The Chair (3 page)

Jamba Juice was empty except for one customer. Tori ordered a Caribbean Passion and they slid into a booth at the back of the store.

“It was a good class tonight, don’t you think?”

“You kicked my butt. In front of everyone. Again.” Corin sucked in a mouthful of her smoothie. “It’s a little embarrassing getting handled like that in front of all your students.”

“Why?” She grinned at him. “Because you outweigh me by at least one hundred pounds and are a foot taller?”

“Something like that.”

“Karate isn’t about size—”

“It’s about technique, I know.”

“Why were you late?”

“A slight emergency.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Good to know.” Tori stared at him over the top of her straw as she swirled it around her cup. Her eyes asked him to say more, but her mouth stayed silent.

Thank you for not pressing me.

“Anything fun happen in your store today?”

Corin downed a large gulp of milkshake as a teenager in a wheelchair inched past their table. He couldn’t get away from it anywhere. Constant reminders of his idiocy. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. It happened, yes. But it was eons ago. And he couldn’t go back in time to fix it.

So let it go.

Most of the time he could. Not most. Some.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine.” Corin offered a smile that was only half forced. “And yes, as a matter of fact, something fun did happen. Peter Parker’s aunt came by the store with a gift.”

“Peter Parker?”

“You know, Spider-Man, Peter Parker. He has an Aunt May he lives with, or lived with, before he and Mary Jane got connected. This lady looked like her. Only prettier.”

“I’ve never really gotten into comics.”

“Didn’t you see any of the movies?”

“Sorry.” Tori shrugged. “I know they killed at the box office.”

“We’ll watch them sometime.”

“I can’t wait.”

Corin laughed, reached for Tori’s hands, and squeezed twice. She gave him two back.

“What was the gift?”

“A chair.”

“I’ll bet it was an antique.”

“Lucky guess. She gives me all this cryptic mumbo jumbo about the chair, how special it is, how the greatest craftsman who ever lived made it, etcetera.”

“She didn’t say why it’s so special?”

“She was a little strange. Wouldn’t give me her name, number, nothing.”

“Maybe she’s playing hard to get.”

“Ha.”

“It’s old?” Tori slurped up the last of her Caribbean Passion and tossed the cup at the nearby trash can. It hit the rim and tottered in.

“From what I can tell, really old. There’s nothing special about it at first glance. The design is simple, but I’m going to give it a thorough exam this week. There’s something about it that’s different.”

“How so?”

Corin hesitated. Should he tell her? No. Why not? Because he didn’t want her thinking he was a whacko. He rubbed his fingers together where the tingling sensation had shot into his fingers and up his arm. He still couldn’t decide if he’d imagined the feeling.

He hadn’t known Tori long enough to predict how she’d react to his telling her an ancient chair provided by an enigmatic elderly lady was throwing off electric current.

“Maybe it was the way she looked at me. Or what she said. Might just be my imagination, but I think there’s an energy around that chair. I’ll probably have the thing dated to see exactly how old it is. I’m curious.”

“Energy from the chair? Are you going New Age on me?”

Corin shook his head. “I just want to find out more about it.”

“Is she trying to sell it on consignment?”

“No, it was clear she wanted me to keep it. She said I had been chosen to have the chair.”

“Doo doo doo doo—doo, doo doo doo.”

“Is that supposed to be the theme music from the
Twilight Zone
?”

“I knew you’d recognize it.” Tori thumped his forearm with the edge of her palm, fingers out. “Hey, changing gears, are you dead set on going this weekend?”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to hold your fingers straight when you gave a karate chop.”

“It’s okay when it’s a sign of affection.” Tori smiled and reached for Corin’s milkshake. “So you’re set on going?”

“Yes, it’ll be a killer adrenaline rush.”

“Hmm.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Nothing.” She looked at the table and chopped his arm again. “What time are we taking off on Friday?”

Corin waved his hand in the air as if to wipe away the question. “Who do you think is the greatest chair maker who ever lived?”

“I know what my slightly deranged parents would say.”

“Really?” Corin leaned forward. “Who?”

Tori took a drink of Corin’s milkshake, the chocolate staining her upper lip. “If we’re talking about the absolute greatest, the answer is pretty obvious.”

“And that would be?”

“Jesus.” Tori shrugged.

“Son of God, Jesus?” Corin laughed. “Wasn’t He more into the doing miracles thing and walking around from town to town with His band of merry men?”

“That’s Robin Hood.”

“Whatever.”

“He did the carpenter thing until He was thirty. So who says He didn’t make a bunch of tables and chairs?”

“So a chair is going to last for two thousand years?”

“I don’t know. You’re the expert on old furniture, Corin. You tell me. If it’s treated right the wood isn’t going to rot, is it? Plus He probably put some kind of spell or blessing or whatever on it.”

“I suppose it’s possible.”

“They say with God all things are possible.”

“I didn’t know you were into Christianity.”

“Are you kidding? I’m about as far away as you can get. But I grew up with my parents forcing me to go every Sunday. I gave it up the moment I headed off to college.” She took a last drink of his Oreo shake and stood. “I’m still spiritual, but I bailed on the church long ago.”

Corin creaked out of his seat, soreness already creeping into his quads. “Your reason?”

A darkness flashed over Tori’s face almost too quick to notice.

She shrugged. “Too much religion. Too narrow minded. Everyone else except Christians are going to hell because they weren’t born in the right country and weren’t raised that way? Nah, I can’t buy that. And I think Christians are way more excited to judge others for all their sins and tell them why they’re wrong than love them. You know, the typical reasons.”

She said the words with sincerity. But something about them rang false.

