Jim Rubart Trilogy
Page 79
Corin sauntered up behind Travis and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Whaaaaa!” Travis spun and popped Corin on his shoulders with the palms of both hands. “Don’t do that!”
Corin laughed and shoved his hands into his 501s. “Sorry, all this cloak-and-dagger stuff brings out the practical joker in me.”
Actually it didn’t bring out the joker, it brought out the formidable Stress Man, able to double Corin’s heart rate in a single bound. Sneaking up on Travis, keeping the moment light, should keep his foe subdued, but something told him the carbon dating info he was about to learn would wake Stress Man back up again.
“This isn’t a joke.”
“What isn’t?”
“Your chair.”
“Yeah, I get that part. Something has you a little spooked. So why don’t you let me get behind the curtain with you and maybe I’ll join you in your paranoia.”
“I’m not spooked and I’m not paranoid. I just want to make sure our conversation stays between the two of us.”
Corin pulled a small piece of bark off the tree. He wouldn’t be telling anyone. Maybe Tesser. “I’m guessing my chair is older than this aspen?”
“I’m not sure.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen.” Travis rubbed the sides of his nose and tried to smile. “I’m not even 10 percent sure.”
“What does that mean?” Corin repeated.
“We ran the test eighteen times and got eighteen different results.”
“Is that possible?”
“No.” Travis dug in his ear so hard Corin thought his friend would lose his finger.
“You’re saying you got eighteen different ages?”
Travis nodded.
“From the same piece of wood?”
“Yes.”
“What was the oldest date?”
“Over thirty thousand.” Travis said it more as a question than a statement.
“Years old?”
“Yes.”
“You’re joking.” Corin leaned forward to be able to see Travis’s eyes.
“No.”
“And the youngest?”
“Today.”
“What?”
Travis rocked his head back and forth as if he were a bobble-head doll. “The tests came back saying the wood from the chair came from wood harvested sometime in the past year.”
“That’s insane.”
“Now do you see why I called you incessantly?” Travis held his fist up to his ear as if it were a phone.
“And the dating ages in between?”
“Five thousand five hundred years, three hundred and seventy-five years, thirty years . . . like I said, each time the results were different.”
“How can that happen?”
“It can’t.”
“Never?” Corin paced. Three steps to the right, then three back to the left.
“And one of the tests came back 50K plus.”
“Meaning?” Corin rubbed the bark on his chin, just hard enough to register an unpleasant sensation.
“Our dating can project back forty five to fifty thousand years. Anything older we classify as greater than 50K.” Travis opened his hands and tilted his head.
“You’re saying the reading came back saying this piece is older than your instruments can date it?”
“Exactly.”
Corin stopped pacing. “Explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain. The reading says this piece of wood is fifty thousand years old or maybe a million years old.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means everyone around here is begging to have whatever that piece came from brought in here.”
“You weren’t supposed to tell anyone you were testing this. I thought my e-mail made that clear.” Corin broke the strip of bark into pieces and tossed them to the ground.
“I couldn’t help it. We typically run three nine minute tests and average the three to determine the age of the object. They’re usually within a few years of each other. So when your readings started bouncing all over the universe, well, people noticed.”
“I don’t need anyone else noticing.” Corin kicked at a small pile of leaves on the ground.
“Where did you get that chair?”
“It was given to me.”
“By who?”
“Some lady named Nicole.”
“Have you talked to her since then?”
“Not really. She sent me an e-mail. That’s it.”
“Do you have a way to get a hold of her?”
“No.”
The implications of Travis’s findings swirled through Corin’s head. Of course a chair imbued with the essence of God would have no age and every age. If Christ had made the chair and Tesser was right—that Jesus’s power flowed throughout it—wouldn’t the chair somehow be outside of time?
“What would the age of the chair be if you took an average?”
“There’s no point in doing—.”
“But if you did.”
“Well . . .” Travis’s gaze moved up and to the right. Corin almost expected smoke to come streaming out of the man’s head. He was a human computer. He had all the results packed into his brain and his mental hard drive was accessing the data and crunching numbers.
“The average would be two thousand years old.”
Corin let out a puff of a laugh. “That makes perfect sense. If the chair was built by a certain carpenter.”
“What?”
“This Nicole lady who gave me the chair called him a carpenter.”
“Who was a carpenter?”
“The guy who made the chair. Two thousand years ago.”
“Two thousand years ago? That’s good.” Travis laughed. “Next you’re going to tell me Jesus Christ was the carpenter in question and part of the family business was making tables and chairs and you’re the proud owner of one of His dining room creations.” Nervous laughter sputtered out of Travis.
Corin stared at his friend.
“No, you’re joking.”
