Rooms: A Novel (31 page)

CHAPTER 43

Monday morning Micah rose before the sun, a cup of coffee laden with hazelnut creamer in his right hand, Archie’s eighteenth letter in his left. He sat on his couch in front of his massive river-rock fireplace. After switching on the lamp next to the chair, he slipped a table knife under the lip of the light brown envelope and sliced it open.

November 25, 1992

Dear Micah,

The room has always been ready for you, and now you are ready for the room.

You know, of course, the room to which I refer.

1 Corinthians 3:16–17.

For eternity and His glory,

Archie

Micah stood in front of the door of the brilliant room only a moment before it opened on its own. Light streamed out in a flash flood of power, surrounding him like a tidal wave.

It was too much ecstasy to contain. He stepped into the room and froze. It was glorious and overwhelming. Bliss flooded his heart, spilled over, and didn’t stop. His mind said this place was too holy, too right, too pure for him. But his heart didn’t agree. Micah fell to the floor, stunned. He knew where he was.

He stood in the presence of God. Surrounded by Him.

And this room was his own heart.

His
heart.

His.

The holy of holies. The place where the Spirit of God dwells within the hearts of men.

Rick said it yesterday on the cape. The verse in Archie’s letter confirmed it. Yet till that moment it had been words. Just words.

Tears came, a hidden well broken open. Deep, cleansing tears. Freedom. Forgiveness. Peace. Nothing could separate him from this unquenchable love. Nothing he could do would make this Spirit of God love him any less.

Utterly and relentlessly loved beyond all imagination.

He had entered into the holiest place in the universe. It was inside him. Because God was in him and he was in God. And He had been there all along.

After ages passed, Micah rose to his knees. Images flashed across the walls all around him: mountains, oceans, deserts, lakes, all in the most brilliant colors he’d ever seen. The images shifted; now they were of him running, flying, lying in an emerald field hundreds of miles across, his face bathed in elation.

He was a drop of water in the ocean of the universe. Microscopic in the vastness of time, space, and history. Caught up as if the ocean of that universe were pure delight pouring up out of him only to swirl back and bury him again in its intoxicating waves.

A framed parchment on the wall caught his eye:

Utterly engulfed,

And wanting more.

Buried,

Drowned,

Intoxicated,

With the vastness of Love.

Losing myself as the waves wash over me,

Through me,

Surrounding me,

Caught up in a hurricane of overwhelming peace,

I have let go,

And He has found me.

Micah didn’t leave the room till evening fell on Cannon Beach nearly nine hours later. He eased out to his deck, down the long set of stairs to the beach, and padded across the sand toward the surf.

Three teenagers laughed as they tossed their oval skimboards into the water at the edge of the ocean, leaped onto them, and floated across the thin water cushion.

The perfect visual.

Micah was floating and never wanted to land.

||||||||

A rare cloudless horizon filled his vision as Micah sat on his deck that night with strawberry lemonade in his hand. He sat without thought and without care, his only focus the waves caressing the darkening beach.

His cell phone vibrated, and he looked at the caller ID. His dad.
Take it. Don’t take it. Take it.
The choice ping-ponged through his head.

“Hello?”

“Micah, it’s Dad.”

“Not, it’s your ‘father’?”

His dad sighed. “I probably deserve that.”

“No, you don’t. Low blow. Sorry.”

Silence.

“How are you, son?”

“Good. Really good. And you?”

“Good.”

Again, silence.

“It’s good to hear your voice,” his dad said.

“Yours, too.” A small part of him meant it.

His dad cleared his throat three times.

“Micah . . . I know ever since your mom died I’ve caused you so much . . . I mean, a lot of . . .”

The line went still.

“What I’m trying to say is, I was just thinking about, you know . . . You see, I checked the Mariners’ schedule. We could—I could get us a pair of tickets to a game coming up in the next few weeks. Not that you’d want to drive up—”

Wow. Not what he’d been expecting. Not what he wanted. After all these years, he was supposed to run to his dad with open arms? Pretend everything was okay? Yeah, right. Forgive? Yes, he’d forgiven his father, but . . .

