“Miss Fisher, I’m sure you understand there are procedures we follow to be certain the test is accurate. If I leave now, after having notified you that you will be tested today, the results can be skewed.”
Angela wasn’t completely sure she understood everything he’d said, but his meaning came through. He didn’t trust her. She felt her cheeks fill with heat, humiliation striking. But then why should he trust her? She’d used an illegal substance. She deserved his suspicion. But it didn’t make it any easier to bear. God may have forgiven her, but men …?
Lifting her chin, Angela met the man’s gaze. “Officer Brighton, I know I made a huge mistake. I’m sorry for it. At the time, I wasn’t a Christian, and I didn’t much care if I did wrong things. But now I have Jesus in my heart, and I don’t want Him to be disappointed in me. I’m not perfect, but I’m trying very hard to do what’s right.” She swallowed. “You don’t have any reason to believe me, but I’m being honest when I tell you I won’t do anything to make the test skewed. Please let me do this after work.”
The officer stood for a long time, his face set in a firm scowl, looking directly into her eyes. Angela held her breath, waiting for him to make his decision. Her thoughts begged, Please, please, please … !
Finally Officer Brighton released a sigh. “Very well, Miss Fisher. I will return at five thirty and escort you to the police station.”
Angela thought her legs might collapse; the relief was so great. “Oh, thank you!”
“But make sure you’re here and ready to go.” He moved toward the gap between partitions, but before exiting he turned back. “You’d better be honest with me. The judge will not take kindly to fraudulence.”
Angela wondered briefly how one could be fraudulent with a drug test, but she didn’t ask in case he thought she wanted the information for future reference. Instead, she gave a brisk nod, meeting his gaze with an earnest look. “I understand. And I promise”—she held up her fingers, Boy Scout-style—”no fraudulence.”
He gave her one more sharp look before striding out of the break area and heading for the door. She followed on his heels, a smile plastered to her face, her gaze on the back of his shirt. She felt as though everyone in the room was watching her, but she refused to glance around and confirm the feeling.
At the door, she chirped in a loud, cheerful voice, “Good-bye now! Thanks for stopping by! I’ll see you later!”
The look on his face communicated clearly he thought she’d lost her mind. But he didn’t say anything. He just stepped out the door.
Angela pressed her forehead to the closed door for a moment, bringing her erratic breathing under control. And when she turned, her gaze collided with Ben’s. Immediately her heart kicked into double-time. She straightened her shoulders, flashed a smile, and wiggled her fingers at him in a ridiculous semblance of a wave. Then, with a deliberately bouncy step, she headed to the dishwashing area to check on Steve.
Ben’s gaze nearly bore a hole through her back.
Ben checked the hourly schedule for the clients at the recycling center for the third time, and it still didn’t make sense. Not because the schedule was wrong, but because his focus was somewhere else. He pushed the schedule aside and released a huff of annoyance. Rarely did he have trouble staying on task at work even though his desk sat in the middle of the various centers, surrounded by activity and voices. So why today?
His gaze found Angela at the corner table with three other clients, instructing them in the skill of wrapping cloth napkins around silverware. The fluorescent lights glinting off her curls gave her an angelic appearance. A smile yearned for release, but he swallowed it. Another jolt of—something—struck him, and he forced his gaze to the desktop, his thoughts churning.
He had fought the urge all afternoon to corner Angela and ask about the man who had visited. As her supervisor, he had a right—technically speaking. Visitors were frowned upon during working hours. But, in her favor, she had used that brief visit as her afternoon break and had worked through the scheduled break, so he couldn’t accuse her of taking advantage.
Still, who was the man? Her familiarity with him was obvious, the way she’d taken his arm and escorted him to a private area. The giggle he’d heard had created a knot in his gut. Angela hadn’t mentioned a boyfriend. He shook his head. What difference did it make if she had a boyfriend? Was he jealous?
That question brought his gaze up to connect with hers once more. He’d made a determination to mentor Angela both at work and in her Christianity. It wasn’t supposed to go deeper. Yet, somehow, in the course of seeing her every day at work and sitting with her in church, she’d managed to weasel into his heart.
