Enticing An Angel (18 page)

Fear took hold of Mrs. Angel, and she didn’t
know if she wanted to hear the next words. She had no idea what her
son was about to do, but he had never in his life addressed her by
her first name. That fact scared her more than the threat of
physical harm.

"Perhaps, I need to grow up and move away
from my mother. I need a life of my own. One without you in
it."

He was cold. He was calm. And worst of all,
Mrs. Angel knew he was serious.

Michael looked about the kitchen. He was
searching for something and when he spied it, he moved. He walked
to the counter near the end of the kitchen and retrieved his car
keys.

"You would choose this woman over your own
mother?" she asked quietly.

"I would choose the one that doesn't make me
choose. Melanie never once told me of your lunch," Michael said as
he shook his head and then snorted slightly. "Let me guess. It was
last week sometime. Probably, before Friday."

"A week ago, Wednesday."

The lunch that she was stressed about
,
thought Michael, and it all made sense.

He shook his head and his mother watched as
he wrapped his mind around what she had done. He would forgive her,
he always had. He must forgive her; that's what families do.

"If you leave like this, then you
automatically choose her," she said.

"No, Mother, you do. Melanie is not asking me
to choose, and that simple action makes her the better choice. I
don't know if Melanie and I could make it work; we might date for a
week or a year. However, if you tell me as my mother, that it's
your way or the highway then I will pack my bags. You do NOT have
the right to give us ultimatums like that," he said. His anger was
on the rise again.

"Your brothers don't seem to mind," she
stated with defiance as she straightened her back.

Michael moved rapidly to her, but she did not
flinch.

"Oh, yes they do, Mother," he said with
clenched teeth and a pointed finger. "We just put up with it, but
you have pushed this son too far, and if you keep it up, you will
push the others too far as well."

He turned and headed for the door. Before he
left, he paused with his hand on the knob. He called back to her
without looking.

"Tell me, Mrs. Angel. Of your five boys,
exactly which one of us is a Mama's boy? Which one us would put up
with this kind of personal intrusion?" he asked. "Hell, it took all
of us to save Joshua."

He twisted his head back to look at her. She
could only see one side of his face, but the eye that he cast to
her did not offer a pleasant feeling. She thought about her
response, but before she could say anything, he was gone.

Mrs. Angel considered chasing her son, but
she would not. How dare he speak to her like that? She might have
overstepped her bounds, but she certainly did not deserve the
animosity her son had just displayed. She moved to a window and
watched him leave.

You better not peel out and leave tire
marks on my driveway
, she thought. He did not, and her eyes
closed to slits as she watched him leave.

Heading back to the kitchen she opened the
microwave, inserted a plate, and pushed the door closed. It hit the
latch and bounced back; she hadn't closed it hard enough.

"Damn it!" she screamed, and when the door
had bounced open all the way, she put her palm to it and slammed it
shut as hard as she could. It closed with a bang and broke on
impact. It bounced back again and she re-tried, but the latching
mechanism was destroyed. After several more slams, she screamed
again, removed the plate from the microwave, threw it in the sink,
and stormed out of the kitchen.

The click of the intercom was audible, even
if no one answered. Michael knew Melanie was listening as he stood
at the entry to her building. She wouldn't let him in and no amount
of calling and texting could accomplish his goal of seeing her.

"Please, Melanie, just for a min…" An audible
click could be heard, and he knew that she had signed off.

He debated about pushing the button again,
but it had taken three presses just to get this far; and now his
texts were being bounced back. How she had managed that, he
couldn't guess. Sighing heavily, he decided to take drastic
measures; he really hated social media.

Pulling out his phone, he activated an app
and then typed a message. Amber was his best bet, but the girl did
not respond immediately. Waiting on the doorstep didn't speed up
the process, so Michael surrendered his position and went home.

It was getting later in the day, and his
Sunday was shot. An unsettling day at church, followed by the worst
argument he had ever had with his mother, then an hour of phone
calls and useless texts, followed by standing outside Melanie's
building. He shook his head at the stupidity.

Approaching middle age and it still feels
like high school
, he thought.

Later that evening, his desktop computer
beeped. Entering his office, which was a converted bedroom with a
large table for drafting, a workable desk with dual computer
screens and several computerized artist tools, he took a seat and
checked the system. One screen displayed a browser open to social
media sites and the second screen had a balloon popup signaling an
incoming message. It was Amber.

Michael typed in his request and hit the
send. A minute later, he received a childish response. Michael
frowned and shook his head.

No games
, he typed.
We are all
adults. She is understandably upset, and I am asking for a simple
favor. Either you will or you won't. Yes or no?

Yes,
was the typed response.
But
you didn't get it from me.

Understood.

The two typed for a few more minutes and made
arrangements for the following day. Michael was pleased with this
result. His only other option was to try to visit Melanie at work,
but once again, they were adults. To interfere with her work was
unacceptable to him. He debated about giving her more time, but as
it sat, it had been two full days. She might require another two or
maybe a week or perhaps never, but he suspected that half the
battle was the trouble with his mother. If he could at least talk
to her about that, perhaps they could break up on better terms.

The idea of a break up bothered him, but not
as much as the idea of Melanie truly hating him. He didn't believe
that she did. But he decided to put out quiet overtures and hope
for the best. He hadn’t attempted to call her since he was at her
building and the thought of calling her again was not entertained
for long. If she had not answered the few calls he had made then
she wouldn’t be inclined to answer one more.

