Rooms

by Rubart, James L.

  She slipped to her knees and dug her hands into the saturated sand, trying to hold on to the grains. But the water swirled around her and washed away her hold. And she continued to add her tears to the ocean.

  Then she heard a voice. Soft. Strong. “Sarah?”

  Hope against hope she turned and looked up. But it wasn’t Micah.

  Rick stood ten yards down the beach at the edge of the waves. She stared at him, deciding whether to answer or get up and walk away. “Micah’s gone. Back to Seattle,” she sputtered.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “You’re not going to quote some verse about this being for the best for me, are you?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Then what?”

  Rick walked to her and pulled her up and into his chest like a dad. She shuddered as she fell into him and held on with everything inside. Again the tears came.

  “Let’s get you into some dry clothes and grab some coffee. There’s some things we need to talk about.”

  “Like?”

  “Where you go from here.”

  Sarah nodded and trudged alongside Rick, leaning into him, needing him to be a rock because she couldn’t be. Rick would try to speak words of comfort, would try to tell her it would be okay. But it wouldn’t. It just wouldn’t.

  Because Micah was heading into a world where she didn’t exist.

  “Let’s get you into some dry clothes, get you a new cell phone, and grab some coffee. There’s some things we need to talk about.”

  CHAPTER 38

  Micah stutter-stepped toward Shannon’s office on Monday morning and strained to keep a scream from bursting out. Calm. Composure. He was positive ripping the Andy Warhol pictures off the walls wouldn’t set the right tone for his return. But RimSoft was his opus. Was. Now he’d be proposing a plan to a woman who two and a half weeks ago had been his secretary.

  That was a cheap shot. She’d always been far more than a secretary. If anyone was worthy of running the company in this parallel universe, it was Shannon. But that didn’t abate the strangeness of this role reversal, or his fear she would wrap an anchor around him and his proposal and drop-kick them into the Pacific.

  He approached the woman who sat in the exact desk Shannon used to sit in. “I’m here for a 9:00 with Shannon.”

  “Hi, Micah.” She flipped her red hair off her shoulders. “She’s running a few minutes behind. I hope your trip was a good one.”

  Trip? He stared at her. Did he know her? Early twenties, slightly heavy, dark blue eyes. He would have remembered those eyes.

  Before leaving Cannon Beach, he and the voice had formed their proposal. Although the players had changed, they reasoned that the basic direction of the company probably hadn’t. Micah would use this inside knowledge to impress Shannon and present the reasons he should get a shot at a vice presidency.

  “Micah!” Shannon walked up and grasped both his hands. “Great to have you back. Let’s catch up.”

  He walked into what used to be his office and tried not to cringe. It definitely had been given a woman’s touch. He sat in a taupe-colored leather chair in front of a coffee table that displayed two ornate miniature fountains. They circulated water over tiny river rocks in a never-ending cycle.

  “All right!” Shannon clapped her hands three times. “We’ll talk business in a minute, but first you’ve got to tell me. Europe was wonderful, wasn’t it? You loved Spain, I know you did. I hope you went to Gaudi’s Cathedral. You promised you would. By the way, I applaud you for not calling in for the entire three weeks. I bet my husband you’d call. You cost me five hundred dollars.” She laughed.

  As she talked, anxiety grabbed Micah’s stomach. Europe? Three weeks? He started to protest when shards of memories streaked through his mind. He saw himself standing in front of Gaudi’s Cathedral, then on the shores of Saint-Tropez, and after that Ibiza. The Eiffel Tower blazed into his mind and then a small village, where he sipped wine with a man and woman he didn’t recognize.

  “I’ve been on vacation in Europe for the past three weeks.” Micah stared at her, his lips slightly parted.

  “Well, I sure hope so.”

  “No, I remember. I mean, yes. It was a great time. Really.”

  “Dealing with a little jet lag?” Shannon frowned.

  “Probably.”

