Promising Angela (10 page)

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, yawned, and lay back down.

Carefully she pulled the door all the way closed, relieved she hadn’t wakened her aunt. Back in the living room, she curled in the recliner. Ben’s face—with shocked disapproval in his eyes—appeared once more in her memory. Not even when she’d told him the good that had come of her drug abuse conviction, not even when she’d promised to never use drugs again, had his expression cleared.

Her head throbbed, and she massaged her temples. Closing her eyes, she whispered aloud, “Oh, Jesus, please replace Ben’s face with Yours in my head. Remind me that You’ve forgiven me. Remind me that You love me unconditionally.”

Another spurt of tears accompanied the simple prayer. But they weren’t tears of anguish. They were tears of gratitude. Because Jesus answered.

Ben remained in the booth, too stunned to get up. Only dimly aware of the chatter of other patrons, the hum of the air-conditioning, and the slow-moving traffic on the street outside the window, he sat replaying Angela’s words.

She’d used drugs.

She’d been through drug abuse rehabilitation.

She’d said she wouldn’t abuse her body that way again.

He shook his head. Oh, yes, she would. How many times had Kent gone through rehab? At least three. And every time he returned to the crutch of drug use. He was drug free now, but not from choice. He simply no longer had access to people who could provide drugs to him.

Except for Angela.

A part of Ben wanted to kick himself for even thinking Angela might provide drugs to Kent, yet the greater part of him—the part that had learned to protect his cousin—overrode the other. If Angela had used drugs in the past, she knew how to get them. If she knew how to get them, she knew how to share them.

He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and fingers, trying to ignore the memory of her pleading eyes as she’d told him of her acceptance of Christ into her heart. Evidence of growth had been seen in the past weeks, especially since she’d begun attending church regularly. She certainly had the pull of God on her heart. But …

Ben hung his head, his chest tightening with the knowledge of how hard the tug of drugs could be. Hadn’t he seen it with Kent? Kent had struggled against it, had vowed to give it up, had remained drug free for weeks, even months, at a time … but always, always, he’d gone back to the old habit.

It wasn’t as if Ben believed drugs were stronger than God. He knew better. But he wasn’t sure Angela was strong enough in her new faith to resist the habit. With wooden movements, he piled the half-eaten sandwiches and crumpled chips wrappers on the tray and carried it to the trash can.

When he got in his truck, he realized he didn’t want to go home. The empty apartment held no appeal. He considered driving to Elmwood Towers and seeing if Kent wanted to go for a ride, but the fear of running into Angela made him nix that idea. Starting his engine, he pulled into the street and drove aimlessly. By force of habit, he turned on familiar streets and ended up at New Beginnings.

To his surprise, Philip’s motorcycle sat in the parking area behind the warehouselike building. Curious, he pulled in next to the cycle and entered the building through the back door.

Philip looked up from his desk when Ben slammed the door. His face creased into a puzzled frown. “Hey, what are you doing here on a Sunday afternoon?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” Ben dropped into the plastic chair facing his boss’s desk. “Since when do you work on Sundays?”

Philip released a low chuckle and leaned back in his chair. He linked his fingers behind his head and rocked slightly, yawning. “I don’t. But my lovely wife had a brainstorm about a fund-raising carnival for the winter Special Olympics, and I needed to check my schedule to see where it could be penciled in.”

Ben glanced at the desk calendar in the middle of Philip’s messy desk. Every square inch held scribbled reminders. “I assume you discovered you aren’t available?”

Another chuckle. “I discovered I’m a busy man—as if I didn’t already know it.” He rocked in his chair, its squeaky springs loud in the quiet room. “So what are you doing here? I’m pretty sure Marin didn’t give you any ideas to pursue.”

Ben offered a small grin. “No, although I’ll help in whatever way I can. I’m hoping Kent will participate in the winter Olympics basketball game, and maybe some of the wheelchair races in next summer’s Special Olympics.”

