Rooms - James L. Rubart [19]
As they pulled onto Highway 101 and headed back toward Cannon Beach, Micah said, “You want to tell me about the deeper issues of life surrounding odometers that gain sixteen thousand miles?”
Rick stayed silent for more than a minute before he spoke. “In every moment we make choices. Those choices ripple out and affect every area of our lives. A butterfly flapping its wings can cause a hurricane thousands of miles away.”
“I understand the Butterfly Effect, but, uh, what are you talking about? Isn’t this about my car?”
“Not really.”
“Okay.” Micah stared at Rick. “What is it about?”
“Your life.”
“What about my life?”
“Choices.” Rick kept his eyes on the road. This time the silence was only ten seconds. “More to come later. Give it time, okay?”
It wasn’t a question; it was a command.
The guy was magnetic, but Micah couldn’t get rid of a wariness that flitted around the corners of his mind. More a feeling than anything concrete. Until now. Talk about cryptic. Something about the man made Micah feel like he was immersed in an episode of LOST.
The rest of the way back they talked sports, local politics, and Cannon Beach history. When they shook hands good-bye, Rick said, “Can we connect up again soon?”
“Sure. I’d like that.”
“Me, too.” Rick clapped Micah on the back and strode into his gas station. “Don’t worry.” He turned back to Micah. “Answers will come.”
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Back at the house Micah lost himself in The Fellowship of the Ring so thoroughly that by the time he stopped reading, the sky had turned from misty gray to the sooty blackness of a foggy April night. He headed toward the master bedroom more relaxed than he’d been in years. Despite the unanswered questions and being within miles of where his heart had shattered, he felt at peace.
He didn’t wake on Saturday morning till nine. When was the last time he’d done that? Too long. His RimSoft life never allowed it. But didn’t he own the company? He could choose to get off the hamster wheel. Was he running RimSoft, or was RimSoft running him?
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Taking the next three Fridays off turned into taking the next six Fridays off, which followed a consistent routine. He worked ten to twelve hours a day Monday through Thursday, made a late-evening drive down to Cannon Beach that night, then spent the weekend exploring the area, running, and having breakfast on Saturdays with Rick at Morris’ Fireside.
Sunday afternoons he filled up at Rick’s before heading back to Seattle. His quick stop to refuel always turned into an hour plus of conversation about the ups and downs of RimSoft, his relationship with Julie, and the lure of Cannon Beach. Rick always listened with genuine interest, quick to clarify a comment to make sure he understood the situation, slow to give advice unless Micah pressed him.
After Micah’s final, “I gotta go,” they each tried to stump the other with a new movie-trivia question. It never worked, but they promised next week they’d find one that would.
Rick had moved into a position in Micah’s life that few people occupied: friendship with no strings attached. It felt wonderful. Pursuit not because of his money or fame but simply because Rick enjoyed knowing him.
It only bothered Micah slightly that Rick somehow seemed to know him much more thoroughly than Micah knew Rick.
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During the week at RimSoft, work was packed with meetings on the new beta version of their flagship product. It was a roller-coaster time, not knowing if the testers, and by association the critics, would go into rapture over the new software or try to bury it, and Micah loved every second of the ride. It was RimSoft’s Super