Book of Days_ A Novel - James L. Rubart [8]
But part of his brain still felt like he was watching a 3-D movie without the glasses.
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 . . ."
"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! 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 massaged 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