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.
At her locker, preparing to go home, her cell phone inside her purse blared out its song. She yanked it out and flipped up the lid. It took a minute before she recognized the number on the screen, but then a rush of eagerness filled her. She pushed the talk button and squealed into the phone.
“Janine!”
“Hey, girl, long time no see.”
Janine’s voice, familiar and welcoming, made tears prick behind Angela’s eyes. She pulled out a chair at the break table and sat down, cradling the phone against her cheek. “I know. How are you?”
“Ornery—same as always.” Janine’s laughter rang briefly.
Angela laughed, too. The first genuine laugh in days. It felt good. “Yeah? Well, I suppose the same applies to me.”
“What did you do today?”
Angela replayed the monotonous tasks, the unresponsive clients. With a sigh, she said, “I mopped floors and washed tables.”
To Janine’s credit, she didn’t make a smart remark, but Angela could hear humor in her tone as she said, “Sounds like … fun.” There was a slight pause before she went on. “So, do you have time for your ol’ buds?”
Angela licked her lips. She glanced up and, through the break in the partitions, she noti
ced Ben at his desk, his head bent over his work. Her heart caught. “Yeah. I’ve got time for you guys. What’s up?”
“Todd, Alex, and me are meeting for pizza. Why don’t you come? Fill us in on your adventures in Rehab Land.” The laughter came again, and Angela ignored the brittle undertone.
“At the Ironstone?” Angela noticed Ben lift his head, and for one brief second their gazes met. She turned away before he did.
“Yep. At six. Can you make it?”
“Yeah, I can do that. I need to run by my aunt’s apartment and change out of my work clothes though.” She had finally resorted to jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers for work, but she couldn’t show up at the Ironstone dressed so sloppily.
Janine’s snort blasted Angela’s ear. “I bet! We’ll be there. See you soon.” Angela clicked the phone closed and dropped it in her purse. Then she charged out the door.
eleven
Ben stared at the closed door, his heart thumping. Although the air-conditioning kept the building comfortably cool, he felt sweat break out on his body.
Who was Angela meeting? She was obviously comfortable with the person. He’d gathered that from the tone she’d used. What he hadn’t been able to determine from the lopsided conversation was the purpose of the get-together. Was it possible she was meeting with her drug-using friends?
Ben ran his hand down his face, wondering what he should do. He was Angela’s supervisor, not her keeper. Yet he was also her—
Swallowing, he processed where his thoughts were going. Should he consider her a friend? Or something more? He admitted that over the weeks she had worked at New Beginnings, he’d come to care about her. His time in prayer for her, attending Sunday school and church together, and their times of conversation had developed an undefined relationship.
As her supervisor, he had no authorization to check up on her outside of working hours. His authority was nonexistent there. However, as a Christian mentor, his concern was not only appropriate but warranted. Didn’t the Bible say admonishment in love was a sign of Christian care and concern? Plus, if he took it a step further and considered her a friend, he had a real obligation to protect her. Possibly from herself.
But was there a reason to be worried?
Concern and curiosity wavered at the back of his mind as he went through the closing-down routine, checking the different training areas and locking closets. By the time he’d finished everything, the clock by the back door showed 6:05. Angela had intended to meet her mysterious friend at six. Ben paused, his hand on the doorknob, his gaze on the clock. The tick-tick-tick seemed loud in the otherwise quiet warehouse. The clock seemed to deliver a message: Check-check-check …
He released a disgruntled huff. He wouldn’t be able to rest this evening unless he found out what Angela was doing with that friend at the Ironstone. It would only take a few minutes to run by the pizza place. But it might save him an evening of worry.
He climbed behind the wheel of his truck and headed for the Ironstone. Pulling behind the building, he spotted Angela’s silver rocket in the far corner of the parking lot. It sent up a question—was she trying to conceal her presence? He trotted across the asphalt and entered the pizza restaurant.
Lights were dimmed, fat candles sending out minimal light in the center of each table. The room was crowded at the supper hour, most tables filled. He stepped further into the dining area and squinted, his gaze slowly sweeping the room. He knew he’d locate her by her clearly identifiable head of hair. Sure enough, he found her seated at a corner table, her back to the door. As he watched, she leaned sideways to say something to the man on her left, and Ben got a glimpse of a half-empty pitcher of amber liquid. Beer.
His stomach clenched. Alcohol consumption had been Kent’s precursor to drug use. Her words from Sunday played through his head, “I won’t ever let Him down by doing something so stupid as abusing my body again.” Didn’t her word mean anything? It was like Kent all over again.
The thought turned his stomach. He took two steps toward the table, his hands curling into fists. She shouldn’t be here. He should haul her away. Remove her from the beer and the people and the situation. But then he stopped, taking in a deep breath to calm himself.
How much good had it done to haul Kent out of those kinds of situations? None. Hadn’t he learned the hard way that one person couldn’t control another person’s behavior? Angela would have to decide for herself the choices she was making were wrong. His hauling her away would only lead to resentment, just as it had with Kent. It had nearly ruined his relationship with his cousin.