He jerked backward, his chair springs complaining with the sudden movement, and shifted his gaze to the ceiling. Lord, You’re going to have to direct me here. Angela is a Christian, and I do find her attractive, but there are a lot of differences between us. What is Your will concerning our relationship?
He didn’t receive an instant answer to his simple prayer, but that didn’t bother him. He’d learned over the years that God had His own timing. Ben could wait for his answer because he knew eventually it would come and it would be best for him. The bell hanging above the front door sent out its tinkling ring, bringing Ben from his chair. The bus driver for Steve and Doris had arrived.
He spent the next thirty minutes seeing clients out the door, bestowing hugs and high fives, and visiting with parents and caretakers about the progress being made by clients. This was one of Ben’s favorite parts of his job—seeing a mother’s face light up with pride in her adult child’s accomplishments as she realized the child would be able to take a job, earn a wage, and function like any other contributing member of society. Ben loved his work, the opportunity to serve and bring positive changes into people’s lives, and he felt the curiosity about Angela’s mysterious visitor melt away as he went through the end-of-day routine.
But when the last client had gone, and the employees were filtering out the door, Ben walked to the break area to retrieve his refillable soda cup and found Angela at the table, head low, shoulders slumped. Her dejected pose brought an immediate rush of concern.
Sliding into the seat beside her, he touched her arm. “Angela? You okay?”
She glanced at him. Tears glinted in the corners of her pale eyes, bringing out the deeper ring of blue gray around the irises. She shrugged. “Not really, but … I will be.”
“Something happen with one of the clients? I can help you with that.”
A shake of her head brought shimmering motion to her hair. “No. Nothing like that. The clients are great. I think we’re learning to work well together.”
Ben nodded. He agreed. He had seen subtle changes in Angela’s behavior around the clients. She still had a ways to go to be completely at ease, but she wasn’t shying away from them now, and she didn’t seem as stilted as she had the first few days. He processed her answer. If she wasn’t upset about something with one of the clients, there were only two more options.
Either he or her visitor had upset her.
“Have I done something to upset you?”
Her head jerked up, her startled gaze meeting his head-on. “Oh, no! You’ve—you’ve been wonderful, Ben. So patient …”
But the tears plumped and spilled down her cheeks.
He fought the urge to push his fingers through her hair and draw her to his chest in a hug. She looked as though she could use the comfort. But a hug would be well beyond the bounds between employer and employee, mentor and mentee. He linked his fingers and rested his hands on the tabletop. “Then what is it?”
She seemed to search his face, creating a tightness in his chest. Her lips parted, as if ready to share, but then she clamped her jaw shut, shifted her gaze, and swept the tears away. “Nothing.”
Ben forced a soft chuckle. “Now, I learned from growing up with a sister, females can be a little erratic with their emotions, but not even my sister cried over nothing. Are y
ou sure there isn’t something wrong?”
Angela kept her gaze aimed forward, giving him a view of her sweet profile. The curve of her jaw, framed by the tumbling curls, became more appealing by the minute.
“I just have to go somewhere—with someone—and I’m a little nervous,” she finally said.
Her voice was so soft Ben had to strain to hear her. An image of the man who’d shown up earlier filled Ben’s head. He curled his fingers around Angela’s arm and gave a gentle squeeze. “The visitor from today, is that the ‘someone’ you mean?”
She still wouldn’t look at him, but she nodded.
Ben felt something rise from his gut. Not quite anger, but certainly a strong emotion. “Has he threatened you in some way?”
Again her gaze spun in his direction. Her wide eyes expressed shock. “No! Nothing like that!” Then she lowered her gaze again, twisting her fingers together in her lap. “There’s no threat at all. Don’t worry.”
Her flat words did little to assure Ben. Yet he could see she wasn’t going to share anything more. He still held her arm, and he moved his hand to the back of her chair. Her curls brushed his fingers. “Angela, would you like me to pray for you?”
