Invisible (18 page)

I smile. She deflected my comment about her beauty. Maybe it made her uncomfortable—crossed the bounds of friendship between a man and a woman. I don't know. But it was truth.

Father God, I pray she will see herself as You see her—as You created her. I pray she recognizes herself as one knit together by You, fearfully and wonderfully made.

I stare into the dark.
Lord, inform my prayers for Ellyn.
I listen to the silence and wait.
Heal her, Lord, whatever her brokenness. You know her needs. I lift her to You.

Eyes closed, I wait as an invisible Spirit intervenes and prays for Ellyn in a way I can't understand.

I hear the whir of the refrigerator going on downstairs and the familiar creaks and groans of the house.

I wait.

Then I pray again.

Lord, You know my needs. Nothing hides from You. I turn to You in times of loneliness, but in my humanness, I'm tempted to turn to others. I pray I never let anyone take Your place. You also know what's taking place in my heart regarding Ellyn. Father, I want to follow You. If this growing desire is not from You, I pray that becomes clear.

I stop. Is God making it clear through Ellyn's insistence that she doesn't date? Or is that, as Nerissa suggested, fear on Ellyn's part?

Lord, I ask for eyes to see and ears to hear You.

I sigh.
Lord, You know I'm afraid. I don't want to hurt again. Not after already losing so much.

I open my eyes and stare into the dark. Is it foolish to build a friendship with someone I suspect I'm already falling in love with? Or is friendship enough?

I roll onto my side and pull the blanket up over my shoulders.

Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven . . .

I found no calmness, no capacity for deliberation. I carried my lacerated and bloody soul when it was unwilling to be carried by me. I found no place where I could put it down.

Saint Augustine

Chapter Twenty-Three

Sabina

“So how did your
apparel crisis work out for the big dinner date last week?” I switch my cell phone from my right hand to my left, and then pick up my mug of coffee.

“It wasn't a date.”

“Oh right. So what did you wear to dinner with your
friend
?”

“My bathrobe and fuzzy slippers.”

I laugh. “Ah, a classic. Well done.”

“You sound like you're feeling better?”

The concern in her voice warms me. “I do feel a bit better this morning. Dr. Becker spoke with Dr. Norman and increased the dosage on the antidepressant. He called a new prescription into the pharmacy the evening you were here, and I picked it up the next day. I think it will help.”

“Good, I'm so glad. What are you up to today? Do you feel like getting together?”

I smile. “That's why I'm calling. I'm thinking of forcing myself to take a walk—get some endorphins flowing. Would you like to join me?”

“A walk? Endorphins? You're suggesting we exercise together?”

“I'm not suggesting a marathon, girl. Just a walk. If you'd like to keep it simple, we could walk around the village. Wander through a few shops, and stop for coffee too. How does that sound?”

“Coffee is always good. What time?”

I drive the several
blocks into the village and turn right on Ukiah. Ellyn suggested we meet in front of a co-op she frequents—a large red building across from the post office. I pull into a parking space in front of what looks like an old church painted red, just as Ellyn drives in from the opposite direction. We park side by side.

I get out of my car and walk over to the driver's side of Ellyn's car, where she's just gotten out.

“Hi, there. Have your walking shoes on?” I give her a hug and then look down at her feet.

“Walking shoes are all I own. Can you see me trying to balance on heels?”

“Yes, I can. However . . .” I look around. “. . . I doubt there's much need for them here.”

She laughs. “You're figuring the place out. No, heels aren't a requirement here. In fact, you're even a bit overdressed. What is this?”

She tugs on the collar of my jacket. “What's wrong with this? It's just a sweatshirt.”

“Oh, yeah? Probably some designer thing from the big city, right?” She smiles.

“Ralph Lauren.”

“Right,
now
who's classic?” She stands back and looks at me. “It suits you. That cream color with your skin is gorgeous. Makes me want vanilla ice cream with hot fudge.”

I swat at her and smile. “So, what is this place?” I look up at the red steeple with the rainbow stripes. “Health food?”

“Healthy foods housed in an old Baptist church.”

“I bet some of those old Baptists are rolling over in their graves.”

Ellyn laughs. “I bet you're right. Mind if we save it until the end? I need to pick up a few things for home.”

“Fine with me.”

Ellyn points up the street. “This way.”

I nod and we start up the street. I shorten my stride and slow my pace to match Ellyn's.

“Speaking of . . . Baptists, do you go . . . to church?”

We've only walked a couple hundred yards and Ellyn is already winded. “I go with Antwone occasionally. I was raised in Georgia, the Bible Belt, where there's a church on every corner, so I went as a child. It's part of my family heritage, but it isn't something I've felt I need.”

“But Antwone goes?”

“Yes, he finds it meaningful. What about you?”

She nods. “I . . . go. But, it's . . . less about . . . church . . .” She stops to catch her breath. “. . . and more about a . . . relationship with God. Which is something I need . . . and want.”

“The other day you said you're used to being in charge. So how does that fit with needing or wanting God?” I stand on the sidewalk with Ellyn, waiting for her to recover.

