Today, Mrs. Whittingham had agreed to sit with Reverend Bush—which was all the better. Jasmine didn’t feel like having to deal with the old windbag right now.
As she trotted up the steps, she was pleased that she’d come up with this plan to surprise Hosea. She could imagine him sitting in his father’s office with his head bowed, heavy with memories and thoughts of his father’s fate. At least she’d bring a smile to his face, even if only for a little while.
Then laughter met her at the door. It wasn’t your lean-your-head-back-and-let-it-rip kind of guffaw. It was light, but still it was laughter. And it was definitely Hosea, but who was with him?
She tiptoed past Mrs. Whittingham’s desk and moved toward the glee. In front of Hosea’s father’s office, she stood, watching Hosea, his shoulders shaking with his chortle. And in front of him sat Ivy, giggling like a schoolgirl.
Neither one of them noticed as Jasmine took in the scene—the desk covered with aluminum pans and paper plates, filled with fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, collard greens, and biscuits.
Jasmine glanced down at the basket she held with red potatoes with caviar and cheese, baked lobster, and a single chocolate covered banana that was meant to be shared.
She stepped back and away. For some reason, she didn’t want to be seen, just wanted to listen.
Hosea was still chuckling when he said, “I’d forgotten that.”
“We did have some good times, didn’t we?”
“Yeah.” He nodded as he chewed a piece of meat off a chicken leg. “Those were the days. When life was easy.”
“Hosea,” Ivy said, putting down the chicken wing she held, “you know you can count on me. I’ll always be here for you.”
“That’s a nice thing to say.”
“I mean it. I was supposed to be going to Europe in a few weeks, but I’m staying until we know more about your dad.”
Peeking around the corner, Jasmine saw Ivy cover Hosea’s hand with hers.
Ivy said, “I couldn’t leave knowing that you needed me.”
Jasmine wanted to stomp into the room and tell Ivy to keep her pigeon fingers off her husband. But she stayed in place, shocked that Hosea was so engrossed he hadn’t even noticed her.
“I’d feel terrible,” Ivy continued, “if I was away and something happened to Reverend Bush.” It must have been the way his eyes darkened that made Ivy add, “I didn’t mean that anything was going to happen. I was just sayin’—”
He held up his hand. “I know what you mean.” Hosea took a deep breath. “I haven’t admitted this to anyone, but I’m really scared.”
Jasmine’s mouth opened wide. First, she’d found him laughing, and now he was telling this pip-squeak of a woman his fears.
“You do know that he’s going to be all right. Your father is physically strong and his faith is stronger.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.”
Her husband sounded so sad that she wanted to rush in and hold him. But still, Jasmine held her place, eavesdropping some more.
Ivy said, “Why are we sitting here being all dopey?”
Did she say “dopey”?
“Your father’s going to be fine, and in a couple of weeks, we’ll all be hanging around together laughing and remembering nothing but the good times.”
“Pops will be glad to see you when he wakes up.”
Ivy shook her head. “I don’t know about that. Sometimes I find it hard to look your dad straight in his eyes.”
“Why?”
“Because, remember? Our kiss!”
A kiss!
Flashback!
Of another kiss. With Hosea and his ex-fiancée, Natasia. Jasmine had walked in on the two of them just six months before. It was that flashback that made Jasmine stomp into the office and slam the basket onto the desk.
“Darlin’.” Hosea stood up. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Obviously.” Jasmine folded her arms. Stared at the food. Glared at Ivy. “So what’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Hosea said, wiping his hands on a napkin. “Ivy was nice enough to bring me lunch.”
Jasmine kept her cold stare. “And bring you memories of a kiss.” She turned to her husband with eyebrows raised. “You want to tell me about that, Hosea.”
“Tell you about our kiss?” The tips of his lips twitched, like he was fighting back a smile.
He thought this was funny? Was he blind? Couldn’t he see the steam rising out of her?
“Yes, I want to know all about it.” Her stare traveled from Hosea to Ivy (who sat stiffly still) and back to her husband.
“Well, let’s see.” Hosea relaxed in his chair. “I think it was…thirty-three years ago.”
Jasmine blinked. “Thirty-three years?” The question came out softly.
“Uh-huh.” He nodded, his face still covered with his amusement. “We were five years old, sitting in Sunday School, and Stanley White dared me to kiss a girl. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t go out like a punk. So since I knew Ivy, I kissed her. And Pops walked in.”
Hosea laughed and Ivy (now relieved) joined him. The two shared that memory again, and Jasmine stood there, looking silly, feeling stupid.
“I guess I should be going,” Ivy said, although she didn’t make a move.
“Yes, you should,” Jasmine said. “And you don’t have to worry about cleaning any of this up.” She shoved Ivy’s purse—as politely as she could—into her hands. “I’ll take care of everything”—she glanced at Hosea—“here.”
“Uh, Ivy,” Hosea said, “thanks for coming by.”
“Okay?” she said, as if it were a question. As if she couldn’t figure out how one minute she’d been giggling with an old friend, and the next she was being kicked out. She scurried toward the door, her small feet taking short steps.
