Part 16 (2/2)

”One Sunday after service, I snuck up to see if the spot where Pastor Darton pounded on his podium each week was dented. It wasn't, but the wood in the middle was a lighter color than the rest of it. To me, church wasn't a building; it was Annie singing one of the hymns we both loved or lying in the meadow with my eyes closed listening to her read from the Bible.”

Interesting. Ann. Annie. ”Who's Annie?”

Taylor sat without moving or speaking for at least two minutes. Finally he opened his hand and stared at the object resting on it. A window crank. He brought it up to his face and pressed it into his cheek until his skin turned bright red.

He sighed, dropped his hand, and began spinning the crank around his fingers. The sun flashed off it with each rotation, and with each rotation Taylor winced. After the seventh or eighth turn, Taylor squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head.

Cameron s.h.i.+fted in his chair and tried to find something in the yard to focus on. It felt like he was sitting in on a Catholic confessional. Whatever crime Taylor was in the midst of paying penance for was serious.

Taylor raised his head and looked at Cameron. ”Would you like to see it?”

”The ... what?”

”This.”

Cameron nodded and held out his hand.

Taylor held up the window crank for Cameron to look at but didn't hand it to him.

Cameron studied the crank and the blood rushed from his face. Why would Taylor have one of those?

”Do you know what this is, Cameron?”

He swallowed hard. ”It's a window crank made sometime between 1965 and 1967. Standard on Ford Mustangs during those years.”

”Not bad.” Taylor squinted at him. ”How'd you know that?”

He hesitated, then said, ”I restored a '65 Mustang and gave it to my wife for a Christmas present one year.” He didn't add that the only time Jessie drove it was to the airfield on the day she died.

A wave of what looked like surprise washed over Taylor's face, but he recovered a moment later. ”That model was a great car.” He sighed and laid the window crank on his knee.

They returned to silence and watched the wind blow through the pine trees bordering Taylor's property sixty yards away.

”Do you think G.o.d really forgives everything, Cameron? And if He forgives, does He forget? Or does He write everything down in that book of yours so it lasts forever?”

What was Taylor asking him about G.o.d for? Or was the question directed more toward Taylor himself?

”I don't know if He forgives, forgets, remembers, keeps track ... G.o.d and I have never done a lot of communicating.”

”Annie said He forgives it all. Past. Present. Future. For everything we've done that we're ashamed of. And remembers it no more. Our part is accepting it.”

”Nice thought.”

”If it's true, He must have to take a big spiritual eraser to those parts of your amazing Book of Days.”

”Industrial-strength eraser.” Cameron smiled.

”Annie would have forgiven me for what I did to her. In an instant. My head says that. But my heart...”

It was the third time Taylor had mentioned Annie. Cameron couldn't help asking again, ”Who is Annie?”

”I've said way too much. Waaay.” Taylor took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he propped his elbow on his knee and spun the window crank again, faster this time. When he finished, they sat in silence for a long time.

Finally Taylor said ”Here” and handed the crank to Cameron, as if it were a gem-encrusted dagger.

”Who did it be-?”

”Belonged to me. Off a car of mine.” Tears threatened to spill onto Taylor's cheeks. Cameron couldn't be sure if Taylor's tears came from the pain of the sunlight flas.h.i.+ng off the crank into his eyes or from remembering. Maybe both.

”When something you would die for is destroyed by the hand of another, you can almost learn to live with it. When you do the destroying yourself, it's impossible.”

Exactly. Almost Almost learn to live with it. And the part that remained was brutal. ”What was destroyed?” learn to live with it. And the part that remained was brutal. ”What was destroyed?”

”Cameron ...” Taylor stood and offered his hand. Cameron took it and found himself yanked to his feet with a surprising strength. ”Tricia asked me to talk to you about some things I know about. But I can't. It's nothing against you. You're a good man, and we have some things in common. More than I thought. But some things are meant to be sealed forever. Do you understand?”

Taylor strode into his house without waiting for an answer, without looking back. The screen door smacked shut with a sound like the blast from a .22.

Cameron stared at the door and took two steps backward. He had the sensation of being watched and looked toward the upstairs windows. Tricia Stone gazed down at him, her face expressionless. Then she slowly mouthed the words I'm sorry I'm sorry before turning away. before turning away.

As Cameron made his way back to his car, he ran his hands through his hair. The scene in Taylor's backyard was another confirmation that the man was in the thick of the Book of Days' mystery, but prying that door open would take a crowbar the size of Paul Bunyan's ax. So be it.

But Cameron hoped the crowbar wouldn't break before the door opened.

After leaving Taylor's house, Cameron headed for the mountains and did a climb rated a 4.5. It wasn't technically difficult, just a good workout. The air was absolute crystal, something Seattle's skies still aspired to, but they didn't reach this level of purity.

As he gazed out over the trees below, he pulled out the stone Susan Hillman had given him and watched the sun bounce off its surface.

He turned it over slowly in a continual motion, studying the intricate pattern the red sparkles made. It was like a map. A treasure map. Yeah, right. Wouldn't that be nice? When he was a kid-eleven, maybe twelve-he'd made a treasure map and hidden it in his fort, twenty feet up in the maple tree in his backyard. He looked at Susan's stone again. A map to the Book of Days? If only it were that easy.

Maybe it wasn't a map; maybe it was a road sign. On impulse he s.n.a.t.c.hed his cell phone out of his climbing pack.

”h.e.l.lo?” said a low, booming voice.

”Hey, Scotty, it's Cameron.”

”Who?”

”Cameron Vaux. In college we-”

Laughter. ”I'm just messing with you, man. I'd know your voice even after four and a half years of silence, which, by the way, it's almost been.”

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