The Chair (40 page)

Jefferies said it with confidence, too much confidence.

“I want to know the real reason.”

“The real reason?” Mark dropped his head back and chuckled. “You’re perceptive.” He leaned forward, blew on his hands, and set his arms on his legs. “Why not?” Jefferies said, more to himself it seemed than to Corin. “Because I needed it. I needed to sit in it and receive its power.”

“The healing it could bring.”

Mark nodded.

“In order to fight your demons.”

“I’ve done things I’m not proud of. I still do things. I have thoughts I’m not proud of.” Mark rubbed his face. “I need forgiveness. I need healing.”

For the first time since he’d known the pastor, the macho tough-guy veneer melted off his face and Corin glimpsed the young kid underneath that wrestled with fame and power and who knew how many other demons.

“The healing isn’t ultimately in the chair; it’s in the One who—”

“What do you think you’re doing? The student instructing the teacher?” Jefferies laughed. “But you’re right. I was looking for an instant cure, the magic silver bullet that would wipe clean in an instant the parts of my soul that still remain hidden in the shadows.” He made a gesture with his hand as if sweeping a table clean.

“Isn’t this the kind of thing you can talk about to your board or other people in your church?”

“Not a chance.”

“Why?”

“I’m an icon, the figurehead, the god they all scramble after. I can’t show that weakness.”

“Why can you tell me?”

“I trust you. We’re eight hundred miles away from that life. And you’re not a believer.”

“I think that’s changing.”

“I hope it continues. Jesus is life.” Mark smiled—a genuine smile without guile.

“Where will you look for the healing now?”

“In Him. Where it’s always been.”

“I destroyed the chair.”

A wave of anger flashed over Mark’s face, but it was gone in an instant. “That was foolish.”

“I know.”

“Why did you do it?”

“I lost control.”

They sat in silence, the only sound their breathing in and out in the cool November air.

“Did you know about Tesser?”

Mark smiled. “Forever. I’ve kept one of my men watching him for years. I thought it was a waste. Obviously it wasn’t.” Mark smacked Corin’s shoulder. Probably a deep expression of compassion for him. “I’m sorry he betrayed you. I’m sorry about Nicole.”

“Me too.”

“My prayer is what Tesser did doesn’t stop you from trusting again.”

Corin nodded.

Mark leaned forward, popped his legs with his fists, and stood. “Gotta roll. Let’s stay in touch, Corin. You’re a good man.” Mark pointed at him, turned, and strode away.

A thought formed as he watched Mark walk into the fog and start to fade from sight. A way to thank Mark for saving his life.

“Hey, Mark.”

The pastor turned.

“In about two weeks I might have something to show you. Might be worth a flight back up here.”

“Sounds good. Call me.” Mark spun away from him and disappeared into the gray.

Corin smiled at his audacious idea. God willing he would be able to do it.

But first he had to see Shasta.

AS CORIN DROVE to Shasta’s house the next day, he wiped his hands on his pants every few miles and tried to keep his nerves in check and his foot on the gas. Fortunately the sprain in his leg was healing quickly and the pain from pressing the gas and the brake wasn’t bad. He was much more worried about how his emotions would hold up when he stood in front of his brother. It felt like he was about to plunge into the lake with lead weights around his ankles.

He tried not to imagine how Shasta would react to his words.

But that wasn’t his part in this play. His was only to speak and let his brother take ownership of however he chose to react.

A
deep sadness filled Robin’s face as she opened the door and beckoned Corin to come in.

Corin leaned on his crutches, his left leg bouncing as his nerves continued to betray him. “Where is he?”

“In the movie room.” She covered her mouth and dropped her head. “I’m not sure if he’ll even acknowledge you’re here. He’s angry about you coming. He meant it when he said he never wanted to talk to you again.”

“Shasta doesn’t have to say anything. I’ll say what I need to and then leave.”

“You’re right.” Robin nodded and blinked. “Whatever happens, it’s going to be okay.”

Corin offered a weak smile. “Do you believe that?”

“Not really, but I’m trying to.”

“Me too.”

Robin took his hands and squeezed them.

Corin felt like he was floating, detached from his body as he hobbled toward his brother’s media room. A numbness covered his mind—causing the emotions he carried into the house with him a few minutes earlier to vanish. He wasn’t nervous any longer. He wasn’t anything and couldn’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse.

When he reached the movie room, Corin stood just inside the door and stared at the back of Shasta’s head, silhouetted against the image of three men—two Native Americans, one white man—racing together through the forest.

As the scene ended the movie froze, the image of Daniel Day-Lewis staring out at him from the six-by-four-foot screen.

“Have you ever seen
The Last of the Mohicans
?” his brother called out.

The question was a barbed hook.

Nineteen years ago Shasta and he had seen it in the theater together. Had embraced it; made it the representation of their brotherhood and how they would always fight for each other the way Chingachgook, Uncas, and Hawkeye fought for one another. To ask if he’d seen it was another serrated blade across Corin’s heart.

It didn’t matter. Shasta could cut as much as he wanted. Corin’s heart might bleed like a river, but never to death—and it would never stop his love for Shasta.

“I haven’t seen it since the last time we watched it together.”

The slow whir of Shasta’s electric wheelchair was the only sound in the room. When it stopped, Shasta stared at him without anger, without regret, without emotion.

