The Chair (41 page)

“So what is your final conclusion? Do you believe the chair has the power to heal? I never did. But I have seen healings come through the chair. Do understand what I’m saying? The chair in and of itself never had the power to heal. I know you think it did, but that power only comes from the One. Without Him the chair is wood, nothing more. And far more important to Him than that shaped piece of wood is the hearts of the people who sit in it.

“You asked me once what type of power was in the chair, but I didn’t answer at the time.” She leaned forward. “I believe the chair’s greatest power is to bestow the restoration of relationships, for that is the greatest gift that can ever be given. The restoration of man’s relationship to God and of our relationships with each other.

“My prayer is the chair will do this for you.

“Remember, all physical healing is temporary anyway.

“There is only one healing that lasts for eternity—the healing of our souls.

“I will see you again. Until then, live in His forgiveness, His mercy, His grace. Good-bye, Corin.”

He slept that night without dreams and woke the next morning ready to do the impossible.

A
t six o’clock on Saturday morning, before any hint of gray had touched the sky, Corin hobbled to his workshop dreaming he could do something that wasn’t possible.

He opened the door, stood in the door frame, and took a deep breath.

A wave of anxiety washed over him.

Part of him wasn’t even sure he should attempt it.

But it was a small part.

The larger part inside called out with a shout to pour himself into the idea with full-out abandon.

It didn’t matter if he launched the idea and it exploded like one of the bottle rockets Shasta and he used to shoot off every Fourth of July. He had to try.

What was that old quote? Better to dare mighty things and go down in flames than attempt them not, and live forever in the shadow of regret. He smiled at himself. Wasn’t even close. But that was the basic idea.

Corin eased over to his workbench. “I need skills beyond my ability, God.” He settled onto his work stool and gazed at the shattered pieces of wood stacked on his workbench. The wood that had been a treasure so far beyond priceless he didn’t have words to describe it. Wood that somehow had given Corin back his life and a life he never knew existed.

Restore the chair to the way it was before? Impossible. But with everything inside he would try.

He picked up a six-inch piece and ran his palm over its surface. No tingle ran up his arm, no warmth at the tip of his forefinger. It was all right. His desire was no longer to access the power in the chair; he’d met the chair’s Maker. And found more power in Him than he could ever comprehend.

He carried the pieces to a small three-by-three platform he’d built and set them down like they were china, then taped four photos of the chair along the thick laminate post in the center of the room.

An assortment of glues stood at attention at the base of the table.

Here we go.

After three hours he took a short break, then poured another two hours into the restoration. Corin pulled back and studied the progress of his attempt.

Good start. The chair was coming into shape.

There was hope.

After another hour he flicked off the light in his workroom and ambled toward his kitchen. Time for something to eat and time to rest his eyes.

Before he reached his refrigerator his cell phone rang with a number he didn’t recognize. He ignored it. Shortly it rang again with the same number. Corin flipped the switch to put his cell on mute and resumed construction of a bacon, tomato, Swiss cheese, sourdough bread, and avocado sandwich. Heated in the microwave, of course.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the phone light up for a third time.

Persistent.

He put down the piece of bread he was about to butter and answered.

“Corin Roscoe?”

“Yes.” He didn’t recognize the voice.

“Your presence is requested for dinner this evening at six o’clock.”

“Who is this?”

“I’m afraid I have been instructed not to reveal that to you.”

“For what?”

“Dinner.”

“Today isn’t good; I’m right in the middle of a project.” Corin shifted the phone to his other ear. “Who is this?” he asked again.

“A friend of the person giving the invitation.”

“What is the name of my host?”

“They asked me not to reveal it to you.”

“In that case tell them they’ll be dining alone.”

The man on the other end of the phone paused. “I would counsel you against declining.”

“Really? Is that a threat?”

“Far from it. The choice is entirely up to you as my friend would say, but my friend believes healing could come from this dinner.”

Corin paused. Healing? Who would be calling him about healing? Intriguing. But not enough to stop working on the chair. “Maybe another time.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” The sadness in the voice seemed genuine. “My friend will be there waiting till nine. I hope you choose to come.”

“Tell your friend next time he or she invites me to be a little less secretive.”

“I will pass along your message.”

“Anything else?”

“They did ask that I relay a sentiment to you should you decide not to come.”

“What’s that?”

“That no matter how long it takes, no matter how far, he will find you.”

Was it him? Heat flooded Corin’s body. It had to be.

“Tell the host I’ll be there.”

“He will be very pleased to hear that.” Corin could almost feel the voice on the other end of the line smiling.

CORIN GLANCED AT his watch as he weaved in and out of traffic on the way to the address he’d been given. His phone’s GPS showed it was in a residential district on the west side of town.

Twenty minutes to six. He would be early. He smiled, then gave into the urge to call Shasta. It had to be him.

“Hello?”

“You quoted Hawkeye.”

“I thought it was a nice touch.”

“Absolutely.”

“I just thought it would be fun to shroud the invitation in a cloak of mystery.”

He heard the smile in Shasta’s voice. Corin’s heart pounded faster than it ever had on any of their extreme adventures together.

“What happened? Are you . . . ?” The words stuck in Corin’s throat.

“Yes, brother. I am healed.” Shasta laughed. “Don’t drive off the road on me.”

Corin’s body flooded with heat. “What? When did it—? Are you kidding me?” The words sputtered out of Corin like a torrent and a moment later he was laughing. “You’re serious!”

“Completely.”

