He wanted to have one last conversation with his dad about the important things in life, so why did he end up with his dad rambling about nonsensical things instead?
A few minutes later Cameron let it go and told the story about the two of them skiing from nine in the morning till ten at night up at Stevens Pass without a break.
"Do you remember the next day? We couldn't move!"
For the next half hour Cameron didn't stop the tears when they pushed out and didn't stop the laughter when his dad talked about some random comical event from decades back.
After the light outside his dad's room had grown black, Cameron slid his arms around his father and whispered in his ear, "I love you, Dad. Always have. Always."
His dad held him for a moment, then patted Cameron on the back and took him by the shoulders, a wide grin on Dad's face, moisture in his eyes.
A week later his dad was gone.
CHAPTER 2
Eight Years Later
Come on, remember!"
Cameron stared at the phone number on the yellow sticky note, willing himself to recall who it belonged to. He pressed the Post-it note onto the middle of his MacBook's screen.
What was wrong with him? It was his handwriting. No one else had scrawled those numbers half an hour ago. He remembered jotting it down. It was someone he needed to call back. But the memory of whose number it was had disappeared.
His face grew hot.
"Remember what?"
Cameron looked over at Brandon slumped in front of his computer, a pen whirling around his fingers like a minibaton on steroids.
"Where'd you learn to do that?"
"YouTube." Brandon glanced up at the clock on the wall of their production studio. "If we're going to get this vid finished, we gotta jam. You're almost done with edits, right? Tell me yes."
"Another hour at the most."
"Cool." Brandon sat up and whacked away on his keyboard. "So have you decided, Cam? Are you headed to the fifteen-year this weekend?"
"We just had a ten-year reunion. Besides, July is too early to have a reunion. It should be in August."
"Did I ask you if you'll do a couple of tunes again? Just you and a piano up there onstage, nothing fancy."
"No chance. I haven't played for eons." Cameron rubbed his eyes. "I can't believe high school is already fifteen years in the rearview mirror."
"Thirty years is coming in a flash." Brandon grinned. "Old man time will be here before you know it. Hey, remember, I need you to get that voice-over on the Crystal Mountain video laid down by the end of the day."
"Right."
Cameron turned back to his screen and stared at the number. What if old man time had already shown up? He tried to laugh at the idea. So he'd been forgetting a few things lately. Big deal. It was probably the stress of working sixty-plus hours every week and still finding time to coach Little League baseball.
Plus the added bonus of the anniversary date looming like a storm over his heart. Less than a month away. Couldn't the pain stay buried till a few days before the seventeenth arrived?
But it hadn't been a few things he'd forgotten and it hadn't been lately. It had been going on for at least a year. And it was getting worse.
Go to the reunion? Yeah, it would be a blast answering questions about Jessie's death.
"Cameron! What is going on?"
He turned toward the sound of the voice.
A bald guy ducked under a sagging streamer that said, "Class of '95, About to Come Alive," threw open his arms, and grinned as he stutter-stepped up to Cameron in black dress shoes that were out of place with his jeans.
"These reunions can't come fast enough for me. I love seeing everyone. I can't believe you and I haven't seen each other since the last one. That's just a wrong song."
"Hey," Cameron said. Not even a glimmer of recognition. "Great to see you. You are . . . ?"
"You crack me up, Cam." The guy grabbed him in a bear hug, and when he pulled away the grin left his face. "Hey, I heard about Jessie. Sorry, man. Really."
"Thanks." Why couldn't people read his mind and realize he didn't want to talk about Jessie? Maybe he should have worn a sign that said, I'm doing as well as I can, but my heart was shredded when she died, and I'd rather not talk about it with you because the pain is still extremely ripe even after two years.
"Are you still climbing?"
"Yeah." Had he gone rock climbing sometime in the past with this guy?
"It seems like yesterday you and I and Jessie and Gina Stewart learned to climb together. When was that? Two summers out of high school? You'd just met Jessie and her sister—what was her name? Ann? And if I remember right, you couldn't decide which one to ask out." The guy gestured up and down with his palms like a scale. "Then Jessie asked you to take the class, and you didn't want to go 'cause you're scared of heights. But you liked Jessie so you decided to gut through it. That cracked me up, you pretending the whole time that you weren't terrified so Jessie wouldn't know, but I knew you were freaking out . . ."
Ann, Jessie's foster sister.
Cameron hadn't thought about her for at least six months. She probably hadn't thought of him since the funeral. He'd tried to get along with her the whole time Jessie and he dated, but Ann had never warmed up to him. She'd stood there, maid of honor at Jessie's and his wedding, glaring at him through the entire ceremony.
". . . and Jessie blows all three of us out of the water the way she took to climbing. And I loved her laugh; it was so totally uninhibited, you know? She's hanging out over a two-hundred-foot cliff cracking up like she's at a party, telling us to climb faster."
A rock-climbing course after high school? Is that when he started? Images flitted through his brain, then the memory of the summer rushed in. Yes. Jessie calling him with an invitation to take the class together. Him deciding that was a sign to pursue her instead of Ann even with his aversion to heights.
