Temptation: The Aftermath

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  “I haven’t even had a chance to think about that, Nicole.” Kyla paused her pacing. “I’ll get on-line or something, but I don’t want to check into a hotel. I really don’t want to leave your father.” She paused and sighed. “I know, but I can just as easily sleep in his room. Right now, he’s my priority.”

  There were just a few seconds of silence before she said, “Of course.” A beat. “I will.” Another beat. “I love you, too.” Then, she hung up, looked up and caught me staring.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I wasn’t trying to listen.”

  She shook her head and waved her hand. “It’s all right. It’s not like this is a private room.” She sat down in the chair next to me.

  “That was Nicole?”

  Her eyebrow raised in a none-of-your-business kind of way. My question had been natural, but only if it had been asked by a friend. Then almost as quickly, she gave me a quick nod, but nothing else. That was the sign that she was grateful that Hosea and I were here, but that I didn’t need to twist anything up — we were not friends.

  “Where’s Hosea?” she asked.

  I guessed since she hadn’t slept with my husband, she could ask me all kinds of questions.

  “He went downstairs to make some calls.”

  “I guess that’s what I really should do. I need to call Alexis and my mom and Pastor Ford, but ….”

  “You don’t want to be far from Jefferson,” I finished for her.

  She nodded and gave me more than a moment’s stare. As if she’d had a sudden flashback the way I just did, remembering how everyone used to ask if we were related because as different as we were, there were so many things that were the same — especially how we used to finish each other’s sentences.

  I said, “If you want to make any more calls, maybe you can use the Quiet Room.” Not giving her a chance to respond, I pushed myself from the chair. “I’ll go ask the nurse.”

  “No,” Kyla stopped me. She glanced around at the waiting room. We shared the space with only one person. The woman, who still clutched a Bible to her chest and rocked back and forth. Kyla said, “I don’t really … like that room.”

  I frowned and wondered what that was about, but I wasn’t going to ask any more questions.

  She glanced at her watch. “Gosh, is it really after six already?”

  I nodded. “As soon as Hosea comes back up, we’ll take you to get something to eat.”

  Before I even finished, she was shaking her head. “I’m not hungry.” Then, she leaned back, her head hitting the wall behind us. “Whew! This!” She closed her eyes and took deep breaths — in her exhales, I felt her fear.

  I looked down at her hands resting on the arm of the chair and before I could change my mind, I did what I would have done if we hadn’t had this history between us — I covered her right hand with my left.

  She flinched just a little, but she didn’t open her eyes. And she didn’t make a move to punch me in my throat. So, I kept my hand in place as she took yoga-style cleansing breaths.

  When her lashes became moist with tears pressing from behind her closed eyes, I whispered, “Jefferson is going to be all right.”

  Slowly, her eyes opened and the way she looked at me, I was sure that she was about to burst into full-fledge tears. “You think so?” Her voice was so tiny.

  I nodded. “I know so. We went through something like this a few years ago with Hosea’s father.”

  “You did?” Now, she sounded like a little girl waiting for the next line in a fairytale.

  “Yes. Hosea’s dad was shot, but he’s fine now. And he was right here in Harlem Hospital, too. This is a really good place.”

  “I know.” Kyla nodded. “Two of Jefferson’s partners at the clinic started here.” She nodded again as if that move gave her strength. “Okay, Jefferson is going to be good.” Then, she looked at me and a second later, she burst into tears.

  I scooted from my chair, crouched in front of her and pulled her into my arms. When she didn’t resist, I tightened my hug. She sobbed and I blinked back my own tears, some that had nothing to do with what we were facing now. Some that were all about my regret.

  “Kyla.”

  Both of us turned to the sound of Hosea’s voice. Kyla leaned back and with the back of her hand, wiped away her tears while I blinked back my own.

  My husband came to us, offered me his hand and helped me to stand. Then, turning to Kyla, he said, “Mrs. Taylor is here to speak with you.”