“I don’t know, Dad. I don’t think that’s going to work for me.”

“Not a problem. I understand. I didn’t think you’d be able to get away.” His dad coughed. “Maybe next season.”

Suddenly Micah’s body flushed with heat, and tears threatened to spill onto his cheeks. Love. Not his. God’s. He tried to sweep away the emotion that fluttered through his heart, but it wouldn’t leave. “Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Let me check my calendar and get back to you. I’ll make it work. I’ll be there.”

||||||||

As he went to sleep that night—more at peace, more whole than he’d ever been—Micah still couldn’t rid himself of one sliver of pain: Sarah.

There had to be a way back to her, but if there was a path, he couldn’t see it.

But it didn’t mean he would stop looking.

CHAPTER 44

A breeze dropped in from the north Thursday morning as Sarah and Rick trudged along the beach next to Haystack Rock. With the tide out, the pools around the rock were ringed with people poking at the jade green sea anemones and pointing at the purple-and-orange starfish clinging to the rocks.

Rick said he wanted to talk about something important but wouldn’t say any more than that.

“Do you think fathers give good advice?” Rick asked after they’d moved beyond the tide pools.

“Depends on the father.”

“Say I’m the father.”

Sarah laughed. “Are you saying you’re old enough to be my dad?”

“Many times over.”

“You look pretty good for being so ancient.” Sarah cocked her head toward Rick. “Yes, if you’re giving fatherly advice, I’ll definitely listen.”

Rick nodded. “Micah Taylor.”

Two boys raced by on recumbent beach bikes, sand kicking up behind their tires. She didn’t answer till they’d shrunk to specks, five hundred yards down the sand. “You’d need a very persuasive argument for me to have any involvement with Micah.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Sarah told him about the scene at Osburn’s the previous Thursday night, and Rick listened without comment. “I’ve gone out with guys who tell me they love me after the first date. Ones where the guy says five words to you the whole time and thinks he’s poured his heart out. Guys who talk about their conquests on the golf course like they’re Jack Nicklaus and ask zero questions about me. But I’ve never had someone pretend we were madly in love with each other after one dinner. After that dinner I thought it might go somewhere. But he has one too many bulbs burnt out in that house of his.”

Rick snagged a wayward Frisbee as it floated down in front of them. He spun it back to the thrower with a perfect toss. “If an intelligent, perceptive man like Micah tried to win your heart, would it make sense for him to pretend you were in love in a parallel life?”

“I’ll assume that’s a rhetorical question.”

“So then you have to consider the fact that his saying those things makes the story more plausible, not less.” Rick zipped open his Windbreaker.

“Unless he’s crazy.”

“Do you really think he’s crazy?”

She looked away and sighed. “He walks into my ice cream shop unannounced and proceeds to tell me that I need to fall in love with him because we were together in a parallel universe? That God has ordained it? That’s sanity?”

“Well, what if it was true?”

“What part?”

“That you were in love in a parallel life. That God brought you together.”

“This is the moment where I ask if you’re serious, and you nod your head and tell me absolutely, right?”

Rick nodded and smiled. “So here’s the fatherly advice. Give him another chance. Entertain the possibility, ever so slight, that he told you the truth. That there was another life where you fell in love, and the enemy is trying to steal it.”

Sarah hugged herself and blew out another long breath. “So I’m just supposed to believe some guy who seemed okay, more than okay at first, really
is
okay? I simply believe he’s not psychotic and skip off into the sunset with him?” She bent down and picked up a lone agate.

“Will you give him another chance?”

She didn’t answer.

“Sarah?”

She gave what she imagined was an imperceptible nod.

When Rick spoke again, his tone changed. “I need to tell you some things now that will surprise you. And might even change how you look at Micah.”