  “Well, I didn’t even expect you today. Flying in last night and setting up a time to see me? No one can say you don’t feel the need to succeed.”

  “I think there’s more I can offer this company.”

  “Really? More than you’ve already done?” Shannon leaned forward and folded her hands across her knees. “I’m all ears.”

  Micah clipped through his proposal. Not so fast she would miss any of the nuances, but not so slowly her mind could wander.

  When he finished, Shannon unfolded her hands and leaned even further forward. “Excellent.”

  “If you give me the freedom to implement these ideas and they work—”

  “Knowing you, I have little doubt they will.”

  “Thanks. I’d just like to put a little carrot out there for myself.”

  “Carrot?”

  “An incentive plan. When these projects succeed, I want a promotion to vice president and be vested in fifty thousand shares of stock immediately.”

  She stared at him, giving no clue whether he’d pushed too hard. A wisp of what Micah interpreted as concern passed over her face as she brought steepled hands to her lips.

  “This is European humor, right?”

  He’d gone too far. “No, I just think—”

  “Micah.” She glanced at the walls, as if she was worried they might hear. “You’ve been a vice president at RimSoft for a year and a half. You’re vested in more shares than anyone but me. On the last report I saw, you have acquired at least three hundred and eighty thousand shares. But if another fifty thousand will make you happier, I’ll get them for you. Certainly.”

  Three hundred and eighty thousand shares? And RimSoft? Not RimWare. Yes! He swallowed and tried to keep the rush of victory from taking over his face.

  “But I have to say at this stage of the game, I didn’t think it was about the money for you. More the thrill of the kill, you know?” Shannon got up and walked over to her desk, her back to him. “You’ve got a little over $36 million in your portfolio. You want to explain why you think another $4 million will dot the i’s and cross the t’s in your life?”

  She turned, arms folded tightly across her chest. “You and I have always played it straight. Look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t go to Europe and somehow decide drugs is your new thrill-park playground.”

  Drops of perspiration beaded on his forehead. He couldn’t lose it now. Stay calm. Hold it together.

  “No. I’m fine. Really. I don’t know what I was thinking.” He ran cold fingers through his hair. “But now I’m realizing I should have taken one more day. To get back on Seattle time.”

  Shannon nodded. He hadn’t convinced her. “The real Micah will be back tomorrow?”

  “Guaranteed.”

  He’d done it. He was back. He felt the voice inside him cry, “Yes!”

  ||||||||

  The next morning confirmed his Seattle life was snapping back into place. After ten minutes on his feet making breakfast, his ankle still felt fine. More than fine. It was the first time in two weeks standing in one place for over a minute didn’t cause a dull ache. He bounced up and down on his left foot twice. No pain. He knew a new X-ray would show there had never been a break.

  Unbelievable.

  Thank You, God.

  When he got to the office just after 8:00, Shannon stood on the lobby stairs, hands clasped behind her back, watching the employees file in as he used to do. She saw him, raised her eyes in acknowledgment, and motioned him over.

  He took the stairs two at a time.

  “Feeling better this morning?” she asked.

  “Fantastic.”

  “
Good to hear it, partner. This week will be intense.”

  “What did you say?” Micah spun toward her.

  “Intense week coming. That’s a surprise? You thought you’d continue your vacation? Sorry.”

  “No, the part before that.”

  “Good to hear you’re feeling better?”

  If she had said partner in more than a conversational way, then his life in Seattle had snapped back into place so completely it was unreal.

  “You called me partner.”

  Shannon stared at him for a full five seconds.

  “What is it with you? Does your brain have permanent jet lag? Would you rather I say, ‘Good to hear it, fellow majority shareholder, cofounder, and owner in the corporation known as RimSoft?’”

  Micah repressed a smile struggling to burst onto his face. “No, that certainly is a rousing bit of phrasing, but ‘partner’ will be fine.” He couldn’t suppress the massive smile any longer.