  I hadn’t noticed the woman who’d walked into the waiting room with Hosea. With her hair pulled back in a tight bun, her cat-eyed glasses and her navy sheath, Hosea didn’t have to say anything more than her name. Her look screamed ‘administrator.’

  “Hello, Mrs. Blake,” the woman spoke in a robotic tone. Kyla nodded her hello.

  Mrs. Taylor said, “I’m from the billing department. We have some paperwork we need to go over with you.”

  “Does she really need to do this now?” I interjected. “It’s not a good time.”

  The woman’s tone was sympathetic, though still a bit robotic. “Unfortunately, we do need to take care of this. It won’t take long.”

  Kyla’s voice cracked with emotion. “I can’t.”

  “I am so sorry,” the woman replied. “But I’d hate for Doctor Blake to be placed in our indigent status. And the only way to prevent that is to get his paperwork completed.”

  “You know what?” Hosea sat in the chair where I’d been sitting. “I can do this with you. I can go with you to Mrs. Taylor’s office.” Kyla didn’t even hesitate. “All right, but I was waiting for the doctors to come out of Jefferson’s room. I really want to speak to

  them first.”

  “They’re not in there.” Hosea looked at Kyla, then at me. “I came up and checked his room first, thinking that you two were in there.”

  “They were supposed to come talk to me when they finished!” Kyla said, her voice escalating with each word. “Something must be wrong ….”

  “No.” Hosea’s tone was soft, as if he were speaking to a child, though without any condescension. “Because if anything was wrong or if things had taken a turn, believe me, they would have found you.” He paused.“Look, why don’t we do this. First, we’ll go with Mrs. Taylor and then, we’ll find Jefferson’s doctor, okay?” The stiffness eased from her shoulders and then, Kyla took a couple of easy breaths.

  Even though I’d seen it a thousand times, even though he’d done it to me a million times, I was always amazed watching my husband’s gift. Hosea’s voice, his tone, his words, his countenance and confidence was a balm in Gilead.

  Now Kyla stood, practically springing to her feet as if she’d been given ten shots of espresso intravenously. And, she almost smiled when she said to Mrs. Taylor, “Okay, let’s do this.”

  Kyla followed the woman, now with strength in her steps, and Hosea glanced back at me. “You coming?”

  I shook my head. “No, I’ll wait for you.” I dropped down in the chair, feigning a bit of exhaustion.

  He nodded and leaned over to kiss my cheek. “I’ll meet you back here. We won’t be too long.”Then, he trotted to catch up with the women.

  I counted to ten, then popped up from my seat. My words to my husband weren’t a lie — I told him that I’d wait for him; he was the one who’d assumed that I’d wait for him here.

  I’d be waiting, but while he was taking care of Kyla, I had something I had to take care of as well.

  When I stepped outside of the waiting room, I glanced at one end of the hall and then the other. It was clear, and time for me to see if I could figure a few things out.

  ***

  I paused once again, right outside of Jefferson’s room and formed the lie in my head — in case Kyla had convinced Mrs. Taylor and Hosea that she just had to see Jefferson first and the three of them were inside. When my lie was ready and my breathing was steady, I pushed open the door, paused, peeked in, then stepped inside.

  The roo
m may have been clear, but it wasn’t silent. The drone of the machine filled the air. I took slow steps until I stood just a few feet from Jefferson’s bed. He may have been in a medically induced coma, but all I could think was that the years had been more than a little kind to him. Kyla once told me that the woman at Hampton called Jefferson Hot Chocolate, and I guessed like wine, chocolate did that same finer with time thing because even with his head covered in that cap, and even with his face swollen, he just looked like a chubby, but still so, so, so fine version of the man that I’d known.

  It was the way he looked that made me remember … that night … when he’d believed my lie and had been kind enough to me to let me stay at his house … when Kyla was away in Santa Barbara with her parents.

  I had tricked him, seduced him; really, it had been too easy. Now, I wanted to know — had he been tricked, had he been seduced again?

  Taking two more steps, I stared down. The sheet that covered Jefferson rose and fell with the rhythmic inhales and exhales of his chest. If I ignored the mounds of gauze and all the swelling, it really did just look like he was sleeping, like he was at peace … and like … he was in love.

