The Chair (42 page)

Robin slid a piece of paper in front of him.

“What?”

“I’m suggesting we sell Nicole’s home and donate the money to a very worthwhile cause.”

“Such as?”

“The purchase and remodeling of a certain downtown building that houses the world’s finest store full of treasures from antiquity.”

He’d never imagined his restoration with Shasta. To think his store could have a rebirth as well was almost too much to take in. Almost.

RESTORATION.

The word played through Corin’s mind all the way home. Nicole had spoken of that as the chair’s purpose. That the greatest healing came in the soul, not the body. They weren’t merely words anymore.

Restoration.

Add an “s.”

Restorations.

Might be a good new name for the store.

Before heading for bed he stopped by his workshop and sat in front of the chair for a long time. He’d finished the job. Corin stood and ran his fingers along the back of it. His fingers didn’t tingle. And he saw imperfections in every inch. The restoration was far from perfect, but it was enough. And as he soaked in the sight of the chair, joy welled up from within.

As he brushed his teeth that night he stared at the pills next to his sink. He kept brushing as he turned the bottle upside down over his toilet and poured them into the water.

As they sunk to the bottom of the bowl he realized exactly what he must do in the morning. It would be a worthy finish to this chapter of his life.

C
orin woke with a smile on Sunday morning, the vision of what he was about to do imprinted on his mind.

A cold breeze pushed through his open bedroom window and ruffled his hair as if confirming his plan. He put his hands behind his head and stared out the window at the dusty blue Colorado skies. It wouldn’t be easy. But it was right.

He wouldn’t leave till late afternoon. Sunset was the ideal time to do it. Fewer people if any would be there at dusk, and it was an action to take in solitude.

As he pulled out of his driveway and headed east on Highway 24, Corin glanced at the clock. He should reach the lake in less than three hours, which would leave him at least an hour of daylight. Plenty of time to do whatever he needed to do to get ready—even though he didn’t know what that might be.

Maybe he needed to thank God for Shasta’s return. Maybe grieve the loss of Nicole. Maybe work through the pain of Tesser’s betrayal and contemplate the loss of his relationship with Tori. Maybe he needed to do nothing.

His cell rang.

Shasta. A smile grew on Corin’s face, at first as thin as a strand of silk, then into a full-tooth grin. He didn’t pick up; it felt too good simply seeing that number come up on his phone and watch it.

Restoration.

A few minutes later he called Shasta back.

“Are you on the road?” his brother asked.

“Yeah.”

“Are you headed anywhere interesting?”

“Extremely. I’m going on an adventure.”

“I thought you were going to dance less on the edge from here on out.”

“I am.” Corin slipped his sunglasses on against the sun pouring through his windshield. “Today’s journey isn’t about pushing physical extremes. It’s about internal ones.”

“Interesting. What are you going to do?”

When it was over he would definitely tell Shasta. Corin hoped it would be the final piece of his healing, and he wanted to explain it to his brother in detail. “I’d love to tell you all about it, but not until it’s done.”

“Then join us for Thanksgiving this Thursday.”

“You’re on.”

“But before you agree, I need to let you know there’ll be a special dish only for you on the table.”

“What’s that?”

“On the mountain the day of the accident? You said, and I quote ‘If after we’re done, if you don’t agree it was the absolute right call to do this, I’ll eat one of my gloves.’ I told you I’d hold you to that.”

Corin smiled. Shasta was joking about the day of the accident? Healing had indeed come.

“I’ll bring my special knife and fork.”

“Don’t worry; it’ll be slathered in my special gravy.”

Something inside Corin snapped into place. He hadn’t doubted he would be seeing Shasta often but to hear him ask about Thanksgiving, his voice full of passion, and joking with him for the first time in ten years stirred an emotion Corin hadn’t felt since before the accident. One of belonging. The feeling of being connected once again to the one person he’d shared his entire life with, and had never stopped dumping his heart out to.

Mile marker five whizzed by on his right. Only 167 to go. “Bro?” Corin said.

“Yeah?”

Corin didn’t know what to say. “I’m glad you’re back in my life” would sound so lame.

“I, uh . . . about you and me, you know, what’s happened . . .”

“What about it?”

“Well . . . I’ve waited a lot of years for this and . . .” Corin squeezed his steering wheel. “What I’m trying to say is . . .”

Shasta laughed softly. “You’re really looking forward to Thanksgiving?”

“Right.”

“I know exactly what you’re saying. Me too.”

The grin returned to Corin’s face and spilled into laughter. Nicole was right. The greatest healing would never be physical, but a healing of the heart.

THE CLIFF DIDN’T tower over the lake as high as he remembered, but the trees were definitely taller. And still as silent as they’d been twenty-four years earlier when they’d watched him die.

