Rooms: A Novel (8 page)

CHAPTER 12

On Friday, Micah grabbed his mountain bike and rode north toward Cannon Beach. He took the Cannon Beach Loop Road exit and rode past fifty or so gray houses, none with the view their richer brothers west of them had of the ocean. He rode on, past the Tolovana Inn, then past the Ocean Lodge and the Stephanie Inn, luxury hotels just steps from the sand.

The sun poked holes in the fog, warming him inside and out. Perfect day for riding. Perfect day to run into that girl from the ice cream store. He laughed at himself. Couldn’t fault a guy for dreaming.

He wound up the hill that overlooked Haystack Rock, where houses were separated by inches, perched on the cliff leading down to the beach like rabid fans looking for a movie star’s autograph.

The Sand Trap Inn—with the picture of a B.C. cartoon character swinging a golf club—whizzed by on his right, and then he was down the hill onto Cannon Beach’s Main Street, with shop after shop filled with trinkets and books and art for the coffee table or wall back home. Some wonderful, some that would end up on a garage sale table ten months later.

The town blurred by in thirty seconds. A minute after that, he rode over Ecola Creek, took a right-hand turn, and started up the winding mile-and-a-half road that led to Ecola State Park.

As he leaned into the first corner, his peripheral vision caught something up ahead. Fifty yards in front of him the sun flashed against another bike, and dark chestnut hair swirled against the wind as the rider’s head turned for an instant.

Looked like the girl from Osburn’s.

Micah squinted and called out, “Hey, Watson!”

She didn’t turn.

He put his head down and strained to catch her. But Micah didn’t gain an inch as he pushed through the canopy of Sitka spruce trees lining the road.

When the park entrance came into view, he prayed she wouldn’t ride another two miles to Indian Beach and was rewarded as she swung left down to Ecola. He coasted down the gradual decline into the parking lot and found her sitting on a picnic table, arms wrapped around her knees, looking out toward Tillamook Rock Lighthouse.

She glanced back as his bike brakes squealed, announcing his arrival, but didn’t say anything.

“Hey.” Micah approached her with stutter steps, his legs still straddling his bike. “We met the other day at Osburn’s.”

“Mr. Pralines, if I remember right.” She spun to face him and flashed a smile.

“Good seeing you again, Watson.”

It seemed funny before it came out of his mouth. But it fell flat when she simply said, “Thanks.”

“You ride up here often?”

“Mostly during the off-season. Too many summer seekers driving this road during this time of the year, and it’s a narrow road.”

“I noticed.”

“So, are you staying right in town?”

“No, a little bit south,” Micah said.

“I’m Sarah Sabin.”

“Micah Taylor.”

Sarah nodded.

They looked at each other a moment past awkward. Micah got off his bike, leaned it against the picnic table, and shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

“Want to walk down to where the trail washed out?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“Sure.”

From the look of Sarah’s long, muscular legs and her gait, he guessed her athleticism wasn’t limited to biking.

When they stopped, Haystack Rock, three miles south, filled their view. Below them a beach stretched a quarter mile before it stopped at a small cape jutting out into the ocean. Four otters ducked in and out of the swells one hundred feet down.

“Crescent Beach,” Sarah offered. “You used to be able to walk down there from here. Not anymore. A winter mud slide washed out the trail back in ’94, and they never rebuilt it.”

Bits of the old wooden railing leading down to the beach were still visible. They walked in silence until they found a flat spot of grass to sit on with a perfect view of Haystack Rock and Cannon Beach in the distance.

Sarah rubbed her left knee, and when she took her hand away, it revealed three small scars, two on either side of her kneecap and one in the middle.

Micah nodded at her knee. “That’s from?”

“ACL surgery.”

“How’d the injury happen?”

She took so long to answer Micah wondered if she’d heard him. When she did, it was in a whisper. “Olympic trials in ’02.”

