Jim Rubart Trilogy

by James L. Rubart

  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.

  He stared at the stars. Why had he been given the best of both worlds?

  He closed his eyes as it once again felt like God had gone mute. He chalked it up to the intensity of the past few days and headed home.

  Sarah! He grabbed his cell.

  Again no answer on her cell phone. “Hey, it’s me. Missing Rick, missing Cannon Beach, mostly missing you.”

  The next morning he got up at 5:00 to spend some time praying and reading the Bible to try to push through the distance he felt toward God. After an hour he gave up in frustration. It was so dry it was brittle. The only voice he heard was his own, and any semblance of peace had flown.

  Where was God?

  Heading into work, he pondered what he missed most about Cannon Beach. It wasn’t the house, the ocean, Rick, or even Sarah. God was in Cannon Beach. Micah had been set free of chains he didn’t even know existed. But up here God seemed to be on vacation.

  He popped his steering wheel with his palm. His pipeline to the Lord had dried up like a valve being shut. As he pulled into his parking spot, he admitted it had closed the moment he’d stepped through the doors at RimSoft two days earlier. He’d just been too elated and busy to acknowledge it.

  As he ambled out of the elevator a few minutes past eight, he remembered his regular assistant should be back. Sure enough, a woman with blonde hair sat with her back to him in the chair Perspiration Boy had occupied the day before. Would he know her? Micah started to say hello when she turned and pranced around her desk with tiny high-heeled steps. He was too stunned to move.

  “Welcome home, stranger.” She threw her arms around his neck. “I had an awesome time on my vacay. Hope you did, too.” She pulled herself up to his ear and whispered, “I know we’ve only been going out for a month, so fire me if this is too forward, but I think we should take our next vacation together, don’t you?” She gave him a quick kiss, then flounced back to her chair.

  Micah tried to find words. Only one came. “Julie?”

  She laughed, cocked her head, and pointed a crimson fingernail at him. “Micah.”

  “You’re not my partner.”

  “No, not yet. You offering? All right, I accept.”

  His mind spun on a merry-go-round far over a safe speed. “Why . . . uh, wha . . . Why are you . . . ?” He stopped and stumbled into the chair next to Julie’s desk. No question would make sense so it was impossible to finish the sentence.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, good. I just . . .” Just what? Just realized his world was still shifting wildly and he wasn’t in control of any of it? He gripped the arms of the chair and tried to stop the spinning sensation.

  No, it wasn’t surprising Julie would be back in his life if the other things were back, but as his assistant? Why? He forced the thoughts pounding through his brain to stop, and he looked up at her. “Listen, it’s great to see you, great to be
back, so let’s catch up as soon as I can get unburied from three weeks of work.”

  “You’re thinking dinner tonight?”

  “Yes. Love it. Perfect.” Micah smiled, hoping it looked real, stood, and turned toward his office door.

  He staggered into his office and slammed the door. Not out of anger. Out of fear. He flung his coat and briefcase onto the chair next to his desk. The coat slid down the side of the chair and crumpled to the floor. Micah didn’t bother to pick it up. He was staring at the picture of Sarah he’d put up the day before.

  She wasn’t in it.

  CHAPTER 39

  Micah weaved through Seattle’s late-morning traffic like Speed Racer as he sped toward the University of Washington’s arboretum. It had been his place of solace since high school. His spot to be alone. To think.

  He had to calm down. Get a handle on the insanity that pulsed through his entire body. He felt his neck with his forefinger. Heart rate? Probably 140. Clothes? Soaked with sweat.

  He looked down at the picture clutched in his hand. Haystack Rock in the background in the late afternoon sun gave everything a golden hue. But where Sarah had sat was now only sand. He’d called Rick four times over the past hour, as if logging multiple calls would bring his friend back from his trip faster. During the fourth call, Devin almost hung up on him.

  Micah stood on a secluded bulkhead overlooking Lake Washington, trying to pray, but the prayers seemed to vanish into the charcoal skies. As he started back to his car, his cell phone rang. He fumbled in his pocket for it, fingers numb. Caller ID said Unknown.

  Please be her!

  “Hello?”

  “Micah? It’s Sarah Sabin.”

  “Finally.” A monsoon of relief landed on him. “I have missed you unbelievably.”

  “Are you the person who’s been leaving messages on my cell phone?”

  “Am I the person?” He laughed. “Yeah, what other Micahs do you know?”

  As the words came out of his mouth, two questions struck like ice water. Why did she give her last name? And why ask if he’d left the messages? She knew his voice as well as anyone’s.

  “You’re the only Micah I know, but I have to say your messages were a little weird.”

  “Weird?”

  “I enjoyed bumping into you up at Ecola and enjoyed our talk. And I was looking forward to dinner at your place next week, spend a little time together, get to know each other. But your messages made me think that’s not such a good idea.”

  Micah’s legs went weak, and he crumpled onto the rough wooden planks beneath him. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe.

  “Are you there?”

  “I’m in Seattle,” he sputtered. “And it’s all back. I’ve got it all back.”

  “Okaaay.” Sarah drew out the word. “Got all what back?”

  He tried to think of an answer to stop this nightmare. A sense of low, smug laughter coursed through him. The phone slipped from his grasp and dropped over the bulkhead wall, crashing onto the smooth rocks twenty feet below. It bounced twice and then splashed into the dark green waters of the lake.

  “Everything.”

  ||||||||

  Sleep, and the dream, didn’t come till 2:00 a.m. Micah stood in the middle of a wheat field. Rolling hills swept out from him in all directions, the late afternoon sun turning the wheat into waving strands of gold. He did a full turn, squinting as he looked into the sunlight. Nothing but fields of gold . . . wait! A silhouette on the horizon. As Micah stared at the figure, he began floating toward it.

