The tears flowed madly now as she contemplated how she might explain all of this to her father.
As He had done so many times over the past few days, the Lord once again reminded her of a familiar scripture from the first chapter of James: Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him.
Perhaps Angel’s preparations for next month’s class had been the Lord’s way of training her for the task at hand. As she pulled into the parking lot of KPRC, Angel forced herself to focus on the task at hand. If she didn’t get this CD into Mr. Nigel’s hand soon, she would lose her job and more of Houston’ elderly would lose their money.
Ida Davidson still needed her.
Somehow just knowing that made all of the pain worthwhile.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“You haven’t been yourself lately, Honey. Is everything okay?”
Peter glanced up at his mother as she seated herself next to him at the poolside. She dipped her feet in the water alongside his, her bright pink toenails setting off a shimmer under the crystal clear water.
“Yeah.” He mumbled.
She splashed water on him, an attempt at playfulness. She obviously wanted his attention. But he didn’t want to give it. Not today. He just wanted to be left alone.
His mother cleared her throat. Peter finally mustered up a bit of a response. “I’m fine.” He slipped down the blue tiled pool wall and inched his way into the chilly water.
She pouted, making the same face she always made when she didn’t get her way. “Does this have something to do with the girl?” This time she kicked a spray of water up into the air. The cold droplets hit him in the side of the head.
The girl?” He ducked under the heavily chlorinated water, doing all he could to avoid his mother’s stare. As he came up, he shook off the excess dampness from his hair and formulated a way out of this conversation. “I’m going to swim a few laps, Mom. Can we talk later?” He took off, not waiting for her response. By the time he got to the end of the pool and back, she had disappeared.
For a while, anyway. A few minutes later she arrived decked out in a bright blue and yellow swimsuit with matching goggles.
“I felt like taking a little dip, myself.” Donita gingerly stepped down into the water, making faces as the cold water enveloped her. “Hope you don’t mind.”
Peter grunted and went back to swimming laps. He didn’t really feel like talking to anyone right now. Except, perhaps, Angel.
The girl.
Nearly twenty-four hours had elapsed since their parting, and so many questions remained unanswered in Peter’s mind. What was her story—her real story? Why had that dark-haired guy at Tennyson Towers denied her existence? Why did she have a key to the silver sports car? Why did she react so poorly to Peter’s comments about siding with those she had been taking advantage of?
Why did she look so scared?
“Yoo-hoo. Could you re-join me on the planet?” His mother’s fingertips brushed his shoulders.
“I’m. . .I’m here.” He ducked his head beneath the water again and stayed under as long as his lungs would allow. When he finally did spring up to catch his breath, Peter couldn’t avoid his mother’s words.
“The truth will come out, you know. It always does.”
Peter wiped a dribble of water from the end of his nose. “It’s the truth that worries me.”
“What do you mean?”
A sigh escaped his lips. “I haven’t been hearing a lot of it lately that’s all. In fact, it’s getting pretty hard to tell the truth from a lie these days.”
“Just tell me what’s on your mind,” she urged. “I can take it, whatever it is. Besides, I know it’s got something to do with Angel.”
“Mom, I just don’t know—”
She laughed. “No guy ever knows how to talk about women. It’s not an easy subject. But maybe I can help.” She looked genuinely interested, and he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty rejecting her help.
Peter ran his fingers through his matted hair and pulled his weight up onto the side of the pool once again. “This is beyond help.”
“Nothing is beyond help.” She engaged him in a locked stare. “Not beyond God’s help, at any rate.”
“I know that. And I’ve been asking, but I don’t seem to be getting anywhere.”
“Could you be more specific?”
Peter swallowed the lump in his throat before delving into the story. The whole story. He started slowly, and then picked up speed as he went along. He told his mother how and where he and Angel had met. He shared the humorous details of how she had smelled that first day at the restaurant. He relayed how thrilled he had been to see Angel at their house just a few short nights ago looking so beautiful. He told his mother how it made him feel when Branson took such an interest in Angel and relayed the truth of how badly the evening had ended.
Peter told his mother the whole, awful story—of calling the police, of the man in the office. Everything.
She listened quietly, and he was unable to read anything from her expression. As he finished the woeful tale, she made her ascent from the pool and reached for a towel. “You know,” she said, “I have a sneaking suspicion this isn’t quite what you think it is.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve got pretty good discernment.” His mom secured the large blue towel around her waist. “And from the little bit of time I’ve spent with Angel, I’d have to say she’s the real thing. She’s well bred, has great manners and clearly connects with you on more than just an emotional level. That’s not just a mother’s intuition talking.” She sat next to him.
“But Mom, you haven’t seen the other side of her. She can be sneaky and conniving and—”
“I hear what you’re saying, but I’m sure you’re missing something. I know you don’t want to hear this, but I feel like you’re off base this time, Honey. Maybe you’ve made her out to be all of these things so that you can rush in and rescue her. Is that a possibility?”
