Invisible by Ginny L. Yttrup Page A

this smells really good. Thanks for coming up with something vegan for me.”
    â€œNo problem. You know, Twila, I’ve meant to get some vegan offerings on the menu. Maybe we could sit down sometime and you could help me create a few menu ideas.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œOf course, if that’s something you’re interested in doing.”
    I look at my plate and nod. “I’m not, I mean, I don’t eat . . .” I hesitate. “I’m not like a foodie or anything, but I could give you ideas of ingredients to use. I’d like that.”
    â€œThen we’ll do it soon.”
    â€œNice.”
    I see my mom wink at Ellyn. My mom’s just like that, always grateful and always ready to share her gratitude.
    Dr. Becker picks up his fork and digs into polenta with what looks like a sauce of crushed tomatoes, fresh vegetables, and herbs.
    â€œMmm . . . Ellyn, this is fantastic! This is vegan? I knew I needed to come back here.”
    Ellyn smiles, her eyes shining at Dr. Becker.
    â€œThank you.”
    Then she seems to get serious. “Dr. Beck—I mean, Miles, I hadn’t heard about your wife until recently. I’m so . . . sorry.”
    He sets his fork down. “Thank you, Ellyn. That means a lot. It’s been two years now and, like I told you the last time I saw you, it’s time to start living again.”
    She nods and smiles at him. Then she looks at all of us. “Well, I better get back to the kitchen. Enjoy your dinner. Thanks again for coming in.”
    â€œThanks, Ellyn.” My mom blows her a kiss.
    I take the first bite of the dish Ellyn made, and my mouth savors the fresh flavors. The polenta is perfect—not too crisp on the outside, and creamy on the inside.
    It is so good.
    I mean it’s really good.
    So good that it scares me.
    I set my fork down and look around the restaurant, trying to distract myself.
    I notice an African American woman sitting at a table near a window. I loved the cultural diversity at UCSC. The woman looks up and sees me looking at her. She looks away without smiling back, like I made her think of something unpleasant. But all I can think about is the food in front of me. The scent makes my mouth water.
    I turn back to my plate and take another small bite. And then—
    I set my fork down and scoot back from the table. Just like a half inch or so, but enough that I see my mom notice. Oh, please, don’t say anything, please . . .
    Instead, she motions to someone behind me, and then the hostess appears next to our table. “Rosa, could we get a box to go—we’ll never finish all of this.”
    â€œI be right back with boxes. No problem.”
    Once Rosa is gone, my mom glances at me and picks up her fork and continues eating. And then Dr. Becker puts his arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. He doesn’t say anything, just sits there with his arm around me and takes another bite of his dinner.
    Something, whatever it is, makes it hard for me to swallow the lump in my throat.
    And it has nothing to do with the food.

Enable me to love you with all my strength that I may clasp your hand with all my heart.
    Saint Augustine
    Chapter Eight
    Miles

    After I drop Nerissa and Twila off, I set off for the twenty-minute drive home—Highway 1 through Fort Bragg, and then about ten minutes north, where Sarah and I built our home seven years ago. It was always Sarah’s dream to have a house overlooking the ocean. I’m grateful God allowed me to fulfill her dream before she died.
    We didn’t buy the property or build the house on income from my Fort Bragg practice. The money came from my practice in Danville. I practiced there for nineteen years. That’s where we lived after we married, where we raised the boys. But once the boys left home, we decided to make a change that suited us both.
    Sarah got her house on the ocean, and I found a community where I could practice medicine