Book of Days_ A Novel - James L. Rubart [7]
"Death." Think, Cameron. 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 bass. 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 classes 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. 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 Saturday afternoon, Cameron packed the last of his climbing gear