Promising Angela (17 page)

Ben looked across the bonfire to Angela, who sat between Stephanie and Elliott. The man had been like a leech during every free period today. But, he acknowledged, Angela hadn’t given him any extra attention. Her flirtatiousness seemed to have been put on hold for the weekend.

Now she held a stick with marshmallows attached over the flame, turning it with a look of concentration on her face. The firelight danced on her tousled curls, bringing out highlights of gold and red. The shadows emphasized the delicate curve of her jaw and the height of her cheekbones. In the flare of the fire, her eyes took on a new luminance, as if lit from within. His heart lurched. Her beauty was like a knife through his chest.

He stifled a groan. This day had been so difficult. Their common symbol put them in nearly every activity together, making separation impossible. Despite his efforts to focus elsewhere, time and again his gaze had followed her. Images from the day replayed like slides on a private movie screen: Angela listening with rapt attention to the speaker, her head bent in silent prayer during quiet time, her elation as she ended the ropes course. And now, her sweet face tipped toward Elliott while fire glow lit her features.

Turning away, he tried to involve himself in conversation with the people sitting nearby, but he couldn’t concentrate enough to contribute. With a sigh, he looked back across the flames, his eyes unconsciously seeking the cause of his conflict.

But she wasn’t there.

He gave a startled jerk, sitting up straight and searching the area. The only light came from the massive bonfire, so he nearly missed the shadowy figure slipping between trees at the edge of the clearing. Had it not been for the flash of fire in her spiraling curls, he might not have recognized the figure as Angela.

Planting his palms against the log that served as his seat, he nearly lunged to his feet. But Bruce stepped in front of Ben, stopping his movement.

“Hey, gang, anyone have a suggestion?” Bruce patted the guitar that hung around his neck. “Let’s sing some praise songs, give God the glory for providing such a beautiful fall evening.”

Song suggestions were thrown out, and Bruce strummed, accompanying the voices. Ben sang along, but his participation was halfhearted at best. His gaze remained on the spot where he’d seen Angela disappear. Half an hour slipped by, and still she hadn’t returned. Worry pressed at him. Could she have gotten lost? The campground was fairly large, and in the dark, in the trees, a person could get disoriented.

Leaning to the person seated next to him, he asked, “Hey? Do you know if anyone has a flashlight out here?”

The man nodded. “Yeah. Bruce’s wife, Lorraine, brought a few of them in case people needed to get back to the dorms.”

“Thanks.” Ben rose and made his way to the back of the gathered campers to Lorraine. She willingly reached into a burlap bag and withdrew a flashlight at Ben’s request. After thanking her, he circled around the group, moving cautiously over the shadowed ground.

He waited until he was in the trees before turning on the flashlight. The beam shot ahead no more than five or six feet, but it was enough to guide his progress. Watching the play of light on tree trunks and on the uneven, leaf-covered ground, Ben thought of the Bible verse in Psalms about God’s Word being a lamp for man’s feet and a light for man’s path. The light only uncovered a path a few feet ahead—far enough to take three or four steps—but limited the vision of the entire path. He had to trust that the beam would continue shining as he made his progress, giving him enough light to continue.

God, it’s like that in life, too, isn’t it? You don’t allow us to see the whole pathway, but You provide the illumination needed to make today’s progress.
His throat convulsed.
I don’t know what lies ahead for Angela and me, but I want to trust that You have good things in store at the end of the road. Please let Your light keep shining … for both of us.

A voice startled him, bringing his prayer to a close. He froze, straining to listen. At first he couldn’t make out words, only tones; but then the voice raised, and he recognized not only the speech but also the speaker.

“Give that to me right now!”

Angela, making a demand.

Mumbled voices answered. Their words were unclear, but the growling tones indicated anger.

Ben stumbled forward, his heart pounding. The bouncing beam of the flashlight turned the trees into lunging monsters, but he kept going, determined to find Angela and protect her from—what? He didn’t know. He only knew he had to get to her quickly.

The voices grew louder, an obvious argument ensuing. He let the sound guide him, his heart pounding harder with each step that brought him closer. He burst through several scrub bushes into a small clearing where a minuscule campfire sent out a weak flicker of light. Angela stood on one side of the fire; three people faced her from the other side. All four jumped and spun toward him as he charged onto the scene.

“What’s going on here?” Ben swung the beam of the flashlight across the row of faces opposite Angela. He didn’t know any of them. They were young, teenagers probably.

When they spotted Ben, one hollered, “Let’s go!” They took off through the trees.

Ben started after them but changed his mind. He didn’t care about those boys. He’d come out here for Angela. Turning back, he saw her trot around the campfire and bend down to pick something up. The flashlight aimed at her, he approached, his brows crunched. “What is that?”

She held it against her side for a moment, her face pale. Slowly she raised her hand, and Ben angled the flashlight beam on a plastic-wrapped bunch of crumpled brown leaves. Marijuana.
Oh, Lord, no …

He lifted his gaze from the packet to her face. Her wide eyes told everything he needed to know. He’d interrupted a drug deal.

“Angela …” He shook his head, the disappointment sagging his shoulders. “How could you?”

Angela took a stumbling step forward. The look of betrayal on his shadowed face stabbed her heart. “Ben! It isn’t what you think!”

“What am I supposed to think?” he grated, his teeth clenched. “I come out here, worried about you, and I find you—I find you …” He released a groan.

She grabbed his arm. “Ben, I didn’t come out here looking for drugs. I was just walking, thinking, trying to make sense of you and—” She stopped. There was no “you and me” where Ben and she were concerned. Drawing in a breath, she continued. “I saw the campfire, and I wondered who was here. I found those boys getting ready to make joints.”

“So you decided to join them.”