“That’d be great,” Philip said. He brought his arms down and draped his elbows on the chair arms. “Angela mentioned he’s been visiting the weight room at the Towers, and he’s gone walking with her in the evenings after it has cooled down a bit. Sounds as if he’s getting out a lot more.”

The reminder of Angela spending time with Kent brought a new stab of worry. “Hey, Philip, I’m glad I caught you here. I need to talk to you about Angela.” He paused, his gaze swinging through the empty building. It seemed sad and almost lonely with the normally busy stations devoid of clients and absent of Angela’s bright hair and beaming smile. Turning back to Philip, he said, “She told me today why she’s in community service.”

Philip nodded, one eyebrow quirked. “I’m not surprised. I wondered how long she’d be able to keep it from you.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk, and fiddled with a pen. “I’ve gotten the impression pleasing you has become pretty important to Angela—and not just because you’re her supervisor.”

Ben pulled his lips into a scowl. “If she’d like to please me, she should stay away from Kent.”

Philip’s hand stilled on the pen. “Has she mistreated Kent in some way?”

“As far as I know, she hasn’t,” Ben answered truthfully. “But that doesn’t mean she won’t.”

Philip shook his head hard, a teasing grin twitching. He began rolling the pen beneath his palms. “You’re going to have to elaborate on that comment. You just lost me.”

Ben puffed his cheeks and blew. “She’s an addict, Philip. She uses drugs.”

“She
was
a drug user. Past tense.” Philip’s calm rejoinder did little to reassure Ben.

“I’m not so sure past tense exists when it comes to the addiction of drug use.” Ben’s heart clenched with his statement. He wished so much it weren’t true.

“So you’re saying Angela’s profession of faith is fake?”

Ben looked sharply at Philip. “Her profession of faith has nothing to do with it.”

“Ben!” A brief huff of laughter burst out. “It has everything to do with it.”

Unable to find the words to express his thoughts, Ben sat silently.

Philip rolled the pen into a drawer, shut the drawer with a snap, and then linked his fingers together on the desktop. “Look, I think I understand where this concern is based. It’s because of Kent, right? The fact that he kept returning to drugs?”

Ben shifted his gaze to the right, away from Philip’s earnest face, and nodded.

“So your skepticism is logical. However, you’re forgetting that logic doesn’t always exist in the world of Jesus.”

Ben’s gaze jerked back to Philip. “Logic doesn’t exist in the world of Jesus? Now
you
elaborate.”

Philip shrugged. “How logical is it that a man who grew up bullying and tormenting others would open a business that serves the needs of the very people he used to bully? Yet I became a Christian, and God turned me around.”

Ben felt his jaw drop. Philip? Kind Philip, a bully? The picture wouldn’t gel. But bullying wasn’t an addiction. He shook his head. “It’s not the same thing.”

“Yes, it is. ‘The old has gone, the new has come!’ Do you think there are limits on God? Only this thing can fade away, but that thing can’t?”

Ben couldn’t say he doubted the power of God. Yet, in his experience, a person’s powerful desire for drugs could keep that person from leaning on God to resist the need. “I think God has the power to do anything, but I also think some people won’t let Him.”

Philip sat for a while, staring at Ben through narrowed eyes. Finally he nodded. “Okay. Yeah, I’ll concede on that one. People sure can follow a wrong pathway. But”—he leaned forward, his gaze intent—”just because one chooses the wrong pathway doesn’t mean they all will.”

Ben shifted his gaze away again. Philip’s quiet words hit like an arrow in a bull’s-eye.

“Give Angela a chance. I’ve seen so much growth just in the few weeks she’s been here. I know you’ve seen it, too. Can’t you trust her when she says she’s changed?”

“No.” The word came from a throat that felt strangled.

Philip shrugged. “Okay …”

The chair squeaked again, and suddenly Philip stepped into Ben’s line of vision. Ben met his employer’s gaze. Philip’s eyes contained no hint of condemnation for Ben’s hard stance. Only compassion lingered there.

