Invisible (33 page)

I take the toast out of the toaster, slather it in butter, and take a breathless bite, like a woman about to receive a long-anticipated kiss. Mmm . . . heaven. Nothing has tasted this good since . . .

I sigh. Miles's kiss.

I pull a paper towel off the roll and set the piece of toast on it.

It's not often I'm shocked by my own thoughts, but I feel my face go pink . . . I'm caught off-guard by what just went through my mind—and heart.

Miles's kiss.

So tender.

Gentle.

And safe.

S.A.F.E.

In an alluring, exciting, and adventurous sort of way.

“Get hold of yourself, Ellyn.” I walk away from the toast—no longer interested in what it offers.

Or doesn't offer.

I pad my way back upstairs to brush my teeth, wash my face, and dress for our walk. I give the scale dirty looks each time I pass it. Then I recall something Twila said about the scale that makes a lot of sense this morning, so before I go back downstairs, I pick up the scale from the bathroom floor and carry it down with me. I set it on the counter in the mudroom until I'm ready to go.

I go back to the kitchen, throw the now-cold oatmeal out, and do up the dishes. Then I fill my aluminum water bottle, cap it, and stand it up in my purse. I grab my car keys, and go back to the mudroom and pick up the scale.

Once in the driveway, I leave my purse and water bottle in the car and then walk to the end of the gravel drive. I lift the scale above my head and throw it, as hard as I can, onto the asphalt street. It makes a satisfying crunching sound—like a car wreck—as it lands. Metal and plastic parts fly in opposite directions.

There! Take that!

I retrieve the pieces of the scale, large and small, from the street and put them into the garbage can. Then, smiling, I leave to meet Sabina.

By the time I
reach the cypress grove, I'm several minutes late. I pull into the lot and park next to Sabina's BMW. She's sitting in the car, head down, looking at something. Of course, she wouldn't get out of the car and enjoy the fresh air and scenery.

I get out of my car and walk to the driver's-side door of her car and tap on the window. She jumps. Then she opens the door. I see she's holding her cell phone.

“Oops, sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”

“That's okay. I didn't see you. Solitaire.” She holds up her phone and I see tiny playing cards lined up on the screen.

She gets out of the car and gives me a hug. “How are you?”

I smile. “Well, I just smashed my scale into multiple pieces. So, I'd say, I'm better than usual.”

Sabina smiles, her eyes shine in the morning sun. She holds up one hand. “High five, girl.”

I slap her hand.

“What precipitated that act of emotional health?”

“Emotional health? Ha! It was
precipitated
by frustration and distress.”

“Well, taking out your frustration on an inanimate object isn't always bad—especially, if, as I guess is the case, that object was the source of your frustration.”

“It was. C'mon, let's go.”

“I'll follow you.”

“Have you seen the cathedral?”

“Do you never stop talking about church and God?”

I ignore her quip. I take the trail toward the restrooms and then veer to the left and follow the trail into the middle of the grove of trees, which opens up onto a wide clearing. The old-growth trees surrounding the clearing form a canopy high overhead. “This is what is known as the cathedral. It's a favorite place for local and destination weddings.”

Sabina takes a quick look around. “Nice.”

“Nice?”

She nods. “Ready to walk?”

“Wait. Look out there. Isn't that incredible?” I point to the picnic table at the end of the clearing, where it opens onto the cliff overlooking the ragged coastline.

“Beautiful. Can we go? I'm cold. I need to move.”

My heart is heavy for her.
Lord, she refuses to see You.
“You need some body fat to keep you warm. I'm happy to share.”

“Very funny.”

“I thought so.”

We make our way back to the parking lot and then to the street. I keep to the street rather than taking one of the many trails out toward the cliffs. I'm grateful to walk out here this morning—I won't push Sabina any further. We fall into a companionable stride, which is unusual. “You're taking it slow this morning.”

“I want to hear what happened with the rat. It's nice to talk when we walk too.”

Talking probably keeps her from noticing the grandeur of her surroundings. I don't know if that's intentional on her part or not, but I welcome the chance to talk this morning and take the walk at a slower pace.

“I'll tell you about the rat, but may I ask you a question first?”

She raises her eyebrows. “Sure.”

“Do you think I . . . sabotaged my friendship with Miles?”

Her pace slows and she looks at me. “I'm not sure. It's possible.”

I look out at the morning sun gleaming on the water and consider the thought that occurred to me earlier. “I think maybe I did. Not intentionally, but maybe out of habit, or something. Rosa says I'm terrified of becoming involved with a man.”

Sabina stops walking. “Is she right?”

“I don't know. I may be. It just never seemed like an option for me.”

“Why?”

“Are we going to walk or just stand here?” I take off at a clip this time, although it isn't like I can outwalk Sabina's long stride.

“Why doesn't it seem like an option for you? I want to understand.”

“I'll tell you what, when I understand it, I'll fill you in.”

“Ellyn, have you considered talking with a counselor? Talking things through with someone experienced could help you understand.”

Sabina walks a few paces beyond me before she realizes I've stopped again. “A counselor?
You're
a counselor.”

“Yes, I am. I was. But not yours. I'm your friend.”

“What's the difference?”

“The difference is that I'm not doing therapy with you. We have a mutual give-and-take friendship. It's just different.”

“Oh. No, I haven't considered a counselor. It's not that big a deal.”

“Girl, it's
your life.
How is that not a big deal?”

