Rooms - James L. Rubart [44]
Your great-uncle and fervent supporter,
Archie
He put down the letter. Why couldn’t Archie write a letter simply saying, “God is good, the past is over, the future is bright, and it’s going to be a fun week”? Micah’s nerves were ready to snap from watching the stock bounce up and down all week. He didn’t need another lesson right now. He needed to relax.
That night Micah sat on his deck trying to take his mind off the house, the stock, where his life was headed, and lingering thoughts of Julie. He had to talk to her.
She answered on the second ring. “Hi.”
“What are you doing?”
“Why are you calling, Micah?”
“I want to know where we’re at.”
“Shouldn’t that be my question?”
He leaned his head back and clacked the front of his teeth together.
“I hate it when you do that.”
“Sorry.” Micah stared out at the ocean. “I can’t imagine a business partner who would be better for me. Your intuitive business sense makes mine look like a first grader. You don’t let relationship get in the way of our making money, you—”
“Shut up, Micah. Why don’t you just say it?”
“That we’re over? You’re the one who said good-bye.”
“I still had a tiny bit of hope. Now you’re going to snuff that out, aren’t you?”
“No.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I am not.” Micah ground his knuckles into the deck’s railing.
“Fine, so you tell me where you want us to be.”
“I don’t know. But that doesn’t mean we’re over.” Micah closed his eyes. “We’re on hold.”
“On hold? Still? Maybe you’re on pause, but I’m not.”
“I just need—”
“Listen. I’m done with us. For good. Since you don’t seem to have the spine for it, let me do the honors. It’s over.”
The line went dead.
Perfect. That would make life more fun. Micah stared at the waves trying to figure out if what had just happened was good, bad, or somewhere in between.
Micah headed for the media room. He needed something to get his brain off everything. He clicked through his cable choices and settled on an R-rated movie so full of violence and gore that it probably should have been rated NC-17. Yes, it was garbage. But he didn’t care. The escape from his anxiety was worth it.
He went to bed the moment the movie finished and lay rubbing the back of his neck till his fingers ached. Maybe not worth it. His legs twitched, and the blankets pressed down on him like thin sheets of concrete. All night he wrestled with troubling dreams.
Friday morning a light flicked on in his head as he realized how to remove his worry over the stock. Stop orders.
He would put a stop order on all his shares at 10 percent less than their current trading price. If the unexplainable happened again, the stop order would execute and instantly he’d have all his shares in cash—with a drop in value, but a 10 percent drop wins over a 25 percent loss, or who knows how much more, every time.
By 11:00 a.m. he finished entering the stop orders. Good timing. At 11:15 his computer’s reminder alarm chimed. Bike ride with Sarah. His heart rate picked up. And that was before he got on his bike.
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They met in front of Osburn’s and headed north. They’d decided to ride up past Ecola to Indian Beach to watch the surfers navigate the North Pacific swells. By the time they got to the T in the road that would take them farther up to Indian Beach, Micah was sucking in deep gulps of air. Not Sarah. If she’d lost any of her Olympic-athlete conditioning, he couldn’t see it.
After they arrived and picked a spot on the windswept bluff overlooking the waves, Sarah said, “What are your plans once you’re done down here?”
“I don’t know when I’ll be done.” Micah plucked some of the long grass around them and threw them like darts.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Yes, I know.” Micah smiled but she didn’t return it.
To buy time, he got up, walked back to his bike, and grabbed his water bottle. He took a deep draw of water and squinted at the sun playing hide-and-seek with the clouds. Just before he sat next to Sarah, the sun jumped out, as bright as it had been so far