The Pages of Her Life

by James L. Rubart

  “If you hadn’t been there, I would have gone after Logan with everything I have.”

  Abraham grinned and said, “Would’ve been a good battle,” but his eyes said Parker would have been thrashed. “You think you have a right to be pissed off?”

  “What do you mean? Are you kidding? You see how he’s been treating me.”

  “Deal with it.”

  “Deal with it?”

  “Yep.” Abraham drilled him with his eyes. “Has Logan been starving you? Made you work longer or harder than anyone else on the boat?”

  “No.”

  “Has he screamed and sworn at you any louder or longer than at the rest of us?”

  “No.”

  “Wha’d he tell you to do when you first got here? Huh? Stay out of the wheelhouse.”

  “I get it.”

  Abraham turned around and jumped up so he now sat on a crate. He zeroed his eyes in on Parker, then jabbed a hard finger into his shoulder. “No. You don’t.”

  He glared at Abe and shoved his finger away. “Logan doesn’t pay you or me or any of us enough to be jerked around like he does.”

  “But we’re not talking about Logan, are we? We’re talking about you. And why you go after him when no one else on the ship does.”

  “Go after him?”

  “Yes. You’re trying to push his buttons. You went into the wheelhouse to do exactly that.”

  Again, Parker didn’t answer.

  “There’s a better way.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  Abraham slipped off the crate and his shoes slapped onto the steel deck. “Let me ask you, if you were to fight him, would you win?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Doesn’t matter. I’m willing to take a pounding to find out.”

  “I respect your courage, because you’d get crushed, which I think you already know. So what’s the thing you hope to get from a fight with Logan?”

  Parker sat dumbfounded. Get? Wasn’t it obvious? Respect. He’d beat the man into submission if possible. If not, he’d take out his frustration and anger on the guy by at least getting in a few good punches. Take vengeance for Logan treating him like crap.

  “I want to knock some sense into the lunatic.”

  “And probably impress your dad.”

  Parker fixed his gaze on Abe and frowned. “How do you know about my father and me?”

  “It’s all over you. In your eyes. In the way you walk. You’ve got something to prove. I’ve seen it a hundred times.”

  Abraham moved to the side of the boat and leaned back against the rail. “Your problem is simple, so if you want to, you can solve it fast.”

  “All right, what’s this better way?”

  “Admit the truth.”

  “Which is?”

  “You don’t feel like you’re worth much. So you try to prove your worth by being tough. Never backing down. Which is why you did so well right now with Logan. That wasn’t easy for you.”

  Parker tried to laugh it off. “What are you, some kind of psychiatrist now?”

  “And that hole inside is why you immerse yourself in extreme sports and ride your motorcycle on the edge of sanity.” Abraham pulled a chunk of bread out of his pocket and tossed it in the direction of three seagulls that circled the boat. “For a moment those adventures tell you you’re worth something. But then the rush fades and you’re back to the reality that you think very little of yourself.”

  Parker sat stunned. No one had ever talked to him this straight. This brutally. This true. He scowled. “Where do you get off psychoanalyzing me, Abe? Huh? You want to tell me? What gives you the right?”

  Abe only smiled, a slightly amused look in his eyes.

  “You think this is funny?”

  “Yeah, I do.” Abraham glanced at the deck, then back up into Parker’s eyes. “And you will too, in time, once you realize how stupid it is to do what you’re doing. But now you have a shot to turn it around, because someone has finally told you a truth that’s been there, deep in your gut, for a long time. One you need to deal with if you want to be free of your dad.”

  “I don’t need to listen to this.”

  “Depends on what you want.”

  “Oh really? What do I want?”

  “I already told you.”

  Abraham turned back to the railing and gazed out over the ocean. End of the conversation? Parker could pretend it was. Walk away and bury the words Abe had spoken. Or press in. His choice. He stood watching the back of Abraham’s head as it slowly moved back and forth, taking in the vastness of the sea. Maybe he was a real friend. Which would be rare in Parker’s world. Lots of acquaintances, few friends.

  Parker glanced around the deck. They were still alone. He shuffled over to within a few feet of the railing. “If I’m such a worthless piece of scum, why—”

  “I never said that. Your dad never said that. God never said that. You’re the only one promoting that lie.”

  “God,” muttered Parker. “Like he’s part of all this.”

  “You don’t think he is?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Abraham twisted the cigarette behind his ear. “Maybe you’re wrong. Ever considered that? Ever wondered if he’s right down in the minutiae of this age? Maybe it’s time to stop seeing him as a distant creator who wound up the toys, then left his shop and closed the door behind him.”

  “I think he closed the door.”

  Abraham just smiled.

  “So, Guru Abe, what am I supposed to do with Logan? And how do I fix the feeling that I’m crap on a stick?”

  Abraham smiled and closed his eyes as his head rocked from side to side. “I have no doubt your uninvolved God will show you on both counts.”

  thirty-eight

  TWO DAYS AFTER HER LIFE-GIVING conversation with Derrek, Allison drove down I-5 with Bruno Mars crooning in her ears and nothing on her mind except escaping for four nights and almost five days. Three of Derrek’s stunt kites lay in her back seat, but that was the last thought about Wright Architecture she was going to allow into her head. No thoughts of work, of the partnership, of getting her dad’s debt paid off—nothing but the sky and the wind and the waves.

