Promising Angela by Kim Vogel Sawyer Page B

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 softened. 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,