Rooms - James L. Rubart [30]
“RimSoft.”
“It’s not RimWare? That would be a great name for your company. Rimware, software. Get it? You’re sure it’s not RimWare?”
“Pretty sure. Always been, always will be RimSoft.”
Rick stared at him for a few seconds. “Right.” He motioned up the street, and they walked onto the sidewalk and strolled toward a small park fifty yards north of his garage.
“Made a decision,” Micah said once they reached the park and could see the ocean.
“Yeah?”
As Micah explained his plan to work part time from Cannon Beach, a smile formed on Rick’s face.
“You’re not surprised.”
“The draw of this place can be powerful.” Rick’s grin grew.
“Tell me how you knew. I’m serious.”
“So am I. This place can be a magnet for certain kinds of people at certain points in their lives.” Rick folded his arms and turned toward the sea.
“There’s more to it than that.”
“You’ve got it all—looks, youth, money, fame, career.” Rick motioned wide with his arms out toward the water. “But a long time ago you had more. A lot more. You had the Lord. So much of Him in fact, you knew the other things on the list didn’t matter. Maybe He’s torching the list.”
“Maybe I don’t want it torched.”
“Your choice. Choose wisely.”
Micah gave him a crooked smile. “C’mon, Rick. Don’t hold back, no time to be shy here. Say what you really think.”
Micah laughed, and Rick joined him as they trudged back to Rick’s garage.
“Breakfast at the Fireside on Saturday?” Rick asked as Micah got into his car.
“Absolutely.”
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Rick watched Micah’s BMW till it crested the hill and vanished from sight. “And so, Mr. Micah’s even wilder ride begins.”
CHAPTER 12
On Friday, Micah grabbed his mountain bike and rode north toward Cannon Beach. He took the Cannon Beach Loop Road exit and rode past fifty or so gray houses, none with the view their richer brothers west of them had of the ocean. He rode on, past the Tolovana Inn, then past the Ocean Lodge and the Stephanie Inn, luxury hotels just steps from the sand.
The sun poked holes in the fog, warming him inside and out. Perfect day for riding. Perfect day to run into that girl from the ice cream store. He laughed at himself. Couldn’t fault a guy for dreaming.
He wound up the hill that overlooked Haystack Rock, where houses were separated by inches, perched on the cliff leading down to the beach like rabid fans looking for a movie star’s autograph.
The Sand Trap Inn—with the picture of a B.C. cartoon character swinging a golf club—whizzed by on his right, and then he was down the hill onto Cannon Beach’s Main Street, with shop after shop filled with trinkets and books and art for the coffee table or wall back home. Some wonderful, some that would end up on a garage sale table ten months later.
The town blurred by in thirty seconds. A minute after that, he rode over Ecola Creek, took a right-hand turn, and started up the winding mile-and-a-half road that led to Ecola State Park.
As he leaned into the first corner, his peripheral vision caught something up ahead. Fifty yards in front of him the sun flashed against another bike, and dark chestnut hair swirled against the wind as the rider’s head turned for an instant.
Looked like the girl from Osburn’s.
Micah squinted and called out, “Hey, Watson!”
She didn’t turn.
He put his head down and strained to catch her. But Micah didn’t gain an inch as he pushed through the canopy of Sitka spruce trees lining the road.
When the park entrance came into view, he prayed she wouldn’t ride another two miles to Indian Beach and was rewarded as she swung left down to Ecola. He coasted down the gradual decline into the parking lot and found her sitting on a picnic table, arms wrapped around her knees, looking out toward Tillamook Rock Lighthouse.
She glanced back as his bike brakes squealed, announcing his arrival, but didn’t say anything.
“Hey.” Micah approached her with stutter steps, his legs still straddling his bike. “We met the other day at Osburn’s.”
“Mr. Pralines, if I remember right.” She spun to face him and flashed