How his words stung! “No! Ben, listen to me. When I saw what they were doing, I tried to stop them.”

Ben jerked his arm free, his gaze accusing. “I heard you asking for the marijuana, Angela. I heard you.”

“Yes, I asked for it!”

“Well, if you weren’t planning to use it, why did you ask them to give some to you?”

Frustration welled. How could she make him understand? “I didn’t want them using it, making the same mistake I did, so I asked for it. Not for my use, but just to take it away! Ben, you have to believe me!”

But he shook his head, backing away from her. “Once a drug user, always a drug user. You just couldn’t stay away from it.”

His withdrawal hurt worse than anything she’d experienced before. Her chin quivered with the effort of holding back tears. What had she decided about Janine, Todd, and Alex? If they were her friends, they wouldn’t choose to hurt her. The same applied to Ben. He claimed to love her, yet all he did was hurt her. She couldn’t stay for one more minute in his presence.

“Fine.” She shoved the packet of marijuana into her jacket pocket. “You don’t want to believe me? That’s fine. I’ve done everything I know to do to prove I’ve changed—to prove I’m not Kent and I won’t keep using drugs. But you don’t want to believe me! You’d rather go on thinking the worst, never taking a chance, never admitting that maybe—just maybe—you could be wrong.”

Throwing her arms outward, she released a huff. “Okay, don’t believe me. Stephanie is right. It isn’t my problem, Ben, it’s yours. And you’re just going to have to deal with it.” She spun and headed for the trees.

“Angela!”

Ben’s angry voice didn’t slow her steps a bit.

“Angela, it’s dark! You’ll get lost! Come back here!”

“I got myself out here; I’ll get myself back!” She didn’t even turn around, just forged forward, her hands outstretched as she groped her way through the gray gloom. She heard Ben’s muffled voice, but she ignored him and continued her halting progress.

Leaves crunched beneath her tennis shoes, the noise an assault to an otherwise peaceful night. She stomped along, determined to put as much space between herself and Ben as possible. Her chest ached with the desire to cry, but she set her chin and held the hurt inside. He’d made her cry for the last time. No more!

After stumbling noisily forward for several minutes, she paused and listened. No footsteps followed her. Huffing from the effort of moving quickly through the dark, she leaned against a tree for a few moments of rest. She slipped her hands into her pockets, and she encountered the marijuana. The plastic bag crinkled beneath her palm, bringing a rush of memories.

The remembrance of past times—filling her lungs with smoke, experiencing the sensation of floating, being part of a circle of acceptance—brought a flood of desire. Ben already thought she was a user; why not prove him right?

It would be so easy to make a joint. The little squares of paper were scattered all over that area where she’d surprised the boys. She could sneak back there, circle around so Ben wouldn’t see. A few draws on a marijuana joint would wash away the pain Ben caused, wash away the feeling of failure, and carry her to a height of pleasure. Her fingers tightened on the packet as a war took place in her heart.

Then she remembered another sensation of floating. Today, on the ropes, gliding from tree to tree while trusting Bruce and Ben to keep her safe. Bruce’s words filled her head.
Let God hold you up.
Dropping to her knees on the leaves, Angela lowered her head and poured out her heart to God. She begged Him to remove the desire for drugs once and for all. Then she thanked Him for the opportunity to prove her promise was sincere. Finally, her thoughts turned to Ben.

“God, I don’t know what to do about Ben. I love him, but loving him hurts too much. You can take the desire for drugs away. Please take the desire for Ben away, too.” She remained on her knees for several more minutes, absorbing the peacefulness of one-on-one time with her heavenly Father. The chill from the ground made her shiver, and she rose clumsily to her feet. Raising her face to the star-studded sky, she whispered a “thank You” for God’s endless presence, and then she continued her progress toward camp. Before long, she spotted the glow of the bonfire and heard voices raised in song.

There was one important thing left to do. Her heart pounding, she made her way out of the trees. She glanced over her shoulder. Ben was still back there somewhere. Her heart ached. As much as she still loved him, his actions had proven he would never trust her. Trying to win Ben’s approval was a losing battle—one she no longer had the energy to fight.

“Good-bye, Ben,” she whispered, then walked slowly to the group gathered around the bonfire. She looked for Robyn and Stephanie and located Stephanie first. She worked her way through the group to Stephanie’s side and crouched beside her. Tapping the woman’s shoulder, she whispered, “Stephanie? I need to make a phone call. Could you come with me, please?”

Without a word of question, Stephanie rose. The pair walked in silence to the dormitories.

Ben made sure the small campfire was completely extinguished before turning back toward the group. His steps felt heavy, labored, and he knew it had nothing to do with the late hour and tiredness from a busy day. The weight of Angela’s betrayal wore him down. Once a drug user, always a drug user—isn’t that what he’d said? Yet seeing it proved true hurt more than he had imagined. His journey through the trees seemed to take hours—hours of painful reflection.

All of the pleasant images from the day now disappeared, replaced by the sight of Angela standing, shamefaced, with a packet of marijuana in her hand. He shook his head, a feeble attempt to clear the image from his memory, but it remained, permanently imbedded in his mind. And she had taken it with her—stuffed it in her jacket pocket and stormed away.

He replayed that moment of her slipping the marijuana into her pocket over and over. If only he could change the scene. Why hadn’t he leaped forward, snatched the packet away from her, and flung it into the fire? Instead, he’d stood there stupidly and let her walk away with it. Which meant Angela was now in possession of marijuana.

Drugs were in violation of camp rules—a cause for immediate dismissal. One word to the campground administrator, and Angela would be sent packing. More importantly, drug possession was a clear violation of her parole. If he contacted her parole officer, her community service would end immediately. She would serve the remainder of her sentence in a detention facility.