Rooms - James L. Rubart [14]
When the presentation was over, he mouthed, “Nice job” to Julie, who shook hands with board members. She frowned at him.
As he strode out the door, his stomach alarm clock went off, and he shut it off with a Diet Coke and a turkey sandwich—extra mayo—from the company deli. When he got back to his office, Julie was leaning against his desk, arms crossed.
“I know you like doodling sketches when you’re in meetings, but this time was a little much. I think you caught two minutes of my presentation, max. Was your mental sabbatical to anyplace interesting?”
Micah ripped his drawing from his notepad and held it up. “Hmm?”
In the foreground was the ocean, then the beach with two sand castles, a stunt kite, and a golden retriever leaping for a piece of driftwood spinning through the air. His home was the focal point of the drawing, framed by trees on both sides, the picture windows in perfect proportion. Smoke curled out of the chimney.
“I take it that’ll be part of the brochure to get the thing sold?” Julie pulled her arms in tighter and leaned back.
“Hadn’t considered that. Yeah, maybe.”
“Don’t tell me you’re starting to like the place.”
“No way.” He stared at his drawing. He couldn’t keep his mind off Archie’s house. It drew him like a magnet. Yes, Cannon Beach was laced with razor-sharp pain from his past. But now, in some strange way, it filled him with anticipation. And that weird familiar feeling in the house continued to pull at him.
“I need to ask you something.” Micah laid the drawing on his desk and smoothed it out with both hands. “I want to make the next three or four weekends long ones and hang out down there. Be all right with you?”
“Wow.” Julie tried to laugh. “I’ve been ditched for another woman before but never a house.”
“Come with me.” He kissed her on the cheek.
“Do you want me to?”
“Sure. Yes.” Micah turned back to his drawing. “Of course.”
She shook her head. “Nope, sorry.”
“Why?”
“Because I know you. You want to be there.” Julie walked over to Micah’s windows and tapped on the glass. “But you don’t want me to be there with you.”
Micah coughed out a laugh. “I just said come with me.”
“‘Come with me’ is very different from saying ‘I want you to come.’ ”
Micah slumped into his chair. “Do we have to play the semantics game every time we talk? It’s exhausting.” He leaned forward and waited for her to answer. She didn’t.
“Fine. I want you to come.”
“Why do you let things come out of your mouth that your eyes tell me are a lie?”
Micah snatched his cedar letter opener off his desk and tore into the pile of envelopes sitting next to his laptop. “I thought you said you didn’t like the ocean.”
“I don’t, but I still wanted to see what you’d say.”
Micah slapped the letter opener down on his desk. “Do you think you could serve me up a nice slice of guilt pie with that side of manipulation?”
“You don’t get it, do you, Micah?”
He sighed. “What do you want from me?”
“You really want to know?” Julie leaned in till their faces were inches apart.
“Yes.”
“A decision. Take your next three or four weekends, fine. But when they’re over, you’d better be able to tell me if there’s a ring in my near future.”
CHAPTER 6
Freedom. Sweet freedom. Micah walked out of his office Thursday evening at six thirty and took a deep breath. Free of having to give Julie an answer he wasn’t ready to give, free of the grind. He used to love the rush of RimSoft—seventy-hour workweeks were never a problem. Were, past tense. He could get used to a forty-hour workweek.
Plus it would feel good to get away from what had become Seattle’s version of Bizarro World. The missing racquetball game and the cross-country trip his car took by itself gnawed at his mind like a gopher on steroids. Not to mention the framed Inc. cover that decided to do a Houdini vanishing act. Wait. Houdini was the escape artist. Perfect. That’s exactly what Micah would do. In the morning, when he woke up to the roar of the ocean, his escape from the unexplained weirdness in Seattle would be complete.
There was no plan for the weekend. His Seattle