Promising Angela by Kim Vogel Sawyer Page A

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