The tears returned, filling her eyes and bringing a luminance to the unusual irises. She nodded. “But I have to go.” Shooting from the chair, she snatched up her purse and zipped around the partition. Moments later, Ben heard the bell tinkle and the door close.
He remained at the table, questions spinning through his head. He had no idea what had upset Angela, but he decided it really wasn’t important that he know. God knew, and that was enough. He’d offered to pray, and he would follow through on it. Lowering his head, he closed his eyes and shared his concerns with his heavenly Father.
six
Angela rapped her knuckles against the door leading to Aunt Eileen’s apartment and groused to herself. Twenty-three years old and having to be babysat! It is beyond embarrassing. Yet the judge’s terms of her probation were firm: for the duration of her sentence, she must be monitored by a responsible adult or be placed in a detention facility.
With her parents’ decision to take a month-long cruise, Angela needed someplace to go. Neither of her older sisters expressed enthusiasm about her joining them, but Aunt Eileen had cheerfully agreed to having a lengthy visit. At least, she conceded as she raised her hand to knock a second time, Aunt Eileen was fun. If she had to be babysat, Aunt Eileen was top choice as sitter.
The door swung open, and Aunt Eileen greeted Angela with a boisterous hug. “Come in! Come in!” She pulled Angela through the door and gave it a push to close it. “Sorry I didn’t get here sooner. I was cleaning the shower.”
Angela grinned. A towel was slung around Aunt Eileen’s neck and a white smudge of some sort of cleaner decorated her left cheek. “You don’t have to go to extra trouble for me.”
Aunt Eileen waved a hand, shooing away Angela’s words. “Nonsense! Old ladies clean. It’s no extra trouble. Besides, I had to get all of Roscoe’s hair out of there. He likes that rug in front of the sink for some reason.” She chuckled and leaned down to scratch under the chin of the huge yellow and white cat at her feet.
“Well, okay then.” Angela looked around the small living room. The apartment was so plain compared to her own home, yet she felt at ease here. Welcomed. She sighed, suddenly glad she’d come. “Where do you want me to put my stuff?”
Aunt Eileen took the suitcase from her hand. “In the second bedroom.” She headed for the hallway, and Angela followed with Roscoe twisting around her ankles. Aunt Eileen continued. “I use it as a sewing room, but I borrowed a twin bed frame and mattress from someone at church. Nothing fancy, but it’ll do in a pinch.”
Angela stepped into the room. Aunt Eileen had draped the mattress with a multipatched quilt. The curtains were open, allowing in a shaft of sunlight, which highlighted the bright red and blue patches. She sat on the mattress and gave a little bounce while her gaze took in the sewing machine crunched in the corner beside a stack of plastic bins that overflowed with rolls of fabric and sewing notions. Something that appeared to be a half-finished quilt face lay across the end of the sewing machine table.
“Are you sure I won’t be in your way in here? It looks like you’re in the middle of something.”
Aunt Eileen walked over and patted the bulky folds of fabric. “I am. But it’ll keep. I can quilt anytime. But time with you? That’s a precious commodity.”
Mixed emotions mingled in her chest at her aunt’s words. Not even her parents seemed to treasure time with her. She rose and gave Aunt Eileen another hug. “I love you, Aunt Eileen.”
Aunt Eileen’s chuckle sounded. “Aw, sweet girl, right back atcha. Now”—she set Angela aside—”I bet you’ve got more stuff to bring up, right?” Her eyes twinkled.
Angela laughed. How well Aunt Eileen knew her! “Well, a little, I guess.”
Another chuckle let Angela know Aunt Eileen understood the meaning of “little” where any of Angela’s family was concerned. “You can slide your empty suitcases under the bed, and I put some extra hangers in the closet for you. Sorry there’s no dresser in here. Will that shelf do?”
Angela spotted the laminated, wood grain-printed shelf tucked at the foot of the bed. Spartan compared to her matching chest, mirrored dresser, and armoire in her bedroom at home. But she smiled and said, “Sure. It’ll do fine.”
