There are also acts which resemble a vicious or injurious act but are not sins, because they do not offend you, Lord our God . . .

Saint Augustine

Chapter Forty-Six

Twila

I love early mornings in the store, before the doors open and customers arrive. I wander the aisles making sure the shelves are stocked and check the refrigerator cases one last time. I hang out in the produce section for a few minutes just looking at the colors and textures of the fruits and vegetables. I’m always awed by the way God packed so many nutrients into the coolest colors and shapes.

It isn’t my usual day to work, but I covered for Anna this morning, who had a dental appointment. Because Corners of the Mouth is a co-op, we’re all part owners of the store. Most of the proceeds go back into the store and the community. We’re also like family. This may seem like a small job to some, but, like, for me, it has meaning. I’m contributing to something important.

The time here helps me forget the other stuff going on in life right now—like my dad. He’s been here several days, but I still don’t get why. After spending some time with Miles, talking to my mom, and my counselor, I’m feeling sort of better and eating a little bit. I still have to work through my feelings though . . . and talk to my dad. But for now, while I’m here, it’s sort of like a reprieve. When Anna comes in, I’ll have to get back to the rest of my life.

I sit across the kitchen table from my dad, who seems uncomfortable. “Where’s your mother?”

“She’s around.”

My counselor suggested I have this conversation someplace where I feel safe. Not because she thinks my dad will flip, but because I’ll feel, like, more confident or in control if we meet on my terms. So when he called and asked me to go to lunch with him, I said no. When he said he wanted to see me, I told him he’d have to come here.

I could tell he didn’t like that. But for some reason he came anyway.

“So let’s go somewhere. Do something.” He moves to stand.

“No, wait. I want to ask you something.” He settles back in his seat but I can hear his foot tapping against the wood floor. “Why are you here?”

He looks at me like I’m stupid. “Because you didn’t want to go to lunch and said to come—”

“No. Why are you in Mendocino? Why did you come here?”

“To see you. Believe me, there’s nothing else to do here.”

I sit up straighter. “You never cared about seeing me before.”

“Listen, Twila, I may not win any father-of-the-year awards, but I’ve always provided for you, and provided well. You can’t deny that. But my life took a different turn. After I remarried, I had other responsibilities.”

“And now?”

He’s quiet for a moment and then he smiles. His gray eyes shine. For a moment I see the daddy whose love I clamored for. The “charmer,” as I’ve heard my mother call him.

“I was going to wait to tell you this, wait until we’d spent more time together, but since you’re pushing me, I’ll tell you now. I have a business opportunity, the one I’ve worked my whole life for—it’s finally come through—and I want you to come with me to New York. You can leave Hippyville behind and get a taste of the real world. It’s time you begin acting like the adult you are, Twila. I’ll set you up in your own place, an apartment near my penthouse. In turn, you can help me—act as hostess when I have business dinners or associates over for drinks. You can take care of things for me. It’s a generous offer, and you certainly don’t have anything going on here.”

I try to ignore his barbs and focus on the point. “But why? Can’t your wife do that?”

He shrugs. “I’m not taking her with me. I filed for divorce last month.”

I ball my hands into fists under the table. “What about your kids?”

“They’ll be fine.”

“Just like I was fine?”

“You’re great. Look at you.”

Tears fill my eyes. “You . . . don’t know. You don’t know what I . . . went through.”

“C’mon. It’s all in the past. We can start fresh. Share an adventure together.”

I shake my head. The charm he exudes is replaced by manipulation.

“Twila.” His voice is firm now. “I’ve supported you all these years—made sure you had everything you needed. The best schools, medical care, whatever you needed. Now it’s your chance to support me.”

I choke back my tears and ask the question I’ve wanted to ask since I was a child. “Do you . . . love me?”

His foot starts tapping under the table again. He blows out a breath through his teeth. “Of course I love you, I’m your father. Now, why don’t you go pack a bag and we can send for the rest of your things later. Now that you know the plan, there’s no reason to hang around here any longer.”

As I’ve watched him and listened to him, my stomach has clenched and unclenched over and over. Bile rises in my throat. I take a deep breath, praying I won’t be sick right here, right now.

“No.” I take another breath. “I won’t go.” Then I speak the truth I’ve always known but denied. “You don’t love me. You never have.” Tears blur my vision again. “But for some reason, now you need me, or think you need me. It’s never been about me. Like, all you can see, all you can love, is yourself.” As I speak and accept the truth, my stomach relaxes. “You . . . starved me. I was so hungry for your—”

“Listen, young lady, I don’t need your—”

“No! You listen.” I stand up. “I was so hungry for your love. I just wanted to please you, to make you love me. But now . . . now I get it. You won’t . . . you won’t ever love anyone but yourself.”

His face reddens and I see the vein in his neck throb.

“Twila?”

I turn and see my mom standing in the opening between the kitchen and living room.

“I’m okay.” I turn back to my father. “I want you to leave now. I don’t want to see you and I don’t want your money. I can support myself. Please, just go.” Tears stream down my face. I sniff and point to the back door. “Go.”

He stands and looks at my mother. “Nerissa, are you going to talk some sense into her? I make her a generous offer and this is how she acts?”

My mom steps into the kitchen. “I believe she asked you to leave. Please go.”

He shakes his head. “You two are a pair. You’ve made a big mistake, Twila.”

His eyes, steel now, bore through me. But I stand still, firm. I have some of his steel in me too and I will use it now. I will stand strong. No, I take that back. I have nothing of him in me except his chromosomes. It’s my heavenly Father’s strength that sustains me. “If you don’t leave now, I will call 911 and tell them I’ve asked you to leave and you won’t. Go!” I point to the door again.

He hesitates just a few seconds longer, then he slams his hand against the kitchen chair, shoving it into the table. The metal chair hits the edge of the old metal and Formica table and sends it skipping against the floor.

I jump at the clamor.

Then . . . he turns and walks out.

It’s not the first time he’s walked out on me. But it will be the last.

I have forgiven him and I will forgive him again. But I won’t allow him to use me or mistreat me.

Or the Spirit within me.

I know who I am.

As the back door slams, I let out my breath and wipe the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand. Then I feel my mother’s arms around me—hugging me—loving me.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “And I’m so proud of you. So proud of your strength, and dignity, and self-respect.”

I lean into her. “I know who I am. You taught me.” I pull back from her and lift up my arm so she can see the words forever inked on my wrist.

“Yes, you reflect His image for all to see.” She pulls me close again. “Twila, I’m so proud of who you are—of who you’ve become. I love you so much.”

I quiet in her arms. The tears stop and peace engulfs me. As she continues to hug me, my stomach rumbles.

She leans back. “Was that your stomach growling?”

I giggle. “Yeah, I’m hungry. Like really hungry.”

She pats me on the back and wipes the tears from her own cheeks. “Well, that’s good news. What would you like? Anything. Name it and I’ll make it.”

My mouth begins to water at the thought of eating something delicious. But not just eating it . . .

Maybe even enjoying it.