Sleep was rough for him that night. He kept
thinking about the next day. It reminded him about being anxious
for a test at school, or a project deadline at work. Melanie must
still be upset, but at least she didn’t have twenty-four hours to
worry about an upcoming encounter; if Amber was smart enough to
keep her mouth shut, then Melanie wouldn't know to expect him.

The night ended and his workday began, only
to drag on incessantly. There were a few bright spots as he
completed his work and took congratulations when offered by his
co-workers, they were all impressed with the client proposal.

At the end of his day, he packed up his
belongings and made his way to downtown Seattle. Parking was easy
at this time of day—not on the streets, the bar patrons took up
those spots, but he was able to find a lot not too far from
Melanie's loft and paid the machine. Walking to a nearby café, he
frowned as it began to rain. It was not a downpour, but it began to
pick up its pace.

As he approached the café, he saw Amber
sitting outside at a small wrought iron table. She was under an
awning, protected from the rain, and drinking some kind of mocha.
Not sure whether she saw him, Michael moved to her position. There
was no need to address her, for as he closed to her, she held her
hand aloft and in it was a shining key sticking up into the air.
Michael smiled. It reminded him of how she had held out Melanie's
panties at the Rave.

He walked on past, grabbed the key as he did,
and said, "Thank you."

Amber didn't look at him. She simply took a
sip of her drink and said, "Yep."

The knock on the door caught Melanie's
attention, and she looked up from her prone position with
confusion; she was currently searching under her bed. Amber and
Dagger were not expected, but then again those girls could show up
whenever they wanted. Of course, the other option was that they had
notified her and she was unable to receive the text.

Once again, Melanie looked to where her phone
should be, and once again was disappointed to see that it was
missing. She frowned.

Where is that damn thing
, she
thought.

The knocking on the door came again and she
rolled her eyes.

"I'm coming," she said as she headed down her
ladder, casting her eyes about her place in a vain attempt to spot
her device.

She had been carrying her phone with her
incessantly, and each time it rang displaying Michael's number, she
debated about answering it. However, each time she hit the ignore
button. His texts were treated the same way until she was able to
get a friend to teach her how to shut them off. Of course, that
became a moot point when she lost her phone yesterday. It had been
in her hand as she paced her loft thinking about Michael, and the
next thing she knew the phone was gone; she couldn’t find it
anywhere—not even in the freezer. The task was made more difficult
due to the fact that she had turned the sound off in an attempt to
calm her nerves; when it rang she worried about answering it, when
it didn’t ring, she hoped it would. With the sound off, she could
live in a happier state of ignorance. Her carrying the device
around in her hand made that tactic seem rather silly, but now it
was lost and she was frustrated with herself.

She alighted to the floor and bounced over to
the door. If this were the girls, hopefully they could help her
search her place and locate the wayward device. She would even put
up with the insults about having her head attached in order to
accomplish the goal.

When she unlocked and opened the door,
Melanie stood agape for a moment. She was uncertain what to do or
even what to think. It was Michael, that was certain, and that fact
alone shocked her. However, he was soaked from head to foot and
dripping heavily onto the old timbered floor of the landing.

Her mind reeled for a second as she took in
the scene. His face was serious, but his wet nature made him look
like a soaked kitten, and her heart went out to him. He was so damn
cute that for a moment she forgot everything about their argument,
his mother, their problems, everything. She even smiled, but he
didn't notice, his eyes were downcast. Melanie didn't know if this
was because of his mood or the inordinate amount of water dripping
into his eyes, but she found the image becoming more and more cute
as he stood there.

He mumbled something about just wanting a
minute. Melanie didn’t register the full comment, her mind was more
on his appearance and how sad he looked. By the time he raised his
eyes to her, her smile had faded, but the warmth of her face was
still visible.

"Let me get you a towel," she said, as she
left the door.

"Thanks," he replied and began to enter.

"Ah," she said, loudly. "You wait right
there, Mr. Angel."

Michael obeyed and looked forlorn for a
moment. "You're not coming in here until you are not dripping on
the floor."

That comment produced a hopeful smile and
Michael answered politely.

"Yes, Ma'am."

Melanie fetched some towels and brought them
to Michael. She even helped to dry him. He took care of his hair
and face, both of which were too high for her, and she began to
wipe his legs and lower body.

"Honestly, didn't your mother teach you
better than to go out in the rain like this?" she asked.

"Well, it wasn't raining when I parked my
car, but it started in the few blocks since and became a downpour,"
he said.

"Uh huh," Melanie said as she finished her
drying and then allowed Michael entry into her loft.

She watched him carefully as he moved inside.
He didn’t head anywhere in particular; he just floated in the
middle and looked around as if this were his first time here.
Eventually, his gaze made it to her canvass. He studied it
carefully, turning this head from side to side. The new design must
be obvious to him, but he said nothing about it.

"I'm still mad at you," she said.

"I know," he replied.

There was a moment of silence.

"I spoke to my mother yesterday," he
said.

"Did you?" she asked.

"Well, spoke is a subjective term. We
argued," he said without taking his eyes off the canvass. "I wanted
you to know that what she did to you—that lunch appointment—was not
acceptable. I came to apologize for her. I would make her do it
personally, but she would never consider such a thing."

"She was being your mother, Michael, that's
what they do."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked as he
turned to her.

Melanie shrugged her shoulders. "She asked me
not to. We discussed the situation and agreed it was best."

"What?" he asked and genuinely appeared
confused. "Where's the logic in that?"

"Michael, you don't want me," she said
seriously, "You need someone more settled."

"Right, like Jennifer."

"Well, Jennifer's gay so I wouldn't think
that’s a great match."