“Winter Olympics. Skiing?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait a minute. You’re
that
Sarah Sabin? Cover of
Sports Illustrated,
supposed to win more gold than any other American female in history?”

She turned to him with a small smile and nodded. “After two surgeries and three years of trying to come back, I decided it was time to start another life, so five years ago I came here.” She ripped up tufts of grass, threw them up, and let them float toward the ocean in the light breeze. “Got away from the sport, the pressure, and the guilt people loaded me down with for ruining their dream.”

“Shouldn’t it have been your dream?”

She laughed. “It was, but others wanted to jump on board and do that whole live-vicariously-through-me thing.”

“Your dad, right?”

“With him, just the opposite. He was one of the few who truly didn’t care how I did on the slopes. He taught me to ski, was my coach for most of my career. He believed in me, was my champion but never once pushed me to be something I didn’t want to be. Dad loved me fiercely.” Sarah turned her head away. “I miss him so much.”

Loved fiercely by your dad? He had no clue what that would feel like. Miss him? His dad had slaughtered any chance of having that emotion when Micah was a kid. Still, he blinked three times before he spoke.

“How’d he die?”

“Cancer. Four years ago.”

“I’m sorry about your dad. Sorry about the injury, too.”

“Don’t be. Sometimes I can’t help but wonder what might have been, but I don’t have the slightest regret.”

“How can you not have regrets?”

“God works all for good.” She looked out over the ocean. “If not for the accident and my dad’s death, I think I’d be in a radically different world. Not a good one. One without God in it.”

Micah shifted his gaze to three sea lions basking on the rocks below them.

He knew the radically different world she would have lived in. It was the one he lived in now. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea getting to know this girl. He didn’t need someone else needling him about the God-stuff.

“So that’s my dad; tell me about yours.”

“No.”

Sarah laughed. “No? Just no? You have a dad, don’t you?” She leaned back on her elbows and looked up at him.

“Yep. Still alive.”

“And . . . ?”

“Kind of an off-limits subject.”

“Got it.”

Great. First the God-stuff, now questions about his dad. Julie never tried to make him go deep like this.

He fished a twig out of grass and tossed it toward the ocean. “If you’ve been here five years, you must know everyone.”

“The locals still say I’m new in town, but they’re friendly, and yeah, I know most of them.” She pulled on the silver loop in her ear and smiled.

“Maybe you could introduce me around. Love to find out about the land my house is built on. Its history.”

“House?”

“I inherited a home just south of Arcadia Beach State Park.”

“There are six or seven homes along that stretch. Could you add some vagueness to your description?” She winked.

“It’s on the ocean. Does that help?”

“Oh, that one. Of course!” Sarah laughed.

“It’s kinda hard to miss. About nine thousand square feet.”

“Wow, that’s big. I’m not sure I know it.”

He couldn’t tell if she was teasing or not. She was bright and would know if a nine-thousand-square-foot home was built in a small town like Cannon Beach.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Micah chuckled. “It’s probably the biggest home from Astoria to Tillamook. And I mean right on the beach.”

“Does that make it tough when the tide comes in?”

“Are you always that literal?”

A grin broke out on Sarah’s face, and Micah matched it with one of his own.

“So how’d it wind up with you?”

She didn’t say this with envy or curiosity or even judgment. He suspected the answer wouldn’t matter to her either way. He liked that. “Long story.”

“I’d like to hear it sometime.”

It wasn’t a come-on. He knew it and she knew he knew it. Another friend in Cannon Beach. Hmm. Could be a good thing. As long as the conversations avoided God and dads.

“How ’bout dinner on Tuesday? No charge for a tour of the house or the story.”

“Tuesday nights I have a standing date with twenty-three men and women who aren’t as mobile as they once were.”

“Old folks home?”

“Mature folks home. I read to them, laugh with them.” She paused. “Sometimes cry. It’s cliché to say, I know, but I get more out of it than they do.”

