Invisible (27 page)

“It wasn't just you.” She takes a deep breath. “I overstepped my own boundary.”

“Ellyn . . .” I hesitate, but I'm not sure I want the answer to the question I'm about to pose. “Is it . . . just me? You're not drawn to me?”

She opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. I watch as tears fill her eyes and then she looks away. When she looks back, the tears are gone. “No, it isn't just you. If I were ever . . . I mean, Miles, you're a great guy, a wonderful man, I'm sure. It's me. It's my issue.”

I nod. “Okay. I can't say that I understand, but I respect you and I won't cross that boundary again, I promise.” Do I say more to her? Or leave it as is?
Lord?

“Thank you. And thank you for all you did today—for being here.”

I turn to go but when I reach the edge of the curtained cubicle, I turn back. “I'm available for you, Ellyn, as a friend. If there's ever anything you need, you know how to reach me.”

Then I leave to find Sabina.

After I talk to
Sabina, and she tells me she'll drive Ellyn home and stay the night with her, I leave the hospital. The late afternoon sun is low in the sky and there's a chill to the air, but instead of going home, I turn left onto Highway 1 and head for the Little River Inn Golf Course—the only course on the Mendocino Coast. I keep my clubs in the trunk of my car for days like these.

I want to hit a bucket of balls—to hear the smack of the club against the ball—to release some of the day's tension.

As I make the fifteen- or twenty-minute drive down the highway, I consider Ellyn's condition when I found her this morning compared to how I left her this afternoon. As I do, I also consider the feelings I suppressed all day.

I can't afford to let fear intrude when I'm treating a patient—especially in an emergency. But when I found Ellyn in her car this morning, I was just a man looking at the woman I care about, and—I exhale—she gave me a scare.

Like with Sarah, I knew too much.

But today didn't end the way it ended with Sarah.

Sure the circumstances were different, but the symptoms Ellyn exhibited this morning were, or could have been, life-threatening.

And then, all of a sudden, they weren't.

Thank You, Lord, for healing Ellyn.
As I pray, a question darts through my mind . . .

Why Ellyn and not Sarah?

I don't pose the question to God though.
Father, I take this thought captive to the obedience of Jesus Christ. Though I don't understand Your ways, I choose to trust You. I won't dwell on doubt, instead, I'll walk in faith—I'll walk in the unknown.

The unknown?

Not a comfortable place. I felt the uncertainty of the unknown this morning in that moment when I found Ellyn sitting lifeless in her car. It intruded again during the hours of waiting at the hospital. And again as Ellyn reiterated her stance on not becoming involved “in that type of relationship.”

But today, through it all, I discovered a few things:

I am in love with Ellyn DeMoss.

Loving her will hurt me.

And God's calling me to sacrifice. To love her in the way He loves. Though I'm not sure what that means on a day-to-day basis.

I trust He'll show me.

When I reach the
golf course, I park, pull my driver out of my golf bag, and buy a bucket of balls. I tee up on the driving range and take a few practice swings before aiming at the ball.

I roll my shoulders back and feel the tension in my neck.

Then I step up to the tee, pull the driver back over my shoulder, and swing. Hard. The head of the driver connects with the ball and sends it sailing. I bend, grab another ball out of the bucket, and repeat the action.

I do it again.

And again.

And again.

Until, with the final smack of club against ball, I've exhausted all emotion.

May I know you, who know me. May I “know as I also am known” (1 Cor. 13:12). Power of my soul, enter into it and fit it for yourself . . .

Saint Augustine

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Twila

I knock on the
door, knowing Ellyn is home. I called before I came. I set the bag I brought on the porch and shove my hands into my pockets to keep them warm while I wait for her to answer.

But it's Ellyn's friend, Sabina, who opens the door.

“Um, hi. I'm here to see Ellyn.”

“She didn't tell me you were coming.”

Sabina stares at me and doesn't open the door any wider. “I called and talked to her a little while ago—she's expecting me.” I smile, hoping she'll warm to me, but she doesn't.

“Wait here.”

She starts to close the front door and leave me on the porch. “Hey, I'll wait inside. It's cold out here.”

“Suit yourself. I'll tell her you're here.”

“Thanks.” I pick up the bag, and step inside. I wait in the small foyer with my back against the front door. I don't have to wait long.

“Hi, honey, you're so sweet to check on me.” Ellyn comes around the corner from the kitchen and through the dining and living room. She gives me one of her big hugs, which I'm kind of starting to like. Her hair is damp, and she's wearing a fluffy green bathrobe.

“Hi. Hey, you look good—not like you were in the hospital all day.”

“Yeah? Well, go figure. To tell you the truth, I feel good too. Much better than I did this morning. I just showered and came downstairs for a cup of tea. Would you like one?”

“Um, I don't know. I don't want to, like, intrude. I mean, Sabina's here so I can just leave this . . .” I lift up the bag I'm holding. “. . . and then go.”

“Go? No. You're not intruding. I love that you came by.”

She puts an arm around me and guides me out to the kitchen. “Sabina won't mind. She's just babysitting me because the doctor didn't want me alone tonight.” We round the corner into the kitchen. “Right, Sabina? Twila isn't intruding. I asked her to have a cup of tea with us.”

Sabina says nothing, instead she just reaches for another mug. Yeah. She thinks I'm intruding. She glances over her shoulder at me. “Herbal or regular?”

“Herbal, please.”

“So what's in the bag, girly?”

“I made you some soup. Curried butternut squash. It's vegan.”

“Sounds great. Thank you.”

