Book Of Days_ A Novel Part 2

"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. Think, Cameron. He knew him. "It's all right." 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 ba.s.s. 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 cla.s.ses 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. Concentrate. Something about their junior year. She was part of it. 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 Sat.u.r.day 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 gla.s.ses.

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..." "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! Relax! His mind was fine. He probably just needed food. 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 ma.s.saged 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.

n.o.body 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 pa.s.sage 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 ma.s.saged 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 two.

Strike seven, eight, nine. You're out. 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 ma.s.saged his eyes with his palms and tried to recall the first time Jessie and he had met.

The memory wasn't there.

Here we go again.

Cold sweat broke out on his forehead. What was going on with him? Impossible. How had his dad known? How could this be happening to him at thirty-three?

Cameron pounded his forehead with the flat of his palm. "You can't lose your mind, Cameron! You can't."

A few seconds later their first date surfaced like the sun cresting a mountain ridge at dawn. It didn't help the panic pinging through his mind.

One year for Christmas he'd framed a collage of all their most memorable days leading up to their wedding. First real date ... their trip up to Vancouver, B.C., where they'd visited Flintstone Land and he danced with Wilma and stepped on her toes three times. First kiss ... Larrabee State Park in Bellingham, wasn't it? First time they'd said I love you. First ... The canvas of his mind went blank after that.

He used to know all the dates better than Jessie ever had.

Now all he had were fragments.

Cameron trudged back to his amber one-man climbing tent, pulled his iPhone out of his climbing pack, sat, and scrolled through his favorite pictures of Jessie and him.

"Where are you now? If you're in some blissful afterlife, can you see what's going on down here?"

A picture of Jessie holding her pilot's license, a big grin on her face, slid into view. Immediately he was back at the scene of the crash, and the memory surged up from his heart like a flash flood.

This time he couldn't stop it.