Corin shook his head.
“Seriously?”
Corin shook his head again. “I’m beginning to believe.”
“No wonder you wanted me to keep it quiet.”
Corin peeled another piece of bark from the tree. “You didn’t tell them what the sliver was from?”
“I told you I wouldn’t.”
“Danka.”
“What?”
“It means ‘thank you’ in German. I got in the habit of saying it back in high school when I learned the language and sometimes it still slips out.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Travis grinned and scrubbed his thinning brown hair with his fingers. “But I should tell you, toward the end of the day I overheard a phone call that sure sounded like the person on the other end was asking about your chair.”
“What?”
“Yeah.”
Corin popped the tree like it was one of Tori’s workout bags. Great. Another chair stalker. “Tell me who called.”
“I only heard one end of the conversation.”
“What did you hear?”
“My boss was saying we test a variety of things, but if the person wanted to call back in a few days, he’d let them know the items that have been tested during the past week. It seemed like he knew the caller.”
“Is your boss religious?”
“Yeah, how’d you know that?”
“Lucky guess.” Corin jammed his hands in his pocket and bit his lower lip. His cell’s ring tone sliced through the night air. He glanced at caller ID. It was A. C. He let it go.
“No.”
Corin rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t anyone read the news anymore?”
“I don’t have time.”
Corin gave Travis the Reader’s Digest version.
“So even if the chair wasn’t the thing that healed him—”
“If the dating of the chair thing gets out, combined with the insinuation that it healed the kid, it’ll have the religious nutcases storming my store like it’s the Bastille.”
“I hope it’s no longer in your store.”
“It isn’t.”
“I gotta get going.” Travis pointed over Corin’s shoulder at the parking lot and they walked toward it. “If it’s genuine it could also be worth a lot of money.”
“If it’s real it’s priceless.”
“How is your store doing these days?”
“I could use the money.” Use? Had to have was more accurate. For the store. For Shasta. For any hope of a future.
“So why not sell it for everything you can?”
“It’s a serious consideration.”
“You should.”
“Why?”
“A lot of potential money mixed with religious zealots often means people winding up dead.”
“I’ve thought of that too.” Corin glanced around the parking lot, not sure what he was looking for.
“And if the chair really does have power to heal people—you’re in over your head.”
“So far it’s just an idea. No proof.” Unless you counted the kid, which Corin was willing to do, but coincidences were a part of life, maybe even more than miracles.
“For your sake I hope it stays just a legend.”
Corin’s cell phone vibrated. Text message. From A. C.
WE NEED TO TALK. I’M FINE, JUST A LITTLE WEIRDED OUT. CALL ME IF YOU’RE STILL AWAKE.
A wave of heat passed through Corin’s body. He turned to Travis. “I’m sure that’s all it’ll end up being.”
They reached their cars.
“Then how do you explain the results I got at the lab?”
“I have no idea.”
“Keep me posted on this thing, Corin.”
“Absolutely.”
Corin drove out of the parking lot and hit one of the new favorite numbers on his cell phone.
“Hello there, Tesser, everyone’s favorite professor.”
“You need to get a new line. That one’s wearing so thin it’s translucent.”
“The better to see me with, my dear.” Tesser coughed. “How are you, Corin? How is the quest going?”
“Getting weirder.”
“That’s good.”
“Good?”
“When you’re ninety-two you’ll hope for weird things to make life interesting just like I do. What’s the latest?”
“The age of the chair.”
“You want to know how old it is?”
“Since you know all about this chair, how old do you think it is?”
“If it’s genuine, we know how old it is. At least within a few years.”
“So you’re saying my having it carbon dated was a waste of time?”
“No, you didn’t take a piece off the chair. Tell me you didn’t. Not smart. Not wise. Foolish to the fifth! To the ninth. To the googolplex.”
“It was a small piece, Tesser.”
“How small?”
“It’s just wood.”
“If it’s the real McCoy, you’ve just desecrated a chair made by the Son of God. What idiot told you to have it carbon dated?”
“Me.”
“Ffffffffhhh.” The sound coming through the phone sounded like the air had been let out of a tractor tire. “Aren’t you far enough down this path to realize it could very likely be much more than just a chunk-a-hunk of wood?”
“No. One minute I think it’s real, the next moment I’m not sure.”
“Oh, for crying in my ice cream Sunday with a gallon of Hershey’s syrup on top. Yes, you are.”
Corin sighed. “Do you want to know what the carbon dating says?”
“I don’t need to.”
“Why, because if Jesus made the chair the carbon dating will show that it’s two thousand years old?”
“Precisely.”
“The year Jesus was born.”