“Well, you know, it's not like what you'd make. But I didn't know if you'd feel like cooking. There's enough for you too, Sabina. There's also a salad with vegetables and greens.”

“You are so thoughtful. Look, Sabina, saved by Twila. You don't have to cook.”

Sabina turns from the counter, where she's making our tea, and faces us. “Lucky for you,” she says to Ellyn. She hesitates then looks at me. “Thank you, Twila. It was nice of you to think of Ellyn.” Her smile is tight.

Maybe it's the tattoo on my face that's off-putting to her. It makes some people think I'm weird or something.

“No problem. My mom helped. We were praying for you today, Ellyn. I'm so glad you're, you know, okay. When Miles called and talked to my mom, it sounded kind of serious.”

“Yeah, I guess it was.”

We sit with our tea at Ellyn's kitchen table. “Sabina, stop wiping off my counters, they're clean. Come join us.”

While Ellyn tells me about what happened to her this morning, Sabina rinses the sponge, washes her hands, dries them, and then puts some sugar in her tea, and uses the bathroom . . .

All before she joins us.

After Ellyn tells us about the mental-health patient next to her in the ER, she stops and reaches for my hand. She pushes up the sleeve of my sweatshirt. “Huh.”

I watch her and see an emotion I don't recognize. “What?”

“I'm not sure.” She turns her head to one side, but keeps her eyes on my tattoo.

“What does it say?” Sabina leans forward.

“Imago Dei.”

“Why did you choose that—what significance does it have?”

I feel my face color. Her question—or her tone, I guess—is curt. “Um, it means image of God.”

“I know what it means.”

Ellyn lets go of my wrist and looks first at me, and then at Sabina. She's noticed Sabina's tone.

“It's a reminder to me that I'm created in the image of God. It helps me remember that I have value as a person. And that I have purpose.”

Sabina squints her eyes. “What's your purpose?”

“To be in relationship with God. That's why He created us. That's each person's purpose.” I don't mind explaining, but I guess she just intimidates me.

She motions to my cheek. “What about that one?”

Ellyn sits back in her chair.

I reach up and run my finger over the area of the tattoo. I can no longer feel the ridges of it as I could at first. It's just become a part of me now. “The thorns are a symbol of suffering—a sign of solidarity with those who suffer.”

She doesn't respond right away. She seems to think about what I said. Then her tone changes, as does the look on her face. Both seem to sort of soften—but just a little. “You know what it means to suffer?”

“Sort of. I mean, I've had challenges—things in my life that have hurt me, but I haven't suffered to the extent that many others have and do, you know?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do know.”

And then I get it. The look I've seen on her face when she's seen me. Her attitude when she speaks to me. In that knowing way, I just get it. “Do I remind you of someone who's caused you to suffer?”

Sabina leans back in her chair—fast—like she wants to get away from me, and I hear Ellyn shift in her seat. I watch Sabina. She looks away from me, looks around the room, then opens her mouth . . . but closes it before she says anything.

“Sabina?” Ellyn's voice is almost a whisper.

She stands up and turns her back to us. Ellyn starts to get up, but I hold up one hand and she stops. When Sabina turns back around, she's crying. She says just one word: “Yes.”

Then she walks out of the kitchen and out the front door.

Ellyn's eyes follow Sabina, but she lets her go. Then she looks back at me. “How did you know?”

“I just knew. That happens sometimes. It's kind of weird, I guess.”

“It isn't weird, Twila. It's God.”

“So, you understand?”

“Not exactly. But you seem to, and that's the important thing.”

It's after 6:00 and
already dark by the time Sabina comes back to Ellyn's. She knocks on the front door and then lets herself in. I'm sitting in the living room with Ellyn where we watched the sun set over the water.

“Hey, it's cold out there.” Sabina's just wearing a thin sweater.

Ellyn gets up from the chair near the window. “Did you walk the village?”

Sabina nods. Then she looks at me. “Twila, I owe you an apology. I'm . . . so sorry for the way I've treated you. It wasn't about you, yet I . . . Well, I'm just sorry.”

“Thanks. Are you okay?”

Ellyn leaves us and goes into the kitchen, coming back a minute later with a mug of tea. “Here, drink this. I kept the water simmering so it would be hot when you came back. It'll warm you up.”

“Thank you.” Sabina takes the mug. “I'm not okay, but . . . I think I will be. Your question made me look at myself—my behavior.” Still standing, she looks down into the mug she's holding. When she looks back at me, her emotions are easy to see. She takes a deep breath. “You remind me of someone I cared about and someone I cared for professionally—a client. She took her own life not long ago. But that's no excuse for treating you as I have. I am sorry.”

“I forgive you.” I don't say anything else because I don't think she's done talking.

She looks at Ellyn, as though to include her in the conversation. “As I walked, I realized something. I've given myself over to guilt. Rather than grieve, I've allowed myself to languish in grief. I've lost myself in it—lost who I am, personally and professionally. I came here to heal and it's time I work at healing rather than hiding.” She looks at Ellyn again. “Thank you for speaking truth to me. That's what real friends do.”

Ellyn nods and wipes tears from the corners of her eyes, and then she goes to Sabina and gives her a hug. “I'm here for whatever you need, you know that, right? I don't know if I can help your healing process, but I'm here.”

“Thank you.”

“Hey, I'm going to take off now that you're back, Sabina.” I smile at her. “I was just babysitting her while you were gone.” They both smile at me.

“Why don't you have some soup and salad with us before you go?” This time it's Sabina who invites me.

“Of course, eat with us first, then we'll let you go.”

“Um, okay.” I don't really want to go anyway.