Angel Falls (Angel Falls Series, #1) Babette Jongh (easy books to read txt) 📖

it!” Ben’s voice sounded like the snarl of a wild animal.

Lowering the shattered frame back to the floor, I looked around, now that my eyes had adjusted to the dark. He had swiped every horizontal surface clear of picture frames, vases, knick-knacks, and memories, then crushed them underfoot. The place smelled of rotting food and spilled liquor.

On the coffee table in the den, a bottle of Wild Turkey sat surrounded by a mishmash of paper plates, pizza boxes and crumpled napkins. Ben lay sprawled on the couch, a tumbler of bourbon in his hand.

Not his first.

I sat on the edge of the cushion next to him. I had never seen Ben act this way. But then, he’d never had a reason to.

“Have a drink.” He gulped back half a tumbler full of the nasty stuff. “Oh, I forgot. You only drink wine.” He drew out the last word obnoxiously, making it sound like “whine.”

“Ben, you’re being an asshole.” I don’t know if I said it because I was finally getting as angry as he was, or because I thought it might provoke a reaction.

It did.

He lunged at me and pushed me against the back of the couch with his hands hard at my shoulders. I yelped in pain but he didn’t seem to notice.

“My wife is dead!” He yelled through clenched teeth. His blue eyes were cold and his jaw stood out rigid in his face. “My wife is dead!” He shook me once, hard, then released me and sat back to cover his face with his hands.

“I’m sorry,” I said, knowing how inadequate it was. “I’m sorry.”

“God, Casey, I’m the one who’s sorry.” His red-rimmed eyes made the blue seem even bluer when he looked at me. “Did I hurt you?”

“I’m okay. You’re the one everyone is worried about. Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer, just pulled me to him and hugged me hard, and I let him hold me. When I felt him begin to shake with tears, I reached up to smooth the silky curls of his hair, just as I would have done with any of his children. “I know you’re hurting.” I patted his back. “But your kids need you.” I kept talking, hoping to get through to him while I had the chance. “Ben, I know this is going to sound harsh, but I’m telling you this because I love you, and I love your kids. You have to get over yourself and take care of your children.”

He sniffed and sat back, wiping his eyes. I took a napkin off the coffee table and handed it over. He blew his nose, then made a face. “Ugh. You gave me one that smells like rotten pizza.” He tossed the wadded napkin onto the messy table.

I shrugged. “Sorry. But in case you haven’t noticed, this whole room smells like rotten pizza.”

Ben looked around, then winced. “I guess I’ve been a little out of control.”

“You needed some time to wallow in grief. It’s understandable. But now you’ve got to bring your kids back home and get on with your lives. It’s what Melody would expect of you.”

“I know you’re right, but I can’t seem to pull myself together, and I don’t want them to see me like this.” He gave me a sad smile. “If you can tell me how I’m supposed to get over myself anytime soon, I’ll listen.”

“Ben, I don’t have a good answer for you. I wish I did. But maybe putting that bottle back in the cabinet and cleaning up this mess would be a good start. Do you need me to help you?”

He gave me a bleary-eyed glare. “I’ll do it myself. Tomorrow, when my head isn’t about to explode from an ongoing hangover. Thanks for the offer though.”

“And you’ll pick up your kids from Lois sometime this weekend? They need you, and you need them. Besides, having them around might force you to pull yourself together.”

He grimaced. “I guess I should thank you for giving me a kick in the behind.”

I stood and patted his shoulder. “Anytime.”

*

A week later, I sat in my living room with a glass of Merlot, huddled in my favorite reading chair. I loved the big overstuffed chair even more because I’d found it at a thrift store for next-to-nothing. Someone had upholstered it loosely in antique quilt fabric, patched-over in even more quilt fabric, making it the comfiest chair on earth and the next-best thing to being in bed.

The book I couldn’t read lay face down the chair arm, so I finally gave up and set it on the lamp table. I saw my reflection in the hall’s full-length mirror, and wondered for the hundredth time why I didn’t look different.

Lois’s face was ravaged by grief.

Ben looked like a different person entirely.

But my face looked the same. Sadder, maybe, more solemn than usual, but the same face I was used to seeing. What was wrong with me, that I didn’t show the pain outwardly like everybody else?

My mind floated back to last week, to the park bench, to Ian’s kiss. Maybe my pain wasn’t as bad as it should be, because I had a handsome Scot to distract me from my grief. But should I allow myself to fall for Ian? Did I have any business letting happiness into my life when Melody’s family was just beginning to suffer?

My cat jumped into my lap, and I ran a hand along his arched back, sending a flurry of cat hairs floating through the air. Absently petting Chester and admiring his dark Siamese markings, I absorbed comfort from his thick, nasal purr and his warm bulk in my lap.

Lizzie lay on the floor beside me, her soft snores adding to the quiet chorus.

I should call Ben, see how he and the kids were doing. I was reaching for the cordless phone when its shrill ring made me jump out of my skin and made Chester dig his claws into my thigh. “Ow, dammit,” I yelled into the receiver. “Hello.”

My