“Do I have a choice?”
Ellyn smiles. “What do you think?”
I swing the door closed and follow her to the kitchen, where she sets the teapot to boil.
“Make yourself at home,” I say to her back as she turns on the range.
“I hear the sarcasm in your voice.”
“Good.” I go to the cupboard and take out two mugs. “Listen, Ellyn, I appreciate your concern, but I don’t want to talk about . . . about what I shared with you. I had no intent of ever discussing it, but you pressured me.”
Ellyn leans against the counter next to the stove. “Sabina, if one of your clients went through something as traumatic as what you’ve experienced, would you let them get away with saying they don’t want to talk about it and blaming you for pressuring them?”
“I can’t own my client’s responses or reactions.”
“But you can own their choices?”
The tenderness in her voice is like an arrow through my heart. “I told you, I don’t want to talk about this.”
She reaches over and turns the range off just as the teapot begins to whistle.
“Just tell me this. Are you talking to someone? A counselor?”
“Yes. I did.” I drop tea bags in the mugs and set them on the counter so she can fill them.
“You did?”
“Yes.”
“And now?” She pours the boiling water into the cups.
“And now I’m here.”
“Hiding.”
“Ellyn, I don’t expect you to understand. There’s more to it than you can imagine. I’m healing. End of story.” I take my mug and head to the living room.
“Why is it so dark in here?”
“Here, let me turn on the lamps.” I see Ellyn look at the closed blinds and at the leather chairs I moved so they face into the living room rather than toward the picture window.
“Honey, you have one of the most beautiful views in the world . . .” She looks at me and cocks her head to one side, as though she’s thinking. “You . . . avoid the view. That’s why you always want to walk around the village rather than the headlands. Right?”
“I don’t avoid it. I’m a city girl. I like the village.”
“No, there’s more to it than that.”
“Ellyn, not everyone loves the ocean as much as you do. I’m not a big nature lover. If you want to see the view, we’ll open the blinds.” I set my mug down and walk to the window and pull on the cord that pulls the blinds open. Then I walk to the other wall and do the same. The early afternoon sunlight streams into the living room. “There, better?” I turn, face Ellyn, and then move and sit in one of the leather chairs in front of the window.
“Have a seat.”
“Why won’t you look out? Why won’t you look at the ocean?”
“Girl, let it go. I mean it. Unless you’re ready to talk about yourself, you might as well leave.” I raise one hand. “I’m done.”
She stands in the middle of the living room and stares at me for a moment, then she looks past me, at the spectacular view. I see the questions in her eyes, but she doesn’t ask anything more.
She comes over, sets her mug next to mine, and then sits in the other leather chair. As she does, I see her demeanor change—her shoulders droop and I notice, for the first time today, the dark circles under her eyes.
“Ellyn, are you all right? Is it just the number on the scale?”
She takes a deep breath, “It’s something else too. I might . . . you know . . . want to talk about it.”
“But?”
“But . . . I don’t . . . I don’t want to . . . kiss and tell.”
I raise one eyebrow. “Girl, if you kissed someone, you’d better tell.”
“I didn’t exactly. It was more him. He kissed me.”
“Paco?”
“What? Paco? He’s married.”
I cross one leg over the other and lean back in the chair and smile. “Well, there are only two men in your life that I know of, and if it wasn’t Paco, then it had to be the doctor, which makes this a fascinating conversation. So how do you feel?”
She looks from me to the floor. “Fat.”
It’s the first time I’ve heard her use that word, and condemnation rings loud and clear in her tone.
“So Miles kissed you and now you feel fat?” I’m gentle with the word.
“No, Counselor. I am fat and Miles kissed me.”
“And when you weighed yourself this morning, you felt the scale confirmed your feelings?” My eyes narrow as they have a thousand times before as I’ve sat across from a client and tried to understand what they’re feeling.
She nods. “I don’t get it, Sabina. I mean, when a man kisses a woman it’s because he’s attracted to her.”
“Yes.”
“There has to be something wrong with him, right?”
“Why?”
“Because . . .” She looks down at her body. “. . . look at me.”
I watch her face color and see the pain in her eyes. “Ah, because you’re large, you think you’re unattractive?”
“No, I’m large and, therefore, unattractive. What man is attracted to a woman who . . . who . . .” She looks at me, her question hanging between us.
“Ellyn, anyone who’s in the same room with you and Miles knows he cares about you, enjoys you, and yes, is attracted to you. Beauty is more than a number on a scale. It comes from the soul. You’re one of the most beautiful women I know, inside and out.”
“Give me a break. He’s just playing with me, Sabina. He’s not attracted. He’s probably just desperate.”
I take that one in. “Wow, you don’t give yourself much credit, do you? Or Miles, for that matter.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “It isn’t just about . . . the weight. I set a clear boundary with him. I told him I didn’t want anything more than friendship. And he crossed that boundary. I let him cross that boundary.” She rubs her forehead as though our conversation is making her head ache. “I . . . I . . . didn’t resist . . . at all. But afterward . . .”
