Book of Days: A Novel (14 page)

Jessie didn't laugh. "You'll make it without me." She gazed up at him, eyes sad.

"I'm not going anywhere, sweetie, and neither are you."

"Okay." Jessie buried her head in his chest. "I want to believe that."

"Why wouldn't you?" He leaned over and looked into her eyes.

She closed them and pressed her lips together. "It's just that sometimes I get scared."

"Of what?"

"Being separated."

"No fear, we're going to be together for a long, long time." He squeezed her tight. "That tennis coach isn't nearly as handsome as me."

Again, Jessie didn't laugh. "It's still years away. I'm not going to think about it."

What was she talking about? "What's years away?"

"Death."

A heaviness fell on Cameron as if a backpack full of stones had been thrown on his shoulders. She was serious. Death? "What's going on with you?"

"I'm fine."

"Then why are you talking like this?"

"I just want to be with you for a long, long time," Jessie said.

"It'll be decades at least."

"Okay." She nuzzled in tighter.

He stroked her hair again. "I love you, Jess."

"Always, Cam-Ram. Always and forever."

The melancholy tone in her voice echoed in his mind for the rest of their vacation.

Cameron woke early on Friday with images of Jessie in his mind.

Had he dreamed about her? Yes. They'd been somewhere together. Near a lake? On vacation? The last images slipped from his mind like sand through his fingers. He gritted his teeth.

He had to find the book. See if it could—

No.

Cameron threw on his biking shorts and ignored the thoughts galloping through his mind regarding the Book of Days. Not today. At least for a few hours.

Twenty minutes later he panted out a rhythm in concert with the spinning pedals of his Novara road bike up the McKenzie Highway. He glanced at his odometer, then his watch. Another hour and he'd reach the summit of McKenzie Pass. A perfect distance for pushing his lungs and muscles to the breaking point.

Which is exactly the point his head was at.

When he reached the Dee Wright Observatory, he stopped and sucked in big gulps of air. The site offered a panoramic view of the Cascade Mountain Range as far north as Mount Hood.

Beautiful, but it didn't ease the squeezing feeling in his stomach.

Cameron got back on his bike and headed back, quads burning, lungs burning, mind burning, as he glanced at the cars rushing past him in the right lane.

No one would guess.

It would be so easy to swerve in front of one of them. In seconds it would be over and he would be free. His heart rate kicked into another gear.

No way. Knock it off.

But what choices did he have?

Slowly lose his mind like his dad had?
No thank you.
Keep digging for fantasies here in Three Peaks and continue to get nowhere?
Sorry.
Follow Jason? A questionable plan at best.
Option number four, please.

Find out more about Taylor Stone?
Definitely.

As soon as he got back to his car, he pulled up Safari on his iPhone and went to www.whitepages.com.

She would know Taylor Stone.

Cameron dialed Susan Hillman's number as he sat at a red light at the north end of Three Peaks and stared out the window at a banner hanging over the street. "Meet You in the Park!"

The banner promoted the sixty-ninth annual Three Peaks Jazz Festival. It boasted itself as the Biggest Little Jazz Festival in the World. Might be worth going to.

Three rings. Four.

"Hi, Cameron. Nice to hear from you."

Cameron pulled his cell phone away from his ear and stared at it for a second. "How'd you know it was me?"

"Even out here in the sticks, we have this nifty little invention called caller ID."

Cameron smiled and thumped his head with two fingers. "You probably have microwaves and cable TV too."

"What can I do for you?"

The light turned green and he stomped on the gas a little too hard.
Slow down.
He needed to relax. "I've had some intriguing conversations with someone named Jason Judah."

"Ah yes. Interesting man."

"You know him?"

"In a town our size you know everyone. I've known Jason since grade school, but my guess is you didn't call up to get a deeper understanding of the man."

"True." Cameron braced his yellow notepad against his steering wheel and scratched
Susan Hillman
and the date at the top. No point in forgetting anything.

"Jason says I should talk to a man named Taylor Stone who knows a lot about the Book of Days that he's not telling."

"That's Jason's opinion." Susan laughed.

