I get up from the table, leave the dining room, cross the foyer, and go into the library to collect my thoughts for a minute.
Oh Lord, I feel crazy. I don’t know how to do this with her. I don’t know what to say.
I hear my mother’s heels tapping across the travertine floor of the foyer. By the time she enters the library a few seconds later, God’s answered my plea for help.
I don’t know what to say, but I know how to say it. God is asking me to trust Him by offering my vulnerability to my mother. It isn’t her response I count on—it’s His.
“Ellyn, it’s Christmas. I can see you’re upset about something, but can’t we just enjoy our day together? I have a few gifts for you—let’s go sit by the tree and you can open them.”
She says all this to my back. When I turn to look at her, tears are leaving tracks on my cheeks. “Mom, sit down. I . . . want to talk. I need help understanding a few things.”
“Ellyn, you’re crying. Let me get you some tissue. You know if you cry that fair skin of yours will blotch something fierce.”
“It doesn’t matter, please, just sit for a minute.”
“Oh, fine.” She drops into one of the damask-upholstered wingback chairs. “What is it?”
“This isn’t about food, Mother. It’s about . . . men.”
“Men? Oh, Ellyn, you don’t need a man. You have a fine career and someday this house and all I have will go to you—”
“Stop. Just stop! Listen to me.” My plea comes out with a sob. “Please . . .”
She crosses one leg over the other and leans back in the chair. “I’m listening.”
I take a deep breath and ask a question that’s nagged for some time. “Did . . . Dad betray you? Did he have an affair?”
She stiffens. “If you’re asking if I have proof, no. But I didn’t need proof to know the truth. Your father, as much as you loved him, was just a man, Ellyn.”
“But just because he was a man doesn’t mean he was unfaithful. Daddy was a man of God, you know that.”
She looks away from me. But when she looks back, I see pain etched in her features, which now look aged. “First and foremost, he . . . was . . . a . . . man.”
I’m quiet for a moment, not sure what to say, but then it comes to me. “Mom, what, or who, turned you against men? Who hurt you?”
She sucks in her breath. “Plenty of men hurt me. I’m not going through my sordid history with you. There is no need to dredge up the past. But trust me, they only have one thing on their minds and they will use you!”
She spits her words like a cobra spewing venom.
Already exhausted, I sit on the sofa across from her. “Just one more question.” I hesitate, but the question has pounded at me since the memory surfaced. “Did Eric Neilson really just . . . make a joke of me?”
“Who?”
“Eric Neilson. High school. He asked me to the Homecoming Dance.”
She waves me off as though it doesn’t matter.
“Mother, you told me he asked me to the dance on a dare, that it was a joke.”
“Ellyn, that was more than thirty years ago, how do you expect me to remember that?”
“I think you remember.” I watch as her features become set—and then I know. “You lied to me, didn’t you?”
Stony silence is all she offers.
“Mother, did you lie to me?”
In a sudden movement, she stands. “No, Ellyn. I protected you! That’s all I’ve ever done is protect you! I wanted the best for you. And . . . and this is what I get? Your accusations?”
Now she is the one crying. She turns and leaves the library.
I lean back against the sofa, my emotions spent. Protected me? Yes, I see it now, in her mind, she thinks that’s what she did. I sigh, pull myself up from the sofa, and follow her. I find her in the kitchen standing at the sink. I watch her for a minute and then walk up behind her. I put my hand on her back. “Mom, I’m seeing a counselor and she’s helping me. Maybe . . . you could do the same and we could both get healthy, you know?”
She turns and faces me. “Healthy? Ellyn, I’m the picture of health.”
“I mean emotionally healthy.”
She searches my face. Oh Lord, let her lay down her fears. Let her follow You to health.
“Some man has finally gotten his claws into you, hasn’t he? Has he defiled you? Have you given him the one precious gift you should have saved?”
“Mother—”
“Emotional health, Ellyn? Don’t be ridiculous. There’s nothing wrong with my emotional health. I know the truth and I live by it. Just as I taught you to do. But now, clearly, you’ve turned on me and on that truth. What is it? Do you fancy yourself in love with him? Let me tell you, it will only end in heartbreak. Heartbreak, Ellyn, do you hear me? The very thing I worked so hard to keep you from.”
Her face crumples as she talks. Deep lines form around her eyes and mouth as bitterness seeps from her.
She straightens, then turns to leave the kitchen. But she looks over her shoulder at me. “I have a headache. I’m going to bed. I expect you to be gone when I get up. Merry Christmas.”
With that, she stalks out of the kitchen and her heels tap through the foyer and up the stairs.
I just stand there.
What happened?
You spoke truth, My daughter, and the truth will set you free.
The voice of the Spirit—gentle, tender, and loving—whispers to my soul.
I go to the dining room and begin clearing the table. My movements are slow and my heart is heavy. Yet, with the grief also comes a sense of peace.
Only in the realm of God do the two comingle.
I put food in containers and put them in her refrigerator and then I do up the dishes. I wipe her counters clean. And before I leave, I go to the desk in the kitchen, take a notepad out of the drawer, and leave her a note on the center island.
I love you.