She lifts her chin and looks me in the eyes. “Afterward, I told him to leave. I told him I don’t want that type of relationship.” She stands up and walks to the fireplace. “I’m done with him.”
I watch her for a moment, then I nod. “That’s your right—you don’t have to see him again.” I watch as her shoulders relax just a bit. “You made it clear that you only wanted friendship. You know, I’ve teased you about that. I’m sorry. It’s your choice, Ellyn. It’s your prerogative.”
She nods.
“So you’re comfortable with the black-and-white nature of the decision. You’ve let him know the friendship is over. How do you feel now?”
I see tears well in her eyes and then she looks away.
I consider my next question and instinct tells me it’s the right one to ask. “Ellyn, who’s Earl?”
She wipes away her tears. The vulnerability I witnessed is gone, replaced with a resolute set of her chin. The conversation, I’m certain, is finished.
“I . . . I don’t want to talk about this. I thought I did, but I don’t.”
I start to encourage her to talk and then stop. How can I expect her to do what I refuse to do myself? The hypocrite appears again. I look down at the floor. Will I let the hypocrite rule or will I do the right thing? Will I sacrifice myself, my desires, for another?
“I better go. Paco’s alone—”
“Ellyn, wait.” I get up and walk over to where she’s standing by the fireplace. “I understand not wanting to talk. I do. But . . .” I take a deep breath. “I’ll make a deal with you.”
She looks at me with a question in her eyes.
“I’ll talk if you will
.”
Most high . . . deeply hidden yet intimately present, perfection of both beauty and strength, stable and incomprehensible, immutable and yet changing all things.
Saint Augustine
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Twila
“How were things at the store?”
I set my backpack down on a chair in the kitchen. “The usual. How was your morning?”
My mom is sitting at the kitchen table taking notes from a book on healing foods that she picked up at the conference.
“The usual.” She smiles and winks. “I called Ellyn and thanked her for letting you stay at her place the other night.”
“Nice.” I walk into the kitchen, grab an apple, wash it, and then take it, a knife, and a small cutting board back to the table. I sit across from my mom and begin slicing the apple into paper-thin slices. “Want some?”
“No, thanks.” She smiles. “I’m glad you’re home. I’ve wanted to talk to you since my conversation with Ellyn.”
“Why?” I nibble one of the apple slices.
“Because she said some kind things about you. She’s an insightful lady. Also, as I’ve pondered some of what she said this morning, I’ve wanted to ask you something.”
I set the knife and the rest of the apple on the cutting board so I can focus on my mom. “Okay, what?”
She sets her pen down and looks past me for a minute like she’s thinking about what she wants to say. “I’m wondering if you see a specific purpose in your friendship with Ellyn?”
“Um . . .” I pick up the slice of apple again and take another tiny bite. My mom and I are tight, like friends, you know? So I know what she’s getting at. “So you think there’s a specific purpose and you’re wondering if I’ve figured it out or not?”
“I didn’t say that.”
I smile at her. “Yeah, right.” I take another bite and think while I chew. “The first time I met Ellyn at the store, I knew she was in pain—physically—but also emotionally. You know how sometimes I just know?”
She nods.
“It wasn’t hard to figure out because she’s the same as me, only opposite.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re opposites. Like, we have similar issues but they look different. I’m . . .” I swallow. “I’m . . . sm . . . small.” My mom nods her encouragement. “And Ellyn’s large. But on the inside, I think we’re more alike than different. But, I don’t know why. I mean, I don’t know what her emotional pain is about.”
“You’ve come a long way, Twila. I’m so proud of you—of your courage and strength.”
I don’t feel courageous or strong. “I want to get better—like finally, I want that. You know?”
She nods and I see the tears she’s trying to hold back.
“Anyway, I’m not sure if there’s a specific reason Ellyn and I are becoming friends. But if there is, I think it has something to do with the body image stuff.” I finish eating the slice of apple I’ve been working on and then pick up another slice. “So do you think there’s more to it than that?”
She seems to think for a minute. “Maybe.”
“Like maybe there is but you want me to figure it out on my own, or like maybe you don’t know.”
She laughs. “You’re on to me. Really, it’s just a hunch. But I’m not the only one who’s noticed your courage, honey. Ellyn’s noticed it too and commented on it more than once this morning.” She leans forward. “Here’s what I think I know—God’s put you in Ellyn’s life for a purpose. I think you’re meant to lead Ellyn to health. I don’t know if that’s physical health, emotional health, or spiritual health.” She laughs again. “And, it’s possible I’m wrong.”
“Yeah, right.” I smile. “But wait, how could I lead Ellyn? I mean, I’m so much younger.”
“Age has nothing to do with it. It’s who you are, Twila—who God made you to be, the gifts He’s given you.”
“The same gifts He’s given you?”
“Yes, but you use them in your own way.” She leans across the table and takes my free hand in one of hers. “Sometimes God allows those He’ll use for His purposes to suffer. You know what it is to suffer and you share, in your soul, the sufferings of others. It’s what that tattoo on your face is all about, right?”