Aunt Eileen crossed her arms, her brows coming down for a moment. “You’ll have to go out to your car again anyway to get the rest of your things. Can I talk you into making a delivery on the way?”
“A delivery? Where?” Angela trailed Aunt Eileen to the kitchen where she withdrew a whipped topping container from the refrigerator.
Plunking the container into Angela’s hands, she said, “Remember Alma? She hasn’t been eating so well since she left the hospital. She says nothing tastes good. But she loves my pistachio pudding salad. I thought maybe this would entice her to eat.”
Angela shook her head. “Aunt Eileen, why are you so nice and Mother is—?” She broke off, unwilling to insult her mother even if it was deserved.
Aunt Eileen smiled and gave Angela’s hand a gentle pat. “Your mother is nice. She just has a different way of showing it.”
Angela grimaced.
Aunt Eileen pulled her brows into a frown. “Think of all the good she does in the community. All the committees she heads up and organizes. Aren’t those nice things?”
“Well …” Angela shrugged. “I suppose they are. But somehow it’s not the same as doing little things, like sending pistachio salad to someone who doesn’t want to eat.”
A chuckle sounded. “Those people who benefit from the fund-raisers probably wouldn’t agree with you.”
Angela chose not to argue. She headed for the door. “I’ll take this over; then I’ll be right back.”
Aunt Eileen laughed. “Oh no, you won’t! If Alma gets you in that apartment, you’ll be there for a while.”
Angela grinned.
“But don’t worry about it. There’s nothing in your trunk that will spoil, is there?”
“Of course not.”
“Good.” Aunt Eileen gave a brusque nod. “Then just enjoy the visit. Spread a little sunshine. It’ll do you good.” She ushered Angela out the door.
Forty minutes later Angela finally managed to work her way from Alma’s kitchen to the front door. Her hand on the doorknob, she sent a big smile and offered a promise. “I’ll be here a whole month. I’ll come see you again, okay?”
Alma’s face drooped. “Please do. I so seldom have visitors….”
Angela followed an unfamiliar impulse and wrapped Alma in a warm hug. The spindly arms that clung back brought a rush of satisfaction through Angela’s heart. It felt good to give. Really good. How she wished she’d learned that long ago.
Back in the hallway, she headed to the elevator, humming to herself. She pushed the down button, and within seconds the doors opened
. Her tune ceased as her gaze fell on a young, bearded man in a wheelchair in the middle of the elevator.
“Oh!” She hesitated. “Is—is there room in there for me?”
The man grunted, but he pushed on the wheels of the chair, moving himself backward. Angela stepped past him to lean against the far wall. The doors slid shut, sealing them inside. The man’s curious gaze fixed on her.
“Who … are you?” he asked. Although the words were somewhat garbled, Angela understood him.
She offered a smile. “I’m Angela.”
“Why are … you … here?”
Her smile broadened. Snoopy, isn’t he? “Oh, just visiting a friend.”
“Who?” The word came out like a bark.
“Alma Andrews.” Angela paused, tipping her head. “Do you know her?”
The slight nod gave his answer. The doors slid open, revealing the lobby. Angela gestured toward the opening, but he stuck out his jaw.
“Lad–ies first.”
Angela’s brows shot up in surprise. A snoop, but a gentleman nonetheless. With another smile, she edged past him then kept her hand on the door casing until he brought the wheelchair through. The man continued to eye her.
“You … go home … now?”
Angela wondered if he were trying to get rid of her. “No, actually I’m going to collect some things and head to my aunt’s apartment. Eileen Cassidy. Do you know her, too?”
“Eileen is … my friend.”
Somehow that didn’t surprise Angela. “Well, then I’ll probably see you again. I’m staying with Aunt Eileen for a while.”
“Why?”
Angela decided that really was none of his business. But she smiled and said, “Just because.” Standing beside his chair, she said, “Now I need to ask you a question. You know my name. What’s yours?”
Promising Angela Page 4