They stepped outside and eased back toward the dojo’s parking lot where their cars were parked.

Tori spread her hands and gazed at the sky. “I don’t think there’s a singular God. I think God is in all of us, so collectively the good in people makes up something I call God.” She gazed at him. “And you? Where are you at spiritually?”

“I definitely think there’s something bigger than us. Maybe God. I think there’s a force—”

Tori laughed. “
Da duh, da da da da duh, duh duh duh, duhhhhh
. Luke, I am your faaaather.”

“Just because I like
Star Wars
doesn’t mean I’m going all Lucas on you.” He joined her laughter and slid his arm around her shoulders.

“I think it would be cool if you had a chair made by Jesus. You could start a cult. Pretend it gives people visions if they sit in it. Hey! Make them
pay
to sit in it to get their visions and make a few bucks. Or build duplicates, put them in the store and up on your Web site, and sell ’em.”

“So you’re still up for launching ourselves off that mountain this weekend?”

“Absolutely.” She stared at him from under her eyebrows. “Kind of.”

“Explain.”

“Just promise me you won’t go crazy on me again, okay?”

Was it that obvious? His penchant for buddying up to the Reaper? Probably. But he couldn’t stop it. Maybe he didn’t want to stop it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“That’s what concerns me.”

She was right to worry. But he’d never admit that to her. He barely admitted it to himself.

A
t nine o’clock the next evening, the sound of thunder ripped through Corin’s house, making him think once again they must have constructed his walls out of papier-mâché. The lamp on his workbench flickered. Welcome to late October in Colorado.

“No.” Corin shut his eyes. “I don’t need this. I want to get this piece finished.”

A second peal of thunder reverberated through the room, and the lights went out for half a second, then back on.

Corin yanked open a drawer and pulled out a flashlight.

If the power went out, it meant another delay in finishing the table and getting it on his sales floor.

He ran his hands over the top of the Top Swan carved end table. It was turning out beautiful. Researching the type of stain that had originally been used had taken days. Finding the stain took longer. In the end he had the stain custom made. But there was no point in restoring the piece to its almost-original condition. Exact was the only acceptable standard.

He plugged in his sander and fired it up. In a few minutes he’s have all the rough spots smoothed out on the final leg of the table. Corin glanced at the lights. Just give me power a little bit longer.

The lights flickered again.

Corin turned the sander on high and went to work on the leg. Three seconds later all the lights in his shop went out. Corin sighed, set his sander on his workbench, picked up the flashlight and turned to the door of his workshop. “What?” Dim light reached him from his kitchen. Oh no. The power hadn’t gone out. He’d blown a fuse.

Corin swore, closed his eyes, and jammed his hands in his pockets to keep them from shaking.

Every time this happened he promised himself he’d cut a door from the outside of the garage so he could get to the fuse box without having to face the tunnel of fear that insisted on burrowing its way into his mind.

Sweat trickled down his forehead as he walked into his living room and stared at his couch. Maybe he’d sit in it for five or ten minutes—it’d give him time to work up his nerve.

Sure it would.

And at least three of the Fantastic Four were real and living in New York City.

Couldn’t he even reset a fuse without morphing into a six-foot-two mass of fear?

What had the psychiatrist told him a few years back? Think open thoughts. Close his eyes if possible and think about meadows, the ocean, mountaintops with nothing but sky surrounding him. Yeah, right.

He took a deep breath. Something about holding his breath kept the claustrophobia at bay till he let the air out. Holding his breath meant he wasn’t breathing in . . .

No. No point in going there. He relived it often enough in his nightmares.

Corin wiped the perspiration off his forehead again and shook his head.

Why couldn’t he have a simpler fear like being scared of the dark?

The lead box for that kind of kryptonite was simple. Night-lights, flashlights, spotlights.

He roamed toward the garage door and reached for the knob hating himself for the slick coat of perspiration he left on it. As he stepped into the belly of the beast, he took another deep breath.

Corin eased toward the crawl space between the back of the garage and the wall that created an extra, hidden storage area. Shouldn’t the home have been built with an easily accessed fuse box? Wasn’t it important to get to these type of things? Or did the previous owner build this wall without getting permits?

I so appreciate what you constructed, pal. Thanks a bunch.

When he reached the spot where the wall started, he rubbed the Sheetrock with the palm of his hand and muttered for the 2 millionth time, “There’s no logical reason to be afraid.” And for the 2 millionth time it didn’t help.

He clutched his knees to stop his legs from bouncing.

Why couldn’t he shake this?

Closed spaces had nothing to do with water. He puffed out a quick breath. Yes, they did. It’s why some people couldn’t scuba dive or even snorkel. It felt like the water was closing in.

Corin shook the summer of 1987 out his mind, lied to himself, and pretended the two incidents weren’t related.

He flashed his light at the opening. It was only fifteen feet to the fuse box. There was an abundance of air to breathe between here and there. And he could hold his breath long enough to get to the switch, flip it, and get back to the safety of the open garage.

He wouldn’t allow himself to pit out another one of his
Crazy Shirts
just because he swallowed a few lungfuls of water when he was a kid. Big deal. Get over it. Be a superhero, face the fear, and get on with life. But he couldn’t. Counseling, hypnosis, even acupuncture. Nothing had helped.

He sucked in a rapid breath and held it, closed his eyes, and imagined open fields. Why did his mind always flood the fields with water?

Go!

He turned sideways and shimmed in between the walls, almost hopping as he sidestepped toward the fuse box. In six seconds he reached it.

Flip the switch and get back.

Corin yanked the fuse down for his shop, then shoved it back up. It snapped into place.