I nod.
“But more than that, you share in the sufferings of Christ. He wants you for Himself, Twila. He wants to enjoy you, lavish you with His love, and complete the good works He’s begun in you.”
I leave the house, hop on my bike, and turn toward the headlands. I ride down Lansing and turn on Hesser and stop at the cypress grove. I lock my bike to a picnic table and walk from there.
I go through the grove to the trail that runs along the cliff and out to the point, where I zip up my hoodie and sit on a mound of prairie grass and stare out at the waves tumbling against the rocks.
This is my place—where I come to think and pray. Only, I don’t pray with words. I just sort of open myself up to God and let Him search me. I sit with legs crossed and hands in my pockets. The rhythm of the waves is like a mantra focusing my concentration on God. As all the other stuff in my mind drifts away, I’m aware of a growling emptiness—not in my stomach, but more in my soul. It’s the void that begs me to leave it empty—to starve it to death.
Until I no longer exist.
It’s that part of myself, that void, I’m learning to open to God.
A cold wind blows around me, but I’m like a caterpillar cocooned in the layers I’m wearing. As I stare at the bright blues of the sea and sky, at the sun lowering on the horizon, my eyes water. Soon, I can’t tell the difference between the tears that come from the sun and the tears that come from the Son. My breath catches. They are like one in a way, filled with the mystique of God.
I pull my now-warm hands out of my pockets and rest them, palms up and open, on my knees. I close my eyes against the brightness, but tears still drip. I wait. I mean, I don’t know what I’m waiting for, but because this is my ritual—my experience—I’ll recognize it when it comes.
The mantra plays, reverberating through me now. I feel the pounding surf in each pounding beat of my heart. The beats reminding me that I am here, visible, exposed. But I am not here alone.
There is nothing to fear, there is nothing to fear, there is nothing to fear . . .
The growling void settles.
When the sun is hovering just above that horizontal line between sea and sky and the blue tones are washed with yellow, orange, red, lavender, and purple, I stretch out my legs and stand again. My back end is numb from sitting on cold, hard earth. I walk to the edge of the cliff, and stretch my arms high—palms still open.
I close my eyes. “Thank You, thank You, thank You . . .” I whisper it over and over.
When I head back through the grove to my bike, I understand my purpose with Ellyn—the purpose my mom asked about. It’s not like I understand what to do or how to do it. It’s more like a knowing, an assurance—that God is doing it.
Through me.
I just have to show up.
Before I get on my bike, I push the sleeve of my hoodie back and look at my wrist.
Imago Dei.
Then I hop on my bike and head to Ellyn’s café.
While I pass from the discomfort of need to the tranquility of satisfaction, the very transition contains for me the insidious trap of uncontrolled desire.
Saint Augustine
Chapter Thirty
Ellyn
I look up from the steaming pot and see Twila peeking into the kitchen. I wave her in. “Hi, there. What’s up?” I wipe my hands on my apron and meet her just past the swinging doors into the kitchen.
“Hey, I thought I’d come by and say hi, but I know you’re busy.”
&
nbsp; I give her a hug—she’s wrapped in her usual layers. “Wow, you’re cold.”
“I’ve been out on the headlands and then rode my bike here.”
“Ah . . . did you watch the sun set?”
She nods.
“Good. Well, it’s the busy time of the evening, but I’m always happy to see you. Want to just hang out, or do you have other plans?”
“Hang out?”
“Sure. Pull up a stool and watch the action.”
“Really? Nice.”
I go to the back of the kitchen and take the tall stool we keep by the phone. I set it where it’s out of the way, but where Twila can see what’s going on and we can talk a bit. I look back at her. “Are you . . . hungry?”
Does it bother her that I ask?
She puts her hand over her tummy and nods. “Yeah.”
Her smile warms my heart. “Well then, I’ll make you a plate of something.”
“Um, I don’t have any . . . you know . . . money with me.”
“Oh, no. You don’t have to pay for it. You’re practically an employee now—you help me develop the vegan dishes.” I smile and wave her concern away. “Anyway, I love feeding my friends.”
“Thanks. So, can I have the polenta dish again?”
I nod. “Sure. That’s what I had for my dinner earlier. Give me a few minutes.” I plate a few orders, making certain they’re perfect down to the last garnish. Then I prepare an order of the polenta with the sauce of fresh herbed vegetables for Twila. The dish I came up with under duress the first night she came in for dinner with Nerissa and . . . Miles.
“Twila, go grab yourself a napkin and utensils while I plate this.”
Once it’s finished, I set it on the table in the back of the kitchen and Twila takes a seat.
“It smells so good. Thanks, Ellyn.”
“Anytime. So, have you seen or talked to Miles?”
She puts the napkin on her lap and picks up her fork. “Not since the other night at your place. Why?”
“No reason.”
“Have you seen him?” Her gray eyes stare up at me through her dark lashes.
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