Rooms - James L. Rubart [88]
“But when we feel our ankle—?”
“—we know something tangible happened at some point in our life that produced evidence on the X-rays and caused this pain.”
“Exactly,” the voice said.
“So where is that other life coming from? If it’s just in my head, then I’m crazy and we have our answer. But the physical evidence keeps piling up.”
“Like the magazine cover.”
Micah stopped pacing, closed his eyes, and sat down, back against the wall. “I’m sitting in his office with no memories of an ankle injury. Then right before leaving, I start seeing little fragments, like half a second of physical therapy, then a flash of a pickup football game where I think it happened. But I can’t tell you where or when. Then I get an image of maple wood crutches in my hands but only for an instant. Then it’s all gone, and I can’t tell if I’m remembering real memories, or if I’ve made it up inside my head to keep myself sane. You know, we have to consider the very real possibility we’re losing it.”
“We’re not.”
“Really? Are you saying people who go insane are fully aware when it’s happening to them?”
“Trust me, Micah. We’re not going insane.”
“So what’s the solution?” Micah sighed.
“Simple, as I’ve said before. We land on the side of wisdom and make sure things are okay up in Seattle. We go up there and stay put for a while.”
“The Lord is becoming the most important thing in my entire life. I’m just supposed to leave that in a closet down here? And what about Sarah? We’re a little more than casual friends at this point.”
“Let me repeat what I’ve said too many times before. I’m not saying stop coming down entirely. I’m saying we take a break. Who cares if the board gave us this time? It’s killing us. Let’s go home, get things under control, make sure this parallel life stops sticking its head in where it doesn’t belong, and get settled.”
“And come back when?”
“When we’re ready. Maybe it’s a month, maybe two; we won’t know how long till we know.”
Micah shook his head and sneered. “It’s easier for you.”
“Really?”
“You haven’t bought into the whole heal-the-brokenhearted, set-the-captives-free thing like I have. You’re not feeling what I am. It’s easier for you to leave all this.”
“And maybe it’s easier for you to see our world in Seattle slowly disappear than it is for me,” the voice said.
“Neither place would be easy to give up at this point.”
“We don’t give up either one. We come down here every other weekend. Or every third weekend.”
Micah stared into the darkness. The voice clearly contradicted itself, and Micah didn’t know why. Maybe it was due to the bizarre fact the voice was himself, so his uncertainty was bound to make the conversation a bit schizophrenic. Whatever the reason, Micah was tired, and his ankle still ached.
“You know,” Micah called over his shoulder as he walked out the door, “sometimes the way you think pushes me to the brink of sanity.”
No answer.
Maybe he should stop listening to himself. Maybe he’d do what he wanted to. Maybe he’d stay in Cannon Beach forever.
Impossible. He couldn’t give up what he’d created in Seattle.
To stay. To go.
He needed a sign.
CHAPTER 33
When Micah stepped out on his front porch the next morning, he found a box wrapped in white paper with a bleached white sand dollar on top. He opened the small card attached to one side and smiled.
Micah,
For you.
Love,
Sarah
He took the box out onto his deck, the roar of the ocean providing background music as he opened it. Inside he found a dolphin carved out of teakwood. Micah smiled. Perfect. He carried it with him as he picked up the phone and dialed.
“Hello?”
“Can I come over?” Micah asked.
“You got it, hmm?”
“You’re amazing, Sarah.”
“Thanks, so are you. And yes, come over.”
They spent the day talking, laughing, strolling on the beach, then stopped at Morris’s Fireside for a quick dinner that lasted three-and-a-half hours. After that another walk along the beach at the edge of the water, counting