A monsoon of belief and disbelief washed over Corin. “You’re kidding. I mean . . . tell me!”

“I’ll give you all the details when you get here. Are you on your way?”

Corin glanced at his watch. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Take your time and keep it under a hundred, okay?”

Seven minutes later Corin stood at the door of a house that was probably built in the late forties. Flower baskets hung along both sides of the covered porch and the light tan color on the siding looked freshly painted.

He rang the doorbell and waited. No answer. He rang again. A moment later the door opened revealing Robin.

“Welcome, Corin.” Her smile lit up the porch.

“He . . . h-he’s healed.” Corin stuttered the words out.

Robin grinned. “Yes, I know.” She motioned him in.

“Can I see him?”

“Of course.”

She led him down a short hallway but stopped a few feet before reaching a doorway on the right.

“I’m going to let you see him for the first time by yourself.” She hugged Corin. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be in the kitchen. I’m sure you can find it if need be.”

Corin tried to stop his hands from shaking. Finally he sucked in a deep breath, then limped into the room.

Shasta sat in his chair with the back of his head toward Corin, staring out the window in the small library.

“Shasta?”

As the electric wheelchair spun toward him, confusion filled Corin.

“You’re here.” A smile Corin hadn’t seen in ten years radiated from his brother’s face.

Corin blinked and gave tiny, involuntary shakes of his head. “What . . . ? I don’t understand.”

“Understand?”

“What are you still doing in the chair?” It didn’t make sense. “I thought you were healed.”

“I was healed, Corin.”

He glanced at Shasta’s wheelchair, then into his eyes. “Then why—?”

“Fully healed. Fully set free.”

“When?”

“Two days ago.”

“I don’t get it. What are you saying? You’re no longer paralyzed?”

“Exactly. I’m no longer paralyzed.” A smile played on Shasta’s face and he winked.

“Are you saying you could get up from that chair right now?”

Shasta pressed his chin into the wheelchair’s control and eased toward Corin. “I’ve been living in chains since the moment I woke up in that hospital bed ten years ago. Hating myself for going down that slope. Hating you even more for pushing me into it. I blamed you. For a time I prayed for you to break your own neck.”

Shasta inched the chair toward Corin till he was only two feet away. “I was a prisoner in an impenetrable cell I built using stones of regret and the concrete of bitterness. No one could get in and I couldn’t get out. For the past ten years I haven’t wanted to get out.

“Then you talked me into sitting in your chair and after it was over, I loathed you even more. Because for a moment I believed it would cure me. I even prayed while I sat there that it would restore my body and I could have my life back. And in that moment I felt something. A peace and a warmth I’d never felt. And I felt it not only in my head, but in my legs and my arms. I believed.

“But when nothing more happened, then and in the days after, I started building a thicker wall around my prison. After a week though I woke in the middle of the night to something or Someone standing in my room. Maybe I was dreaming. It doesn’t matter. Somehow this person spoke. ‘It’s your choice to be healed or not.’ That was it. He vanished and I woke the next morning with a pinprick of hope.

“I followed that hope and it led me to a tunnel that burrowed underneath the prison walls until I reached the outside and realized far more than missing our adventures together—what I’ve missed most deeply these past ten years is you.” Shasta inched closer. “As I accepted that truth, I was healed of my bitterness and my self-pity.”

Corin pulled a series of quick breaths. They’d been on parallel paths. “I think I know who the Someone is.”

“I do too.” Shasta smiled again and swiveled his head back and forth. “This life is short, Corin, but Robin tells me in the age to come, we will run forever with bodies that can never be broken.”

Corin sank into a chair to the right of the doorway. “Shasta, I—”

“One more thing. Forgive me for the way I’ve treated you for the past ten years.”

Corin gave a tiny shake of his head, then another. He hadn’t expected this. Joy flooded him but it was tinged with sorrow. The chair had healed Shasta.

And it hadn’t.

Tears pushed up from deep inside, but he shoved them back down. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything. Just accept it.”

Corin let his tears come.

Shasta spun his chair toward the window. “Light shines in darkness and the darkness can’t fight against it. There is never enough darkness to overcome even the flame of the smallest match from hundreds of yards away.”

Forgiveness. For both.

Restoration.

“Shasta?” For the first time in ten years, Corin took his brother’s limp hands in his. “You’ve got my heart.”

“And you have mine.” Shasta’s smile lit the room again. “I think God will be our most extreme adventure ever.”

Corin nodded through his tears and his smile.

AS SHASTA LED him out of the room he said, “Did you notice the pictures on the walls as you came in?”

“No, I was a bit preoccupied.”

“Take a look.”

Corin gazed at the pictures in amazement. “You’re kidding me. This is her house?”

“Yes.”

Corin wandered in a daze down the long hallway as he followed Shasta. Pictures of Nicole dotted the walls on either side; from the time she was young till one that looked like it was taken last month.

“Why do you have the key to her house?”

Over dinner Shasta explained how yesterday he had received a packet in the mail that explained how Nicole had left everything she owned to Shasta and Corin.

“Being an attorney I suppose is what made her give me the information instead of you.”

Corin spread his hands on the table and leaned his head back. “She knew how it would turn out.”

“No, I don’t think so. But I know what she hoped would happen.” Shasta winked at Robin who pushed a worn leather book over to Corin.

“What’s this?”

“Nicole’s journal. She wanted you to have it.”

He ran his fingers slowly over the smooth leather cover and smiled. A treasure to be savored.

“Also, I need you to sign something.”