Temptation: The Aftermath

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  From the back seat, I stared at Hosea. He wasn’t your typical fine man if the definition of fine was: tall, dark and handsome. He wasn’t tall, under six feet, I was sure of that. And while I just loved a tall glass of chocolate milk, Hosea was more coffee with lots and lots and lots of latte. And handsome? His features, while pleasant, were not model-worthy. He was cute, in a Pillsbury doughboy way. Really cute. Really cuddly.

  But he was beyond special. Because what was inside of him, came out. It was that glow, that joy of the Lord that made him finer than any man. Because the one thing that was true — there was nothing sexier than a black man with his hands and heart raised to God.

  With that thought, my mind began to wander and I began to daydream, then, the ringing of my cell shocked me back to my senses.

  I didn’t recognize the 212 number, but that didn’t matter because any New York number had something to do with my husband.

  “Mrs. Blake?” the male voice asked after I said hello. “Yes.”

  “This is Detective Green. My partner and I spoke with you the other day.”

  “Yes, Detective Green, “I said and watched both Nicole and Hosea shift in their seats to face me.

  “I was wondering if you had a moment to come to the station this morning.”

  “I’m on my way to the hospital now. What is this about, Detective?”

  “We won’t keep you too long,” he said, speaking like those cops on Law & Order when they only asked questions, but never answered any. “We just have a few things we want to ask you and something we’d like to show you.”

  I sighed aloud and screamed inside my head. Of course, I wanted whoever had done this to Jefferson to suffer a long and agonizing prison sentence. But I wanted the cops to catch my husband’s assailant without me.

  Hosea said, “What do they want?”

  “They want to speak to me,” and then, without a thought, I handed my cell to Hosea.

  He took it, turned back to the front, and began speaking. As he said, “This is Pastor Hosea Bush, I think we met the other day,” Nicole took my hand.

  There was silence and I imagined that the detective was telling Hosea what he’d said to me.

  Finally, “Okay, Detective,” Hosea said. “Can you give us about an hour? We’re on our way to the hospital, but I’ll bring Mrs. Blake there right around ten. Is that okay?”The way Hosea nodded, then said, “That’s fine, we’ll see you there,” I knew the conversation was over.

  He clicked off the phone, turned to me and said, “They just have a few more questions. It’ll be in and out.” He handed the phone back before he added,“So we’ll go to the hospital, pray with Jefferson, get Nicole settled, then we’ll head uptown to the police station.” He faced the front again, but then, as an afterthought hit him, he twisted back around, grinned and said, “Is that okay?”

  I didn’t even respond. At least not out loud. All I did was smile.

  ***

  The hospital had been bad enough, but this was worse. Yes, I hated driving up to Harlem Hospital every day because inside, my husband was still in critical care. But now, driving up to this police precinct was worse. Because again, I had to speak to officers about the violence that had taken my husband down and brought me to New York.

  When the car came to a complete stop, I peeked out the window. The gray building stood tall, looked old, and if it carried any kind of emotion, it was anger. As if nothing good ever happened in this place. In front, patrol cars were parked perpendicular to the curb, but the street was active. Civilians and officers moved in and out, around and about taking care of the business of crime, I supposed.

  I didn’t even realize the car door had been opened until I heard Hosea say, “Come on. It’ll be okay.”

  His hand was out and I reached for him.

  When I stood by Hosea, he said, “It’s scary, I know. But you’ll be all right.” He gave instructions to the driver to stay close and then, he pressed his hand against the small of my back and led me to the building. “At least you’re going in on your own accord. Last time I was here, they had to drag me inside.” I laughed at his attempt to lighten the moment, until he added, “I’m not kidding.” Another pause before he explained, “I shot a man.”

  I was sorry, but I had to stop moving. There was no way that my feet could guide me while I was trying to get my brain to compute those words. Looking up at him, I squinted. And the light that was always in his eyes dimmed a bit. “It’s a long story that maybe I’ll share with you later. But back in twenty-ten my daughter was kidnapped. And I took care of the man who … kidnapped her.”

  Inside, I let out a long, ohhhhhh. How could I have forgotten about that? Jacqueline had been kidnapped … and raped when she was only five. It had been the most horrific of times for everyone, Brian included, even though he hadn’t been in his daughter’s life. But she had been found safe, rescued, and as far as I could see, she seemed well, thank God. And like everything that the devil meant for evil, God turned it to good because Hosea had been found guilty, but served no time … and Jacqueline’s disappearance had been the impetus that brought Alexis and Brian back together.