As they walked next to the rumble of the waves, she stared at Rick, eyes wide. When he finished, tears spilled down her face, and she buried herself in his chest.

||||||||

Thursday afternoon the phone rang as Micah stuck two pieces of wheat bread into his toaster. He decided not to answer it. Today needed to be a day of reflection. Alone. But a glance at caller ID told him it was Rick. Gotta take that one.

“Hello?”

“It’s Rick; we need to talk. In person.”

“About?”

“Soon.”

“No hints?”

“Best if there’s no prelims. Can you do it now?”

“Sure. Where?” Micah’s hand went to his stomach and squeezed. Something was wrong.

“How ’bout Oswald West State Park? It’s a gorgeous day, and we’ll probably be able to find some privacy there. This is a talk to have without an audience or interruption.”

“Sounds good.” But it didn’t sound good. It sounded like an omen. Why no audience? He stared at the phone and thought about the location. Oh, wow. Rick had given him a clue anyway.

He pulled onto the highway and nursed the speedometer up to sixty. As 101 South moved smoothly underneath him, the answer popped into his mind so abruptly he almost expected to hear a
ding.
He knew exactly what Rick would tell him. This would not be fun.

Micah hiked down to the cove trying to stretch time. With everything in him, he didn’t want this conversation. When he reached the sand, Rick was already there, sitting on a log about a hundred yards to the north.

For a few moments he watched his friend toss rocks into the surf. Micah’s shoes felt heavy as he trudged toward the log. He sat without speaking and continued to watch Rick toss wave-polished stones into the ocean.

“I’ve got to go now, Micah.”

The words hung in the air, and the silence stretched out. His friend’s voice had never sounded so serious and full of sorrow. Micah bent down and picked up two dry sticks. As he broke them into smaller and smaller pieces, he looked up. “What do you mean, go?”

But he knew what Rick meant. Somehow asking the question was a way to hold off the pain, if only for an instant longer.

“You know what I mean. I’m sorry.” Tears wound their way down both sides of Rick’s cheeks. It reflected Micah’s own.

“Now is the moment when you tell me who you are.”

“Yeah.” Rick threw another rock. “But I don’t really need to, do I?”

Micah shook his head.

The day at Cape Lookout when Rick had shown a sliver of his glory—the rock disintegrating under his foot, how he seemed to grow larger, light seeming to come off his body—all rushed back at him along with a dozen other clues from the past five and a half months. It all made sense now. Micah picked up a stick lying next to the log they sat on and drew lines in the sand.

“You were the man standing here, at the edge of the beach that day I almost drowned kayaking.”

“Yes.”

“You were there during my junior year of high school when I’d had enough of life and tried to drive off the edge of that cliff. You’re what stopped me.”

Rick nodded.

Micah blew out a long breath. “You’re in that picture with Archie at Chris Hale’s house, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

He knew the answer to the next question but wanted to ask it anyway. To make the moment complete by hearing the answer from Rick’s lips. He swirled his stick through the sand, watching the tiny grains part and then gather together again as the wood passed between them. “You’ve been with me since the day I was born, haven’t you?”

“Yes.” Rick waited a moment, then added, “I won’t stop being with you. It just won’t be in the same form.”

The reality of Rick’s words swirled through his mind, and Micah steadied himself against the log.

Rick, an angel.
His
angel. Archie’s angel while he was alive. The wonder of it circled Micah, lifted him, then slammed him down with the reality of Rick’s departure.

The last five and a half months spun through his mind like a DVD playing at thirty-two times normal speed. Conversations, runs on the beach, movies together. Coffee taking the edge off early foggy mornings, countless meals at Morris’s Fireside. Rick his confidant, mentor, and best friend.

Micah stayed silent, desperately hoping that if he didn’t speak, Rick would have to stay. Even if Micah had wanted to say something, what words would he use? He raised his head and stood. Rick was already standing and drew Micah up to his chest and squeezed hard.

“Don’t go.”

“I have to. It is time. But I’ll still be here.” He eased Micah away, his hands now on Micah’s shoulders, Rick’s eyes locked on his. “Who knows, maybe our destiny is to see each other face-to-face again before you step into eternity.”

