Invisible (13 page)

“Maybe she's been hurt. Maybe she needs time.”

“Maybe. I'm jumping the gun anyway, aren't I?”

She smiles and shrugs. “You're used to knowing what you want and going after it. But you can't always do that when others are involved. Relationships are best taken one step at a time. Let it unfold, Miles. Let God lead you.”

I stare at her for a minute and digest her advice. “Thanks, gal, I needed your wisdom.” I take another sip of the Green Giant but it's hard to get down. “I don't know how you drink this stuff.”

She laughs. “I like it. Really.”

“To each his own, or her own, in this case. About the other night, did you have something more to say about Twila? You thought she enjoyed the time?”

She seems to weigh her words. “I think she did enjoy it—maybe not having to eat—but the ambiance of Ellyn's, and getting to see her, and you. It made me think about something and I have a favor to ask of you . . .”

“You've got it, whatever it is.”

She smiles. “Don't be so quick to agree. It's a bit unusual. I wonder if you'd spend some time with Twila—one-on-one?”

“Is she open to that?” I scoot back from the table and stretch my legs out.

“I haven't asked her. Is it dishonest if I just asked you to take an interest in her rather than talk to her about spending time with you?”

“I am interested in Twila, you know that. She's a special young woman. I'm happy to spend time with her, but tell me what you're thinking.”

Nerissa sighs. “She mentioned her dad the other day—asked if I'd heard from him. I haven't, nor has she. He's paid his dues financially, plus some, but he isn't involved in Twila's life. I'd like her, before she gets involved with a man, to have a solid male role model in her life.”

I see her shoulders drop.

“I want more for her. Someone besides me she can turn to, someone she can depend on. I want to know there's a wise man looking out for her, especially when she gets involved in a serious relationship, and that's bound to happen. What I want, is a surrogate dad for her. And I know, Miles, I know, that's a lot to ask.”

“Twila already has all of that in her heavenly Father.”

She nods. “She does. I know that. But how will she embrace those attributes of God—the maleness of God—unless she's had someone in her life to model those attributes? How can she relate to God as a Father? And how will she know what to look for in a husband?”

It's my turn to nod. “I'm honored that you'd ask me.”

She smiles. “I don't know a more godly man. I mean that, Miles. I see Jesus' reflection in you every time we're together.” She shakes her head. “I'm crazy not to go after you myself.” She grins and winks.

I reach across the table again, this time taking her left hand in mine. I rub my thumb across the simple silver band on her ring finger. “You're already committed to Someone else. And I can't come close to competing with Him.”

“Yes, and it's a commitment I've never regretted. After my divorce, God made it clear that He was my Husband. You may not be able to compete, but you come closer than any man I've ever met and that's why I'd like you more involved in my daughter's life.”

I let go of her hand and lean back in my seat and consider her request. Though, there's really not much to consider. “I'll tell you what, I'll ask Twila to go out for lunch with me or for a walk or something. I'll see how she responds. But a wise woman told me once that relationships are best taken one step at a time. So I'll let it unfold. I'll follow God.”

Nerissa laughs. “Ah, touché my friend, touché.”

When I step outside
the Company Store building and see the rain, I'm glad I drove today rather than walked the several blocks from my office to meet Nerissa. I have a full afternoon ahead of me—patients who'll need my complete attention—so I'm grateful for a few minutes to think about Nerissa's advice regarding Ellyn.
Take it one step at a time, let the relationship unfold, follow God.

That was my original intent. But I was confused—am confused. Now I'm concerned I've confused Ellyn too.
Well, Lord, You know. I trust You to take even my confusion and mistakes and use them for Your purpose.
As I round the last corner and pull into the parking lot of the office, I find myself praying for Ellyn too. Something, I realize, I will continue to do whether or not our friendship progresses.

I go in the back door of the building and walk past the examining rooms and go straight to my office, where I put my lab coat on over the jeans and oxford shirt I'm wearing. Then I sit at my desk and check the phone messages that Dee, my receptionist, left on my desk.

I pick up the messages and read through them. The last message, I'm surprised to see, is from Twila. I chuckle.
Okay, Lord, I'm following You
. I glance at my watch to see if I have time to call her back before my next patient. Then I pick up the phone and punch in the number she left.

Little by little, Lord, with a most gentle and merciful hand you touched and calmed my heart.

Saint Augustine

Chapter Seventeen

Twila

I set my cell
phone on the kitchen table and then go to make myself lunch. As I walk toward the refrigerator, the same old fears weigh in my empty stomach. Like, I can feel them there, making me nauseous. Or making me think I'm nauseous. I stop in front of the fridge.

What's the deal, God?

It started again at dinner the other night. The meal Ellyn made for me and Miles was so good. The fear gnawed at me then, too.

I use one of the tools I learned in recovery and think through things that might have triggered me. Because it's not about the food.

So was it the comment Ellyn made when she was in the store? I still don't know who Twiggy is, but I know it was a reference to my size. At one time, I'd have taken a comment like that as a compliment and encouragement to keep losing weight, or I'd have interpreted it in the opposite way and thought she meant I was fat. Something only another anorexic would get.

But Ellyn's comment didn't bug me. It wasn't a trigger. I didn't even think about it again until now. So maybe it
was
the food this time. Was it just so good that I was afraid I'd lose control?