  The trade certificates Derrek had given her were for a hotel in Cannon Beach that she’d known about for years and had always meant to visit. She’d always headed farther south in the past.

  Cannon Beach was close to the Washington border, which meant she could get there quicker and stay longer. And she’d finally get to check out famous Haystack Rock. A little online research she’d done before she left claimed Haystack Rock was the third tallest intertidal structure—one that can be reached by land—in the world. Two hundred thirty-five feet high.

  As soon as she checked into her hotel, a mile or so south of Cannon Beach proper, she put on shorts, shades, and sandals and headed north up the beach. Kites and blankets and foraging seagulls dotted the sand. Brave souls jumped waves in the frigid waters of the Pacific. She didn’t hurry, stopped and admired every sand castle along the way, and said hello to all the beach walkers coming from the other direction. By the time she reached Haystack Rock, no world existed except for the one she stood in at that moment.

  Allison stared at the top of the massive rock and thought it appeared even higher.

  She gazed at tufted puffins with their squat black bodies, large orange bills, white faces, and tufts of yellow feathers above their eyes. An army of seagulls landed and lifted off the rock as if part of a massive choreographed dance.

  She stood on the beach and watched till a rogue wave reached her toes, then till the tide crept in enough to cover her feet up to her ankles. Compared to the vastness of the ocean, she felt small. Insignificant. And that was a very good thing. A reminder that he was God, she was not, and that all along he’d had a plan to rescue her.

  The next morning Allison rose before dawn and jogged out toward the ocean to where the sand was damp and hard, then headed north. Word from the locals was that at extremely low tid
e it was possible to get around the point that kept people from reaching Crescent Beach most of the time.

  Perfect. It would be a chance to get in a short run—probably less than three miles—and at the same time explore an untouched beach alone. She couldn’t imagine many others getting up so early. And this wasn’t a morning she wanted company.

  She reached the point minutes later and stared at the water lapping at the rocks. Shoot. The water was at least a couple inches deep on the outgoing waves, and probably six inches on the incoming waves. But still, she’d come this far. And what was a little water? She wasn’t going to melt, as her mom had always said when she and her brothers were little.

  Allison waited till the water was at its lowest point, then sprinted around the outcropping, knees high, arms raised, her shoes sending little geysers of salt water up onto her socks, legs, shorts . . . and the occasional splash onto her running jacket.

  By the time she reached solid sand on the other side of the outcropping, she was half soaked. But getting drenched was worth it. She found herself utterly alone on a beach at least half a mile long. The sand was perfectly smooth, a bit darker shade than the sand she’d come from. At the far end of the beach a cape jutted into the sea about a quarter mile. Had to be Ecola State Park that she’d read about.

  Allison jogged down the beach in the dead center between the water and the steep rise to her right. The cliff was lush with trees and bushes. Likely too steep for trails, but when she reached the end of the beach minutes later, she spotted weather-worn handrails at irregular intervals along the steep wall, leading up to what looked like a park on top of the cape. Must have been a trail up to the top at one point in time.

  She wandered slowly down to the edge of the water and peered at a lighthouse set on a tiny island. She studied the waves that seemed to have no pattern yet formed a pattern nonetheless.

  “I don’t know what you’re doing, God, but—”

  That was as far as Allison got. She saw distant motion in her peripheral vision. She squinted and spotted two figures coming around the outcropping. They stopped for a moment, then sprinted toward her. So much for being alone.

  “Thanks, Lord. Just what I needed right now. Great talking to you.”

  They came straight toward her, a man and a woman who didn’t slow or veer off course till they were twenty yards away. Then the man slowed, lurched almost to a stop, threw his head back, hands on hips, and shifted his weight back and forth as he caught his breath. The woman came to a halt beside him half a second later, hands on her legs, breathing heavily.

  Allison stepped back a few paces, then started to turn away, when the man spoke.

  “Sorry. We didn’t mean to startle you, but whoever passes the tree first wins.” He pointed to a huge driftwood log where the sand met the undergrowth coming down the hill.

  He stepped over to the woman, kissed her lightly on the forehead, and laughed. “All tied up again.”

  She smiled and said, “As it should be.”

  They took each other’s hands and strolled over to her.

  “My name’s Micah Taylor. This is my wife, Sarah.”

  “I’m Allison Moore.”

  “It’s good to meet you, Allison.”

  “You too.”

  “You’re a runner, it looks like,” Sarah said.

  “I try to be.” She gave a quick shrug. “I ran a bit in high school.”

  “Really?” Micah looked at her with curiosity. “What’d you run?”

  “The 800 meters, and the 1,600.”

  “No kidding. I ran the 800 in high school.” He smiled at Sarah. “Nowadays the running is a bit limited.”

  Sarah laughed. “Severely limited. We have two young boys at home, so we don’t get out together that often. But we work at getting time for just the two of us as often as we can.”

  “Are you with someone, Allison?” Micah asked.

