Book of Days_ A Novel - James L. Rubart [89]
"Why is that?"
"Are you kidding? Let's just say I felt more welcomed by your other half last night. And the dancing fork bit, and the subsequent vanishing act made me think—"
"That's one of the reasons I'm glad to see you. I've been thinking we could use some time to make the air between us a mite clearer."
"Good, there are a number of things I want to talk to you about."
"Do I get to see the list?"
They sauntered down the path that ran along the riverbank to their left.
Taylor Stone had charm and wit, but she guessed there was a sadness that came out when the doors were shut and the lights dimmed to black. She saw it in his eyes when he laughed.
She'd always been good at seeing the story behind the story, the mark of a good investigative reporter and television host. If she was right in this case, Taylor had a story going on so deep, she wouldn't be surprised to find Jules Verne at the bottom of it.
"Since you inspired the creation of the list, of course you get to see it. And don't worry, it's short. Only three items."
Taylor looked at her with one eyebrow raised and one eye closed.
"That's a good look."
"Thanks. I've done it since high school. Some people seem to think it's wearing thin." Taylor put his baseball hat back on and pulled it back so most of his forehead showed. "The three items?"
"First is the reaction you had when you saw me at Jason's reception."
"You didn't buy the stomach-cramps scenario?"
"Second is the Frosty the Snowman reception I received at dinner—"
"I was a little cold, you're right. But during the time I showed you my fly-fishing journal, I warmed up to a nice temperature."
"I agree."
"And the third?"
"Your dinner fork."
"Yes, that." Taylor turned and looked at her without expression. But something in his eyes moved, maybe it was behind his eyes. She'd read somewhere that the eyes were the window to the soul, and in Taylor's case at least, it was true. He was a man who wanted to talk and wanted to stay quiet in equal measure.
"Can we talk about it?"
The firm shake of his head said no, but after thirty seconds with no sound but the crunch of their shoes on the path, he apparently changed his mind.
"Yes, let's talk. But instead of me telling you why I did those things, why don't you tell me. I have a feeling you already know the answer."
"In other words, you've figured out who I am," Ann said.
"I suspected immediately." He coughed. "The moment I saw you on that stage."
"I didn't figure it out till this morning."
Taylor nodded, stared at the path in front of them, and kept walking.
Ann had expected some kind of reaction. Certainly more than nothing. It was her turn to punch the mute button on the conversation. Did Taylor want to ignore it? She looked back expecting to see a pink elephant stomping along behind them. What was the best way to bring the animal to front and center? She was glad walking down the path gave her an excuse to keep looking straight ahead.
After another minute she said, "If you know who I am, why have you been pushing me away? What is it about me you dislike so much?"
Taylor sucked in quick breath. "Ann," he started to say, and then stopped to snatch a gnarled pine branch off the ground and turn it into an impromptu walking stick. "Don't think that even for a second. I do like you, very much. It has nothing to do with you.
"But . . . seeing you stirs up a number of memories I'd rather not deal . . . I'd rather not think about. It's God's way of rubbing my nose in the past, not letting me forget my sin, poking me in the spot where it hurts most."
They continued strolling through the park in silence, Ann wanting to know so much but not wanting to press into Taylor's pain without invitation.
They continued, the scuffing of their shoes on the path the only thing breaking the silence.
"Ask me what you want to know, and I'll tell you," Taylor said a few minutes later.
"Why did my mom leave Three Peaks?"
Taylor sighed again, stopped walking, and turned to Ann. His face was white and he swallowed like