How could he forget that? It was his first date with Jessie, if you could call it a date. He didn't want to learn to climb, but he wanted to get to know her. So he went and fell in love with both the sport and Jessie.
"I remember." Cameron pursed his lips, nodded, and rubbed his face.
"Hey, I'm an idiot, I shouldn't stir up . . . talking about Jessie . . . I mean, I don't want to—"
"It's okay, really."
They said good-bye and Cameron watched his old friend dance up to a group on his left.
"There he is," said a voice to his right.
Cameron turned to face a man with slicked-back blond hair and a goatee already flecked with hints of gray.
"Hey . . . hi." Who was he? Here we go again.
"Cameron, how are things going for you? It's my fault for not calling you. It's been too, too long since we talked."
"Yeah, it's been a while."
"When Jessie, uh . . . I should have called, and really I should have come to the service, but I'm just weird when it comes to—"
"Death." Think, Cameron. He knew him. "It's all right."
As they talked Cameron tried to picture the guy fifteen years younger. They were in some kind of group together . . . weren't they?
"Are you doing your films yet? I bet you are."
He jerked his head back. "What?"
"Aren't you making films and doing the Steven Spielberg directing thing? You always said you'd have your first one finished by the time you reached the age of thirty-two. You were so convincing. Some of the stuff you did back in high school was pretty impressive, so I figured thirty-three means you're a year overdue, if you haven't done one yet."
A chill washed over Cameron. That was indeed the plan. Two years ago he was on track to jump into the Hollywood circus, but the plan didn't include losing Jessie. The dream crashed and burned after that
.
"No, I'm behind schedule."
"I understand." The man nodded. "You ever want to talk about it, call me. I mean it."
As the man sauntered off, the pieces inside Cameron's brain snapped into place.
A moment later Brandon came up to him with two drinks in his hand.
"That was Donnie Taggart," Cameron said.
"Uh, yeah it is."
"It took me a second to remember—"
"Well, he's pretty forgettable. We only played in a band with him for two years."
Donnie Taggart was in their band? What? No. Wait. That's right. How could he forget that? "He played bass. Sang a killer version of 'Better Man' for us and sounded just like Vedder. He lived a few miles away from you in a house painted a muted yellow. Didn't he have a boxer that snagged Frisbees out of the air no matter how far you threw it?"
"Look out Jeopardy, here comes Cameron. Nice to know your steroid-strength memory is still functioning. You know I hated you in high school 'cause of that. I don't think you ever studied."
If only it were as simple as taking steroids to get his memories to return and fix whatever was malfunctioning in his mind.
Brandon clapped him on the back. "Have fun, bro. I'm going to go catch up with all my old girlfriends."
"That'll take, what, five, ten seconds?"
"Ha." Brandon punched him in the arm. "Be good."
Cameron breathed deep and it seemed to clear his head. As he scanned the room, he recognized almost every face. He remembered names and even the classes he'd taken with them. The memory loss had to be due to stress and lack of sleep more than any kind of encroaching disease.
His gaze settled on a dark-haired woman who stood next to the small stage they would probably use for giving out awards for having the most kids, the farthest distance traveled to get here, and married the longest.
As he studied her profile, a wave of heat washed over him. He should know her. Concentrate. Something about their junior year. She was part of it.
She turned and spotted him.
Oh no. He needed to figure it out before she reached him. But his mind was blank.
She shimmed up to him and gave him a sideways hug. "Hey, handsome. I was hoping you would be here."
"I was hoping the same." Cameron bit his upper lip, as if the shot of pain would tell him who this woman was.
"It is so great to see you. You know, I meant to come to the ten, but life was pretty crazy in those days." She pulled on her earlobe. "I'm so sorry about your wife. I read about it. It was a small plane accident, right?"
Cameron nodded.
She stepped back a few paces. "Let's see, your black hair is just as black and thick, no discernible extra girth around the middle yet, and only a few laugh lines around your gray-blues." She laughed and leaned closer to him. "I thought all the guys were supposed to come to the fifteen-year reunion bald and overweight."
A moment later he knew her. "Tonya!"
"Cameron!" She pointed at him, smiled, and studied his face. "You okay?"
"I'm just tired; my job has been nuts lately. For the past year actually."
By the time they'd finished talking, he remembered every one of their dates. But it didn't help the big slug of lead in his stomach get any lighter.
Two weeks later on a sun-soaked Saturday afternoon, Cameron packed the last of his climbing gear into the back of his MINI Cooper and fired up the engine. He felt good. Strong. His mind hadn't shifted into hibernate mode even once since the reunion, and he tried to believe the incidents were over.
But part of his brain still felt like he was watching a 3-D movie without the glasses.
He hit Highway 2 out of Monroe at two o'clock and glanced at his watch. Should be to Leavenworth by four or four thirty. He might even be able to get a climb in before dark and make camp on top.
As the little town of Gold Bar slid by, his dad's words from eight years earlier echoed in his mind: "When you get it . . . when you get it . . . You will . . . you will . . ."