Today they would be an audience again, this time to see him live. To see him cast fear aside. To see him crush it.

When he reached the base of the small cliff, he set his car keys and wallet behind a tree and covered them with a smattering of leaves.

He stared at the top of the cliff—thirty feet, maybe forty feet above him. It wasn’t easy to get this far with the brace still on his left leg. It would be harder to climb the cliff. And painful. But he didn’t care. He had to do this.

Had he made the right choice to come? Without question. But knowing that didn’t keep his body from twitching—he wasn’t sure if from fear or anticipation. Probably a tangled mixture of both. Corin wiped his hands on his khaki shorts, drew in a deep breath, and held it.

A wind rose from behind him as if cajoling him to climb. Seven minutes later he reached the top, the lake spread out in front of him like a giant piece of glass, light green color reflecting the trees and nearly cloudless skies.

The sun would drop behind the aspen trees at the far end of the lake in ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Enough time to pray. Enough time to ache inside for the loss of Nicole. Enough time to wrestle with his terror one more time.

But the fight wasn’t necessary—his fear was feeble now, lapping at the edges of his emotions only as strong as the tiny waves that lapped at the edges of the lake. He’d already won, so he brushed the past aside, closed his eyes, and let the late afternoon sun massage his face with warmth and hope.

“Thank You. For freedom. For life. For restoration.”

A few minutes later he opened his eyes and gazed at the darkening green water forty feet below.

Lake of death.

Lake of life.

It wasn’t either.

The breeze created tiny ridges in the surface and a gold leaf from the aspen trees meandered across the water toward the base of the cliff underneath him.

A few minutes later he stripped off his shirt and took off his socks and shoes, and spread his arms to the sky.

He thought again of Nicole. Of Shasta. Of Tori. Of Tesser. Of the chair. And the One who created it.

Corin squinted through the branches at the sun as it seemed to speed its descent into the tops of the trees. A moment later the last of the diamonds flitting across the surface of the lake faded.

He closed his eyes and massaged the rock he stood on with his toes. Its coolness rose into his heart. Freedom was coming, almost here.

He opened his eyes. A few more moments and it would be time.

Corin stepped to the edge of the cliff and glanced once more at the water below, then back at the sun. The breeze rippled through his hair.

Minutes left.

The sun was now only a sliver of gold against the darkening sky.

Only seconds left.

He smiled.

A moment later the last vestige of light vanished into the branches.

Corin took a last look at the surface of the water, closed his eyes, and jumped.

Dear Reader,

In the fall of 2005, I had a falling out with one of my best friends and we stopped speaking. I had hurt him—he had hurt me—and we both walked away from our relationship.

But at the end of August 2008, God intervened.

I was over in eastern Washington on a writing retreat, and as I drove by my friend’s vacation home, I heard God say, “Stop in and see Jeff.”

I told God, “If it’s really You telling me that, show me.” I asked Him for a strange phone call or to hear from someone I hadn’t heard from in a long time. That night at ten o’clock, I received a text from someone who had never texted me before.

When I stopped by Jeff’s house at nine the next evening, I had no doubt he’d be there. After he opened the door, he stared at me for ten seconds, utter surprise on his face, then we wrapped each other up in a big grizzly bear hug.

The restoration of that relationship has been one of the greatest joys of the past three years. It gave me a renewed commitment to fight for my relationships because they are treasures, and they can be fragile.

All of us long to be restored. Physically. Emotionally. But I believe the restoration we long for most is the healing of broken relationships.

This is the main theme in
The Chair
and one I hope you will lift from the pages of this novel and live out daily.

May we choose to step into restoration in every moment,

James L. Rubart

www.jimrubart.com

1. What character in
The Chair
can you relate to most? Why?

2. What themes did you see in the novel?

3. Nicole becomes a friend and mentor to Corin. Do you have someone like that in your life? If not, do you long for that type of person? Are you that type of person in someone else’s life?

4. Corin unintentionally changes the rest of Shasta’s life because of a tragic accident. While your circumstances might not be as dramatic, has someone done something that has significantly altered your life? Have you done something to alter someone else’s life that you regret?

5. One of the themes in
The Chair
is restoration. What do you desire most to be restored and healed in your life? Something physical? A relationship? If it’s a relationship, what relationship is it? Have you tried for restoration? If yes, what happened?

6. If you reached out and it didn’t bring the restoration you’d hoped for, are you willing to try again? Why or why not?

7. Matthew 5:23–24 says, “Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled to them; then come and offer your gift.” We’ve all been wounded by others, but we’ve also done the wounding. Is there anyone you need to ask forgiveness from? Why is this so hard for us to do?