Free Book of Days: A Novel by James L. Rubart

ignoring all those negative thoughts." She paused. "At least I wish I were."
    "Are you thinking of heading back?"
    "No, I need to do this, Drew."
    "Hey, do me a favor. If you have it in your laptop, could you look up the e-mail address of that photographer who came by the office last month? I want to have him take some new head shots of you and the rest of the crew."
    "[email protected]." Ann grabbed her keys and slipped out her door into the hotel hallway.
    He chuckled. "It amazes me every time you do something like that."
    "There are some advantages of having a photographic memory."
    "What, there are disadvantages?"
    "Remind me to tell you about them sometime."
    "So have you figured out what you're going to say to Cameron when you see him?"
    "I'm thinking about hello for starters." Ann reached her car, opened it, and slid behind the wheel.
    "Hah."
    "Hey, I worked on it the whole trip down."
    "Seriously, what are you going to say?"
    "I'm not thinking about it." Not at the moment. But she'd been debating what to say since that first disconcerting phone call four days ago. Ann jammed her keys into the ignition, started her Prius, and yanked the gearshift into Reverse.
    "In other words, you have no clue how you'll greet him."
    "I have nothing."
    "I think you should take the blunt approach and tell him the reason you haven't had a relationship last more than nine months ever since you met him."
    "I already told you, those feelings vanished years and years ago." A grocery store slid by on her left. Lunch. She needed some.
    "I think the lady doth protest too much."
    "Leave it alone, Drew." She didn't need him needling her about it. Especially when his needles were hitting such tender spots.
    "Does anyone in Three Peaks know you're coming?"
    "Who would even care if I'm coming?"
    "Small towns make big stars like you even bigger."
    "I'm not a star. I hate that."
    "It's true."
    "Fine. I'll get my pen prepared."
    "I caught that alliteration. Nicely done."
    "Thanks, I'll be in touch." Ann hung up and her stomach took advantage of the pause in the action to shout, Food! Now!
    The Darn Good Deli caught her eye and she slammed on the brakes and turned hard to the right. Behind her a horn screamed at her.
    "Yeah, sorry, my fault." She squeezed into a parking spot on the far side of the lot and grabbed her purse. As she stood in line trying to decide between the barbecue chicken sandwich and the turkey melt, the mumbling behind her grew in volume.
    "It is!"
    "Here? Nah. It is not."
    "Is!"
    Ann turned. Two women, one blonde, one brunette, both in short-sleeve blouses squirmed behind her. They looked to be in their midforties, carrying a few extra pounds, but their features were striking. Take twenty years and twenty pounds off and they could have been models. Who did they remind her of? Some old comic book with a blonde and brunette in it. Bingo. Archie. Betty and Veronica hit middle age.
    The brunette spoke first. "Hi, sorry to bother you. We're not exactly the outdoorsy types, but we love reading and watching shows about it. And, well, there's this national TV show we're hooked on called Adventure Northwest. They do shows on white-water rafting, and paintball, and hot-air ballooning, and kayaking, and skiing, you know, that kind of stuff. Well, we think you look just like the host, Ann Brewster."
    "Banister!" Betty whacked Veronica on the arm.
    "A lot of people tell me I look like her." Ann nodded toward the sandwich menu on the wall. "What do you recommend?"
    "I always get the turkey melt; it's never let me down," the brunette said.
    "I'll take that one," Ann said to the man behind the counter. She winked at Veronica. "Thanks."
    After giving him details on how she wanted it—mayo, mustard, no pickles, olives, lettuce, and tomatoes—she felt a tap on her shoulder.
    "Are you sure you're not Ann Banister?"
    "I'm pretty sure. But it's difficult to be absolutely one-hundred percent positive."
    "I think you're her. She's my favorite person