Turning to Hosea, Jasmine said, “I brought you a surprise.” She held up the basket, then dropped it back onto the desk. “But it seems like you’ve already eaten.”
“Jasmine,” he said, his tone carrying patience, “Ivy came by to see how I was doing. Mrs. Whittingham told her I’d be here, and she didn’t want me to be alone.”
“She should’ve called me.”
“Jasmine—”
“I’m sorry,” she said, putting her arms around him. “But can you blame me? I don’t want anyone taking care of you except for me.”
He embraced her and looked into her eyes. “Are you sure that’s all there is to this?”
She was silent, though she knew the thought behind his question.
He asked, “This isn’t about Natasia, is it?”
Jasmine pursed her lips, ground her teeth, squeezed her hands. She could hardly stand to hear the name—Natasia Redding.
Natasia was Hosea’s ex-fiancée. Eight months ago, she had stalked into their lives, a predator intent on snaring her prey.
“I never think about Natasia,” she lied, knowing that she had flashbacks about that dragon all the time.
She and Hosea were still in recovery, recuperating from the greatest threat ever to their marriage—a man-stealing woman who’d been determined to make Hosea her prize.
Natasia had joined the staff of Hosea’s television show during their remote taping in Los Angeles, and from the moment they’d met, Jasmine knew the woman’s game. Natasia had set a web of tricks and traps and had wreaked all kinds of havoc in their marriage.
He said, “You know all of that is behind us, right?”
She nodded.
“We’ll have our troubles, but we can get through anything.”
She relaxed her jaw, eased open her fingers. “I know. We were meant to be.”
But even though Jasmine believed what she’d said, there was no way she’d ever again go through anything like those months with Natasia. Especially not after what Hosea had told her…
It was the night Hosea had come back home after they’d been separated for weeks. Together, they’d sat in the living room, their shoulders presse
d together, holding hands, and Hosea had told her the truth.
“I never slept with Natasia,” he said as he looked down at their hands, their fingers entwined. “But…”
When he stopped, her heart pounded so hard she wondered if her chest could contain it.
He finished, “But I wanted to.”
A sob escaped from deep inside of her. And when she tried to pull away, he held her tighter.
“I want you to know the complete truth, Jasmine.” And after a pause, he said, “I did some things I’m not proud of.”
Even though she didn’t want to know, she asked, “What?”
It took him a moment to say, “I’m only telling you because the most important things we need besides love are truth and trust. I want to tell you the truth so that you’ll trust me again.” He stopped. He swallowed. “We kissed. We did…more.”
It was the “more” that brought all kinds of pictures to her mind and reminded her of the day she’d barged into Natasia’s hotel room, finding her husband with his pants down and Natasia barely clothed. It was the “more” that made her snatch her hand away and rush into the bathroom.
Hosea followed and stood behind her as she bowed over the toilet and released her emotions into the bottom of the bowl. Then he helped her stand up straight, and even before she had the chance to clean up, he held her and comforted her.
“I love you, Jasmine,” he had whispered as she cried in his arms. “With everything inside of me. Nothing like this will ever happen again.”
The last words were the ones that she’d held on to, the ones that had helped her through. Hosea was right—nothing like that would happen again, because the next time any woman even had a thought about Hosea, she would stop the drama before it began. She would bury her—and she didn’t really care if she was dead or alive.
That included Ivy. Sure, that girl wasn’t any kind of threat, wasn’t anything like Natasia. Without looks or sophistication, Ivy didn’t have anything in her arsenal to attract a man like Hosea, or any man really.
But it didn’t matter. She’d warn Ivy one more time, and if she didn’t step far back, Ivy would be her first casualty.
“So,” Hosea interrupted her thoughts of annihilation, “are you sure you’ve forgiven me?”
“Of course, babe,” she said. “How could I not, after all the times you’ve forgiven me?”
His eyes told her he didn’t really believe her, but he understood. “You know I love you, right?”
“This, I know. And I love you, too. That’s why I came by. So that I could celebrate Valentine’s Day with the man I love.”
“Valentine’s Day?” He frowned.
“Uh-huh. Today. And I thought”—she paused and kissed him—“we could have”—another kiss—“a little love in the afternoon.”
This time, he brought his lips to hers. “Is that what you thought?” he asked when he finally pulled back. “Well, maybe we can take a little Valentine’s break.” He glanced at his watch. “Maybe for an hour or so.”
She grinned. She hadn’t been able to take her husband’s mind too far away from his father, but this was what they both needed.
With one swoop of her hand, she wiped the plates, one container still filled with chicken, and several books off the desk.
“Jasmine!” His eyes were wide. “Not here.”
“Why not? We’re married.”
He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe his wife. Grabbing her purse from the floor, he took her hand and led her toward the door.
“What about all of this?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at the mess they were leaving.
He didn’t respond. Didn’t say a word, didn’t stop moving until they were inside their SUV. Even before he switched the key in the ignition, Jasmine knew where they were going.
“The Arlington,” she said.
He nodded and passed her the widest grin she’d seen on his face in almost two weeks.
