared at Cameron. "I've gotta talk to him right now."

  CHAPTER 33

  Ann wasn't sure if she should have come. Yes she was. Without question she needed to have this conversation.

  She trudged over Creek Bank Park's lush green lawn, only sporadic russet strips showing where the sprinklers apparently hadn't reached with enough water. Tricia had said he'd be here; it was one of his thinking spots.

  How should she open a conversation like the one she was about to have? Hi, Taylor, just thought I'd let you know I'm your long-lost niece. Would you like to catch up on the past thirty-two years?

  Given Taylor's reactions to her so far, he might refuse to talk at all. She stopped and once more considered returning to her car and driving away. Finally she plodded on, scanning the park for her . . . for Taylor.

  As she came around from behind a large spruce tree, she spotted him. He stood on a deck that hung over the Metolius River like the lady on the prow of a ship. A continual bath of spray misted the beams supporting the deck every few minutes from the small waterfall just beyond it, making it look like he and the deck rested on wispy clouds.

  Ann watched him for a few minutes before wandering close enough for her cleared throat to be heard over the rush of the river. He turned.

  As she approached, he lifted his Oregon Duck's hat off his head, placed it on his chest, and gave a slight bow. "Have you come for a time of potentially awkward conversation? If so, I think I can help."

  "Is that your way of saying 'I wish you weren't here, but since you are, I'll at least be civil toward you'?"

  "Blunt today, aren't we, Ms. Banister?"

  "As with most days. I apologize."

  "No, it's refreshing."

  Ann waited till Taylor gave the invitation she suspected would come. "Why don't we stroll the perimeter of the park, and we can chat without having to look at each other every moment."

  "That sounds good."

  Taylor turned slightly as they strolled down the gray gravel path. "It's actually a welcome surprise to see you."

  "Really?" Ann said as she crunched along next to him. "I wasn't sure how you felt about me."

  "Why is that?"

  "Are you kidding? Let's just say I felt more welcomed by your other half last night. And the dancing fork bit, and the subsequent vanishing act made me think—"

  "That's one of the reasons I'm glad to see you. I've been thinking we could use some time to make the air between us a mite clearer."

  "Good, there are a number of things I want to talk to you about."

  "Do I get to see the list?"

  They sauntered down the path that ran along the riverbank to their left.

  Taylor Stone had charm and wit, but she guessed there was a sadness that came out when the doors were shut and the lights dimmed to black. She saw it in his eyes when he laughed.

  She'd always been good at seeing the story behind the story, the mark of a good investigative reporter and television host. If she was right in this case, Taylor had a story going on so deep, she wouldn't be surprised to find Jules Verne at the bottom of it.

  "Since you inspired the creation of the list, of course you get to see it. And don't worry, it's short. Only three items."

  Taylor looked at her with one eyebrow raised and one eye closed.

  "That's a good look."

  "Thanks. I've done it since high school. Some people seem to think it's wearing thin." Taylor put his baseball hat back on and pulled it back so most of his forehead showed. "The three items?"

  "First is the reaction you had when you saw me at Jason's reception."

  "You didn't buy the st
omach-cramps scenario?"

  "Second is the Frosty the Snowman reception I received at dinner—"

  "I was a little cold, you're right. But during the time I showed you my fly-fishing journal, I warmed up to a nice temperature."

  "I agree."

  "And the third?"

  "Your dinner fork."

  "Yes, that." Taylor turned and looked at her without expression. But something in his eyes moved, maybe it was behind his eyes. She'd read somewhere that the eyes were the window to the soul, and in Taylor's case at least, it was true. He was a man who wanted to talk and wanted to stay quiet in equal measure.

  "Can we talk about it?"

  The firm shake of his head said no, but after thirty seconds with no sound but the crunch of their shoes on the path, he apparently changed his mind.

  "Yes, let's talk. But instead of me telling you why I did those things, why don't you tell me. I have a feeling you already know the answer."

  "In other words, you've figured out who I am," Ann said.

  "I suspected immediately." He coughed. "The moment I saw you on that stage."

  "I didn't figure it out till this morning."

  Taylor nodded, stared at the path in front of them, and kept walking.

  Ann had expected some kind of reaction. Certainly more than nothing. It was her turn to punch the mute button on the conversation. Did Taylor want to ignore it? She looked back expecting to see a pink elephant stomping along behind them. What was the best way to bring the animal to front and center? She was glad walking down the path gave her an excuse to keep looking straight ahead.

  After another minute she said, "If you know who I am, why have you been pushing me away? What is it about me you dislike so much?"