  I would never be able to explain it to anyone, but even as he slept, even with his injuries, in all of his unconsciousness, it was hard for me to see anything but the love he had for his wife on his face. He was fighting to come back to her, only her. Like I said, I couldn’t explain it, but I could feel it.

  I sighed, my thoughts going back to that night again. All of those years ago, he’d loved Kyla and still, I’d won in that moment. Shaking my head, I tried to toss that doubt aside. I knew most women believed once a cheater, always a cheater, but that was not what I felt in my heart. Jefferson Blake was the exception. He and Kyla were the exception. Just like I was with Hosea. “So, who is she?” I whispered. “Why was she here?”

  Then, I waited, as if I expected Jefferson to open his eyes, sit up, and give me some kind of answer. Maybe he would squeeze his eyes together twice as a signal that he had no idea who I was talking about.

  “This is ridiculous,” I muttered. What did I expect to find when I came in here? Did I really think that I could look at Jefferson and know the truth? Did I think that he would, through some kind of osmosis, explain it all to me?

  No, I wouldn’t have any help in this. I was on my own, but that was okay. I would find that woman and force her to tell me what was going on.

  This time when I moved, I stepped so close to the bed that the rail pressed against my waist. I closed my eyes, said a prayer, then stared at him for a couple of moments. I remembered when my father-in-law was in a coma; he later told us that there’d been times when he’d been aware of our words, of our movement.

  That was why I leaned over and began to speak to Jefferson. “I know I owe you and Kyla all kinds of apologies. And even though I haven’t been in touch over the years, I’ve been filled with regret.” Moving closer to his ear, I added, “I’m so sorry, Jefferson. I’m so sorry for what I did to you and Kyla. But I promise you, I’ll make up for it. I’ll take care of Kyla until you come back to her. I don’t think we’ll be the friends we once were, but she’ll know that she can count on me. And I want you to know that, too.”

  An urge rose in me to reach out and touch Jefferson. It wasn’t from the place that had driven me twenty years ago. That feeling was so long gone. My heart had been filled by Hosea and there would never be enough room for another man in my life, in my heart, in me … again.

  What I felt for Jefferson was that brotherly love, the flip side of the sisterly love that I still had for Kyla.

  It was with that, that I reached out and squeezed his hand. It was with that, that I leaned over and kissed his forehead.

  And it was with that, when the door to his room swung open and Kyla stepped inside.

  I jerked upward, standing straight, my eyes wide because I felt like a cheater who’d been caught cheating.

  And Kyla glared at me as if she felt the same thing. As if she knew I was a cheater, and she had, once again, caught me, too.

  chapter 8

  Kyla

  I moaned a bit as I pushed myself up from the chair. My bones ached — half from exhaustion and half from trying to twist myself like a pretzel into that chair during the night. I steadied myself on my feet before I dragged to the side of Jefferson’s bed.

  “Good morning, sweetheart,” I said, as I leaned down and kissed his forehead.

  Just as I did that, the door swung open. I looked up.

  Jasmine paused at the entry and I straightened up — exactly the way she’d done yesterday.

  “Good morning,” she said with a bit of a smirk that I wanted to slap off of her face.

  “He’s my husband. I’m supposed to be kissing him.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “All I said was good morning.” She let the door close behind her.

  “I don’t want your lips anywhere near my husband.” I spoke with a little bit of a smile and as much levity in my tone as I could muster. I wanted to sound like I was kidding, that this was just a joke. But I was not, and it was not.

  I didn’t trust Jasmine Cox Larson Bush.

  She said, “You know I had just come in here to pray for Jefferson, yesterday right?”

  Those were almost the exact words she’d uttered when I walked in and found her lips pressed against my husband. It had taken every bit of everything in me not to march over to her, snatch her from Jefferson’s side, and give her that drop-kick beat-down that I owed her from 1997.

