Rooms - James L. Rubart [49]
“Whew. You’ve got my attention.”
“And get this. The music room isn’t the only new room. Now there’s a painting studio in the house. It wasn’t there the first walk-through, either. On top of that, every time I come back from Seattle, there’s more done to this painting.”
“You’re saying—”
“Someone has to come and work on the thing when I’m gone, or the thing paints itself. I’m not that easily intimidated, but that is more than strange. I don’t care if you say God is in it, I lock my bedroom door at night.” Micah paused. “As if it would do me any good.”
Rick looked more intrigued than surprised. “So why don’t you just throw away the key and have the thing boarded up? Or sell it?”
Micah’s eyes snapped up from his coffee. “No way.” He surprised himself with how forceful he answered.
“Why not?”
He stared at Rick. He didn’t know why. Why was he subjecting himself to a modern version of The Twilight Zone? He didn’t have to stay here. He could walk away right now and never come back. Or sell it like he’d been saying all along and buy another home somewhere farther down the coast wherever he wanted. Or give it to Rick.
Also, the longer he flirted with the spiritual hinterlands in Cannon Beach, the more it seemed to seep into his life in Seattle. Not in a good way. He could make it all stop—the strange lapses in Seattle; dealing with the past; and the intense scrutiny of his spiritual life from God, or Archie, or whatever force was behind the whole thing.
But as strange as the past three months had been, it stirred something inside he wasn’t ready to give up.
“Because I’m on the edge.” Micah leaned in on his elbows pushing his silverware to the side. “More alive than I’ve felt in years.”
Rick’s right ear raised, and he gave the slightest of nods.
“It’s like being in the deepest parts of my own soul in those rooms,” Micah continued. “Buried in ripping pain or drenched in joy and freedom. The pain is hell, but the joy is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Stuff that happens only in dreams. I’m getting close to God again, and it seems so real. . . . But I don’t know if it is real or if I’m going insane. Seriously, I think I might be slipping off the—”
“Insane? No. And you don’t need me to tell you it’s real. You know. Have you told anyone else about this?”
“No.”
“Not even Julie?”
“I haven’t seen her for more than seven weeks.”
“Not what I asked.”
“I told her we’re on hold, and she broke it off for good.”
“Hmm.” Rick stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth and looked straight into Micah’s eyes. He didn’t need to tell Micah what he was thinking. Micah knew.
“You’re right. I need to talk to her. Do the closure thing. Soon.”
CHAPTER 19
Micah met Julie early Saturday evening in Chehalis—midpoint between Seattle and Cannon Beach. Neutral ground. This wouldn��t be easy.
He got out of his BMW and scanned the windows of the Halfway Café. She was already sitting at a table toward the back, next to the window.
The Halfway Café was old but clean—except for one table full of plates with half-eaten cheeseburgers still on them. A few coffee stains had made permanent residence on the dull maroon carpet, but the windows looked recently washed, and Micah guessed at one time it was a hot spot for casual dinners.
Julie had to hate the place.
“Are You Lonesome Tonight” played on an ancient-looking jukebox. The 78s were lined up like kids on the bench in Little League waiting to get into the big game. Still just twenty-five cents to spin a dream.
What record would be appropriate for him to play as he stared at Julie? Elvis was in fine form but didn’t stir any emotion in Micah, happy or sad. Maybe that was the key. Just keep emotion out of it.
As he walked over, Julie looked up right on cue. The hazel eyes were just as beautiful; the long blonde hair just as golden.
“Hi.” Micah slid into the booth.
“Hey. Nice place,” she said with a smirk. “Couldn’t find anything less formal?”
“Yeah, they almost made me put on a tie when I came in.”
A waitress with a pile of big hair straight out of 1986 sauntered up to the table.