Cameron squinted at him. "Okay."
"Let's pretend you don't care about the Book of Days' legend, and I don't care that you have an obsession with it. We'll pretend we're old friends telling stories of the insane things we did in our late teens and early twenties. Hmm?"
He shook his head and gave a weak smile. How could Taylor know Cameron and his dad shared those kinds of stories with each other a few years after the disease took hold? Like how his dad set the unofficial record for getting from West Seattle to downtown by running every stoplight and stop sign along the route. How he swam across the bone-numbing waters of Hood Canal on a whim in the summer of '78.
Cameron rubbed his face. He missed those talks. He missed his dad.
"What's wrong?" Taylor said.
"My dad and I used to tell each other those kinds of stories."
"Hey, we don't have to—"
"Nah, let's do it." It might be the closest he could ever get to talking with his dad again.
By the time he was done with his hamburger—which was as good as Taylor said it would be—Cameron had told him about everything from the time as a teenager where he and two friends had filled up fire extinguishers with water and spent the night soaking everyone on the street they could find, to how in their early twenties Brandon and he had parachuted into the middle of a Dave Mathews Band concert at the Gorge Amphitheatre in eastern Washington.
Taylor arched an eyebrow. "I'll bet the aftermath of that stunt was interesting."
"It was a stupid thing to do. But we only spent one night in jail."
After Taylor told of his rock concert days, experiments with drugs, and the time he outran a cop in his 1963 Chevy Impala SS, Cameron smiled. "You were a certifiable wild child, Mr. Stone."
"It was the sixties, there was no choice." Taylor downed the last of his third Coke. "And I have to say, based on your stories from the early nineties, you would have, uh, fit right in with my group of friends."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It was meant as such." Taylor raised his glass of now only ice and Cameron clinked his against it.
"To life."
"To life," Cameron agreed.
After their waitress took their plates, Taylor pulled out his wallet. "Just so there's no argument, when the check comes I'll be paying."
"Really. Why's that? I'm the one who needed rescuing from the bottle. You rescued; I should pay. Plus I lost the bet."
Taylor wiggled his ears. "First, because I asked you, second, penance for lying to you the other day at the jazz festival."
Cameron frowned. "How?"
"When I said I didn't know anything about a note threatening you if you didn't leave Three Peaks."
"You didn't lie; you didn't say anything."
"I knew the truth and didn't speak it. It's the same thing as lying."
"So you did send the note."
Taylor stared at him with a thin smile.
Cameron pushed himself back from the table, teetered back in his chair, and smiled. "It's okay. I knew you sent it. Knew you were lying."
"Oh, you did?" Taylor threw his Visa card onto the table and the waitress snagged it a few seconds later. "I believe it. Most people are human lie detectors. Did you know the people who have the most trouble spotting a liar are other liars?"
"No." Cameron shook his head and leaned forward in his chair. "So you feel bad about the lie?"
"For the most part, yes."
"Does this mean you're going to tell me what you know about the book?"
"On that count, I'm afraid I'll have to bring you a bit of disappointment." Taylor looked at the ceiling and pursed his lips. "But I do promise not to lie to you anymore, as long as we close the book on the subject. Pun intended."
"Lousy pun."
"So do you agree? The subject is closed?"
"I can't. I have to do this."
Taylor stared at him, hands folded on top of his head. "You're a good kid, Cameron. Really. But a secret is kept by one. However I will tell you this. No matter what you hear from anyone else, there is no Book of Days that you can leaf through like an old Sears catalog. Never was. Never will be. You can hang out here in town the rest of your life for all I care. In fact, I think I'd like it."
Taylor lowered his hands from his head and leaned forward. "I know I'd like it. But you'll never find a book where God has written down in heavenly black ink every moment of every man and woman's past, present, and future, no matter how long you search."
"But you know more than you've told me."
Taylor sighed and leaned back.
"You can trust me."
Cameron saw the battle going on inside Taylor. Part of him wanted to talk. But it was like sneaking up on a three-point buck. The more noise he made, the quicker the deer would spook and bolt away.
This was a hunt Cameron had to let play out without crashing through the woods like a rookie. The more he backed off, the better chance the war going on inside Taylor's eyes would turn in his favor. But Cameron was running out of time. The waitress brought their bill and Taylor's Visa card back.
"It's been a pleasure to serve you today, Mr. Stone."
"Thanks, Sandy."
Taylor signed, slid the bill to the edge of the table, spread his palms, and leaned in. "All right, I'll tell you a few things I know. Then will you leave it alone and head back to Seattle?"
Cameron lifted his head and stared at Taylor. Was it possible he would finally open the door, even a crack?
"I'll tell you three things about the book if you promise that will be the end of it. Any further search is something you do on your own. No more questions. Agreed?"
"Yes."
At the sound of heavy shuffling feet next to their table, Cameron looked up. No. This couldn't be happening.
"Filling his head with more of your lies, Stone?" Jason stood too close to the table, his thighs pressing into its edge.
