Free Archangel Rafe (A Novel of The Seven Book 1) by Lisa Hughey Page B

gone.

THIRTEEN
    Just because her day had taken a whirl down into crazy land didn’t mean she could neglect her responsibilities. Angelina shoved all the confusion about her confrontation with Rafe to the back of her mind. Part of her couldn’t believe he was real, the other part acknowledged that she had been on the beach and then at a fire and then, thankfully, back in her own home. But she would have to deal with all of that later. She had kids to take care of.
    Brandt sat on the ladder-back chair at the kitchen table, and looked miserable. He hadn’t thrown up in six hours. She knew that talking about this when he was physically ill was probably not the best time. But the conversation had to take place, now while frustration and worry were hot in her mind.
    Gary, of course, had bailed.
    She should have known he wouldn’t show. He didn’t like to deal with anything unpleasant. That always fell to her. It had been that way for years. But somehow she’d just realized it.
    She dropped down into the chair kitty corner to her almost grown son. “How are you feeling?”
    “Better,” he croaked.
    “You want some chicken noodle soup?”
    He thought about it for a second and nodded. “Yeah.”
    She used the request as an excuse to postpone the inevitable and gear up her courage. The rote actions, twisting the can opener, listening to the grind of metal against metal, comforted her. Water rushed out from the tap. The starter click-click-clicked as the gas burner caught. The small everyday sounds gave the moment a normalcy that she needed. Then she took a deep breath, dread balling in her stomach.
    And she pulled out the baggy.
    Just like when he was little and gotten caught in a lie, Brandt’s eyes got really wide, as if he could mesmerize her with the expansion of his pupils and deflect the punishment he knew was coming.
    “We have to talk about this.”
    He opened his mouth. She could see he was getting ready to play dumb.
    “Don’t.” Angelina shook her head. “Don’t go there. It’s yours.”
    He sighed. “Yeah. But it’s no big deal. Everyone does it.”
    Her blood pressure started to rise. That was so not an excuse in their household. She refrained from the > if everyone jumped off a cliff would you do it too?’ retort. “It’s illegal.”
    “Mom. Seriously, weed is minor.”
    “Doing something illegal is not minor.” Was this a boy thing? A teenage thing? This compulsion to argue even when they had to know they were wrong, wrong, wrong? Her stomach began the stress grind, and she realized for a few hours the constant ache had been gone.
    “It’s just pot.”
    She skittered over possibilities, trying to find some argument, some twist that would get through to him. “You can’t do drugs and still run the four hundred.”
    He snorted. “You’re kidding right?”
    “You took health class.” Why couldn’t he see how bad this was? “Pot is a gateway drug.”
    He sighed. “It’s just to take the edge off.”
    “The edge?” She heard that hysterical note but she couldn’t stop herself. Was it too much to ask for a simple apology? A simple, ‘you’re right, I’m wrong, thanks, Mom’?
    “There are so many worse drugs out there,” he said as if justifying his actions.
    She so didn’t want to have this conversation. She was shaking, the depth of her emotions overwhelming her nervous system. She just couldn’t handle one more thing. “Drugs are not the solution.”
    “Mom. At least it isn’t Oxy or Meth or Xanax or Valium,” Brandt argued. “I can get any of those at school.”
    As if he realized that his statement wasn’t going to make her feel any better, he looked at her and suddenly his gaze seemed so much older. As if maturity had taken hold and taken over. “I’m sorry.”
    Oh, she wanted to believe him. And she knew right in this moment he was profoundly sorry. She had no idea if he was sorry he’d done it or sorry he’d gotten caught.
    And she didn’t know if sorry would