Book of Days_ A Novel - James L. Rubart [84]
"We had to leave early," Taylor said.
"I'm mainly here on a personal matter, and I'm giving Cameron a little bit of help when I can."
"So do you think it exists? The book?" Tricia asked.
"Well—"
"Let's jump off before we go too far down this track. Talking about that book is a complete waste of conversation." Taylor folded his arms across his chest.
"I thought you just asked what she thinks about the book—"
"No, I asked her why she was in Three Peaks, not what—"
"Let the girl speak." Tricia gave Taylor a light smack on his wrist.
Ann pushed a piece of asparagus across her plate. "No, I don't think there's any chance that something like that could be real."
"Finally. Maybe you can talk some sense into the kid."
"I'm trying, Taylor." She smiled.
Tricia excused herself to get dessert and Ann got up to help clear off the table. Both Taylor and Tricia protested, but Ann carried the dishes into the kitchen anyway.
As she made her way back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room, Ann considered Taylor's neonlike reactions to her. Tricia was right; Ann certainly made him feel uncomfortable, but why? She couldn't come right out and ask him, and he wasn't giving away any clues. And his odd responses to the subject of the Book of Days? As Cam suspected, Taylor was undoubtedly involved. How deep wasn't easy to guess. At least not yet.
Dessert was chocolate torte, served along with decaf coffee and French vanilla creamer. Ann struggled to eat it slowly. It slid down her throat like edible silk. Chocolate was her bane but at the same time a tremendous motivator for rock climbing to torch the unwanted calories. As long as you lived long enough to climb again.
After they finished, Tricia asked about Ann's personal reason for being in Three Peaks.
"I lived in foster homes from the time I was a kid till I went off to college. My mom abandoned me when I was eleven, and I didn't want to know anything about her." Ann sipped her coffee. "And I didn't care about where I'd come from."
"But something changed your mind?"
"Three months ago I moved from my apartment into a house. The last box I unpacked was covered with silver duct tape so old it was brittle. As I yanked open the box, I realized I hadn't seen what was inside since I was eleven. Books. All my books from childhood, full of the worlds I escaped into when I was a kid. Pippi Longstocking, Anne of Green Gables—who I've always imagined I was named after—Judy Blume's stories . . . I sat for three hours taking lap after lap around memory lane. The last book I opened—Treasure Island—was one I never read. I was a bit too young for it, I suppose. As I leafed through its pages, a picture fluttered to the hardwood floor and landed facedown.
"The back had my mom's name written on it and the date the photo was taken. I turned it over and looked at the only picture I have of my mom from when she was a kid." Ann swallowed and stared at her plate. "It's the only shot I have of her period."
"You decided it was time to find out where you came from."
Ann nodded at Tricia and took another sip of coffee.
"And that picture led you here?" Tricia said.
"Yes, and I think this picture is worth one-hundred-thousand words. If only I could get it to talk."
"What do you mean?"
"I think I know where the picture was taken, but I have no idea who the other kids in the photo are. I would love to find out. Because they might still be alive and they could tell me who my mom was and where she came from."
"Did you bring it with you?"
Ann excused herself to get the photo from her purse. This was it. Time to see if her intuition had been sending her right signals when it told her to get the photo in front of Tricia and Taylor.
She eased back into her chair. It felt like she was stepping onto a six-inch ledge five-hundred feet above the ground.
Ann slid the facedown picture into the center of the table and flipped it over.
An instant later Taylor's fork slipped from his hand and clanged onto his dessert plate.
"Thank you for