Rooms - James L. Rubart [106]
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!”
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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