Rooms - James L. Rubart [35]
The glow of the fire streaked her walnut hair with lines of gold, and he let himself go to merely enjoy the moment.
After dessert they walked out onto the deck, and a rare coastal treat greeted them: the stars. Not all. Just a few breaks in the clouds. But enough diamonds on black canvas to be captivating.
Sarah glanced back to the house. “I can see why he gave you the home. It reminds me of you.”
“What?”
She gave him a light smile, as if it were obvious.
“I’ll admit whoever decorated this place found my style.”
“It’s more than style. It feels like you.”
His heart agreed, but his mind wouldn’t accept it. This wasn’t his place. “I don’t know. Maybe. But like I said, this stuff isn’t mine.”
“You don’t have to own something for it to be you. Haven’t you ever gone into a gallery and seen a painting and said ‘that’s me’? Or had a piece of music capture something deep down you didn’t even know was there? You realize it’s always been part of you; you’ve just never heard it before.”
Micah stared at her. She had just unearthed a place in his heart that said “you’re home.” Maybe he’d known it all along. Maybe that was the reason he hadn’t gotten around to selling the house.
He turned away. “Yeah, I know the feeling.” He didn’t add he was having the feeling right then. “Midnight beach walk?” It was late, but the words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them. He saw conflict in her eyes.
Sarah shook her head. “Next time.”
At her car Micah thanked her for coming. She returned the sentiment with her eyes. He stared at the road long after the bright red of her taillights disappeared down Highway 101.
She made him feel like he was ripping through the water on a slalom water ski on a Seattle summer morning, when the shade was cool but the sun would warm him in minutes; when the lightest of breezes darted through the air like sparrows playing tag; when the smell of western red cedar made him want to climb Mount Rainier or soak in a sunset over the Olympic Mountains.
Not exactly platonic emotions.
As he ambled back to his house, kicking a small round stone like it was a soccer ball, he tried to guess why she’d turned her back on romance. A broken heart? Too many Prince Dudleys?
And how was she able to see how well the house fit him? He hadn’t even seen it himself to the extent she had. But she was right. Sarah seemed to have more answers than he did. He’d listen to any insight she had about the house since ol’ Archie hadn’t seen fit to leave him any hints.
Wait.
Archie.
The letters!
He jogged toward the house.
Finally he’d get some answers. The letters were sure to give him at least a few clues he didn’t have to be Hercule Poirot to figure out.
CHAPTER 14
Micah stepped inside and strode over to the coat closet door. He yanked it open and pulled the stack down from the closet shelf. Yes! Answers. Right here. Right now.
A faded business card stuck out from under the first envelope—Archie’s. He pulled it out. A handwritten note was on the back.
Dear Micah,
Congratulations on finding the letters. Of course if Chris followed my instructions, it shouldn’t have been too difficult. There is only one guideline. Read them in order and only read one letter per week. Only one.
Your great-uncle,
Archie
Micah shook his head and smiled. The guy never failed to fascinate. The envelopes were numbered from 1 to 19 in the lower right-hand corner, almost too small to read. He trotted over to his overstuffed chair that faced the picture windows, settled in, and opened the first letter.
October 20, 1990
Dear Micah,
Our first letter together in the house has filled me with joy and anticipation. Some of my correspondence will be lengthy; at other times the letters will be much shorter. I dare hope all will contain encouragement for your journey now begun.
As I mentioned in my introductory letter, you will have to make a choice to face your past or not. And facing your past means more than just dealing