“Most competent historians place the birth of Christ around 4 or 5 BC, not the year AD 1. When the church decided to assimilate one of the pagan holidays, they moved—”
“Tesser, I love your history lessons, but can we focus on the chair?”
“Yes, yes, of course.”
“So does this mean it’s real?”
“The evidence is building. I’m not saying it has healing powers, but I’m certainly saying you might have a genuine religious artifact that was made by the historical figure known as Jesus Christ.”
Corin’s cell phone buzzed again. He glanced down. A. C. again.
GOING TO BED. WILL BE AT YOUR STORE FIRST THING IN THE MORNING. I HAVE TO TALK TO YOU. PLEASE BE THERE.
“Tesser, I gotta go, I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Corin hung up and called A. C. No answer. Must have turned his ringer off as soon as he sent the text.
A. C. wasn’t easily bothered, but he was bothered about something now.
And Corin would be there first thing to find out what it was.
CHAPTER 28
You all right? Your face is acting like a split personality,” Corin said as he approached his store.
A. C. stood at the front door, the expression on his face shifting from bewilderment to joy back to confusion every few seconds.
“Fine. I’m good.” A. C. shifted his weight from one leg to the other and rubbed his shoulder.
“Then why’d you say you were freaked yesterday and why do you want to talk first thing this morning?” Corin opened the front door and they walked inside.
“Something has happened.”
“To you?”
“Yeah.” The alternating emotions on A. C.’s face morphed into an all-out grin.
“And the cause of your apparent happiness?” Corin flicked the switch on the coffee maker behind his sales counter.
“You,” A. C.’s eyes fixed on Corin, “and the chair.”
Corin sucked in a quick breath. “Talk to me. What happened?”
“It worked.”
A chill played rugby up and down Corin’s back as he studied A. C.’s eyes. Was his friend trying to be funny? Hardly, it wasn’t A. C.’s style. It wasn’t a joke; A. C. was serious.
“You’re saying you’re healed.”
“Yep.”
“You’re no longer scared of public speaking?”
“Yes.” A. C. rubbed his left ear, his eyes full of laughter.
“Yes what? You’re still scared? Or you’re not scared?”
“I’m still not a fan of getting up in front of a crowd of more than one person.”
Corin’s heart rate settled back to normal. “I’m not following you. I thought you said the chair healed you and you’re ready to go out on the speaking circuit.”
“Not exactly.” A. C. ambled to the vault at the back of the store and glanced inside. “Where is the chair?”
“I took it home and locked it up.”
“Good idea.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You need to keep it in a safe place.” A. C. walked back to Corin and settled into a Hepplewhite dining chair from the early 1900s. “I’ve never been a religious person,
but if God were to come down out of the sky and fill me up with Himself, sitting in that chair is what I think it would feel like.”
“What are you saying?”
“As soon as you left me alone the other day, the chair started giving off this electrical charge or something—I felt like I was wrapped up in this ocean of warmth and peace. Wow, it felt good. Then this light sweeps around the room—yeah, I know light doesn’t sweep a room like that; I’m just telling you what I saw.”
A. C. closed his eyes “It was like a merry-go-round made of light, and I was in the middle slowly spinning as the outside of the ride whipped by like cars at the Indianapolis 500.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“Because I didn’t know if I’d imagined it or not.” He laughed. “And I didn’t want you to ask what kind of mushrooms I had on my omelet that morning.”
Corin poured himself a cup of coffee into his Thor coffee cup and offered A. C. some as well.
A. C. shifted in his chair. “You know why I didn’t end up playing pro ball, right?”
“You blew out something, your knee if I remember correctly.”
“Shoulder.” A. C. squeezed his left shoulder and stared at Corin. “It never healed right and I couldn’t hit like I used to. Cortisone shots, physical therapy, three operations. Nothing helped. I couldn’t get used to the pain shooting through my shoulder every time I crunched a running back. I missed my window.” He pushed on his shoulder with his fingers and gave tiny shakes of his head.
Where was A. C. going with this? That’s why A. C. was freaked out? Because he got some spiritual buzz? Because his brain played a few tricks on him while he sat in the chair? Corin opened the blinds and let the October sun stream in and light up the dust particles swirling through air. “I need to change the air filter again.”
“Listen to me, Cor.”
He turned toward A. C., then back to the blinds. “I’m listening.”
“No, look at me.”
Corin faced him and gazed into eyes more intense than he’d ever seen in A. C.
“In all the years I’ve worked concrete or helped you haul furniture back and forth, I’ve never lifted anything without a dull ache reminding me of that shoulder injury.”
Corin sat and took a drink of his coffee as he realized what his friend was about to tell him. Tesser’s words reverberated in his mind: “Healing power.”