I can’t go through this again, Lord. Suddenly he had no desire to stand here and witness her descent into drug use. His chest aching, he turned toward the door.
“Come on, Angela, you haven’t even had a sip.” Todd lifted the pitcher and splashed beer into the empty mug waiting at the edge of Angela’s paper place mat.
Angela pushed the mug toward the center of the table. “I don’t want any, Todd.”
Todd snorted.
Janine chided, “Don’t be such a stick in the mud. It’s lite, just like you always wanted. Drink up.”
“Yeah,” Alex agreed, smirking. “What happened to our Party Queen? You’ve become a real dud hanging out at New Beginnings.”
The others shared a laugh, adding their own rude comments about New Beginnings’ clientele. Images of the clients—cheerful Steve, sweet Doris, bashful Randy—crowded Angela’s mind. Protectiveness welled up, and she opened her mouth, ready to spew.
“Quit being a party pooper, Angela. Join us, huh? We’ve missed you.” Janine’s comment erased the planned speech from Angela’s brain.
Angela stared at the clear, amber liquid. Drops of condensation formed on the glass mug, shimmering like diamonds in the flickering light of the candle. Her throat convulsed. Memories of past times—being in the middle of the action, accepted by the crowd—washed over her. Her fingers twitched as she contemplated reaching for the glass mug.
Planting both palms against the table edge, she pushed her chair backward. “I gotta make a little visit to the ladies’ room. Be right back.”
She fled the table, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it. As she rounded the corner leading to the restrooms, a movement by the front doors caught her attention. Her gaze jerked in that direction, and she recognized Ben’s close-cropped hair and broad back as he headed out the door.
She slapped her hands to her face. Had he seen her at the table with the others? If so, what must he think? Making a rapid turn, she charged after him. She burst through the door, calling, “Ben!”
He looked over his shoulder, and his steps ceased. Turning around, he fixed her with an unsmiling stare. “Angela.”
From the look on his face, she knew he’d seen everything. She pointed to the restaurant. “It isn’t what you’re thinking.”
He folded his arms, his brows coming down in a disapproving scowl.
Placing her hands against her chest to force down the wave of guilt, she assured him, “I was just sitting with them. I didn’t drink anything.”
He still didn’t answer. Yet his expression said as much as a lecture.
Anger at his condescending attitude filled her, dispelling any guilt. What right did he have to sit in judgment on her? He had friends, people with whom he could spend time. What did he know of loneliness?
Plunking her fists on her hips, she glared upward. “Look, Ben, I have a right to see my friends. Do you have any idea how much my life has changed? I used to be the center of everything, always involved in small group get-togethers and big parties. People called me to go grab a drink or go shopping or take a drive. Now? Nothing! Not since rehab.”
Pointing toward the restaurant again, she continued in a harsh tone. “So I decided to meet some old friends for supper. So they decided to drink beer with their pizza. What difference should that make? It’s not like I’m sitting there getting drunk with them.”
Ben’s stern countenance softene
d. He dropped his cross-armed stance and slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. When he shook his head, Angela got the impression the gesture was one of sadness. Finally he spoke, his words soft.
“Angela, obviously I can’t tell you what to do. You’re a consenting adult, and you have to make these kinds of decisions for yourself. But …” He lowered his gaze for a moment, taking in a deep breath. When he looked at her again, she sensed pain in his eyes. “But if you would just consider one question before you go back in there. If Jesus were sitting in the chair beside you, how comfortable would you be?”
It was the last thing she expected him to ask. “I—I never thought of it that way….” Would she be comfortable drinking beer if Jesus were sitting at the table? She examined herself and realized she wouldn’t feel at ease if that were the case. Shame returned, sitting like a stone in her belly. Aunt Eileen had told her Jesus would help her resist temptation. Why hadn’t she given Him the opportunity to help her?
“It’s not that I want to be around beer. Funny”—she wrinkled her nose—”it doesn’t even smell good to me anymore.” She held out her hands in inquiry. “But what am I supposed to do? They’re my friends. Should I tell them they can’t have it when I’m around?”
Ben shrugged. “As I said, I can’t tell you what to do, only what I would do. And I wouldn’t put myself in a position of temptation. Plus, there’s a biblical warning about being a stumbling block to other believers. Others, just seeing you there, might be given the impression you think drinking is okay. Is that a message you want to convey?”
Angela’s chest constricted. Being at the table with her friends had convinced Ben she thought drinking was accept-able. Did she want others to get that impression of her? She looked at him, ready to tell him how sorry she was, but he spoke first.
“If those people in there are your real friends, Angela, they won’t try to tempt you to do something you don’t want to do.” The earlier disapproval returned in his eyes and his tone, causing a cold band to clamp around her heart. “They’ll respect the change in your lifestyle. If they can’t do that …” His voice drifted off, but Angela knew the end to the sentence.
Promising Angela Page 8