Cameron rubbed his eyes. Perfect timing.
"Care to join us, Jason? We'd enjoy gleaning some of the wisdom you have stored up inside that massive cranium of yours."
"Someday, Stone, the falsehoods you've weaved since childhood will fall on you like a net on a bird. Someday the curtain will be thrown back in a flourish and the mighty and powerful Oz will be revealed for the charlatan he is. I will dance in the streets that day, as I will one day dance on your grave."
"Wonderful to see you too, Jason."
Jason squatted and turned to Cameron. "You might not like me. You might not like my methods or personal beliefs. But I don't lie. I speak truth, seek the truth, and press on toward truth." He glanced at Taylor, then focused back on Cameron. "I suggest we talk again, sooner than later."
Cameron watched the big man stride away before turning back to Taylor. "I'd heard you two didn't like each other. I didn't realize how potent the animosity was."
"Powder-keg potent."
"You've known each other for a long time?"
"We grew up together."
"Why the hostility between you two?"
Taylor propped his elbow on the table and rested his head on the palm of his hand. "I never cared about being liked."
"But Jason did."
"Since our junior year of high school, Jason has been trying to one-up me."
"Has he ever done it?"
"I don't know, maybe. I never paid much attention. But if you ask him, he'd probably say never."
It explained so much. "So finding this book would put him on the map, and you'd finally be in his shadow."
"What people do doesn't put them on the map except for a short time; it's who you are that people remember."
"So who are you, Taylor?"
"Someone a lot like you. Someone trying to find answe
rs to the questions rolling around inside his brain."
Cameron glanced around the restaurant. "Thanks for being willing to help me with some of mine. You were about to tell me a few things you know—"
"Like I've said a number of times before, I like you, Cameron. And that emotion got the better of me and turned into a moment of weakness." Taylor wiped up the water on the table with his napkin and set it next to the salt and pepper shakers. "I'm sorry, but as I said before, a secret is held by one."
"Taylor, please I—"
"Be strong." He stood and shuffled toward the door of The Sail & Compass.
Cameron sat for a long time staring at the restaurant's logo—a sail with a compass in the middle, the needle pointing north, unlike the needle on his compass, which was spinning out of control in the middle of the ocean, with no sailboat on the horizon.
That night he dreamed again. Of a sailboat.
Two Years, Three Months Earlier
Jessie and Cameron had spotted four Dall's porpoises as they navigated their rented sailboat through the salty waters of the San Juan Islands, two hours north of Seattle.
In a rare declaration the weatherman said the sky would be brilliant, and it was. The fresh air mixed with the pungent smell of seaweed swirled around them, and Cameron drew it into his lungs in deep gulps.
The seagulls seemed to caw in an intentional rhythm with the wind digging into their sails as they sliced through the gentle swells.
"Another—"
"—crystal day." Cameron finished.
It was their word for a pure day, unencumbered with thoughts of shooting videos or editing or fixing the water pump on his MINI Cooper. And for Jessie, no emergency calls to come in and cover a shift at the hospital or having to think about teaching her aerobics class at the gym.
They sailed on with no need to talk. Only a need to soak in the chaotic pattern of the waves that seemed to drain away the stress of the week.
They stopped at a little cove just south of Limekiln State Park. The Olympic Mountains shimmered in the distance to the west, and looking north they could make out Vancouver Island.
After anchoring their sailboat and taking a small skiff onto the rocky beach littered with periwinkle shells, they found a sun-bleached log to sit on as they ate their tuna salad sandwiches—sandwiches splashed with the tiniest bit of Tabasco sauce. Cameron had teased Jessie about that for six months before he tried it and had to admit she was right. It made the sandwich.
After they finished, Jessie stood and shuffled toward the edge of the water. "When dreams come that feel so real you don't know if they're dreams, are they real?"
"Too many hours watching the philosophy channel?" Cameron laughed.
"Probably." She laughed with him and looked north toward Vancouver Island. "And what should you do when something so fantastic happens in real life you're not sure if your subconscious mind turned it into a dream because that kind of thing never happens in real life? Has it turned into a dream, or is it still real?"
"I'm not sure I followed every speck of that, but I'm going to vote for it's still real." He smiled on the outside, but inside he worried. When Jessie talked like this, he didn't know how to respond. Playing along with her meanderings felt like the wrong decision and the right one at the same time.
"So you'd believe the fantastic?"
"How old were you when the fantastic happened?"
"Ten."
"What happened?"
"I saw something." She turned and walked back to the log Cameron sat on.
"Are you going to tell me about it?"
Jessie squatted down in front of him. "I saw something about us. And something about me."
Cameron touched her cheek. "So that's how you knew to accept my invitation for that first date."
"Yes. I saw you, and your father, and I saw you and me. So years later when I met you and met him, I didn't hesitate to get involved with you."
"Did you see Spider-Man and the Fantastic Four too?"
"This is serious, Cam."