That’s the same thing Rob accused me of. “I’m not sure I’d put it quite like that.”
“Listen.” Her voice trembled a bit. “I know what you’re up against. I know the kind of man you want to be and the kind you’re trying so hard not to be.”
Peter sat in stunned silence. How could she possibly know?
“You want to be a man of God, someone who cares for people. You’ve been like that since you were a kid. You always wanted me to stop and give money to every homeless man on every corner.”
Peter shrugged. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“No. Nothing at all. But the task is so great, Peter, and you’ve taken it all on yourself. And when you took that job as a trash collector—”
“What about it?”
She paused and seemed to focus on her pink manicured nails. “Your father had offered you such a nice position at the Agency,” she said finally. “You could have had anything you wanted. But you chose the job with the City.”
“And you’re ashamed of that?” He put his hand up to block the sun’s glare.
“No, Peter. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I was extremely proud of you because I knew God could use you. And He has. I’m just asking you to check your motivations, that’s all.”
Peter shifted his position, slightly unnerved by the direction this conversation seemed to be heading.
“I’m wondering why it’s so important to distance yourself from your father in every situation. Are you trying to prove something to him?”
Her words stung like an icy wind. Peter felt goose-bumps rise on his arms and rubbed at them to warm himself. “What do you mean?”
“Your father may struggle with pride at times,” she explained, “but that doesn’t make him a bad man. He’s just a man. Like you.”
Not like me. We’re nothing alike.
His mother’s eyes took on a faraway look. “W
hen your father and I first got married, we had nothing. We lived in a tiny apartment on the south side of Houston, near Hobby airport. Our grocery budget was twenty dollars a week, if that gives you any indication of how things were.”
This was a new story, one that Peter couldn’t help but sit up and pay attention to.
“Your dad worked for the school district back then. Drove a bus.”
No way.
Your grandfather didn’t make things easy on us, that’s for sure. He never had a penny to his name, and yet his quest for money always seemed to drive him. He never found what he was looking for, and he died in debt—a bitter man.”
“Wow,” Peter said. “I always knew he had a chip on his shoulder, but couldn’t figure him out.”
“No one could,” his mom continued. “Your grandfather had more pride than a lot of rich men I’ve known. For some reason, and I could never figure out why this was, he always accused your father of being a failure. Nothing your dad ever tried was good enough. Grandpa Joe said he’d never make anything out of his life. So your dad decided, out of spitefulness, I might add, to prove your grandfather wrong.”
He proved him wrong, all right.
“Your grandfather never lived to see the success your father made of himself, so they both lost out.”
“Hmm.”
“The sad irony is—” Peter’s mother gave him a pensive look “—I think you want to be as opposite from your father as he wanted to be from his. But the truth is, doing anything out of spite—or to make a point—is doing something for the wrong reason. No matter how noble. No matter how godly.”
Peter kept his gaze on the water. It rippled beneath his feet as he shifted them back and forth.
“And whether you know it or not,” she added with a sly smile, “your father is one of the most giving men I know.”
“Giving?”
“You don’t see everything, Peter. But there are things your father has done that others know nothing about.”
“Such as?” Curiosity had the better of him now.
“Well, take the new gym at the church, for instance.”
Peter shrugged. “What about it?”
“Remember that ‘unnamed benefactor’ Pastor Rob thanked from the pulpit just before the groundbreaking?”
“Are you saying. . .?”
“I am. And the street ministry. I guess you never stopped to think about who funded that feeding center you work at. It takes a lot of money to get a project like that off the ground. They needed thousands of dollars to get the kitchen area renovated and up to city code. And then there was the matter of hiring a permanent staff to guide those of you who volunteered your services.”
I had no idea. Peter shook his head in shame.
“There are a thousand other things I could tell you,” his mother continued. “But at least hear this, Peter. A lot of what you’re interpreting as pride in your father is simply fear. He’s afraid of letting his guard down and having others see that he’s vulnerable. A lot of men are like that.”
“And some are just the opposite.” Peter stared at the water, the truth suddenly just as clear.
“Yes. They are. But both are just men.” She cleared her throat and the silence became almost overwhelming.
“Right.” The word came out as a soft whisper.
“But Angel,” she continued, “Now that’s another story altogether. She’s not a man, is she?”
“Definitely not.” Peter smiled, as the memory of Angel in that black dress reignited him.
Donita grinned. “Definitely not.”
“So what would you do?” Peter asked. “I mean, if you were me.”
“That’s easy.” His mother stood and turned toward the house. “I’d find her and get to the bottom of all this.” She pulled the towel tighter around her. “Then I’d do my best to hold onto her as long as God would allow.”
***
Angel looked up as Mr. Nigel stepped into her tiny cubicle at KPRC. His bulk nearly filled the tiny space to overflowing. “So, do you feel better now that you’ve slept?” he asked.
She yawned her response. Truth be told, she hadn’t slept much. Between the tears and the joy, there had been little time.
