Book of Days: A Novel (27 page)

"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.

"I guess I was so determined to have the drink when I went in, I thought I . . ."

"Relax; it's an easy thing to forget." Taylor's mouth said the words, but his eyes and tone of voice disagreed. He stared at Cameron as if waiting for a confession.

"I haven't been sleeping well since I got here."

Taylor grabbed the ketchup and squirted what looked like half the bottle in between his double-decker mushroom and Swiss burger and his fries. "I know you want to talk about the book, but let me throw out a wild idea instead. You can decide to shoot me down in flames or go along for the ride."

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?"