Missionary Daddy by Linda Goodnight Page B

ascent.
    Like the balloon, she could escape with a lot of hot air or she could trust a man who had dedicated his life to helping people. She’d carried the burden alone for a long time, and she was tired. But she was also ashamed and embarrassed. Eric’s opinion of her was important, although she wasn’t sure why. Only in recent days had he begun to be less prickly in her company. Would he think less of her if he knew the whole truth?
    “Sam?” he questioned gently. “That’s why you’re so worried about Gina, isn’t it?”
    She brought her gaze back to his and locked on. He was a missionary, or had been. He must care about people all the way down to his soul. Behind the laughter and wit was a steadfastness, a strength that encouraged confidence. But could she trust Eric Pellegrino with her ugly secret?
    Swallowing past a lump of anxiety, she gripped the rough wooden counter with both hands and murmured, “I’ve never told anyone except my doctors.”
    Eric pushed away from the counter and moved closer, as though his nearness could erase her pain and humiliation. She wanted him to hold her, which was crazy. Instead, he touched her shoulder, but the simple gesture of human contact brought inexplicable comfort.
    “You can tell me.”
    And so, over the next few minutes, she shared the distorted thinking that had led to an eating disorder, and the demanding career that had kept her trapped for so many years. She told of the hospital stay and the treatment facility, of the ongoing struggle with negative voices inside her head.
    By the time she stopped, he was leaning against the counter, ankles crossed, listening intently. His quiet acceptance bolstered her, making the story easier to tell.
    “Have you ever wondered why?” he asked.
    She hitched a shoulder. Of course she had. Deep inside, she was empty, always striving for a perfection she could not attain, a need to be more than she was. But she didn’t tell him that.
    “The therapists have theories. They’ve blamed my unemotional upbringing, my perfectionist tendencies, the need for control. And of course, the pressure of staying ultra-thin in a highly competitive profession. All I know is that food becomes an anorexic’s greatest passion and her deepest fear. We have trouble thinking about anything else.” She gave a self-conscious shake of her head and stared toward the TV program in progress across the way. “I don’t know why I told you this. You must think I’m a total loser.”
    “I think you’re amazing.”
    She spun toward him, shocked. “Me? Amazing because I can figure fat content and count calories in my head?”
    The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Because you haven’t let a serious illness stop you. Because you’re trying to find a way to help Gina so she doesn’t have to go through what you have. You’re a fighter, Sam. I admire fighters.”
    “Sorry, I don’t see it. I wish I agreed with you, but I know better. I still have to journal what I eat every single day so I don’t regress. And the negative thoughts never stop. Never.”
    “Quit beating yourself up. Look at the good you’re trying to do.”
    She made a face. “And failing. Gina won’t listen at all.”
    Eric laid a finger next to his mouth and then pointed at her. “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you come to my Sunday school class and talk about eating disorders? You don’t have to share your personal story, just talk in general about the modeling industry and the pressure to be thin. Tell about the other girls you’ve known who have eating disorders. Gina may not be the only girl battling this.”
    “I can almost promise you she’s not.”
    Sam bent to pick up a discarded paper cup, thinking about the offer. If someone had talked to her in high school, she might have gotten help sooner. She might even be a whole woman today.
    She tossed the cup into a trash bag and dusted her hands. “Do you think they’ll listen?”
    “Are you kidding? Haven’t you noticed