Rooms - James L. Rubart [125]
“Want to talk about it?”
Sarah told him about the scene at Osburn’s the previous Thursday night, and Rick listened without comment. “I’ve gone out with guys who tell me they love me after the first date. Ones where the guy says five words to you the whole time and thinks he’s poured his heart out. Guys who talk about their conquests on the golf course like they’re Jack Nicklaus and ask zero questions about me. But I’ve never had someone pretend we were madly in love with each other after one dinner. After that dinner I thought it might go somewhere. But he has one too many bulbs burnt out in that house of his.”
Rick snagged a wayward Frisbee as it floated down in front of them. He spun it back to the thrower with a perfect toss. “If an intelligent, perceptive man like Micah tried to win your heart, would it make sense for him to pretend you were in love in a parallel life?”
“I’ll assume that’s a rhetorical question.”
“So then you have to consider the fact that his saying those things makes the story more plausible, not less.” Rick zipped open his Windbreaker.
“Unless he’s crazy.”
“Do you really think he’s crazy?”
She looked away and sighed. “He walks into my ice cream shop unannounced and proceeds to tell me that I need to fall in love with him because we were together in a parallel universe? That God has ordained it? That’s sanity?”
“Well, what if it was true?”
“What part?”
“That you were in love in a parallel life. That God brought you together.”
“This is the moment where I ask if you’re serious, and you nod your head and tell me absolutely, right?”
Rick nodded and smiled. “So here’s the fatherly advice. Give him another chance. Entertain the possibility, ever so slight, that he told you the truth. That there was another life where you fell in love, and the enemy is trying to steal it.”
Sarah hugged herself and blew out another long breath. “So I’m just supposed to believe some guy who seemed okay, more than okay at first, really is okay? I simply believe he’s not psychotic and skip off into the sunset with him?” She bent down and picked up a lone agate.
“Will you give him another chance?”
She didn’t answer.
“Sarah?”
She gave what she imagined was an imperceptible nod.
When Rick spoke again, his tone changed. “I need to tell you some things now that will surprise you. And might even change how you look at Micah.”
As they walked next to the rumble of the waves, she stared at Rick, eyes wide. When he finished, tears spilled down her face, and she buried herself in his chest.
||||||||
Thursday afternoon the phone rang as Micah stuck two pieces of wheat bread into his toaster. He decided not to answer it. Today needed to be a day of reflection. Alone. But a glance at caller ID told him it was Rick. Gotta take that one.
“Hello?”
“It’s Rick; we need to talk. In person.”
“About?”
“Soon.”
“No hints?”
“Best if there’s no prelims. Can you do it now?”
“Sure. Where?” Micah’s hand went to his stomach and squeezed. Something was wrong.
“How ’bout Oswald West State Park? It’s a gorgeous day, and we’ll probably be able to find some privacy there. This is a talk to have without an audience or interruption.”
“Sounds good.” But it didn’t sound good. It sounded like an omen. Why no audience? He stared at the phone and thought about the location. Oh, wow. Rick had given him a clue anyway.
He pulled onto the highway and nursed the speedometer up to sixty. As 101 South moved smoothly underneath him, the answer popped into his mind so abruptly he almost expected to hear a ding. He knew exactly what Rick would tell him. This would not be fun.
Micah hiked down to the cove trying to stretch time. With everything in him, he didn’t want this conversation. When he reached the sand, Rick was already there, sitting on a log about a hundred yards to the north.
For a few moments he watched his friend toss rocks into the surf. Micah’s shoes felt heavy as he trudged toward the log. He sat without speaking and continued to watch Rick toss wave-polished stones into the ocean.