I open the fridge and take out the meat substitute I eat, it's soy-based so it's rich in protein. I scoop some out of the container I put it in last night after I cooked it with taco seasonings. I put it in a small saucepan and heat it on the stovetop.

I make a taco salad full of fresh, organic vegetables, baked tortilla chips, black beans, fresh salsa, and the taco “meat.” I take the bowl of salad, set it on the table, and then grab a napkin and fork. When I sit down, I close my eyes.

“Thank You for this food, and the ability to eat this food. Thank You, God, for creating me in Your image.”

I push my sleeve up and read:
Imago Dei
.

Then I pick up the fork.

Miles.

I hold the fork suspended above the salad. Oh . . . was he the trigger?

I set the fork back down. Things between my mom and dad started to get bad when I was like eleven or so. Maybe they were always bad and I just got old enough to notice. When I was twelve, he left. Things weren't all that different after he left—he was gone a lot before then anyway. And even when he was home, he didn't seem like he was really there, you know?

During my recovery, I worked with a couple of different counselors, one at the treatment center, and then another one in Fort Bragg when I came home. I still see the counselor in Fort Bragg when something comes up that I can't figure out, but I'm getting better at applying what I've learned. One of the things the counselors helped me figure out was how I felt about my dad. He's the same as hunger for me, you know?

When he still lived here, when I still saw him all the time, I wanted to make him happy—to make him like me. Or even love me a little. But it seemed like I could never make that happen. Like I could never get full enough of him.

Then when he left and I didn't see him anymore, I couldn't even try. How can you make someone love you when they don't even want to see you? I didn't have any control over it. I couldn't do anything to make it change. I couldn't even try to get full.

That's when my eating disorder—or ED, as we called it in treatment—took over. I could control what I ate or what I didn't eat. Fullness and emptiness.

But I preferred emptiness.

In my subconscious, I think it represented my dad. It felt like control, but at the same time, I lost control. Ed, as I came to call the disorder, controlled everything I did. But then, I didn't have to think about my dad anymore. All I thought of was Ed.

So Ed sort of served a purpose.

But now, I'm learning to let God fill the space my dad and Ed filled . . . or didn't fill. Instead of focusing on Ed, I'm practicing focusing on God instead.

Anyway, having dinner with Miles and my mom reminded me of my dad, which made me hungry—not in a stomach growling way—but in my soul. It made me desire what I can't have. It triggered Ed.

I take a deep breath and pick up the fork again and take a bite of the salad. My stomach protests, but that's okay. I eat one slow bite after another until the bowl is empty and my stomach is full.

Just as I'm getting up from the table, my cell phone rings. I look at the screen and recognize the number I called earlier. Before I answer, I take a deep breath and make a decision.

“Hello.”

“Hey gal, it's Miles. I have a message that you called. This number must be your cell phone?”

My stomach cramps around the food it still holds. “Yeah, that's my cell number.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Um, I have a customer from the store who told me she was diagnosed with fibromyalgia. I've done some research, but I was wondering if you could tell me more about it. Would you mind? I want to understand the condition.”

“I wouldn't mind at all. I'm not an expert on the syndrome, typically fibromyalgia is treated by a rheumatologist or a neurologist, but I'm happy to share what I know. And if you'd like more information, I'll contact one of my colleagues who is a rheumatologist and we can meet with him together. How does that sound?”

“That would be great. I was thinking maybe you could just tell me what you know over the phone, but then today I decided I might want to talk to you about something else too.” I pause. “So, maybe could we meet somewhere? I mean, if you're open to that?”

“I'm open to it. How does tomorrow afternoon work for you? I could come your way and meet you at Thanksgiving's, say 4:00?”

“That works. Thanks.”

“I'll look forward to it, Twila. Do you mind if I put your cell number into my phone? I'll give you mine too, that way we can call or text if something changes.”

“Um, sure.” I grab a pen and scratch paper from a drawer in the kitchen and write down his number. “Okay, got it.”

I hang up the phone. Talking to Miles in person, even though my stomach is still cramping at the thought, is a good decision. I learned in treatment that confronting my triggers is healthy. It takes the power out of the fear or trigger.

And I need them as powerless as possible.

What was I thinking?

By 3:00 p.m. on Friday, the emptiness inside me feels like a dark womb I could crawl into and hide. It's as bad as it was before I started treatment. I want the emptiness to grow, to engulf me.

It's hard to explain.

I can't meet Miles at Thanksgiving's. What if he offers to buy me a latte or something to eat? I don't want to eat—not with him. I need to face him, face the fear, and ignore the emptiness, but I can't do Thanksgiving's.

I make myself go to the kitchen and take a handful of raw almonds out of one of the canisters on the countertop. I count out ten of them and eat all of them, but each almond takes a huge effort. I make a deal with myself: I can't change plans with Miles until I've eaten all the almonds.

I chew and chew and chew before I can swallow the last almond. But once it goes down and I'm sure it's not coming back up, I pull my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans and text him.

Can we meet at the picnic tables by the cypress grove instead of Thnxgiving's?

I push
Send.
Within a few minutes he texts me back.

Sure.

Good. That's better. Safer.

Thnx. C u at 4.

Miles is already sitting
at a picnic table when I get there. This is one of my favorite places on the headlands—a grove of cypress trees overlooking Agate Cove. If you walk inside the grove, there's a large clearing and one picnic bench out on the point on the edge of the cliff. When you're out there, it feels like you're on the edge of the world.