Part 21 (1/2)
On Wednesday morning Cameron stood at the bottom of the library stairs and peered at Ann over the top of his triple-shot latte, trying to stop the b.u.t.terflies from playing rugby in his stomach.
”You coming up?” she called down to him.
”Eventually. I need another sip of wake-up juice first.” He took another drink of his coffee and climbed the stairs.
Her auburn hair was pulled back, and it didn't look like she was wearing makeup. It should have made her less attractive, not more. Why couldn't she be ugly?
When he reached the top of the stairs, he toasted her with his coffee and made a choice. Today he wouldn't beat himself up for his growing attraction toward Ann. He'd stay in the moment. No projecting what might happen in the future. They were feelings, nothing more.
He walked over and opened the library door for her. They settled at the back of the library at a large polished table that looked like it was constructed from old barn siding.
”This kind of table would be cool to have in my house,” Cameron said.
”I have something just like it in mine.”
”Really?”
Ann nodded.
Interesting. The same taste in furniture too.
She scooted her chair closer to the table. ”Did you get anywhere looking into those rock spots?”
Cameron grimaced and clacked his teeth together. ”Nothing. Yes, those six places around the world have this type of rock, but I couldn't find any mention of a legend similar to the Book of Days. I don't know where Jason snagged his information, but it doesn't show up anywhere on the Internet or in any history book in this library.”
”So let's-”
”Let's not. I need to take a break from thinking about the book, and I promised I'd help you look into your family's past.”
”Really?” Ann's face brightened.
As she spread out her notes on the table, Cameron said, ”Why don't you give me a quick recap of what you know for sure and what you suspect.”
”I don't know much for certain. I don't even know my mom's maiden name.”
”You never asked her?”
”I was a kid; it wasn't the most pressing question on my mind, and I don't ever remember her talking about her history except one time when I overheard her say, 'When I lived in Oregon.'”
”So how can you know Three Peaks is the part of Oregon where she lived?”
”Because of this.”
Ann pulled out a photo that showed a girl-eleven, maybe twelve years old-who had just let go of a tire swing out over a river. Her long arms and legs were splayed in spread-eagle fas.h.i.+on, lit like gold by a late afternoon sun. Her features were obscured by her thick reddish blonde hair, but you could tell she was smiling.
A boy and another girl stood on the bank watching her, one pointing at her as she flew through air. But they were bathed in shadows, the light too dim to make out their features.
”Your mom?”
”Yes.” Ann turned the picture over. ”Look.”
In blue ink was scrawled, Jennifer flies! July 22, 1963. Jennifer flies! July 22, 1963.
”Where'd you get the picture?”
”It's the only photo I have of her. I barely remember what she looked like as an adult.” Ann tossed the photo onto the table. ”Not that I'll ever care.”
”What you do you mean you won't ever-?”
”Are you kidding?” Ann stared at him as she squinted and gave little shakes of her head. ”She was drunk almost every night, and on the nights she wasn't, she was 'riding the horse.'”
”The horse?”
”Heroin.”
Cameron nodded. ”Is that what she ODd on?”
Ann rocked back in her chair, arms folded. ”Yep. All of a sudden I was hearing about lots of things I'd never heard of before. It was quite an education for an eleven-year-old kid.”
”I'm sorry.”
”Yeah, me too.”
Cameron took her hand. ”Really, I'm sorry.”
Ann flushed and pulled her hand away. ”Thanks, but it's eons in the past.”
”So you've forgiven her?”
Ann s.h.i.+fted in her chair.
”You need to forgive her.”
She gazed out the window, then eventually looked at him. ”I know.”
”Remember what Jessie always used to say about bitterness?”
”It's like cutting yourself and thinking the other person will bleed to death.”
”Something like that.” Jessie didn't just say it. She lived it, always forgiving people who didn't deserve it. And she'd taught Cameron you couldn't be free without forgiving people, including yourself.
Ann steepled her hands and rubbed her forehead with her forefingers. ”Do you mind if we focus on my history?”
”No problem.” Cameron picked up the photo of Ann's mom. ”So how does this prove-?”
”I've memorized every part of this picture, every shadow, every ripple on that river, the contours of the bank, the mountains in the background ... I'd recognize this spot no matter if it was winter, summer, spring, or fall. And I've used Google Earth to look at every image of every river in all of Oregon.”
A second later it struck Cameron like thunder. It was close to the spot on the river where he'd first met Taylor Stone. ”Oh, wow, that's Whychus Creek.”
Ann nodded. ”I've shown this picture to a good chunk of the people in town. No one recognizes my mom, or if they do, they're not admitting it.”