Rooms - James L. Rubart [124]
He was a drop of water in the ocean of the universe. Microscopic in the vastness of time, space, and history. Caught up as if the ocean of that universe were pure delight pouring up out of him only to swirl back and bury him again in its intoxicating waves.
A framed parchment on the wall caught his eye:
Utterly engulfed,
And wanting more.
Buried,
Drowned,
Intoxicated,
With the vastness of Love.
Losing myself as the waves wash over me,
Through me,
Surrounding me,
Caught up in a hurricane of overwhelming peace,
I have let go,
And He has found me.
Micah didn’t leave the room till evening fell on Cannon Beach nearly nine hours later. He eased out to his deck, down the long set of stairs to the beach, and padded across the sand toward the surf.
Three teenagers laughed as they tossed their oval skimboards into the water at the edge of the ocean, leaped onto them, and floated across the thin water cushion.
The perfect visual.
Micah was floating and never wanted to land.
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A rare cloudless horizon filled his vision as Micah sat on his deck that night with strawberry lemonade in his hand. He sat without thought and without care, his only focus the waves caressing the darkening beach.
His cell phone vibrated, and he looked at the caller ID. His dad. Take it. Don’t take it. Take it. The choice ping-ponged through his head.
“Hello?”
“Micah, it’s Dad.”
“Not, it’s your ‘father’?”
His dad sighed. “I probably deserve that.”
“No, you don’t. Low blow. Sorry.”
Silence.
“How are you, son?”
“Good. Really good. And you?”
“Good.”
Again, silence.
“It’s good to hear your voice,” his dad said.
“Yours, too.” A small part of him meant it.
His dad cleared his throat three times.
“Micah . . . I know ever since your mom died I’ve caused you so much . . . I mean, a lot of . . .”
The line went still.
“What I’m trying to say is, I was just thinking about, you know . . . You see, I checked the Mariners’ schedule. We could—I could get us a pair of tickets to a game coming up in the next few weeks. Not that you’d want to drive up—”
Wow. Not what he’d been expecting. Not what he wanted. After all these years, he was supposed to run to his dad with open arms? Pretend everything was okay? Yeah, right. Forgive? Yes, he’d forgiven his father, but . . .
“I don’t know, Dad. I don’t think that’s going to work for me.”
“Not a problem. I understand. I didn’t think you’d be able to get away.” His dad coughed. “Maybe next season.”
Suddenly Micah’s body flushed with heat, and tears threatened to spill onto his cheeks. Love. Not his. God’s. He tried to sweep away the emotion that fluttered through his heart, but it wouldn’t leave. “Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Let me check my calendar and get back to you. I’ll make it work. I’ll be there.”
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As he went to sleep that night—more at peace, more whole than he’d ever been—Micah still couldn’t rid himself of one sliver of pain: Sarah.
There had to be a way back to her, but if there was a path, he couldn’t see it.
But it didn’t mean he would stop looking.
CHAPTER 44
A breeze dropped in from the north Thursday morning as Sarah and Rick strolled along the beach next to Haystack Rock. With the tide out, the pools around the rock were ringed with people poking at the jade green sea anemones and pointing at the purple-and-orange starfish clinging to the rocks.
Rick said he wanted to talk about something important but wouldn’t say any more than that.
“Do you think fathers give good advice?” Rick asked after they’d moved beyond the tide pools.
“Depends on the father.”
“Say I’m the father.”
Sarah laughed. “Are you saying you’re old enough to be my dad?”
“Many times over.”
“You look pretty good for being so ancient.” Sarah cocked her head toward Rick. “Yes, if you’re giving fatherly advice, I’ll definitely listen.”
Rick nodded. “Micah Taylor.”
Two boys raced by on recumbent beach bikes, sand kicking up behind their tires. She didn’t answer till they’d shrunk to specks, five hundred yards down the sand. “You’d need a very persuasive argument