  She glared at him. “Tell me you’re okay. We need to sit down and catch up. But I need you sane.”

  “Two o’clock, your office?”

  “Fine.”

  Amazing. Micah strutted toward the elevator, flipped open his cell phone, and dialed.

  “Phil, Micah Taylor. What floor do I live on?”

  “What, Mr. Micah?”

  “My condo. What floor is it on?” The silver elevator doors slid open; Micah stepped in and pressed the round button for the eighteenth floor.

  “The same floor it has always been. You are on the twenty-first floor.”

  “The penthouse.”

  “Yes, Mr. Micah. Why do you ask this question?”

  “I want to make sure all aspects of my life have shifted back into alignment.”

  “I am not understand.”

  “That makes two of us. But it’s all good, Phil. All good. Thanks.”

  How could he start to thank God for this? Why hadn’t he listened to his own voice earlier?

  The elevator doors opened, and he stepped onto the eighteenth floor. He walked toward where his old office used to be, which is exactly where it was now. A young man he didn’t recognize sat at the desk outside his door. “How are you?”

  “Good, Mr. Taylor. Thank you.”

  The young man stood and offered his hand. Damp. Micah shook it and tried not to grimace.

  “I’m from Smart Temps,” said the young man. “I’m filling in while your regular executive assistant is on vacation.”

  Micah turned and wiped his hand on his right hip.

  “She’ll be back tomorrow,” the temp said.

  Once inside his office he pulled a picture of Sarah out of his briefcase. So beautiful. Sarah sat on a small grassy dune in her black biking shorts and a dark blue Windbreaker, Haystack Rock looming in the background. Her windblown hair partially obscured the right side of her face. He stared at the picture, then kissed it.

  He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

  Picking up the phone, his hand danced over the buttons. After four rings her exquisite voice came on the line. “Hi, this is Sarah. You leave the message; I’d love to call you back. Bye.”

  “Hey, beautiful. Me. Just checking in. I know you’re at work, but hearing your voice is better than nothing. Some fascinating developments up here. So cool. Way beyond what I could have imagined. Sorry to say it, but you were wrong. It was right to come back. Call me.”

  Micah hung up and walked toward the awards that covered his walls. He touched the frame of the Innovative Software of the Year award. Part of him loved the software business, the financial freedom, the challenges, and impact his products had on the world. But more than all of it, he loved Sarah. And more than Sarah, he loved the Lord. All of the glory of his Seattle world was nothing compared to the healing and freedom he’d found in Cannon Beach.

  It made sense. To gain Seattle back, he had to lose it first. His voice was right.

  Now he had it all.

  Micah booted up his computer and found four hundred-plus e-mail messages sitting like little penguins all in a row, insisting on a moment of his time. He smiled. It was nice being in demand again.

  Before he dove in, he called his CFO to confirm the return of one final piece of his life. His CFO said he owned 725,345 shares in RimSoft. He punched up the share price and did the math. He felt the voice deep inside smile. Just over $60 million dollars. All was right with the world again. He wanted to tell Sarah immediately. Well, if he couldn’t share it with her, he could try Rick.

  “Rick’s Gas and Garage.”

  “Hey, Devin, it’s Micah.”

  “Micah?”

  “Micah Taylor.”

  “Um.”

  “From Seattle?”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right. How are ya?”

  “How many other Micahs do you know?”

  Devin didn’t answer so Micah asked for Rick.

  “Out till Friday. Had some family business back east I think, not exactly sure where. Want me to give him a message?”

  “Yeah, tell him to buy a cell phone.”

  Micah hung up the phone and pored back and forth between e-mail and snail mail. Nothing unusual till two-thirds of the way down the stack. A letter from Chris Hale.

  Hello, Micah.

  I hope you are well as you read this.

  Enclosed please find another letter from Archie. I must apologize. This letter was intended to be in the pile I left in the house, but I obviously misplaced it somehow and didn’t notice it missing from the original stack.

