Book of Days_ A Novel - James L. Rubart [87]
She nodded.
"We didn't do any digging."
"You mean he wouldn't let you look, or he didn't have any papers from the sixties?"
"I mean, we didn't have to do any digging. Not only did he have the papers, old Pease went right to the three papers in question so quick I think he should rename himself Dewey."
"What?"
"Dewey Decimal, don't you remember that from library when you were a kid?"
"You're getting off track, Cameron. Tell me what you found."
"Right, we were talking about . . ." His mind went blank. Was it libraries? Why would he and Ann be talking about libraries? He took a long drink of his white chocolate mocha as the bowling ball returned to his gut. It was a nice slice of pop psychology to tell himself not to worry about the future because life could end at any time. But it didn't work so well when the loss of his mind made living in the present a nightmare.
He grabbed the edge of the table. Tight. Maybe it was time to see a doctor. Find out if his memories were disappearing because of stress or because his mind was truly—
"Do you want me to insert a drum roll here?" Ann said. "Are you thinking drawing out the suspense will make it more exciting when you tell me?"
Think! He was telling her about . . . basketball? No, was it? Someone who used to play . . . Peasley! Arnold's newspapers. Yes. The article from the sixties.
"Are you sweating?"
He wiped his forehead with a napkin and tried to smile. "Coffee that's too hot always does that to me."
"So are you going to tell me about what you found?"
Yes, he would tell her. And she would know about her history. And then they would find the book. His memories would return and his mind would be healed. Now snap out of it. Focus on Ann. Upbeat. This will rock her world.
"Are all four legs of your chair securely on the floor?"
"You think this is going to knock me over?"
"It might." He leaned in on his elbows. "Thanks to Arnold, I know who your mother was, who your grandmother was, along with a few of your other relatives."
"Are you kidding?"
"You ready for this?"
"Tell me!" Ann punched Cameron in the arm.
"Your mom's maiden name was Coffee, spelled just like the drink, right?"
"Right."
He waited for her to react but Ann sat with eyebrows raised, as if asking why this was a revelation.
"I don't hear any bells going off yet."
"And your grandmother was named Josephine. Last name Coffee."
"Okay." Ann still didn't react. The anticipation on her face remained.
Was she in shock or not surprised? How could she not be surprised?
"You're acting like this should mean something to me."
"Don't you get it? Coffee."
Ann held her hands wide with a bewildered look on her face. "I'm sorry; I'm still missing a piece of the puzzle."
"Annie's maiden name was Coffee."
"Taylor's Annie?" Ann's face went white and she covered her eyes. "Oh my gosh. Are you saying . . . Annie is my aunt?" She said it half as a statement, half as a question. "She was my mom's sister."
"Yes."
"That means . . . Taylor Stone is . . . my—" Cameron nodded as Ann fell back in her chair and clunked her drink to the faux marble table. "He's my uncle."
"Yes, he is. Uncle. Or uncle-in-law. Does he stay your uncle even though Annie isn't living?"
"Unbelievable." She put her face in her hands. "Taylor Stone is my uncle."
"Looks that way."
Ann slumped further down in her chair as her arms fell to her side. "Wow. That's about as weird as you can get." She let out a long, low whistle. "How did you figure it out?"
Cameron pulled a copy of the Post from 1963 out of his briefcase and slid it in front of Ann. On the front page was the same picture of her mom she'd showed Cameron three days earlier. The caption read, Summer in Three Peaks Always Means Kids and Swimming.
Ann snatched up the paper and skimmed the story. "Swimming spot . . . rope swing . . . where the kids . . . Jennifer and Annie Coffee, Jason Judah, and Taylor Stone enjoyed an adventure together on . . . Oh my." The paper fluttered out of Ann's hand.
She looked up at him, eyes wide. "I should have seen it. Maybe Taylor did. Maybe he's