"So you know him?"

"Taylor? Very well. He ran the
Three Peaks Post
for almost twenty years. I think it's an excellent idea that you meet him."

"Okay."

"I'm curious, have you figured out why this Book of Days is so important to you?"

Cameron hesitated. As much as trusting Jason seemed like foolishness, trusting Susan seemed like great wisdom. "Yeah. Because of . . . I need to find it for my dad, and for my late wife, and also for me." He pulled into the parking lot of the Best Western and killed the engine.

The crackle of the connection was the only sound.

"And why is that? Why do you need to find it for yourself?"

Cameron paused a long time before saying, "Because I'm afraid I'm losing . . ." He didn't finish and didn't know what words to use to fill the silence.

"Did your dad say who wrote his book?"

"No, Jason says God did."

"What do you think?"

"I'm not sure if I believe in God."

"That doesn't prevent Him from believing in you."

Cameron smiled. "Thanks, Susan. I'll be by for another peanut butter cookie soon."

"I'll hold you to that. Now, here's Taylor's phone number and address. Ready?"

Cameron said good-bye, hung up, and stared at the information scrawled on his yellow notepad. Another dead end? Or a highway to answers?

After a quick shower he studied his notes and his eyes stopped on the verse Jason had told him to look up.

Why not?

He strode to his laptop and Googled
Bible
and
Psalm 139:16.
Strange. His heart rate accelerated as the verse popped up on screen.

"Your eyes saw me when I was formless; all my days were written in Your book and planned before a single one of them began." (Psalm 139:16)

Impossible. That couldn't be the book they'd asked him to find. Bible tale, urban legend, a Noah's ark-type story dressed up in New Age clothes.

Cameron went to the bathroom, doused his hands with water, and slicked back his hair. He walked back to his laptop, hunched over the monitor, and stared at the verse again as he massaged a double knot in his right shoulder.

. . . were written in your book . . .

Could it be real? Little chance. It felt like
Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade,
searching for cinematic artifacts. But this wasn't a movie. So what did Little Boss and Jessie see all those years ago?

Cameron went to his window and stared at the tourists sauntering up and down Main Street, the sun flashing against their cameras as they snapped pictures every few seconds trying to capture a memory.

Susan's words about meeting Taylor Stone played in his mind:
"I think it's an excellent idea."
She knew more than she'd told him. He'd heard it in her voice.

Time to find Taylor Stone. Now.

CHAPTER 13

There was no answer on Taylor's phone, and no one there when Cameron stopped by the man's house. He caught a break when he dropped in at the
Three Peaks Post
and chatted with the receptionist.

"You're looking to find Taylor?" The young redhead set down her nail polish and pointed to a county map on the wall behind her. "I know where he is most days from May through September, and since it's July I should know where he is. And I do." She tapped her pen on the counter making little black dots someone would have to wipe off. "You wanna know too?"

"Yes." Cameron forced himself to be patient. The ache in his gut said every moment counted, and while he could force himself to be light on the outside, it wasn't an easy weight to carry.

"On the river." The receptionist made a motion of casting a line, then reeling in a fish. "They tell me he's very good at it."

"Any idea which one?"

"Sure." She stepped over a stack of papers and tapped a tiny blue squiggle on the map on the wall. "Either the Metolius or Squaw Cre—I mean, Whychus Creek. It used to be Squaw Creek, but a lot of people still think of it as Squaw Creek 'cause we called it that for a long time, know what I mean?"

"Sure. Any idea which one he favors?"

"Well, there's great fly-fishing on both of them, but the fish are smaller on Whychus Creek and this time of the year the water level there is dropping, but of course it's more private there and Taylor likes his privacy, so all things considered, I'd—"

"So you think he'd be on Whychus Creek, then?"

"If I were in your shoes, that's the one I'd try first. But you never can know for sure till you start searching, know what I mean?"

"Thanks for all your help. I appreciate it."

Later as Cameron hiked from the trailhead past thundering Chush Falls to the stretch of the creek where the fish would be running, he mulled over what he would do if Stone turned out to be a dead end. No idea.