  Please forgive my oversight. I’ve made copies of the letter and sent one to your Cannon Beach address and one to your work address.

  I would have sent a third to your Seattle residence, but I don’t have that address.

  Let’s connect again soon.

  Chris

  Micah opened Archie’s letter and sat down. It took all of three seconds to read.

  June 23, 1992

  Dear Micah,

  Matthew 16:25–26.

  With my great affection,

  Archie

  Micah looked at his bookshelves although he didn’t need to. If he was back in his old office, there was no Bible on them. He Googled the verses, and two seconds later they were on his screen:

  For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it; but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it. For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what will a man give in exchange for his soul? (Matthew 16:25–26)

  Micah fell back in his chair. Chris loses the letter, finds it, then sends it. And he ends up reading it on this specific day. Coincidence? No way.

  But so what? Yes, he’d gained some of the world—his world—back. It didn’t mean he’d forfeited his soul. He was closer to the Lord than he’d ever been. Ever. Yes, he had some treasure here on Earth again. Big deal. It’s not where his heart was. At least not the majority of his heart. So why read something into the timing of this letter when there was nothing to read into it? But all of Micah’s mental machinations didn’t quench a gnawing feeling in his stomach that something was askew.

  An impression formed in his mind. It was the voice.

  Relax. As good as it’s been, the last two days have been pretty stressful. Don’t let your imagination take you somewhere we shouldn’t go.

  That night Micah celebrated his return to the top with a longtime basketball buddy. They dined at Palisades in Seattle on porterhouse steaks accompanied by crab legs, Caesar salads, and a double portion of tiramisu. They watched the million-dollar yachts bob in Puget Sound and talked sports, business, and movies. To simply sit with an old friend and enjoy a fine dinner refreshed him. And helped Micah avoid feeling the tiny snag at the center of his heart.

  As they ate, Micah spied a young man across the aisle chatting with a brunette. The man punctuated his story with light laughter, and she joined in each time. She leaned in, relaxed, with a smile that never faded. The man kept pulling his palm away in order to
demonstrate his story, only to return it to her waiting embrace a moment later.

  Micah’s gaze shifted to two men, one older, one younger at another table close by. Father and son? Looked like it. They interrupted each other, recalling a fishing trip up to Alaska where everything went wrong. But to hear them tell it amid their laughter, it had obviously turned out to be a trip they treasured.

  It could have been Sarah and him at the one table, Rick and him at the other. His life before them, before Cannon Beach, only dabbled at the edges of God. It was a life devoid of freedom and healing, a life without true life.

  Now he had it all. Riches. Recognition. And the deepest things: Sarah, Rick, and an intimate relationship with the Creator of the universe.

  “Hello? Micah?”

  “Yeah?” Micah dropped his steak knife on the table, and it rattled against his water glass.

  “Hey, bud, where’d you go?”

  “Sorry, took a little trip in my mind back down to Cannon Beach.” He lifted his glass to his friend and made a toast. “To Sarah, to Rick, and to my King, Jesus. May His freedom advance in my life and the lives around me.”

  “Wow. Nice preaching. Sounds like you had quite a time down there.” His friend clinked his glass against Micah’s.

  “You have no idea.”

  As the last bite of tiramisu slid down his throat, Micah decided the time to head back down to Cannon Beach was not in a few weeks but in a few days. His voice had said take five or six weeks to get things settled. But things weren’t settling in Seattle; they were settled. Going back down every weekend would be much better timing. Without Rick and Sarah, Seattle was hollow.

  After saying good-bye to his friend, Micah walked out on the dock in front of the restaurant and stared at the yachts and sailboats tucked into their slips like the fingers of an elegant woman inside a white glove. Two thoughts swirled like yin and yang through his mind. First, he always meant to buy one of those boats. Second, the desire had faded to a shadow of its former self.