Book of Days_ A Novel - James L. Rubart [68]
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