  The man stood on a three-foot, splintered platform straight out of the late 1800s. Just like the man. He was tall, with white hair swept back till it touched the collar of his light brown, turn-of-the-century suit. A wide circle of lush, jade green grass surrounded the platform.

  The instant Micah entered the circle, the man’s words rang out crisp and powerful. If the man noticed Micah arrive, he didn’t respond. The man fixed his gaze on the field, the heads of wheat like a vast audience hanging on every word. Perspiration trickled down his forehead into his eyes, but his focus was absolute, nothing distracting his fierce countenance.

  “The fields are ripe for harvest! Beseech therefore the Lord of the harvest to send workers into the field to gather the wheat from the tares!” The preacher glanced down at the ragged Bible in his hands. “Now heed the words from the Revelation of John from chapter 3, verses 15 and 16.” His voice dropped to half its former volume as he read from the old Bible. “‘I know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor hot: I would thou wert cold or hot. So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth.’”

  The preacher looked up slowly and fixed his eyes on Micah and repeated the last sentence. “So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee of my mouth.”

  As he repeated it a third time, the preacher’s face changed. All but his eyes, which only increased in intensity. This time the words were a whisper, and when he’d finished, the transformation was complete.

  It was Jesus.

  A moment later Micah woke, soaking wet. He looked at his watch. Already twenty minutes past noon.

  After a quick shower Micah stepped onto the veranda of his condo to collect his thoughts before doing the obvious and heading for Cannon Beach. There was still hope. If the dream was only a warning, there was time to fix the mistake of returning to Seattle, and time to restore things with Sarah.

  If coming to Seattle caused his life in Cannon Beach to vanish like a vapor, returning to the beach would restore it.

  It had to.

  As he packed, he considered calling his office to let them know he was leaving. But for what? By the time he reached Cannon Beach, his role with the company could be significantly different. A phone call now might not even exist by the time he got back to the beach.

  He took one last look around his condo. Would he ever see the twenty-first floor again? What would he miss the most? His eyes swept over the awards and pictures lining the walls. Pictures of him standing next to the pretty and powerful. Trips around the world. Could he take the photos with him? Or would they just disappear on the way down to Cannon Beach, leaving empty frames crowding his backseat?

  So what if he ended up as one of the up-and-coming computer programmers at RimSoft or RimWare or whatever it would end up being called by the time he got back up to Seattle. So what if his salary was only a quarter of what it had been and there was no stock?

  He didn’t care. Nothing here mattered. Not anymore. He would still have gold: Sarah, Rick, and God.

  Time to go home.

  When he crossed the border between Washington and Oregon, a subtle pain brought overwhelming relief. His ankle started to ache.

  At 7:50 that evening he parked on Main Street and headed for Osburn’s. Adrenaline pumped through him. He’d stood in front of some of the most influential men and women in the world of business, his neck tight and mouth dry. But as he stood on Main Street looking up at the Osburn’s sign, Micah admitted that butterflies had never attacked his stomach with this much force. His breathing was shallow as he watched the last few customers stroll out of the store. He glanced at his watch. Almost closing time.

  Best-case scenario, Sarah and he would be right back to where they were before he’d left for Seattle a few days ago.

  Worst case, they would have lost a few weeks, maybe even a month, of their relationship. But he didn’t want to lose even an hour. During the past four weeks their relationship had burst from deep friendship into full-blown love. He’d told her everything that had gone on inside the house during that time. Told her about living parts of two lives. And she’d all but said she wanted to spend her life with him.

  He shook his head and ran both hands through his hair. Why hadn’t he listened
? She’d been so adamant about him not going. She had been right. Now he would fix it.

  He glanced inside. No one left but Sarah.

  Micah stepped through the front door. The bells announcing his arrival sounded like the warnings of a five-alarm fire, and his heart pounded like the bass drum at a rock concert.

  “Hi,” Sarah said without turning from her cleaning. “Five minutes to closing, I hope you’re not wanting a triple-decker four-fudge float.”

  “Sarah.”

  She looked up. “Hey. How are you? This is a nice surprise.” She smiled and tilted her head to the side.

  His mind froze. He didn’t know what he’d anticipated, but it wasn’t this. He’d expected to know with one look what her heart did or didn’t hold for him. But he didn’t. As he studied her face, he saw recognition, but what kind? Anger from the cell phone calls? Concern? Was everything back to normal and she simply waited for him to make the first move, to admit returning to Seattle was a mistake? She obviously knew him, but how well? There were no answers, and he had no idea where to go with the conversation.

  “I’m good. Hey, uh, first I just wanted to apologize for the weird messages I left on your cell phone.” He hesitated. If everything was back to normal, then maybe the calls wouldn’t have even happened in Sarah’s world.

  “You left me a weird message? More than one?”

  Yes! The calls no longer existed.

  “Yeah, well, I . . . Yeah, I did and—”

  “When?”

  “A day or two ago.”

  “Really? I must not have gotten them. Strange. Want to give them to me now?” She smiled but it didn’t reassure him.

  Oh no. He saw it in her eyes. Uncertainty. Then an obvious clue he should have picked up on the moment he’d called her name. She still stood behind the counter instead of rushing over to him. Not a good sign.

  “Instead of giving you the weird message, how ’bout I ask you a weird question?” He shifted his weight and tried to smile.

  Sarah put down her towel, walked around the counter, folded her arms, and put a mock skeptical look on her face. “Ready.”