“How can I live this life without you?”

Rick laughed his familiar, dancing laugh. “Walk with God. Listen to the Holy Spirit. You know His voice. You’ll come to know it better as you practice listening. And listen to your heart. It knows the truth, for as you know, that is where the temple is and where the King dwells.”

“Does Sarah know?”

“Yes.”

“When did you tell her? What did she say?”

“That’s for her to tell you, not me.”

“Does that mean she’s going to—?”

“Micah.”

“You gotta—”

“Micah,” Rick said again, slightly louder. “God is for you and He is sovereign. Trust Him.”

Micah watched in wonder as a faint, paper-thin light started to outline Rick’s body—the purest light Micah had ever seen.

As the light thickened, Rick turned his palms up and stretched his fingers as far as they could go. “I love you with the love of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” A grin split his face ear to ear in sharp contrast to the tears that streamed down his face.

Micah stepped back and the transformation quickened. Rick’s features changed from the ones Micah knew so well into the most handsome face he’d ever seen. The light around Rick expanded farther, and his body grew with the light till he stood at least ten feet tall and two men wide.

Micah couldn’t keep his eyes off Rick’s face. Love streaked out of it; tears and joy mixed together in a radiant display of glory. A few seconds more and the brilliance coming off Rick’s face became blinding, and Micah shut his eyes.

When he opened them, the beach was empty.

He slumped back onto the log and sobbed. Tears of sorrow for Rick’s going and of gratitude for the gift of his friendship. Finally tears of peace. Great pools of peace.

||||||||

The next morning Micah walked onto his deck as dawn fired golden light over the eastern mountains. The fog had retreated fifty yards off the beach and formed a wall of white. The sun lit it up, making it look like a giant movie screen made of cotton. The perfect setting. A blank screen to open Archie’s final letter in front of.

Strange to think the journey had ended and Micah wouldn’t be listening anymore to this remarkable man from his past who had become such a large part of his future. But in many ways the journey was still starting, and if he knew Archie, this last letter would be a doozie.

He opened the envelope, and a key dropped out: small, brass, and nondescript. He placed it gently on his deck’s pine picnic table and pulled the sharply creased letter free of the envelope.

Micah smiled. What a trip it had been. He owed Archie his life. He thanked God for the man yet again, slipped the edge of his thumb underneath a corner of the letter, and eased it open. He smoothed the creases three times before letting himself read the familiar penmanship that would go to his heart one last time.

December 23, 1992

Dear Micah,

Regretfully this is my last letter to you. Do you harbor that lament as much as I do? During the last few years, it has certainly been a joy putting my pen to paper with you in mind. If all has gone as I have hoped and prayed it would, then a number of extraordinary things have happened, not the least of which is you discovering the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit in ways you never have before.

Has your heart surfaced? Are you listening? I know you are. Sobering, is it not? What most of us bury is the treasure we long for all our lives.

Was it worth it? You had the world and had almost given up your soul to get it. Now you have sold the world to gain back your soul, heart, and spirit. Was it a fair trade?

A grin burst onto Micah’s face. Fair? No. The trade was heavily leveraged in his direction. He had gained his life, the Kingdom, and a restored heart. All the favor spun his way.

Freedom, Micah, the Lord is always about freedom. Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty. If what you do brings freedom and life, it is most likely Christianity. If it doesn’t, it is probably religion, and there is already too much of that in the world.

However, you didn’t open this letter to hear another one of my sermons. You want to discover where and how your adventure concludes. I must disappoint you. I don’t know, only He does.

By now Rick has told you who he is, and I imagine he has left. I’m sorry. Everything has its ending.

One more surprise before I say farewell. Last week I drove down to Cannon Beach and paid for a safety deposit box at the Bank of Astoria. The key in the envelope will open it. Inside the box is another key, the one to your true heart’s desire.

Finally, please do not think your adventures into the supernatural are over. Hardly. No, this was just the introduction. I will see you on the other side.