“I’ve had some time to look over the CD.” Mr. Nigel pulled up a metal chair and eased himself into it. It bent a little too far backward for Angel’s comfort. “You’ve hit the jackpot, Angel. Great work.”
“Thank you, Sir.” Angel felt her cheeks flush. Swallow that pride, girl.
“We’ve got our legal analysts looking at the files now. The police have been contacted, but they’re probably going to wait until tomorrow before they make their move. They decided to call in the F.B.I.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Whenever I get word an arrest is about to go down, I’ll send a news crew out there to get some footage.”
“Do I have to go?”
“No, Kid. You’ve done enough. You can relax now. We need you right here. We’ll mix and match your live report here at the studio with any clips they bring back. In the meantime, put together the strongest story you can.”
She took a deep breath and rested against the back of the chair. “I’ve already started it.”
“Atta girl.
Angel’s eyes brimmed with salty tears as her thoughts shifted to Peter Campbell. She contemplated their last run-in. Despite her best research, she couldn’t seem to link him in any way to Nick and the others. Just one more piece of the puzzle yet to be solved.
She was working on it and would continue until the truth came out. Through her tears, no less. She couldn’t seem to make them stop, so she brushed them aside and turned her attention back to her boss. “Thank you so much for letting me take this story, Mr. Nigel. It means so much to me.”
He groaned as he pulled his weight up out of the chair. “Aw, there you go again with those big, brown puppy-dog eyes and all that sweetness. Before this is over, you’re gonna rub off on me.” He exited the cubicle, nearly taking the fragile wall down as his backside brushed against it.
Angel was too distracted to pay much attention, however. Her thoughts shifted back to that day—that awful day—in Mr. Nigel’s office, when he had almost fired her.
Lord, I knew you wanted me here. I just knew it. Thank You, Father.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“What are you up to, Honey?”
Angel looked up as her mother appeared in the doorway. She turned her attention from the laptop just long enough to give a quick answer. “Finishing my story.”
“Oh, you’re done with all of that secretive stuff, then?” A look of relief washed over Consuela’s face.
“Yes.” Angel paused to stretch and gaze lovingly at her mother. “As soon as I get this written, anyway. It’s going to be aired this evening at five o’clock.”
“Really?” Her mother clasped her hands together. “You’re going to be on the news?”
“Yes. Hopefully, anyway.” She turned back to the computer and typed a couple of words. She hit the backspace key, erasing them almost immediately. Nothing she wrote today seemed to feel right, or to do this story justice. She had to work hard to make this piece the absolute best it could be. KPRC’s reputation was at stake, but so was her own.
“Can I call my friends and tell them?” Her mother looked nearly as excited as Angel felt.
“Sure.” Why not let her mother enjoy the moment? She had done well over the past several days—not once asking for details, though Angel knew she had been concerned.
“Can you give me specifics, now that everything is said and done?” Consuela asked.
“Are you sure you don’t want to wait to hear it on the evening news?”
“I’m sure.” Her mother sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap.
Angel began to share the week’s events, doing her best not to read too much into her mother’s reactions. She told her everything.
Except the part about Peter Campbell. For some reason, s
he couldn’t seem to make herself share that part. Angel would never be able to hide her true feelings for Peter from her mother. What are my feelings for Peter?
“You took a lot of risks, Honey,” were the only words Consuela offered when all of the information regarding the identity thieves had been told.
“I know. But it will be worth it, Mama.” She then dove into the story of Ida Davidson and all of her troubles. Consuela shook her head in disbelief. “That’s just terrible.”
“I know,” Angel said. “But I feel so good about the fact that I could help her. So you see, it was all worth it.”
“I agree,” her mother said with a smile. “And when I think about the fact that you’ve spared the elderly citizens of Houston further tragedy, I’m could just cry.” True to form, her eyes filled with tears.
Angel brushed away a few tears of her own. “It’s made all of the risk worthwhile,” she said with a sigh.
For a moment, the two sat in silence, staring at one another. Finally, Angel’s mother reached to embrace her. “I don’t know if your father and I have expressed this adequately,” she said, “but we’re really proud of you. Maybe we haven’t always shown it, but we are.”
Angel’s heart swelled. “That means a lot to me.”
“And now you’re going to be on television!”
“I am.” Angel turned back to the laptop, nervously tapping the keys. “If I get this story finished, I mean.”
“I’ll leave you alone.” Her mother reached for the door. “Just glad it’s all over. Your father and I have been praying for you.”
“I know, Mom,” Angel said. “I’ve felt those prayers and I’m thankful. Trust me.”
She turned her attentions fully back to the story. She hadn’t written much yet, just a few short sentences. How could she possibly take all of the events of the past week and boil them all down into one four-minute segment? Impossible.
And yet she must. Angel carefully crafted her words, wanting to share all possible details without delving into overkill. No point boring the television audience with unnecessary details.
Texas Weddings (Books Five and Six) Page 11
