Book of Days: A Novel (35 page)

"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 stomach-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?"

Taylor sucked in quick breath. "Ann," he started to say, and then stopped to snatch a gnarled pine branch off the ground and turn it into an impromptu walking stick. "Don't think that even for a second. I do like you, very much. It has nothing to do with you.

"But . . . seeing you stirs up a number of memories I'd rather not deal . . . I'd rather not think about. It's God's way of rubbing my nose in the past, not letting me forget my sin, poking me in the spot where it hurts most."

They continued strolling through the park in silence, Ann wanting to know so much but not wanting to press into Taylor's pain without invitation.

They continued, the scuffing of their shoes on the path the only thing breaking the silence.

"Ask me what you want to know, and I'll tell you," Taylor said a few minutes later.

"Why did my mom leave Three Peaks?"

Taylor sighed again, stopped walking, and turned to Ann. His face was white and he swallowed like someone who was choking. "Years ago I made a horrible choice, and because of it someone died."

"Annie."

Taylor nodded and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yes. Your mom left town—angry at me, angry at herself, angry at the world. I decided to stay. I wrote to Jennifer five times during the next three years begging for her forgiveness, but she never wrote back."

Taylor took three long breaths.

"I never heard from her again. I'm not sure what I would have said if she had responded. I didn't know if she got married, had children . . . There were times when I almost got in the car and drove up to her last known address. Finally I gave up. It would only bring the memory back on both of us."

Ann drew a finger across her mouth. "Why did she become a drug addict?"

"The pain. A way to deal with it."

Pain? It was the only legacy her mom had left. Ann shook her head. But she was still her mom. Ann couldn't stop from asking the question. "Will you tell me about my mom?"

"What do you want to know?"

Was it possible to loathe someone and love them at the same time? "Everything."

"She was quiet. With one or two friends she talked with such intensity, but in public she was shy." A sad smile appeared on his face. "She was a natural athlete but preferred reading and learning to playing sports. As you might imagine she was smart, straight A's all through school."

Like mother like daughter. "What else?"

"Jennifer had a dry sense of humor. And she was very loyal."