“Thanks for letting me come.”

“Robin said it was imperative you saw me.”

“It is.”

“That you have something that has to be said in person.”

Corin nodded and took half a step forward, then stopped. “Yes.”

“I thought we’d agreed we wouldn’t be seeing each other again.”

“This is the last time I’ll ever bother you, Shasta.”

“Please don’t call me that.” Shasta jammed his chin into his wheelchair’s chin controller and it spun to the right, his profile silhouetted against the movie screen. “It’s Dom.”

“When did you start—?”

“Try to explain to me why that’s any of your business.”

Corin rubbed his face and fought to remember the words he’d rehearsed countless times over the past two days that would provide an adequate introduction for what he’d come to say, but they’d disappeared. “It’s not any of my business.”

“What do you need?”

“I’m trying to put it into words.” Corin pressed the knuckle of his forefinger into his upper teeth.

“When you figure it out, you let me know.” He spun back to face the screen and the movie started again.

“I know what I want to say.” Corin stepped forward till he stood four feet from the back of Shasta’s head. “I need to ask you something.”

“What’s that?” The movie kept playing.

Corin glanced to his right then his left as if looking for a place to put down a set of weights he wasn’t carrying. He pressed his lips together and blinked, trying to hold back the tears pressing to get out.

“Well?” Shasta said.

Corin slumped forward on his crutches and let the tears come. “I never asked you.”

“Asked me what?”

“I told you I was sorry about the accident. I told you I wished it had never happened. How I wished with everything in me I could take that day back. I told you how sorry I was that I pushed you into going off the jump, but . . .” Corin’s voice cracked. “I never asked for your forgiveness.” He held his hands open, palms up.

The whir of Shasta’s chair as he turned back to his left seemed like a thunderstorm in Corin’s head.

“I never asked your forgiveness for stealing your life away from you.” Sobs racked Corin’s chest and his head fell forward. “Forgive me for trying to fix it, for trying to earn back your friendship, and for never once in all these years asking you to forgive me for what I did to you.”

A slight move of Shasta’s chin silenced the movie and the chair made a small rotation to the right.

“Forgive me.”

The room was frozen in silence, Shasta’s rhythmic breathing the only sound.

Corin steepled his hands and pressed them into his forehead.
Let my words go deep, tear off the ice around his heart, restore us. Shasta is—
The whir of Shasta’s chair made Corin whip his head up. He expected to know instantly from looking into his brother’s eyes what he was thinking.

But once again all he saw was the back of Shasta’s head.

“Good-bye, Corin.”

The speakers roared back to life and
The Last of the Mohicans
filled the screen.

AS CORIN CLOMPED down his brother’s front steps, Robin said, “I’m sorry.”

Corin turned. “It’s okay.” He kept walking. It was.

No, the ice cave his brother lived in was just as thick. Part of Corin said he’d accomplished nothing, but a larger part said he’d spoken truth, that he’d set himself free even if his brother didn’t want to join him, and that an invitation had been extended that couldn’t be ignored forever.

As he drove away it struck him that somehow the water was no longer as deep and its color no longer as black.

And he believed the water would grow brighter.

C
orin trudged up his front porch steps wanting nothing but a pillow to bury his head in, and ten hours of unconscious thought, but one glance at his porch told him slumber wouldn’t be an option for a while longer.

A black DVD case leaned against his front door. He balanced on his crutches and stooped to pick it up, the silver fluid script on the outside making him frown. Only one word was on it: Corin.

He didn’t know the handwriting.

He glanced over his shoulder, opened his front door, and slumped through the opening into the dark. It still smelled like the garlic potatoes he’d had the night before. Corin set his crutches aside, flopped onto his couch, and flicked on the lamp next to it. Silence filled the room so completely his ears rang.

Nicole was gone, Tori was gone, Tesser was his enemy, and while Mark had saved his life and shown a surprising new side to his personality, Corin wasn’t ready to be bungee-jumping partners. A. C. would recover, but never be fully restored. And somehow he knew BASE jumping wouldn’t have the same high-octane taste it used to.

Yet there was a type of hope he’d never known filling his mind—filling his heart. And a peace that didn’t make sense, and made all the sense in the universe.

He knew where it came from.

Not from a chair.

Not from a religion.

Not from a set of rules.

But from a Person who loved him with a passion so vast the whole world couldn’t contain it.

A Person he would follow the rest of his life.

He turned the DVD over in his hand, then over again. He opened the black plastic case, pulled the DVD out, pulled his computer onto his lap, slid it into the disc drive, and listened to the whir of the computer as the video booted up.

A few seconds later a shot of a small breakfast nook filled his screen, and then the sound of scuffling feet as a torso moved past the viewfinder. A second later the person came into view and sat at the oak chair at the end of the table.

It was Nicole.

“Hello, Corin.” She smoothed her hair. “Let’s have a little chat, shall we?” A sad smile played on her lips. “If you’re watching this, my spirit is no longer on earth and my body is just a shell that used to hold my soul.” She laughed. “Don’t you think that’s better than saying, ‘I’m dead’?”

“Life ends for all, so don’t cry over me. Yes, I might have lived a few more years, but it would be less than a blink in light of eternity. And who knows, we might be reunited someday. I believe we will.