Micah wondered if he should ask for another night, but Sarah saved him the trouble.

“Thursday night is open, if your invitation is still on the table.”

Her dark chocolate-colored eyes twinkled at him, and he assured her it was.

As he rode home, he thought about Julie. Was there any hope for them? Did she care anymore? Did he?

And what about this Sarah girl? He wasn’t ready for another relationship. Micah shifted his bike into a higher gear and bore down on the pedals.

What was he worried about? It was just one dinner.

CHAPTER 13

Thursday Micah woke early. He wanted the dinner to be perfect and gave himself the whole day to prepare. By the time the sun started its descent toward the sea, he was ready to entertain the mysterious Sarah Sabin.

At 5:57 p.m. the doorbell echoed through the house like a wind chime. Micah glanced in the mirror, smoothed his hair with both hands, clipped toward the door, and opened it.

“Hi, Micah.” Sarah smiled.

Wow. Beautiful. Remember, pal, you’re not 100 percent sure things between you and Julie are over. Just friends with Sarah, okay?
The hint of her perfume made him repeat the thought.

“Hi, Sarah.” He tried not to stare. Radiant.

“Can I come in?”

“Oh, sorry.”

After Sarah stepped inside, she drifted toward the picture windows. “Wow. That’s an amazing view.” She gazed slowly around the great room. “I love this place already. You inherited it from your uncle?”

“Great-uncle.”

He took her coat and went back to the entryway closet to hang it up. He’d never opened it. The pegs by the front door had worked fine. His eyes narrowed. A stack of letters sat on the shelf, up against the right edge of the closet wall. He pulled them down. They were tied together with twine, and the edges of the envelopes went from yellow at the top to slightly faded on the bottom. The return name and address on the top envelope were Archie’s, but the letter was mailed to a Christopher Hale. In smaller print at the bottom was “Attention: Micah Taylor.”

His head spun. He riffled through the first five or six envelopes. Same mailing address, same return address. He drew in a sharp, shallow breath. Would these letters answer the house questions ricocheting through his head? They had to. Finally!

“Micah?”

Sarah’s voice broke through the world he’d fallen into, and he pulled away from the door.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that I found, well . . .” he trailed off, not knowing what or how much he wanted to say.

She graciously moved away from him, toward his picture windows. “You never knew him?”

“Who?” Micah was still returning to the present. He set the letters back on the shelf, then closed the door.

“This great-uncle of yours.”

“No. Even my dad doesn’t know much about him.” Micah paused. “Or won’t say.”

Sarah meandered over to the built-in shelves packed with hundreds of books on history, photography, art, fiction, and biographies, and tilted her head, probably to read the titles.

“You a book lover?” Micah asked.

She gave a slight nod. “If you gave me five thousand dollars to spend in any store, I’d head straight for Barnes & Noble.”

“Are you asking for my checkbook?”

Sarah glanced at him and laughed, then looked back at the books.

Micah moved into the kitchen, noticed a coffee stain on the counter, and licked his thumb. Sarah came over as he got the last of it off the granite.

“Nice clean-up method.”

“You don’t miss much, do you?” Micah looked up, his face warm.

“Sorry. I could be a little more tactful.” She sat on a maple stool next to the counter.

“Not a problem. Most women—”

“—are catty and smile at your face, then stab you in the back. It’s one reason why I’ve never had a lot of girlfriends. I had more friends in high school who were guys.”

“So you don’t believe in the WHMS Rule?” He moved over to the refrigerator and grabbed two Diet Cokes.

“You lost me.”

“The
When Harry Met Sally
Rule. That guys and girls can’t be friends. Never saw the movie?”

“Yes, I saw it. I never wanted to believe it, but I will confess most times it’s true.”

“You know this from personal experience?”

“All through high school and college, I’d ask the guy if we were just friends, he’d say ‘oh yes, friends only,’ and in the end he’d reluctantly confess he’d been secretly in love with me the whole time.”

