Promising Angela (6 page)

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?”

“K–ent.”

“Kent …” Angela took an involuntary step backward. Ben’s cousin. The one who suffered brain damage after a drug overdose. Sweat broke out all over her body. Swallowing, she forced her lips into another smile. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

He nodded. “I see you … later.” Without another word, he caught the rubber of his wheels and gave a push, rolling in the direction of the lobby.

She stood for a long time, looking after him. Sympathy brought tears to her eyes. Despite the beard that covered the lower portion of his face and the dullness of his eyes, she could tell he was a handsome man. His arms showed evidence of strength, although his legs seemed thin beneath the loose denim of his jeans and his hands had appeared clumsy. To think he had been hale and healthy, and a foolish choice had wrought this permanent change.

Then another thought struck. Although initially uncertain, she had slipped into an easy conversation with him. Time with the clients at New Beginnings was obviously making a change in her heart. She hummed again as she headed for the outside doors. She hoped she’d see Kent again, and she’d be sure to give him a big hello when she did.

Ben balanced three boxes of Chinese takeout in one hand and pressed the handicap button with the other. Pizza last week, Chinese this week. Both were favorites of Kent’s, so Ben alternated between the two, throwing in the occasional deli sandwich. The doors to Tower Three opened, inviting his entry, and he shifted the items into both hands as he passed through.

He headed toward the elevators, but a tinkling laugh caught his attention. Shifting his gaze to the lobby, he spotted the unmistakable curly auburn hair of Angela Fisher. And next to her, in his wheelchair, sat none other than his cousin Kent.

Kent sniffed the air. He shifted in his chair, searching, and his face broke into a huge smile. “Ben! My … friend!”

Ben moved on shaky legs toward the pair. “Hey, Kent.” His gaze met Angela’s. Her cheeks sported a pink blush. “Angela.”

“Hi, Ben.” She rose, her fingers linking in a now-familiar gesture of uncertainty. “I see you brought supper. Kent said you would.”

Ben’s gaze bounced between the pair. “Yeah. It’s our Friday routine.”

“That’s what he said.” With a light giggle, she added, “And here I thought you were this great cook. But you only bring Kent takeout.” She nudged Kent’s shoulder. “Is that because you’re afraid he’ll try to poison you?”

Kent’s raucous laughter filled the room.

Uncertain how much longer his rubbery legs would hold him up, Ben moved to the sofa and leaned against the back. Angela … and Kent … chatting. Teasing. At ease. He’d been so afraid of letting her meet his cousin, yet it appeared they were very comfortable with one another. The wonder of the moment was more than Ben could comprehend.

She pointed to the cartons in his hands. “At least it looks like you brought something good.”

“Chinese,” Ben contributed, then felt like an idiot. Of course it’s Chinese. What else would go into these little white boxes with the red squiggle on the side?

Angela’s smile swung in Kent’s direction. “What’s your favorite Chinese food?”

“Beef … and broc … broc …” Kent made a horrible face then spat, “Broc’li!”

Angela laughed softly and gave Kent’s arm a pat. “Wonderful choice. You get your protein and your vegetable that way.”

Kent beamed while Ben stared in amazement. Angela—teasing with Kent. He hadn’t realized how much she had changed in her brief weeks at New Beginnings.

“Well.” Angela stepped around the sofa. “I’ll go and let you two eat. I’ll see you later, okay, Kent?”

Kent nodded his shaggy head, his eyes glowing. “I … see you later … An–ge–la.”

“Bye, Ben.” And she slipped out the door.

Ben stared after her, the cartons in his hands nearly forgotten.

“Ben.”

Ben shook his head, trying to pull his scattered thoughts together. Angela was visiting with Kent like she’d visit with … anybody. He wished she’d stuck around a little longer and visited with him.

“Ben!”

The sharp note of frustration in his cousin’s voice finally caught Ben’s full attention. He turned to Kent. “Yeah?”

Kent pointed at the cartons. “I am … hun–gry.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Ben straightened and adjusted his hands for a better grip. Walking alongside Kent’s wheelchair as they headed for the elevators, he said, “How long have you known Angela?”

Kent’s shoulders raised in a brief shrug.

“But she’s your friend, huh?”

Kent’s smile turned knowing. “An–ge–la … is pretty.”

Ben swallowed. “Yeah …”

“She is my … girl–friend.”

Ben felt as though a rock fell from his chest to his stomach. Apparently Angela had been too at ease with Kent. Remembering times when he’d witnessed her flirtatious behavior, he wondered if she’d exercised some of that with Kent. If so, Kent wouldn’t understand Angela was only playing.

He had a big problem on his hands, and it wasn’t juggling Chinese food cartons.

Ben awakened early Saturday with a headache. He knew he wasn’t sick—unless it was sick with worry. Pictures of Angela with Kent had tormented his dreams, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to rest until he’d settled the issue of Kent referring to Angela as his girlfriend.

He threw back his sheets and headed for the kitchen, planning his morning. She was staying at Elmwood Towers with her aunt. After breakfast he’d drive over and talk to her, make her understand she had to be careful where Kent was concerned. Sure, he wanted her to be relaxed and open around those with handicaps, but flirting with them was a completely different thing. The clients had to learn boundaries for behavior. Apparently Angela needed the same lesson.

He ate his scrambled eggs and toast as slowly as possible and extended his shower. No sense in arriving at the Cassidy apartment too early. Angela probably slept in on Saturday mornings. After the shower, he read the newspaper and even watched a few cartoons before deciding it was late enough to go.

Dressed in a pair of khaki shorts and a solid blue polo shirt—a step up from his normal summer’s day-off attire of athletic shorts and T-shirt—he drove across town. He found a parking spot in the visitors’ area and walked briskly through the courtyard to Tower Two. The air-conditioned lobby felt good after his brief walk in the Kansas summer heat. Crossing to the panel of intercom buttons, he located the one for the Cassidy apartment and buzzed. After only a few seconds, a crackly voice came through the speaker.

“This is Eileen.”

He leaned forward and spoke into the microphone. “Eileen, this is Ben. I wondered if I could visit with Angela.”

“Just a minute.”

The
thwip
indicated the intercom flipped off. Minutes passed while he stood beside the row of buttons, alternately adjusting his collar and tugging the legs of his cargo shorts.
Maybe I should have run an iron over the twill….

“Ben?”

He’d expected a voice from the intercom, not from behind him. He spun around, banging his elbow on the wall.

“Whoops.” A smile teased the corners of Angela’s lips. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No problem.” He rubbed his elbow and took a step toward her. She’d done something different with her hair—pulled it up in a rubber band where it spilled out like a fountain of shining curls on the top of her head. He liked it. “I didn’t expect you to come down. I could’ve come up.”

Her smile grew. “No, you couldn’t. Aunt Eileen is mopping floors, and she didn’t want you to see her in her mopping clothes.”

“Oh, okay. And you aren’t helping?”

Angela sighed. “She won’t let me. She says guests aren’t supposed to clean.”

“Yeah, Eileen can be pretty stubborn.”

“I’ll say!”

His gaze flicked over her outfit. Although less dressy than what she wore to work each day, she still looked nice in the flowered skirt that fell just above the knee and bright yellow tank top. Not something one would wear to mop floors, he supposed.

“What did you need?” She brought him back to the task at hand.