  But before I’d had a chance to do that, she had backed away with her hands up and had given me that I-was-just-praying-for Jefferson spiel. She didn’t explain what prayer had to do with a kiss and I hadn’t asked since she’d had the good sense to follow up that transgression by asking where was Hosea and then saying she was going down to the cafeteria to find him.

  Only Hosea had come back to the room with a tuna sandwich and a bottle of juice for me. Only Hosea had asked where was I staying and then, told me that he wanted me to stay at their place. When I’d said, “I really don’t want to leave Jefferson tonight,” that had been ninety-nine percent truth. The other part of that equation — I didn’t want to be near his wife.

  But now in the light of day, and given the fact that I’d thought about it a lot last night, I came to the conclusion that Jasmine wasn’t trying to seduce my husband. Not even she would try to do that to a man in a coma.

  She handed me a cup of coffee. “Three creams, four sugars.” She spoke in a tone that sounded like she was trying to call a truce. I guess she knew that we were still in some kind of war.

  I said, “You remembered.”

  She nodded. “Yup, I used to tell you that one more sugar and you’d be drinking coffee-flavored Kool-Aid.”

  I kinda chuckled at that. It was funny then, and still funny now. She said, “I remember how you like your coffee. But can you do me a favor and try not to remember who I used to be?” She shook her head. “I’m telling you; I’m not that woman anymore.”

  My answer: I removed the green splash stick from the cup, then took a sip.

  That seemed to be good enough for Jasmine because she said, “So how did you sleep?” And then, she glanced at the chair where the blanket was sprawled on the floor.

  Was that another smirk in her tone?

  I wanted to smack her — except I was grateful that she was here. I hated to admit that, but it was true. There was no way I would’ve been able to handle the eighteen hours that I’d been here without her and Hosea.

  “It wasn’t the best sleep I’d ever had. But at least I was here with Jefferson and I got to wake up next to him … in a way.” I yawned, and then did a semi-stretch since I was still holding my coffee.

  “Hosea called first thing this morning,” Jasmine said as she took a step closer to Jefferson’s bed. “They told him there’d been no change, that Jefferson was still resting.”

  I sighed. “Yeah, the doctor said that
he’d be here around ten. I can’t wait to speak to him. I’m hoping that he can tell me something different than yesterday.” This time my yawn was longer and wider.

  Jasmine said, “I’m taking you home with me.” Before I could say anything, she added, “You don’t have to stay. Just take a nap.”Then, she sniffed. “And you could use a shower, too.”

  I narrowed my eyes and tried my best not to smile. “It hasn’t been that long; I know I don’t stink.”

  “I’m just sayin’ ….”

  This time, all I could do was smile.

  She said, “Ky, we’re only twenty minutes away and Hosea will have a car service on standby for you, to take you back and forth or wherever you want to go.”

  I tilted my head. Jasmine had asked me to forget who she used to me. So, I blinked and tried to see who she was now: Jasmine Cox Larson Bush. First Lady of a mega church, the wife of a preacher. I had to stop and think about that again — Jasmine, the wife of a preacher. That sounded like the punchline of a joke.

  She said, “I know you’ve got to be famished, too.”

  Her words made my stomach rumble as if my body were on her side, even if the conscious part of me was not. Because no matter how tired, or how hungry or how funky I was, I needed to be with Jefferson every moment.

  I shook my head, but she nodded hers.

  “This is not open for discussion, Kyla. Just a couple of hours so that you can refresh. So that you can be strong for Jefferson because he needs you.”

  Her tone was firm, the way it used to be when we were kids and she was always trying to be the boss of me.

  But now, I thought about her words. Strong for Jefferson because he needs you. It was only because she reminded me of that fact that I said, “All right.”

  “Good.”

  “But, I don’t have to go to your place. I need to get a hotel anyway. I need to have someplace to put my luggage and to get settled.”

  “You can do that with us.”

  “I don’t want to put you out.”

  “And I don’t think we have time to go back and forth over this.” Jasmine sounded as if she had no plans to relent. “Plus, with the convention in town ….” She stopped as if she were sorry that she’d mentioned that. As if that were a reminder of what happened to Jefferson.