  “No. I’m not.” She looked down at the sand. “I’m divorced.”

  Micah laughed, a full-bodied laugh stuffed full of joy. “Oh, no, forgive me. That’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean . . . I was wondering if you’re on vacation here with anyone or on a trip by yourself.”

  “How do you know I don’t live here?”

  “We can always tell who the tourists are.” Micah grinned at Sarah.

  “He’s not going to explain that, Allison, so let me.” Sarah shoved Micah playfully and he laughed again. “When we first met, he was down here visiting from Seattle and I used that same line on him.”

  Allison peered at Micah. “You’re from Seattle?”

  “Yeah. Originally.”

  “That’s where I’m from.”

  “Really.”

  “Well, Issaquah. I work in Bellevue.”

  “I was in Bellevue often. Then I came down here.” Micah grinned again and motioned at the ocean and the beach. “You’d better be careful down here—you might end up wanting to stay.”

  “I already do,” Allison said. “So you live around here then?”

  “About four miles south of town. It’s a good run from there to here and back.”

  Allison peered at them. Happy together. Obviously. Something about them was irresistible. Both were attractive, but it wasn’t just physical.

  “I’m surprised to see anyone else on this beach at this time of day,” Allison said.

  “You’re right,” Sarah said. “There’s rarely any others here this early in the morning. Sometimes all day.”

  “But you’re here.”

  “We come here every two or three months.” Micah kissed Sarah on the cheek. “Either up to the top, at Ecola Park, or down here at low tide.”

  “Special reason?”

  “It was the place we came to on our first date.”

  Sarah laughed. “It wasn’t a date. He followed me, or tried to.”

  “Tried to?” Allison asked.

  “Let’s just say Sarah is better on a road bike than I am. But on a mountain bike . . .”

  “He’s still not as good as me.” Sarah brought her hand to the side of her mouth in a mock whisper and said, “But sometimes I let him think he’s better.”

  Allison laughed. There was something about the two of them that drew her like a magnet. A kind of energy, or warmth—it was hard to put into words.

  “Did you work in Seattle, Micah?” Allison moved a pile of sand back and forth with her shoe.

  Micah smiled at Sarah, sharing a private joke, but not at Allison’s expense. “I suppose I did. In another life.”

  “Another life?” Allison glanced back and forth between them. “Like reincarnation another life, or a long-time-ago another life?”

  “The third option.”

  “I didn’t give you a third option.”

  “I know.” He winked at Sarah. “It’s quite a long story, with a few parts that are hard to believe. Maybe we can tell it to you someday.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Good, because I have a feeling we’re supposed to tell you everything.”

  “What?” She frowned at him.

  “Sorry,” Micah said as he looked out over the ocean. “I tend to go too deep with people too fast.”

  “That’s okay.”

  Micah glanced at Sarah, then fixed his gaze on Allison. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Do you believe in God, Allison?”

  “Yes.”

  “So do we. And I think this is more than a chance meeting,” Micah said as if that explained everything. “But for the moment we will let this rest in his hands, and we’ll follow his lead when it’s time to move.”

  “That’s it?” Sarah asked. “That’s not telling everything—it’s telling nothing. That’s all you’re going to say to Allison?”

  “Yes.”

  She turned to Allison and shook her head. “Don’t feel bad. We’ve been married for eight years and I still can’t stop him from doing that. Mr. Cryptic. But don’t worry, he always eventually
tells you what he’s thinking.”

  “And if I never see you two again, which is highly likely?”

  “I think that’s highly unlikely.” Micah grinned again. “Like I said, not a chance meeting.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “We haven’t seen anyone here this time of day for at least six months. And last night we had Chinese food, and my cookie said I’d meet a new friend today.”

  “Quite the coincidence,” Allison said.

  “Nah.” Micah stared at her, a smile seeming to want to surface, but it didn’t. “I don’t believe in coincidence.”

  For the first time since he and Sarah had sprinted up to her, Micah’s countenance went hard. Not unkind, but deadly serious. A moment later the laughter that seemed to be a centimeter below the surface lit up his eyes again.

  He winked at Allison and pointed behind them. “I have good news about getting back.”

  “Oh?” Allison said.

  “Notice anything?” Micah pointed at his and Sarah’s shoes. “Dry.”

  “How—”

  “My guess is you read the tide table wrong.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah.” Micah grinned. “We have about another ten minutes before the water gets far enough in to get us wet.”

  “I got my feet wet for nothing.”

  “That’s one way to look at it.”

  “How would you look at it?”

  “You’ve created a memory, one you might even laugh at years from now.”

  As they jogged back, Allison stole glances at the easy play between Sarah and Micah. They had the magic she longed for, the magic she thought she’d had with Kyle. But not enough apparently. He’d come home early that day five years ago, invited her out on their back deck, and said he had something to tell her.

  “Are you okay?”

  He looked sad and nervous, and he scratched at his forearms as if ants crawled on them.

  “Yes, but I don’t think . . . I don’t think we’re going to be.” Kyle glanced at her, and in that instant she knew.

  “You’ve decided to leave. Good. I should have kicked you out already.” She turned and started to walk back inside.