Rooms - James L. Rubart [15]
When he reached Astoria, he shot up a quick prayer. Couldn’t hurt. The first two times it stuck in his throat. The third he said, “God, I don’t know if You hear me anymore. But this house . . . it draws me. It scares me. Both at the same time. Can You explain why Archie built the place there? Plus the strange stuff going on in Seattle . . . I . . .”
He didn’t know what else to say. “I hope You know what I’m trying to tell You. Amen.”
God was silent, but Micah had expected Him to be, so it was all right.
When Micah arrived, he set down his bags and went straight to the master bedroom and crashed. He didn’t move again till just after seven the next morning.
As he sipped a cup of dark roast coffee from his French press, he watched seagulls dive through the air like Star Wars tie fighters. To fly. What a rush that would be. The thought gave him sudden inspiration. Running. Back in high school he’d flown, running the eight hundred meters faster than anyone in his school ever had. His senior season he finished first in state, which the paper deemed extraordinary since it was only his second time to compete in the event.
But it didn’t impress his dad. Not even when KING 5 TV did a feature story on Micah. His dad didn’t watch when the piece aired.
He hadn’t run consistently for years, not from lack of desire but lack of time. Now, at least for two days, he had an abundance.
He threw on a Windbreaker and headed south toward Hug Point. He’d discovered the spot on the Internet the week before. The tide in front of the point never got low enough to allow people to walk around it on the sand. In the late 1800s settlers working their way up the coast solved the problem by blasting out a massive section of the rock that jutted into the ocean. They paved it with concrete, smooth enough for their wagons, and for the first time they could bring supplies as far north as Cannon Beach.
The road was still there and could be walked on. But only at low tide. The rest of the day waves crashed onto the ledge and caught uninformed tourists in a saltwater bath.
Micah wanted to see the pieces of concrete the sea hadn’t yet claimed, and according to the Internet, there were caves and a waterfall worth seeing just past the remnants of the old road.
In less than thirty minutes, he reached Hug Point State Park. He imagined kids playing in the waterfall or in the three caves during the summer. Perfect for families. Not today. It was a dreary April morning that had reserved the entire beach for Micah.
Or so he thought.
An unexpected burst from above sent rain pelting down so hard he headed for shelter in the biggest of the Hug Point caves.
The cave softened the crash of the surf, and the rain offered no noise to prove its existence. It felt like someone had muted the world. Micah saw no movement from his vantage point. He could be the only one left on Earth, and he wouldn’t know it.
The cave walls were almost black and slick with moisture. A crack ran along the ceiling, widening as it zigzagged toward the back wall. Nothing to worry about. It would take an earthquake to make this thing collapse. Micah took two steps toward the entrance.
Ten seconds later a man in a baseball hat, blue sweatshirt, and black workout shorts half ran, half walked toward him.
“Wow!” The man yanked off his St. Louis Rams cap and threw the rain from it onto the sand. “Makes me think of the ark.” He turned to Micah with a huge smile. “Rick.” The man extended his hand.
Micah fixed his gaze on Rick’s eyes. A shifting shade of sea green, they were intense and gentle at the same time. He was a bit taller than Micah, maybe six foot two, with thick hair the color of sandstone just starting to go gray. Micah liked him immediately.
He introduced himself and shook Rick’s hand. After they both commented on the