"No, Dad, I can't believe that." Cameron popped his steering wheel with his fist. "It's just the anniversary of Jessie's death and the pressure of work. That's all."
The stress-O-meter had been pegging red for far too long. Brandon and he had become master jugglers with twenty video projects in the air at all times. That extracted a high price at life's tollbooth.
"Nice try," said the other side of his brain. Stress alone wouldn't make his mind take as many vacations as it had during the past twelve months. Neither side of his mind could claim victory. But in his heart there was already a clear winner.
The fingers of his right hand started shaking, and he clamped his left hand on top it. That didn't accomplish anything except make both hands quiver. Relax! His mind was fine. He probably just needed food.
A burger at the Alpen Drive-In took care of his hunger pains, but it didn't quell the gnawing feeling running through his mind.
As he waited to pull back onto Highway 2, Cameron stared at the license plate in front of him and played the game he amused himself with on long car rides when he was a kid.
LIO A33.
Liking intelligent orangutans after thirty-three.
Launching igloos over a thirty-three.
Life is over at thirty-three.
CHAPTER 3
Cameron sat on a cliff overlooking Icicle Creek watching the glacier-fed stream wind its way toward the Wenatchee River.
He stared at the outline of a boulder buried under the surging river as he pulled off the stone hanging around his neck and massaged its smooth surface. When had Jessie given it to him? Not long before she died, he was sure of it.
Why hadn't two years taken away more of the pain from Jessie's death?
Two years?
The accident felt like two days ago.
Like two seconds ago.
Fragments of the scene tried to rush into his mind, but he forced them into the deep recesses of his heart like he'd been doing for the past twenty-four months. He wouldn't let himself relive it again. Ever. Jessie's accident was the one memory he wished he could forget completely.
Hadn't someone told him after the accident that it would be okay?
Okay?
It would never be okay.
Fairy-book marriages snuffed out after only five years were not okay.
Wild Turkey whiskey should have given him an award for the amount of their booze he bought and drowned in after Jessie's death.
Then on a Friday night, a little over half a year after he lost her, he quit drinking. When he came within inches of hitting an SUV head-on, he was convinced. Part of him wished his Mini Cooper had wound up the size of a microwave—with him inside.
That same weekend he started rock climbing again. It didn't cause his forehead to split open the next morning like drinking did, and although the sport wasn't quite as adept at helping him blunt the pain, it was a way to be with Jessie.
He looked up from the edge of the craggy rock face as the last sliver of a mid-July sun vanished behind the Enchantments, leaving strains of orange, cotton-candy clouds. The temperature dropped and Cameron rubbed his bare upper arms. Tank tops were ideal for climbing but not for watching the sun set.
Six months after he stopped drinking, well-meaning friends started the blind-date merry-go-round. He went on three dates. The first yakked about her divorce two hours nonstop; the second spent the evening asking herself questions, then laughed at the answers like a bored late-night talk-show host. The third woman was perfect. Smart, funny, pretty, and she loved the outdoors.
But she wasn't Jessie.
Nobody could be, and after he turned down the next five setups, his friends stopped playing matchmaker.
In the movies when the hero loses the love of his life
, another perfect girl comes along full of liquid light and fills all the dark places. It didn't work that way in the real world.
Three or four times a week a dream of Jessie wrenched him from sleep. In those moments he wondered if his memories were true, or if the passage of time had made their marriage more wonderful than it really had been.
And now he'd started losing those memories of her. And some days—he clenched his teeth—he couldn't quite capture her face.
These days when he pulled up photos of Jessie and him together, he sometimes couldn't even remember where they'd been taken. Most times when he concentrated, the memory rushed back into his mind like the ocean filling a tide pool. But other times . . .
Cameron lingered on the edge of the cliff a few more minutes and gazed at the valley three-hundred feet below. He sucked in a breath and held it as long as he could before releasing the air.
Wasn't heaven in the clouds? He massaged his arms and stared at the darkening sky. Was that where Jessie was?
To his right a squirrel screeched. Cameron squatted and peered at the animal who sat ten yards away at the base of a western larch. The life of a squirrel. Simple. No pain. No maddening mysteries. Few questions and an answer with every acorn. He dug into his day pack, pulled out a large handful of trail mix, and tossed it toward the creature.
"You'll be able to feed all your kids for a week on that."
The animal squealed and skittered around the trail mix and stuffed its cheeks full before scampering off.
Cameron reached down and grabbed a baseball-sized stone, stood, and hurled it with all his strength at a quaking aspen. It smacked into the tree and tore off a section of bark. Strike. He picked up another rock. Then another.
Smack! Strike two.
Strike seven, eight, nine. You're out.
He ignored the pain knifing through his arm and shoulder and didn't stop throwing stones till the water in his eyes blurred his vision too much to see.
First Dad, then Jessie. People died. Why couldn't he get over it and move on?
Cameron slumped to the ground and massaged his eyes with his palms and tried to recall the first time Jessie and he had met.
Jim Rubart Trilogy Page 35