The same reverent fear or awe I felt the morning after my hospitalization returns.
Lord?
My life, in my mind, never meant much. I'm grateful for life, but most often it seems I've failed the exams. Haven't passed some elusive course where others excelled. My life isn't a big deal because I am a disappointment to God, or so I've let myself believe.

“Huh, I've never thought of it that way.” I take a few steps and Sabina falls in stride with me again. “I'll think about it. Okay?”

“Whatever you decide. It was just a suggestion.”

“So do you want to hear about the rat now?”

She laughs. “I thought you'd never ask.”

Look into my heart, my God, look within. See this, I remember it, my hope; for you cleanse me from these flawed emotions. You direct my eyes towards you and “rescue my feet from the trap.”

Saint Augustine

Chapter Forty-Five

Sabina

I return to the
rental after my walk with Ellyn and make myself a cup of coffee. As I wait for it to brew, a mental image of the cypress grove returns—bringing with it the question I asked of myself soon after arriving here:
Will I allow the winds of suffering to form and shape me as it does the cypress trees? Or will I break under the battering?

Didn't I answer that question for myself that evening at Ellyn's, after the realization that I'd lost myself to fear and guilt? Didn't I determine then that it was time to work at healing?

But then came the nightmare . . . and a new measure of guilt. And with it, I toppled, like one of the dead trees I noticed lying in the grove today. Or, I think I noticed. I can see the grove in my mind, but there are no trunks or logs.

Maybe I made them up.

Not that it matters.

Restless, I walk out to the living room. Another entire afternoon and evening lie ahead of me, and I have nothing to do. My self-imposed exile is becoming wearisome. I miss the activity of a purposeful life. It is the first time I've acknowledged this since arriving in Mendocino. Perhaps the antidepressants are finally doing their job.

And the exercise. And the friendship with Ellyn. I know she is a significant part of why I'm feeling better—especially today. I would never jeopardize our friendship by attempting to analyze her or drifting into a therapeutic relationship with her. The boundaries are clear. Yet, I see her processing—beginning to look at her life and wonder about the choices she's made—and it stirs the counselor within me.

I loved what I did.

I'd made something of myself.

I wander to the bookshelf in the hallway and choose one of the owners' books to read. Before sitting in one of the leather chairs in the living room, I open all of the blinds in the living and dining areas. The chairs are still turned inward, away from the view, but the sunlight streaming into the house makes for a lighter atmosphere.

I've wallowed in guilt and grief for too long. It's time to push myself to make some changes.

I open the novel and read the prologue, but my mind doesn't focus. I read the pages more than once, but to no avail. The words on the pages can't keep my mind from the cypress grove. I set the book aside and stand, going to the window behind the chairs to look out. The large tree that the ravens favor is just across the street, and beyond the tree is the water. This is the first time I've really looked at the view. The swirling expanse is so close—so vast. There's something almost frightening about the power of it.

I leave the window and open the door off the dining area that leads to an outside deck. I haven't stepped out here since I arrived. I walk to the edge of the deck, which is dappled with sunlight. I close my eyes, lift my face, and feel the warmth of the sun and the gentle sea breeze on my skin. I breathe deep of the salty air.

I open my eyes and lean a bit, looking for the grove. Can I see it from here? Yes.

The cluster of large trees is a dark silhouette against the sunny backdrop.

Why does the grove call to me?

I shake my head.
Call to me?
Ridiculous.

I go back inside, turn on some music, and pick up the book again—

And spend the next thirty or so minutes staring at the same page.

I pull into the
spot where I parked this morning.
What am I doing?
I have no idea. I only know that I had to come—felt compelled to come. I wipe my damp palms on the pants of the same workout outfit I was wearing when I met Ellyn earlier.

Am I here because I have a point to prove to Ellyn? And perhaps to myself? Maybe. But there's something deeper that I can't pinpoint. I open the car door and get out.

Let's get this over with.

I walk the trail cut through the prairie grass leading into the grove. It's a short walk from the parking lot, but before even entering the grove, I see what my subconscious registered earlier when I was working so hard to ignore my surroundings. Several fallen cypress lie on the ground—trunks bare of bark and white-washed by the sun. They've fallen away from the others that make up the grove. I stop and look at one of the trunks on the ground—the outside is smooth, beautiful. But the inside, where the tree broke, is rotted, hollowed.

The tree died from the inside out.

The thought resonates.

A recollection surfaces of one of the twins, home from college for a few days, talking about the Monterey Cypress trees that dot the California coastal regions. Since earning a degree in arboriculture, Shauna's always talking about tree diseases and the like. I have no reference for, nor interest in, much of what she tells me, so I don't retain it. But the counselor in me related to the thought of dying from the inside out. It's what so many people do, if not in a literal sense, then a figurative one.

It is what I'm doing.

Or have done?

I've been losing myself, dying bit by bit as a person, as a professional, by wallowing in guilt. But it's more than that.

I'm dying an eternal death.

My person, my soul, who I was—I swallow—
created
to be.

Imago Dei.

I was created in the image of God, for God. As Twila put it, for relationship with Him. By rejecting God—rejecting Jesus—I've condemned myself.

For eternity.

And I've missed my life purpose.

I recoil at the thought. My life has been
filled
with purpose. I healed people.

No, Sabina. I healed them.

The thought is not my own.

A shiver runs up my spine and the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.