Invisible (20 page)

As he talks, my heart melts like a pound of butter over a hot flame. His concern for Twila—his willingness to engage with her, to give of himself—gets to me. His reference to prayer and his love for God, so evident whenever we talk . . . and those gorgeous, sleepy, blue eyes.

Is it possible? Is this man as good as he seems?

Careful, Tubby. If he seems too good to be true, then he is.

I walk toward him and stop just short of where he stands. He watches me but doesn't move. I take one step closer and then stand on my toes, intending to give him a quick kiss on the cheek and thank him for his goodness to Twila. But as I do, he puts his arms around me and pulls me close. The warmth of him against me both soothes and ignites me.

“Mmm . . . you smell wonderful—like everything good: garlic, cream, herbs, and butter.”

“Eau de chef.” I start to pull away from him. I need to pull away from him. But as I do, he reaches up and places his hands on my face. He holds me there, staring down at me, those deep blue eyes serious.

And then his lips are on mine.

His kiss is tender and undemanding.

My mind screams a warning, but I ignore it and let my other senses take over. His breath is warm and the stubble on his chin brushes against my face. The spicy scent of his aftershave swirls. The sound of my own heart beating in my ears drowns out everything, including my common sense.

I surrender.

I reach my arms up around his neck and let one hand rest in his hair.

And I kiss him back—a long, lingering kiss.

A moment I've dreamt of most of my life.

Breathless, I lean my head back, still in his embrace.

“Ellyn . . .” His voice is thick. “You have to know I'm falling for you.”

He's good. Using that line already. You know where this is going. I hate to say ‘I told you so,' but I did.

I look at him and know my eyes mirror the desire I read in his. Oh, what am I
doing
?

You might as well lead him upstairs right now. You know that's what he's expecting.

I shake my head.
No
. “No . . .” I drop my arms back to my sides and take a step back. “No . . . I can't . . . I can't do this.” I try to catch my breath and hope he can't hear my heart pounding.

“Ellyn?”

I turn my back on him now and take a few more steps away. Then I turn back. “I can't do this. I won't do this. I won't. I told you from the beginning . . . I told you. I . . . don't want this.”

I see the hurt in his eyes, but the armor shielding my heart snaps back into place. “I'm sorry, Miles. I . . . need you to . . . leave. Now.” I walk toward the front door and open it when I get there. I turn and look at him still rooted where we'd stood together just moments before.

He walks toward the door and then stops at the coffee table. He reaches down and picks something up off the table and drops it in the pocket of his slacks. His keys, maybe? When he gets to me, he stops and looks at me. “Ellyn, I—”

“Please, just go.”

He shakes his head and, again, I see the pain in his eyes. But he says nothing else. He walks out my front door.

And I close the door behind him.

Then I turn and lean against it.

He will not get in again.

Not into my house.

Not into my heart.

I stand there until I hear his car, him, pull out of the gravel driveway.

When he does, I let the tears come.

I walk back to the dining room table, pick up the bag of croissants, and take one out of the bag. I go to the kitchen, set the bag on the counter, and open a drawer and take out a paper napkin. I wipe my eyes and nose with the napkin and then take a bite of the croissant. The lump in my throat makes swallowing a struggle, but I work at it until the bite goes down.

Then I take another bite.

And another . . .

With the last bite of the last croissant in the bag, a small voice whispers in my mind. Or maybe in my heart.

You don't love food more than you love Me, Ellyn. You trust food more than you trust Me.

I swallow.

Then the whisper comes again.

Will you trust Me?

There are no caresses tenderer than your charity, and no object of love is more healthy than your truth, beautiful and luminous beyond all things.

Saint Augustine

Chapter Twenty-Six

Miles

Gravel sprays behind me
as I put my foot to the accelerator leaving Ellyn's driveway. When I reach the end of her street, I turn right toward the water rather than left toward the highway. I round the curve of Headlands State Park and pull into the first parking space—the beams of my headlights bounce across the lot and land on the dark expanse of water. I turn the lights off, put the car into park, and open the door.

Once out, I turn and look behind me and see the lights shining from Ellyn's tower flick off one by one. I imagine her climbing the stairs to her bedroom. That was an intense end to an evening.

For both of us, I'd guess.

That intensity presses on my chest from the inside out. Or . . . is it anger?

I turn and look back at the water.

Anger at myself for my lack of self-control, for ignoring the boundary Ellyn set.

I let my eyes adjust to the dark, and then walk to one of the trails leading from the parking lot out to the cliffs.

I thought I saw her soften tonight—read something more in her face. But I was wrong. So wrong.

An owl swoops down on its prey in front of me.

Or was I? Didn't she return my kiss?

My throat tightens. “Ah Sarah, it was so easy with you.” A void inside me cracks wide and the trail, lit only by a slice of moon, blurs in front of me. I step up my pace needing an outlet for my anger, my grief.

The anger of rejection.

The grief of loss.

Again.