She said, “One of my favorite places.”
“I remember.”
Jasmine smiled as she remembered, too. Their last afternoon tryst, three weeks ago, had started with a simple text message: The Arlington at one.
Hosea had given her thirty minutes notice, but she’d walked right out of a Rio budget meeting, and dashed uptown, arriving on time. When she entered the lobby, he was waiting, but didn’t acknowledge her. She’d followed him into the elevator, where they stood shoulder to shoulder, two strangers. On the eighth floor, she’d followed him to a room where they introduced themselves, and minutes later they were inside Suite 807 sweating up the sheets.
As their car sped down Fifth Avenue, Jasmine had no idea what role she’d play today. Maybe she’d just be who she was—the woman totally in love with Pastor Hosea Bush.
The February wind blew hard against the hotel window; still Jasmine kicked away the sheets. Her body glistened with sweat. Hosea had finished what he started eleven days ago, before the call came about his father. It had been worth every bit of the wait.
She exhaled a long breath and rested her head on Hosea’s chest. “I love you so much.”
“Spoken like a wife,” he said.
“Spoken like a wife who’s been very well taken care of.”
He chuckled and then the way his arms drew her closer, she could tell that his smile was gone. His thoughts had already left Midtown Manhattan and were up in Harlem.
But he said, “I needed this.”
She snuggled closer, tried to hold him tighter. “Your father’s going to recover.” She answered the question that he hadn’t even asked.
She could feel him nod. “I thought he’d be awake by now.”
“He’ll wake up. People have been in comas for many, many years and come out fine. No matter how long, your father’s going to be one of those survivors.”
“That’s my prayer.” He paused. “Thank you for being with me through this.”
She lifted her head. “Where else would I be? I’ll always be by your side.”
“I’m glad you said that, because I’ve been thinking about how I want to lead at City of Lights. I want you with me, Jasmine. Whenever you can be. I want you in as many meetings as possible so that you’ll know what’s going on.”
“Really?” She lifted herself up on her elbows.
He nodded. “That’s how Pops did it with my mother. He always said it was better for them to stand together than for him to sit alone. That’s the way I want it to be with us. For however long we’re there.”
She leaned over and gently pressed her lips against his. “Thank you.”
“This way, in case I can’t be there one Sunday, I’ll know everything will run smoothly.”
She frowned. “You’re not talking about me giving a sermon, are you?” She shook her head, not even able to imagine herself standing at the podium, her Bible in her hand, and light shining through the image of Jesus Christ from the stained-glass window behind her.
And then a flash—of her past.
Dollar bills falling from the sky.
A voice from the past screamed, “Let’s make it rain, baby!”
There was laughter. Hoots and hollers as men tossed money.
At her.
As she stood as close to naked as she could get.
She gasped.
“Jasmine?”
She shook her head, to rid that scene from her memory.
“Jasmine?”
Those days—well over twenty years ago—had been far from her consciousness. But for almost a week now, these little images kept creeping up.
Why now? There was no reason to think about that long ago time. She was far away from those days.
“Are you listening to me?”
It took a moment for her husband’s face to come back into focus. “Huh?”
“Where did you go?”
Pulling the sheet to her bare chest, she blinked, making sure the memory was gone. “I was thinking about what you said.”
“I wasn’
t talking about you preaching. I want you to know everything that’s going on so that you could have my back if I’m not there.” He took her hand. “I really need you.”
She tucked away all thoughts of her past. “I got you, babe. Always.” It was time to go after her Valentine’s Day gift. “Now, I have some news. Malik…he wants me to take a leave of absence,” she lied.
“Why?”
“He thinks I’m going to be distracted. Especially after what he saw in that meeting the other day. He said I should keep my focus on you and Dad.”
Slowly, Hosea nodded. “Your godbrother is a good man.”
“He is, but Hosea, this time I don’t feel good about taking my salary. He paid me the whole time we were in Los Angeles, and now…well, I don’t want to take advantage that way. But—” She stopped, knowing that was enough.
He said, “I don’t want you to take advantage of him, either.” He paused, inhaled a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll tell the board that I need to draw a salary.”
“Thank you, babe.” She hugged him; she’d forgotten to tell Malik how much she wanted, but she knew her godbrother would hook it up.
Finally! She was on her way to being the fabulous first lady of City of Lights at Riverside Church.
She couldn’t wait until Sunday.
ELEVEN
JASMINE PUSHED THE DOOR OPEN, but her smile turned upside down when she stepped into the hospital room.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her tone without a tinge of warmth.
“That’s no way to greet a friend.” Pastor Wyatt held his arms wide, as if to welcome her.
Jasmine crossed her arms. “Where’s my husband?”
The associate pastor shrugged. “I just got here, and the room was empty, except for”—he turned and looked at Reverend Bush—“our good reverend here.”
Jasmine frowned, not liking the way he said that. With her eyes still on Wyatt, she stepped to the bed, checked every single machine and all the tubes that were keeping Reverend Bush alive. Satisfied that the man hadn’t killed her father-in-law, she turned toward the door.
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