“It’s the way guys are made,” Micah confessed. “They promise they want to be buds only, but they tend to be attracted to the girl from the beginning.”

“So where does that leave us?”

Micah fell back against the pantry doors as if shot and laughed. “I see what you mean about the tact thing.”

“You mean the direct thing?”

“Yeah, that’s what I meant.” He walked over to her, poured their Cokes, and sat on the bar stool next to her.

“So where does that leave us?” The laughter in her eyes disappeared.

“Simple. We’re not friends.”

“
Really
. Then please provide the definition of our relationship.”

Micah pretended to take out a calculator and punch imaginary numbers into it. After a few seconds he looked up from under his eyebrows. “This is our third meeting so we’re good acquaintances. I have a girlfriend back home. If a man has a girlfriend and the person of the opposite sex is informed of it within the first four meetings, he’s allowed to develop a strictly platonic relationship. Since I let you know this in only our third meeting, we’re ahead of schedule and off to an extremely good start.”

Did he have a girlfriend back home? No. Julie had made it pretty clear they were finished. He might as well admit it. But not out loud.

“Cheers then. To a fruitful acquaintanceship.” She winked and raised her glass.

“Is that a word?”

“As of now, yes.”

They smacked their glasses together just hard enough for a smattering of pop to spill over the sides.

Micah suggested they go out on the deck. Walking beside Sarah across the tan carpet, he easily fell into her rhythm and it stirred something inside he couldn’t put a name to. It wasn’t infatuation or a crush. He wouldn’t even call it romantic.
Natural
was the best word to describe it.

“How ’bout you? Have a boyfriend?”

“No.”

She looked at him without elaboration, so he asked the obvious follow-up question. “How long have you been broken up?”

“Why do you think it was recent?” She poked him in the side.

“A girl as beautiful and smart as you is simply not allowed to be single for more than six months. Eight months max. The rules won’t allow it.”

“Really?” Sarah folded her arms across her chest. “And what do the rules say about telling an acquaintance she is beautiful when the said prevaricator of the line has a girlfriend named Julie?”

“The judges allow it providing three things: It has to be true, it has to be said without any romantic atmosphere or intent clouding the issue, and finally,
beautiful
has to be said within the context of explaining a mystery, like why you aren’t with anyone right now. Not just said on its own for the sake of saying it,” Micah said.

“Ah. Thanks for the clarification. At least we met two of the requirements.”

“No prospects on the horizon?”

“I’ve sworn off guys.” She pulled her hair behind her ears. “I’m done with boyfriends for a long, long time. Finished. Over.” A defiant look filled her eyes, and she didn’t smile.

Micah tried to laugh, but it died on his lips as Sarah turned away. He didn’t expect such a vehement statement from her. Why send him the message with such force?

Silence stretched to an awkward twenty seconds.

“Uh, is that a subject you’d like to elaborate on?”

“Not even the hint of a chance.” Sarah walked over to the far end of the deck and leaned against the railing.

Micah waited a few seconds before easing over to her. “Listen, dinner won’t be done for another fifteen minutes, how ’bout a tour of the house?”

She faced him, smiled, and the somber feeling lingering in the air vanished. “I’d love to, but what if we took a little walk on he beach instead?”

“Sure, tide’s out, great time for a short walk.”

||||||||

The aroma of Cornish game hen and garlic mashed potatoes greeted them as they walked back inside ten minutes later. Pear and walnuts over greens was first, followed by artichokes with melted butter for dipping, angel hair pasta, and the hen. They topped the meal off with banana bread.

“Impressive,” Sarah said with the hint of a tease.

“Hey, c’mon now. Maybe I didn’t make the banana bread. Or the pasta. Or the salad. But I melted the butter and got the hen right.”

“It was a compliment. Seriously. Most guys our age wouldn’t have a clue about putting on a meal like this.”

