CHAPTER 52

Six days later Corin sat at the lake—crutches lying on his right, pain pills in his left pocket—and prayed. For peace. For the meeting he would have with Shasta in a little less than an hour. For himself. For understanding. For forgiveness.

A few minutes later a cough floated toward him through the light fog that covered the lake and shoreline. He turned toward the sound.

“Good to see you alive, Corin.” Mark Jefferies stood ten yards behind and to his left, hands jammed into his black leather jacket.

Corin blinked and couldn’t stop a smile from forming. “It was you, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You saved my life. In Tesser’s house.”

“True.”

“And again when I jumped off that cliff.”

“Yep.” Mark gave a thin smile, slid onto the bench next to Corin, and leaned back, legs crossed, hands behind his head.

“I see you aren’t limited to a few bodyguards for your protection.”

“My friends know friends who know friends—nice to have them in cities and situations like the ones you found yourself in.”

“Thank you.”

Mark nodded. “The thing with Nicole? That was wrong. She was a wonderful woman. Who walked with God.”

“You met her?”

“I did. Very recently.” Mark scraped his feet on the concrete path. “She pumped my head full of wisdom. Wisdom . . . truth I needed.”

“She was my grandmother.”

“I suspected that.”

“How?”

“From studying the legend. Sometimes the passing on of the chair skipped a generation. It’s always been from woman to woman, but that was tradition, not an absolute mandate.”

And now he’d ended the tradition, but there would be no chair to pass down to a daughter or a son. The thought filled him with an emptiness and a longing for forgiveness. But from whom he didn’t know. Nicole? God?

Corin glanced at Mark. The man didn’t make sense. So full of swagger and pride. Yet the pastor had saved him and seemed to want nothing in return.

“Why were you so obsessed with the chair?”

“I still am.” Mark pressed the tips of his fingers and thumbs together. “It has always fascinated me. The possibility of its existence—the type of legend only seen in stories come to real life—the thought I might be the one to find it.”

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.