A crisp wind blows now, carrying spray from the surf below. I jam my cold hands into my pants pockets as I walk. When I do, I feel the smooth edges of the piece of sea glass I took from Ellyn's coffee table. I wrap my hand around it and clench it in my fist.

I knew, from the beginning, that I felt more for Ellyn than friendship.

Felt more. And wanted more.

She made herself clear from the beginning, so I have no one but myself to blame for her rejection.

I see Ellyn in my mind—the emotion in her green eyes tonight—or at least the emotion I imagined I saw there. But it's Twila I think of—what she shared with me tonight. The void her father left in her life. In her heart.

My anger boils again. Will Twila's father ever know the damage he's caused?

I think of my sons, Will and Alex, each named after a grandfather. I can't imagine not having a relationship with them. Not being involved in their lives. I talk to them every chance I get. I love them. I miss them.

Twila's pain was so visible. When I met her, just after she came home from school, too weak to continue her education, I wondered if her shrinking body was her way of disappearing. If you don't exist, you can't hurt.

Well, maybe she had the right idea—maybe disappearing is the answer. If I disappear from Ellyn's life, maybe I'll save her some hurt.

Her . . . and myself.

I pull my hand from my pockets, the piece of sea glass still in my grip. I veer off the path and trudge through the prairie grass until I'm standing as close to the edge of the cliff as I dare. I pull my right arm back and then hurl the piece of glass, the color of Ellyn's eyes, into the sea. As I release it, it catches the light of that slice of moon, and then it disappears into the inky water.

It disappears.

It becomes
invisible
.

Lord?

Ellyn's words, spoken a couple of weeks ago when talking about Twila, come back to me now:
“Funny, but we have more in common than you might think.”
She'd kept talking—contrasting herself with Twila. I heard the contrasts, but she never got to their similarities. Why hadn't I asked?

What do they share in common?

I wait, asking God to help me understand. I think of Twila again—how her body manifested her pain. Could she and Ellyn share that in common? Is Ellyn's weight a manifestation of her pain? Is the root cause similar for both of them, but the outcome different?

Twila confirmed tonight that she'd wanted to disappear. To hide from her pain by shrinking away. I triggered that pain in Twila. Is it possible Ellyn also wants to hide? Has she disappeared behind the weight she carries? Is she covering her pain?

I shake my head.

I hear these types of stories from patients. I've learned some of the root causes of eating disorders. Though they may manifest in different ways, the underlying issue is often similar.

Is that it, Lord? Two women longing for invisibility—to hide from the pain they've experienced?

But what is Ellyn's pain? Do I trigger her pain in some way too?

I recall our conversation about death. I lost Sarah, Ellyn lost her father. But I sensed she'd grieved her father and moved on. And I'm certainly not a father figure for Ellyn. But Nerissa had wondered, too, if Ellyn was afraid of getting involved with a man.

Someone hurt her.

If I let myself, I can still feel the warmth of Ellyn's kiss. But more than that, I feel my heart constrict at the thought of her hurting. And I choose to focus on the latter.

Lord, thank You for Your forgiveness. I didn't want to hurt Ellyn, yet I disrespected the boundary she set. But Lord, You know my heart—my intent—I don't want to hurt her. Comfort her tonight, Lord.

My throat tightens again.

I don't know how to pray for her. I don't know what's gone on in her past. But . . . You know. Lead me, Lord.

Rain drizzles now and I head back to the car. The smell of damp earth rises as I walk. I get in the car, turn on the engine, heater, and wipers, and then back out of the parking space.

Lord, show me how to pray for Ellyn . . .

The screeching of the wipers against the windshield is the only sound in the car. But inside me, I sense, more than hear the answer.

Pray for Ellyn as you would Twila.

An image of the tattoo on Twila's wrist comes to mind.

Imago Dei.

Father, I pray that both Twila and Ellyn will recognize themselves as being created in Your divine image. May they live into that image, and embrace their value as being made by You and like You, Father. Heal the wounds others have inflicted on them. Restore them.

God, may they know Your love, Your mercy, Your grace. May they fall more in love with You day by day.

Father, I pray I will reflect Your image to each of them. I pray my own wounds don't blur the wonder of who You are, but rather that they will see wholeness that comes only from You.

I stare at the road ahead, and new resolve grows within me. To reflect God's attributes in a way that pleases Him—in a way that reflects His truth instead of the lies others have portrayed. To do what He calls me to do that these two hurting women may recognize God as Father, Savior, and Lover . . .

As All.

I prayed for another chance to cast a picture of God for Ellyn. As for what I longed for . . .

Father, I trust my heart to You. You are enough. May Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.

In the name of Jesus, I pray.

Amen.

The greatest source of repair was the solace of . . . friends.

Saint Augustine

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ellyn

Sabina looks back. “You're
quiet this morning.”

My heart is hammering as I try to keep up with her long strides—her legs are twice as long as mine. No exaggeration. We agreed a couple of weeks ago that we'd start walking together on a regular basis and we also agreed that we'd each go our own pace.