“Well, thanks, but really I just got lucky. I haven’t done a lot of cooking, but I’ve been practicing. One of those ‘I’ll do it someday’ things. Being down here is someday, I guess.”

“And how long are you staying ‘down here’?”

“That is indeed the $64 million-dollar question.”

They walked into the great room toward the fireplace. He motioned to the couch, but she chose the floor in front of the river rock so he did the same and built a fire while they talked.

“I’m working from down here for a while. Seattle is my permanent home, so I go back every couple of weeks to make sure things are running smoothly.”

Their conversation turned to high school, college, sports they’d played, and favorite movies. They talked for an hour before Micah realized he’d been doing most of the telling.

“You’re good.” He laid his arm across his chest and bowed his head a little.

“At what?”

“Asking questions.”

Sarah smiled but didn’t comment.

“I’ve been talking. You have not been talking.”

“Is that bad?” she said.

“No, I’d just like to know more about your history. I already know my own.”

“But then how mysterious would I be?” She grinned.

Micah watched the flames of the fire shift and dance as he thought about the woman sitting beside him. She was smart and beautiful. Playful. And she
was
mysterious. Sure of herself but not in a cocky way. She knew who she was with no pretension. During most first dates—yes, he admitted it was a date—he watched women play a role, presenting as perfect a package as possible. He’d done the same.

Even Julie and he still jockeyed and positioned themselves. For power. For protection. Not this time. Sarah had somehow disarmed him, and he’d told more about himself than he wanted to. She’d told almost nothing about herself. Why the swearing off guys? What happened to her?

The glow of the fire streaked her walnut hair with lines of gold, and he let himself go to merely enjoy the moment.

After dessert they walked out onto the deck, and a rare coastal treat greeted them: the stars. Not all. Just a few breaks in the clouds. But enough diamonds on black canvas to be captivating.

Sarah glanced back to the house. “I can see why he gave you the home. It reminds me of you.”

“What?”

She gave him a light smile, as if it were obvious.

“I’ll admit whoever decorated this place found my style.”

“It’s more than style. It feels like you.”

His heart agreed, but his mind wouldn’t accept it. This wasn’t his place. “I don’t know. Maybe. But like I said, this stuff isn’t mine.”

“You don’t have to own something for it to be you. Haven’t you ever gone into a gallery and seen a painting and said ‘that’s me’? Or had a piece of music capture something deep down you didn’t even know was there? You realize it’s always been part of you; you’ve just never heard it before.”

Micah stared at her. She had just unearthed a place in his heart that said “you’re home.” Maybe he’d known it all along. Maybe that was the reason he hadn’t gotten around to selling the house.

He turned away. “Yeah, I know the feeling.” He didn’t add he was having the feeling right then. “Midnight beach walk?” It was late, but the words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them. He saw conflict in her eyes.

Sarah shook her head. “Next time.”

At her car Micah thanked her for coming. She returned the sentiment with her eyes. He stared at the road long after the bright red of her taillights disappeared down Highway 101.

She made him feel like he was ripping through the water on a slalom water ski on a Seattle summer morning, when the shade was cool but the sun would warm him in minutes; when the lightest of breezes darted through the air like sparrows playing tag; when the smell of western red cedar made him want to climb Mount Rainier or soak in a sunset over the Olympic Mountains.

Not exactly platonic emotions.

As he ambled back to his house, kicking a small round stone like it was a soccer ball, he tried to guess why she’d turned her back on romance. A broken heart? Too many Prince Dudleys?

And how was she able to see how well the house fit him? He hadn’t even seen it himself to the extent she had. But she was right. Sarah seemed to have more answers than he did. He’d listen to any insight she had about the house since ol’ Archie hadn’t seen fit to leave him any hints.

Wait.

Archie.

The letters!

He jogged toward the house.

Finally he’d get some answers. The letters were sure to give him at least a few clues he didn’t have to be Hercule Poirot to figure out.