Rooms: A Novel by James L. Rubart Read Free Book Online

threw on a Windbreaker and headed south toward Hug Point. He’d discovered the spot on the Internet the week before. The tide in front of the point never got low enough to allow people to walk around it on the sand. In the late 1800s settlers working their way up the coast solved the problem by blasting out a massive section of the rock that jutted into the ocean. They paved it with concrete, smooth enough for their wagons, and for the first time they could bring supplies as far north as Cannon Beach.
    The road was still there and could be walked on. But only at low tide. The rest of the day waves crashed onto the ledge and caught uninformed tourists in a saltwater bath.
    Micah wanted to see the pieces of concrete the sea hadn’t yet claimed, and according to the Internet, there were caves and a waterfall worth seeing just past the remnants of the old road.
    In less than thirty minutes, he reached Hug Point State Park. He imagined kids playing in the waterfall or in the three caves during the summer. Perfect for families. Not today. It was a dreary April morning that had reserved the entire beach for Micah.
    Or so he thought.
    An unexpected burst from above sent rain pelting down so hard he headed for shelter in the biggest of the Hug Point caves.
    The cave softened the crash of the surf, and the rain offered no noise to prove its existence. It felt like someone had muted the world. Micah saw no movement from his vantage point. He could be the only one left on Earth, and he wouldn’t know it.
    The cave walls were almost black and slick with moisture. A crack ran along the ceiling, widening as it zigzagged toward the back wall. Nothing to worry about. It would take an earthquake to make this thing collapse. Micah took two steps toward the entrance.
    Ten seconds later a man in a baseball hat, blue sweatshirt, and black workout shorts half ran, half walked toward him.
    “Wow!” The man yanked off his St. Louis Rams cap and threw the rain from it onto the sand. “Makes me think of the ark.” He turned to Micah with a huge smile. “Rick.” The man extended his hand.
    Micah fixed his gaze on Rick’s eyes. A shifting shade of sea green, they were intense and gentle at the same time. He was a bit taller than Micah, maybe six foot two, with thick hair the color of sandstone just starting to go gray. Micah liked him immediately.
    He introduced himself and shook Rick’s hand. After they both commented on the forecast for the next few days, Micah asked Rick if he was a local.
    “Lived here for a little over a year.”
    “What do you do?”
    “Oh, take walks on the beach, read good books, love watching old movies on rainy Saturday nights. And I still run or mountain bike three times a week, even at my age.” Rick stood up straight and pulled his sweatshirt tight against his stomach and smacked it twice with his palm. “Have to fight to keep this thing under control.”
    Rick didn’t look like he was rolling in cash and couldn’t be much past fifty. “You’re retired?”
    “No, still gotta work for another decade at least. I own the gas station in town. Mostly I bang away on the cars in back while the kids out front pump the gas. We’re one of the few stations that still actually work on folks’ cars. But I get out front every now and then to squeeze out a gallon or two of the octane. Can’t pump your own fuel in Oregon. Gives me a chance to see friends and meet the tourists.” He squinted at Micah. “You haven’t been gassing up in Seaside, have you?” His eyebrows furrowed in a deep, mock frown.
    Micah chuckled. “Not anymore.” He glanced at Rick, then turned back to the sheets of rain sweeping over the waves. “Um, when I asked you what you did, I meant . . .” He stopped. It was obvious Rick knew exactly what he’d meant.
    Rick dug a trench in the sand with his shoe. “Pretty sad that we define each other by what we do to put bread on the table rather than what makes us come alive.”
    Come alive?