I sign my name and tuck the note under a decorative plate on the island.
The words for my mother are not my own, because, believe me, I’m not feeling love right now. Instead, I know they are God’s words for my mother, written through me. Part of being created in the image of God is reflecting Him to others. That is difficult to do when you’re mired in bitterness or focused on your own pain. God, through my counselor and friends, is teaching me.
And freeing me.
I get my purse and my coat.
And I leave.
But I do so weighing less than I did when I arrived.
My entire hope is exclusively in your very great mercy. Grant what you command, and command what you will.
Saint Augustine
Chapter Fifty-Six
Ellyn
“How did it go?”
I’m sitting next to Sabina at the dining-room table in her rental. The blinds are up, and we’re both sitting on the side of the table that affords the view of the surf crashing in the cove. The day is every shade of gray and gorgeous in its own way.
I take a sip of my coffee and then answer. “It was hard, like having your gallbladder removed without anesthesia hard.”
“That painful?”
I laugh. “Well, maybe I’m exaggerating, but only a little bit.” Then I grow serious as I recall the conversation with my mother. “But yes, it was hard. She believes, really believes, that she’s protected me from evil all these years. That by filling my mind with what she believes to be true in her mind, that she’s somehow protected me.”
“Wow. I’m so sorry, Ellyn.”
“All I can do now is pray for her. But, for me, I think it was a huge breakthrough. I’m not saying it was a miraculous healing and I don’t have any more work to do, but when I left her house yesterday, I lef
t Earl—and years of shame—behind.”
Sabina lifts her hand in the air. “High five, girl.”
I put my palm against hers.
She wraps her hand around mine. “You are amazing. I am so proud of you.”
I shake my head. “I’m not amazing. God is amazing. He led me every step of the way.”
“Good.”
“Do you mind if we talk about something else. I’m still sort of emotionally exhausted. I can tell you more in a day or two.”
“No problem.”
“So, you enjoyed yesterday?” I look out at the view as Sabina answers.
“We really did. It was a rich time with incredible people.”
I look back at her. “I’m so glad. So what’s up for New Year’s?”
Sabina’s face is radiant. “Well, I’m spending New Year’s Eve with my man. We’re going to ring in a new season of life together.”
“Oh, Sabina, I’m so happy for you. By the way, where is Antwone?”
“He and Miles and the boys went to hit buckets of balls this morning.”
“It sounds like Antwone and Miles have really hit it off.”
“How does the saying go? ‘Necessity is the mother of invention.’ They both needed a golf partner, and that foundation seems enough to build a lasting friendship on. Oh, and speaking of New Year’s, this is so sweet. Will and Twila were making plans last night to ring in the New Year together. They’re spending the evening with Alex and Kimberli. I wish you could have seen Twila—she was glowing.”
“Oh, that’s so great. I’ll give her a call today and get the scoop.” Twila is so deserving of love. My heart swells for her. Sure, they just met yesterday so it’s too soon to know whether or not they’re in love. But if Will isn’t the one for Twila, there will be someone else. Of that I’m certain. She is so full of courage. And she’s leading the way for me.
If Miles isn’t the one for me, then I can believe now that there will be someone else. But, oh. It will take me a while to get Miles out of my mind.
And heart.
Sabina’s brow furrows. “What will you do on New Year’s Eve?”
“Oh, don’t worry about me. I have a standing date with a stack of old movies and a bowl of popcorn . . . with butter.” I raise my eyebrows. “Don’t deny me a date with butter. There’s nothing better.” I mean what I say, too. I’m content . . .
Sort of.
As I make the short drive from Sabina’s rental to my house, an idea begins to take shape.
Really? Is it ridiculous? Wistful thinking? Lord? But what if . . .
I weigh the pros and cons with God as I walk into the house. By the time I reach the phone in the kitchen, there’s only one thing I can see standing in the way of the idea. Well, two things . . . and one of them I have no control over.
I’ll leave the unknown in God’s hands.
I call Twila. She shares the details of her Christmas with Will, and I hear a new lilt in her voice. When she’s done, I ask her the question that will give me either the red or green light on my plan.
I’m given a green light.
Oh Lord, I think this is from You . . .
When I hang up the phone, excitement has me trembling . . . and, okay, a touch of uncertainty, too. I grab a pencil, a lined pad of paper from a drawer in the kitchen, and sit at the table in the nook to jot down ideas.
As the ideas shape up, one truth hits me: I can’t do this alone.
Back to the phone.
I hear the humor in Sabina’s voice when she answers. “Miss me already?”
“No. I mean, yes. But, no. Never mind. I have an idea and I need your help.”
December 31 blows in clear and cold. The forecast earlier in the week prepared me for a high of fifty-two degrees. The wind of early morning gives way to a chilly, but still, afternoon. I’ll take it.
At 4:30, as the winter sun is dipping on the horizon, I’m rushing between the upstairs deck and the kitchen downstairs—making sure everything is in place. I stop at my bedroom during one of my trips back and forth and change my clothes. Makeup done, I pull the band out of my ponytail and brush my hair until it shines. I leave it loose, hanging over my shoulders and down my back. Then, before heading back down to the kitchen, I reach for a new bottle of fragrance and spray a bit on my neck.
