Rooms - James L. Rubart [68]
At 7:05 a.m. Micah watched Rick’s truck pull into the gas station, Carrie Underwood blaring out the windows. Micah chuckled. Country? Was he kidding?
“You’re late,” Micah called out to Rick as he eased out of his truck.
“For what?”
“Breakfast. Can you?”
“If we keep hanging out together, I’m going to need a new belt,” Rick said.
Their usual waitress stood ready with pad and pen moments after they sat down.
“French toast scramble please. Link sausage and—”
“—over medium on the eggs. Got ’er, Rick. Micah?”
“Eggs Benedict. Thanks.” Micah smiled. “There are things on the menu other than the French toast scramble.”
“What menu?” Rick raised his coffee cup and looked over the top of it. “How’s Sarah?”
Micah couldn’t keep a grin from rising to the surface. “Having lots of dinners together. Movies. Walks on the beach. Running together. We’re going to do a triathlon. Spending a ton of time hanging out. Plus lots of phone time.”
“Have you mentioned the L-word yet?”
“Yeah, most definitely.” Micah laughed.
“And the latest on Chateau Taylor?”
When Micah finished telling him about the Wildcat room, all Rick said was, “Sounds good,” and stirred his coffee.
“Sounds good?” Micah snorted. “Don’t you mean sounds bizarre?”
“How so?”
“Are you kidding? Anyone else would think I’m ready for a white-coat fitting. When’s the last time you heard about someone having an encounter with themselves from childhood?”
“Does that make it bizarre?” Rick cocked his head. “Or just rare?”
“Both, maybe. I don’t know. I had things happening to me that would never happen in real life. Time to tell me what’s going on, Rick. I know you know more than you’re telling me.”
“How do you know it wasn’t real life?”
“I was dreaming.”
“So was Joseph when an angel appeared and told him not to divorce Mary. And what about the repaired jersey?”
Micah just shook his head and took a bite of his sourdough toast.
Rick continued. “As you’re wrapping your mind around this latest room and trying to decide if it’s good or bad, be sure to remember the fruit test.”
“Fruit?”
“Jesus says you’ll know them by their fruit. What is the fruit that’s come out of this? Are you more free?”
“I’ll give you that at least.”
“When Jesus said He came to heal the brokenhearted, He meant it literally. We talk about people with broken minds wandering around our streets pushing shopping carts full of aluminum cans or sitting in institutions counting ceiling tiles. Their minds are literally broken. So when we say, ‘It broke my heart,’ we need to realize our hearts are truly broken.”
“So that explains why parts of me—”
“—have been broken off and never fixed.”
Rick doused his French toast in maple syrup, careful not to let it touch his sausages. “You wondered why you lost it in front of your VPs? Now you know. You wouldn’t ask an NBA basketball pro to dunk on a broken leg that had never healed right. All humans have buried wounds that need mending.” Rick paused to take a swig of coffee. “Explains a lot, doesn’t it?”
“Let’s say you’re right—and I’m not saying you are. What other parts of me need fixing or healing or whatever?”
“How would I know?” Rick laughed. “The Counselor does the counseling.”
As Micah drove home he threw a prayer up, only half serious. “All right, Lord. You want to do more work on my heart? Have at it.”
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The next morning Micah walked down the hallway to his bedroom and noticed a new door just past the linen closet.
Another room. He was almost getting used to it.
Micah was positive it hadn’t been there before, yet it was so small there was the ever-so-slight possibility he’d overlooked it. Yeah, right. As if telling himself that would make him feel better.
It was hardly a door, about two-and-a-half-feet tall by two-feet wide, curved at the top with no trim and no doorknob. But still a door. There was nothing to pull, so he dropped to his knees and pushed it open. He ducked his head inside but saw nothing. After a few seconds a sound like a giant