“Ben, there is a way to ease your fears.”

“Fire Angela?” Ben forced a humorless chuckle.

Philip shook his head. “You know we can’t do that. She wasn’t hired. No hire, no fire.” He gave a grin that Ben did his best to imitate. “But we can pray.” He pulled a second plastic chair over and sat down, his knees a few inches from Ben’s. Folding his hands in his lap, he said, “Marin and I were reading in Ephesians a few nights ago. The topic of holiness is expressed pretty beautifully in that book.”

Ben’s chin shot up. Ephesians … and holiness … His minister had spoken on holiness the first Sunday he’d taken Angela to church.

“I’m going to pray for Angela, for her to stand firm in her new convictions. But I’m also going to pray for you—for you to be able to see her as the holy creature God desires her to be.” Without another word, he lowered his head and began to pray.

Ben closed his eyes and hunched forward, but the tightness in his chest held back the worries he longed to leave in his Father’s hands.

Angela consulted the clipboard that held the day’s schedule, using her finger to scan the list to locate her name. In the task column across from her name she read “mopping/table cleaning with Randy, Doris, and Anton.” She sighed. Her least favorite tasks, and two of those delegated to her area were brand-new clients, which meant she would have a stressful day. Any change in routine was difficult for many of the New Beginnings clients.

Turning from the assignment board, she headed to her locker, her gaze bouncing past Ben. He kept his head down, just as he’d done the previous two days this week. His rejection hurt more than she wanted to admit.

She couldn’t blame him for his disapproval. She certainly deserved it after the poor choices she’d made. Yet Ben’s disapproval was harder to bear than any other—even more than her parents’. Their anger and disappointment was largely due to the fact that she had been foolish enough to get caught, thereby causing them embarrassment. Ben’s disappointment was directly related to her behavior.

Placing her purse in the locker, she rested her hand on the Bible waiting on the shelf. Through prayer, she’d been able to find comfort for her aching heart each night as she stretched out on the bed in Aunt Eileen’s spare room. But during the day, even though she was busy, the ache returned.

Loneliness hit hard. The last two evenings the caretaker for Kent’s floor had turned her away when she’d come to visit Kent. Aunt Eileen was tied up in something with other ladies at her church and had been out. She’d consulted her list of “supporters” and refrained from bothering Carrie. What newlywed wants to spend evenings away from her husband? And she didn’t know anyone from the Sunday school class at church well enough to call out of the blue to do something.

So she had been alone. Giving the locker a firmer slam than was necessary, she headed to the cleaning area. The tinkle of the bell announced the arrival of clients, and she greeted those with whom she would be working. Of the three, Anton seemed the most nervous. He hung back, peeking over Randy’s shoulder, his round eyes wide behind his thick glasses.

Angela’s heart went out to him. She smiled and offered a kind welcome, but he shrank away, making a noise of distress. Angela turned to Doris, the one familiar face among the three.

“Doris, would you like to show Randy and Anton where to find the mop buckets? We’ll be scrubbing the floors today.”

Doris nodded and looked at the two waiting men. “C’mon, you guys.” She waved her chubby hand then scuttled toward the supply closet. With one more apprehensive look thrown at Angela, Anton followed. Randy trailed more slowly, his gait swaying. Angela walked beside him.

She worked with the trio all morning, showing them how to fill the bucket to the waterline and measure the cleaning agent, how to wring the excess water from the mop, and how to push the mop head across the floor. When Anton stepped on the long strings, she reached to assist him. But he pulled away, squeaking in fear.

By the time the lunch break arrived, her temples pounded, and she toyed with the idea of asking if she could leave early. Only knowing to gain permission she’d have to talk to Ben kept her from following through.

Despite her best efforts at patience and gentle teasing—things she’d discovered worked well with most clients—she made no progress at all in helping Anton feel comfortable. She nearly wilted with relief when the bus driver arrived to transport him home. She walked her charges to the door and said good-bye to each one, but only Doris offered any response.