CHAPTER 36

After Corin wrapped up another day of almost nonexistent business at his store, he drove to Tori’s dojo and picked her up, ready to talk about a subject he knew she wanted to bury. They were headed to see Tori’s nephew perform in a junior high rendition of Guys and Dolls. The play a little mature for a crew of sixth, seventh, and eighth graders, but apparently the drama teacher was a frustrated Broadway wannabe.

As they pulled out of Tori’s parking lot Corin said, “I’m giving serious consideration to calling Shasta, to see if he’ll come sit in the chair.”

Two night earlier he’d told Tori about Shasta’s accident, about the experimental operation, and about Jefferies’ offer.

“You’re going to what?” Tori squinted at him as if she had chugged two shots of straight lemon juice.

“You heard me.”

“Great idea. Brilliant.” She flipped on the radio and Coldplay blared out of his speakers.

“I’m hearing a sliver of sarcasm in your voice.” He turned the radio down.

“Really?”

As they pulled up to a red light, Corin turned to Tori. “I have to try.”

“Just sell the chair to the pastor and run.”

“I have to try this first.”

“You’re still thinking this comic-book-healing-people story of yours really has come to life, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Corin turned and stared at the stoplight until it turned green. Green equals go. And the impression he’d gotten from sitting in the chair was a brilliant emerald shade. So was talking to Tesser. So was talking to Nicole. How many more lights did he need? But what if it didn’t work?

“What if Shasta doesn’t get healed? What will that do to your relationship?”

What? Did she read minds now? “It has to.”

“Do you really want to ruin any chance of having a relationship with him if it doesn’t work?”

Corin ground his fingers into the back of his neck in a vain attempt to loosen the gathering knots under his skin. “I don’t have a relationship with Shasta now. What difference would it make?”

“It would make a difference, believe me.” Tori slumped back in her seat and huffed. “At least now there’s hope. Didn’t you tell me he’s slowly thawing? That his wife said there were signs of hope?”

“Yeah, the glaciers in Alaska are thawing too.”

“Don’t cause another Ice Age.”

“I haven’t told you what happened.” Corin switched off the radio. “The chair healed someone else.”

“Who?”

He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Me.”

After telling her his story, Corin waited for Tori to respond. She didn’t.

“Did you hear me? I was healed, Tori. Me. This isn’t a legend or a fairy tale any longer. If A. C. and Brittan and I can be healed, so can Shasta.”

“How do you know it wasn’t your mind finally letting go of your fear?”

“It wasn’t. I would know.”

Tori shrugged. “I’m not buying. Brittan outgrows his asthma around the time he sits in the chair, A. C. gets a cortisone shot or breaks up some painful scar tissue after he sits in the chair, and you finally get control of an emotional—not physical, mind you—issue and you’re convinced this chair contains the healing power of God.”

“Why are you so against the idea of this chair being able to bring people healing? Does it have to start curing cancer for you to believe?”

“No reason.” Tori cranked her arms tight across her chest.

“Your body language doth scream in protest that this be a statement devoid of truth.”

“Nice work, Agatha.”

“Ms. Christie wrote about the detectives; she wasn’t one herself.” Corin stepped on the gas to get through an intersection before the light shifted from yellow to red. “Are you going to tell me?”

Tori turned toward the window of Corin’s Toyota Highlander.

“Wow. I wasn’t trying to get in the ring with you on this. If you don’t want to talk about it, let’s not talk about it. No big deal.” Corin glanced at her. All he saw was the back of her head.

They drove in silence for five minutes. Probably his move to chip at the wall of ice that had formed between them. “Any of your students impressing you these days?”

“My uncle.”

“Your uncle is taking karate from you?”

“My uncle is the reason I think you should keep your brother away from the chair.”

“What does your uncle have to do with Shasta?”

She didn’t answer for so long Corin thought she wouldn’t say any more. But she shifted toward him in her seat—arms still folded—and stared out the windshield.

“Growing up he was my favorite uncle. When I was fifteen he was diagnosed with an aggressive form of MS. In four months he went from running marathons to spending all his waking hours sitting in an old wheelchair.

“Except for Sunday mornings and Wednesday nights.” She wriggled her hands in the air. “Twice a week we piled in the car and drove—sometimes for hours—in order to endure a three- or five- or eight-hour healing service that never healed my uncle. Those quacks claimed to be men of God, to be able to channel His miiiiiiighty healing power, but for some funny reason, they couldn’t see my uncle where he sat ten feet in front of them.

“For some reason God told them to bring other people up on stage who ‘the spirit of God had fallen on’ and lo and behold, they were healed!

“My uncle started to resist going, but my dad kept pushing. He was always convinced the next healing service would be the one that would restore my uncle to full health. Finally my uncle said no more and refused to go. But my dad got out the crowbar and my uncle went a few more times.” Tori went silent again, the only sound her accelerated breathing.

“Finally my uncle shouted enough and stopped talking to my dad, my mom, even me.” Tori blinked but the tears still came. “When my uncle died I said enough as well. I was done with God.”

Corin gripped the wheel tighter and tried to find the right words, but none came.

As they rode in silence, Tori dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

“They chased a dream made of broken wings that never flew.” She blew her nose and brushed back her hair. “All I’m saying is, you need to get out some seriously sensitive scales and decide if this is worth your relationship with Shasta. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the three of you were healed supernaturally. But if you weren’t, and Shasta sits in that chair and nothing happens, my prediction is any hope of having a relationship with him will be lost forever.”

They pulled into the parking lot of the junior high, found a spot, and Corin shut off the engine. But they didn’t get out.

“One more thing, Corin.”

“Yeah?”

“If you go down that path, I’m not going with you.”

“What path?”

“I see the look in your eyes. You’re thinking if the chair is real, then God must be real. You’re thinking God really could be intervening in the lives of men and if that’s true you need to look into Him more.”

“So?”

“I’m not going there.”

“What does that mean?”

“If you’re going to get into God, it’s okay by me—I still love my parents and I have lots of friends who are Christians—I just want to be clear I don’t want to be part of it.”

“But we can still be together.”

“I don’t know. You get converted and things would get weird.”

“I’m not getting converted. But I can’t ignore what is happening to me.”

Corin got out of the car, went around the passenger side, and opened Tori’s door. She stared at him for five seconds before getting out. “Just think about what I said, okay?”

He would and did. The play might have been good. Corin didn’t know. He spent the hour and a half inside the cramped junior high theater trying to make a final decision.

When Corin got home that night, he e-mailed Nicole and did something he’d never asked anyone to do for him.

Dear Nicole,

Part of me is determined to call Shasta in the morning. Another part says it would ruin any chance of seeing our relationship healed. I could use wisdom. Could you talk to God about this for me? I’m making my decision one way or another in the morning.

He stopped typing and once again played through the scenarios Tori and Tesser had planted in his mind. The image of Tesser’s eyes filling with tears won out and Corin turned back to his keyboard.

Actually, I just made the decision. I promise you tomorrow morning I’ll pick up the phone and call him.

Corin.

He hesitated, then depressed the key on his laptop and sent his e-mail down the cyber corridors into Nicole’s in-box.

Now he was committed.