I stand back and look at the image reflected in the mirror. “Beautiful.”
At 6:00 p.m. on the dot, there’s a knock on my front door. That’s when my knees begin knocking too. I take a deep breath and go to the door. I stand there for just a moment.
Lord, this is Your evening. I trust You.
I open the door, knowing who waits on the other side. “Hi.”
“Hello.”
I can’t tell if he’s irritated or just confused.
“I believe I was just kidnapped by my buddy Antwone, who then pulled into your driveway, told me to get out of the car, and then . . . left me.”
“Well, then, I’m glad I’m home.”
“Ellyn?”
“I’m sorry, Miles. The kidnapping was by design. Please, come in and I’ll explain.”
He steps inside. “You’re all dressed up. You . . . look . . . great, Ellyn.”
“Thank you. If you don’t mind, just follow me and then I’ll explain. Okay?”
“Well, it’s either that or I walk home, I guess.” He chuckles.
I’m so grateful for his sense of humor and willingness to go along with me, at least for the moment. I walk to the stairs and begin to make the ascent. For just a second, I’m aware that he’s behind me, and might be watching my least favorable asset make its way up the stairs. But then I choose a different mind-set. What he’s seeing is, in fact, my biggest asset. A giggle escapes.
“Are you laughing at my predicament?”
I turn and look over my shoulder. “No, I’m just cracking myself up. C’mon, we’re almost there.” I lead him up to the guest room, cross the room, and open the door to the small outside balcony. Then I head up the last set of stairs to the upper deck. The evening is dark, the moon still hidden. I lead Miles to the balcony overlooking the headlands. The sound of the surf breaks in the distance. “Wait here just a second.”
I go grab the gift bag I planted nearby, and then come back and hand it to him. “Here, this will explain things.”
I reach for his hand and put the handles of the bag around his fingers.
“I can’t see it.”
“Oh, right. I turn and reach for the candle and lighter I left on the railing. Everything is planned to perfection and in its place. The only unknown is how Miles will respond. But I won’t worry about that. It’s in God’s hands.
I light the candle and hold it between us. “Okay, go ahead.”
“The bag looks familiar.” He reaches inside, pulls out a small box, and takes off the lid. He takes a smooth piece of sea glass out of the box. He rubs his thumb over the word etched into the glass. “Here, hold the candle closer, Ellyn. I can’t read it.”
I move the candle closer to the piece of glass he holds. My breath catches and my hands tremble. The flame sways back and forth with my shaking.
He looks at the piece of glass and reads the word inscribed on it. He stares at it for a moment and then rubs his thumb across the word again.
“Miles . . .” My voice is hoarse. “You told me to let you know if I was ever ready for more.”
He looks up at me.
“If you’re still . . . interested, I’m . . . ready.”
He stares at me for what feels like forever and then he looks back down at the piece of glass he holds. “You’re ready for this?” He holds up the sea glass. “Ready for Love?”
I nod. “Yes, I am. Miles, I . . . love you and I’d like to date you. In a romantic
sort of way.”
His face is shadowed, but the flame flickering between us catches the glimmer in his eyes. He reaches out and takes the candle from me and sets it on the railing. Then he takes me in his arms and pulls me close.
I snuggle into the warmth of his embrace.
“Oh, Ellyn . . .”
“Hmm?”
He shudders against me. “It’s . . . freezing out here.”
I pull back. “Yes, I know. Stay here.” I go over to where a power strip with multiple cords plugged into it sits beneath an outlet. I reach for the plug and push it into the socket. As I do, the upper deck comes to life with hundreds of white, fairy lights. They hang from the railing encircling the balcony, and they outline the frame of the white rental tent that is set up in the middle of the deck.
“Wow . . .”
There is awe in Miles’s voice.
I go back to him. “I hope you’ll stay for dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“Yes.” I walk to the tent and pull back the two front flaps, revealing a table for two set inside. Next to the table stands my outdoor heater, along with candelabras standing on either side. I tie the flaps back, pick up the lighter I left on the table, and light the propane heater and the twelve tapered candles. On a small buffet on the side of the tent are covered serving dishes with flickering pots of Sterno under each. I light candles I’ve set on the table, along with a small votive in the center of the table. I turn back to Miles. “Please, come in, it’s cold out there.”
He walks into the tent, where the heater already warms the interior. He turns and looks back out the open flaps at the stars twinkling overhead. Then he turns to me—he stands so close that I feel his breath on my cheek as he whispers, “Ellyn, would you give me the honor of your second kiss?”
I stand on my toes and tilt my face up to meet his.
His lips are warm. His kiss tender.
He pulls back from me. “And your third kiss?” Then he kisses me again.
His voice is husky. “And your four—”
I reach for his face and pull it toward me. My kiss is more demanding than his. When I need to catch my breath, I lean back just a bit. “Miles Becker, you were my first kiss, and I hope you’ll be my last kiss, and every kiss in between.” As I watch his face, tears glisten in his eyes . . . as they do in mine.
Invisible Page 30