“I run my own business . . . and others depend on me. But I'm not the boss. God is. That doesn't mean I always . . . acknowledge Him as the One in control, or that I don't try to wrestle that control away from Him, but I'm so grateful that I don't make all the decisions alone.” She takes a deep breath and wipes her forehead with her palm. “And I need God because I need Jesus. I need a Savior.”

“Well, you and Antwone will become fast friends. Ready?”

She nods and then points across Lansing Street. “There's Thanksgiving's. You said we'd have coffee.”

“We haven't even walked two blocks yet.” I look at her and notice how flushed her face is and that the curls that have come loose from her ponytail are damp. “But exercise is overrated—coffee sounds great.” I put my hand on Ellyn's arm. “Are you all right?”

She pushes a curl back behind her ear. “Just out of shape, I guess. But I didn't know I was
this
out of shape.” She puts her hand on her chest. “My heart's doing the rumba. Good thing I'm dieting, huh?”

We head across the street and into Thanksgiving's. The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee feels like a familiar embrace. “So what kind of diet?”

Ellyn holds up one finger and then orders a soy latte. “Ugh. A diet that restricts dairy and includes soy. I'm trying veganism for a while. I need to get some weight off.”

I nod. Good for her. “I'll have a mocha with whip.” Then I look at Ellyn. “Sorry.”

“You skinny girls have all the fun.”

After coffee, we wander
through a couple of shops and then take a slow stroll back down Ukiah Street to the co-op. “Corners of the Mouth? What kind of name is that?”

Ellyn laughs. “I don't know.” She pulls open the heavy front door. “After you.”

I walk into the store, half-expecting pews and a pulpit, but instead I'm met with a refrigerator case filled with juices, energy drinks, and the like. The wood floors look original and the eclectic array of foods, gifts, essential oils, and supplements, all housed in a church, seem to embody the essence of Mendocino. I notice two women behind the registers—the younger woman is the one I noticed at Ellyn's the first night I had dinner there. Following Ellyn's example, my heart does, if not the rumba, at least a fast two-step.

I make a quick left down the first aisle and stand looking at breakfast cereals as I hear Ellyn greeting the girl.

She looks so much like—

No. Don't go there, Sabina.
I pull a package of gluten-free steel-cut oats off the shelf and try to read the label.
I can't believe how similar . . .

Ellyn comes around the corner. “Sabina, I want you to meet a friend of mine.”

I look at her, and she must read something on my face.

“Or . . . not. Are you okay?”

I replace the oatmeal on the shelf and turn back to Ellyn. “I'm fine. Why? Who do you want me to meet?” I
am
fine. It's not like the girl is a ghost.

“A friend who works here. C'mon.”

I follow Ellyn to the registers and watch as the young woman answers a question for a customer. The tattoo is different, but otherwise . . .

“Twila, this is my friend, Sabina. Sabina, this is Twila.”

I put my hand out and she shakes it. I struggle to make eye contact with her.

“It's nice to meet you, Sabina. Ellyn says you're here for, like, a year or something?”

I shrug. “We'll see. Nice to meet you too. What's upstairs?” I look to my left toward the stairs I noticed when we came in.

“That's the choir loft—herbs and teas, mostly.”

“Great. I think I'll head up.” I wave at Twila without looking at her again. I also avoid looking at Ellyn. As I take the few steps to the stairs, I hear Ellyn continue to chat with Twila. Thank goodness she isn't following me.

I need a moment.

Once upstairs, I stare at a shelf of boxed teas. I take a deep breath in, and exhale, breathe in, exhale, breathe in, exhale. The exercise brings me back to the present and calms me.

I collect myself, but it won't last long if I go back down there. So the solution is easy.

I will remain upstairs until Ellyn comes looking for me.

After Ellyn and I
part ways, I drive through the village, up to Highway 1, and head north. I drive the short distance to Lansing Street, and turn in, and drive the block or so to the rental, thus avoiding Agate Cove. It takes a few more minutes to return this way, but the day posed enough challenges without also having to ignore the view of the cove one more time.

I walk into the house, go to the living room still darkened by the closed shades, flip on the gas fireplace, and then turn on my iPod and speakers. I turn up the music as loud as my ears can stand. The whining, moaning cello reverberates through the room. Yo-Yo Ma playing Bach's Suite No. 2. I sit in the dark, lights off, staring at the flames of the fire.

The music is a dirge, carrying me to that place of haunting.

When I close my eyes, the flames play on the insides of my eyelids, obscured only by the face of the young woman I met in the store today—or is it Ashley's face? Or maybe it's the other young girl, blood of my blood, lost to me so long ago?

I'm not certain, nor does it matter.

Ellyn's words come back to me:
I need a Savior
.

Jesus?

He's never saved anyone I care about.

How does it come about that out of the bitterness of life sweet fruit is picked by groaning and weeping and sighing and mourning?

Saint Augustine

Chapter Twenty-Four

Twila

Rosa greets us as
we walk into Ellyn's. “Ah, you two came back. Where your mama at, Chica?”

“She's at a conference for a few days.”

“Good for her. You keep the doctor company,
Si
?”

I nod.

“Rosa, we don't have a reservation. Is that a problem?”