"I am being serious, I'm just . . . Okay, I'm not, but you have to admit it sounds a little woo-woo that you saw me, my dad, and us when you were ten. Even if it was in a dream, it would be weird."
Jessie sank down and sat in the sand with her back to Cameron. "It wasn't a dream. It was real."
"Okay, Jess." Score a point for Mr. Insensitive. "I'm sorry."
"I also saw someone die." She drew in a quick breath. "Someone we both know."
"Who?" Cameron leaned toward her. "Who, Jessie?"
She didn't need to answer. He knew. Where did her visions come from? She would say God; he would say from her fertile imagination. Whichever it was, it didn't diminish the emotional impact.
She turned toward him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Tell me it was just a dream."
"It was a dream from a ten-year-old. Let it go." That was all it could have been.
"It's gone." She leaned her head on his shoulder and started to cry.
Cameron woke up gasping for air. "Jessie!" She was there. Right there!
He slid his legs over the bed and grabbed his notepad off the nightstand. But by the time he clicked his pen, the memory of the dream had vanished.
Cameron slammed his fist into the mattress. "I'm sick of this!"
The clock read six fifteen. Time to get up and go meet Ann. Why did he agree to go climbing with her? He wasn't sure. Something about it didn't feel right.
CHAPTER 26
Climbing with Cameron was probably a poor use of time.
He drove them east on Highway 126 early on Thursday morning. They should be trying to find the book or working on her family history. But when she'd suggested they try a climb together, he'd agreed immediately. What was she thinking? She refused to allow her heart to answer.
As Cameron took the exit that would take them to Smith Rock, Ann looked at the temperature gauge on the MINI Cooper. Even though it had been in the mideighties the night before, it was now only fifty-nine degrees. Being in the high desert and sitting at thirty-one-hundred feet meant cool mornings even in the heart of the summer. But morning climbing meant less possibility of wind, and wind was not a climber's friend.
When they arrived, Cameron parked the car in front of a sign that pointed them toward the route they'd decided to climb. Within five minutes she had her pack and gear slung over her shoulder ready to rock 'n' roll.
The narrow trail would take them to the base of a climb rated 5.9, which was perfect. Challenging enough to be fun but with little chance of trouble since there were two of them and they'd be double belayed.
She watched Cameron's black hair silhouetted against the seven o'clock sun that streaked into her eyes. She half jogged a few steps to put the shadow of his head between her and the rays and pulled in a lungful of the thick air full of morning and pine.
What was she doing here with him?
Yes, she'd resolved the matter of their relationship. She wouldn't get involved, but why tempt her feelings by being around him when she didn't have to?
On the other hand, what was wrong with enjoying herself for the moment?
She loved him, yes, but so what? It didn't mean she had to act on it. She wouldn't act on it. Ever.
Even if he did start following God, what about Jessie? Would he ever be able to push past that? How could she know how long it took to get over the death of a spouse?
Ann turned her focus to the wild white orchids lining the trail. A meadowlark flew overhead and she tried to send her thoughts of a future with Cameron away with the bird. Stay in the moment.
"There's our spot." Cameron pointed to a sheer rock face looming in front of them.
Gray nimbus clouds moved in as they took out their climbing gear and carried it the final hundred ya
rds to the base of the climb.
"Ready?"
"More than." She smiled. "Let's have some fun."
Their first move was twenty feet up to a wide ledge, which they did without ropes. Their guide book said the first step was moderate. It turned out to be simple and Ann raised her eyebrows when they'd both caught their breath. "Pretty easy so far."
"It was practically stairs. But it's time to get on rope."
"I would agree."
"Do you want to take the lead?"
For the next fifty feet Ann didn't speak except to communicate her holds and check to make sure Cameron was ready before moving higher. They moved into a smooth rhythm.
"How are you doing, Cam? Can you talk and climb?"
"Yes, but don't try to throw me a piece of gum."
Ann smiled. "Do you have any updates on the book we should talk about?"
"I'm headed to Arnold Peasley's tomorrow to see if he has any newspapers from the early sixties."
"Who is Arnold Peasley?"
"Didn't I tell you about him?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive." Ann looked down in time to catch a pained look pass over Cameron's face. "Are you okay?"
"It's the memory thing." Cameron shook his head, as if shaking water out of his hair. "I met him when I first got to town. He considers himself Three Peak's unofficial historian. And his home is stacked beyond the rafters with old newspapers. I bet they go back to the early sixties."
"He'd have to have been collecting them since he was a kid."
"Let's hope he did the paperboy thing." Cameron wiped his forehead with his forearm. "It's worth a shot. I was going to save it as a surprise, but I couldn't wait."
"Can I come?"
"No, Arnold is a little quirky. Plus if there's nothing there, you won't have searched for hours only to be disappointed."
Ann grabbed a pencil-thin ridge with the tips of her fingers, and hoisted herself up another three feet. "Careful, we've got a crimper here; I hope the tips of your fingers are in good shape."
"Got it." He grunted as he closed the gap between them.
"What about Taylor?"
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