  They had remarried right after Jacqueline had been found.

  There was so many thoughts swirling in my mind as my feet began moving again and Hosea led me into the building. This man, this gentle man had taken a gun and shot the man who’d raped his daughter — shot him right between his legs. Taken away the rapist/kidnapper’s manhood.

  Made Hosea even more of a man in my eyes. “Mrs. Blake, Pastor Bush.”

  We turned to the voice and Detective Green approached, his hand already extended to us. “Thank you for coming down,” he said after we exchanged greetings. “Let’s go talk in my office.”

  He led us down a hall to an office that was the size of most closets and was made even smaller with the desk, three chairs and file cabinets that were squeezed inside. Papers were piled so high atop the cabinets, I was convinced the digital age hadn’t yet arrived at the 25th precinct.

  He said, “Let me get Al in here,” then, left us alone to figure out how to cram ourselves into the chairs.

  Not enough time passed for me to fold my mind into my thoughts and I was glad about that. I had no time to speculate before both detectives returned. Five seconds for pleasantries, then the detectives led us to the point of this meeting.

  “Like I told you on the phone, we’re not going to take long,” Detective Green said.

  “I’m not sure what I can do to help you.” I looked from one detective to the other. “I don’t know anyone in New York,” then, I paused, “except for Hosea … Pastor Bush and his wife. So I know there isn’t anything I can add to the investigation.”

  He nodded. “I understand, but you may know more than you think.”

  I frowned.

  He said, “Were you and Doctor Blake having any problems?” My eyes narrowed even more. “What do you mean?”

  “You know,” he bobbed his head a little from side to side, “married people sometimes go through things, they have problems ….”

  Every part of my body hunched up. “No and I resent you even asking me that.”

  “I don’t mean anything by it.” The detective held up his hands.

  “We just have to ask all the questions.”

  “Well, the answer to your question is no. My husband and I are very much in love. What happened to him wasn’t about anything like that. He was at a conference, for God’s sake.”

  “Well ….” The detective tilted his head and gave me a look that said a conference was the perfect opportunity for a husband who was having problems with his wife.

  “Well,” I mimicked him, “I’ve answered your question.”

  I didn’t know why, but he had to press just one more time. “So no issues with infidelity in your marriage ….”

  That flash: Jasmine … naked … in my bed … naked.

  Hosea rescued me. “Detectives,” he began in that voice that could’ve
disarmed Gideon’s army, “I understand that you have to ask these questions because the spouse or partner is always the primary suspect, right?”

  The detectives didn’t nod, didn’t say a word. Just stared at Hosea as if they were waiting to see where he was going with his line of questioning.

  He leaned forward and continued, “But like Mrs. Blake has told you, she and her husband have a wonderful marriage. Everything is fine. She loves him and had nothing to do with this.” He sat back. “What do you think? She hired a bunch of teenagers to rob that store just at the time that she knew her husband would be there?”

  If I weren’t so pissed, I would have jumped up and said, ‘Bam!’ But I stayed in place and let the glare of my glance speak for me.

  “We’re only asking these questions because we really need to find the witness. We need her to go through some photos and without her ….”

  “I told you before, maybe the woman who was with my husband was a doctor from the convention. I don’t know.”

  “Well, we’ve spoken to several of the doctors at the convention ….”

  “See ….”

  “And many did see your husband in the bar with a woman on Sunday, but she wasn’t one of the doctors.”

  My stomach did three backflips.

  “We didn’t get a lot of descriptions because no one got a good look at her face.”

  That made me frown. What did that mean?

  “But before we go back to the convention, we’re hoping you might be able to tell us something about her.” He opened a folder and began sliding a picture across the desk. “As you know, the security camera wasn’t operating in the store, but the surveillance cameras on that block were.”

  Hosea and I leaned forward at the same time.

  Detective Green said, “We got the images of everyone who entered the store a minute before your husband and a minute afterwards, before all those kids barged in. And only one was a woman.”

  Together Hosea and I stared at the picture.

  “Now, you can’t see her face because of her hat, but is there anything familiar about her?”

  I gasped.

  “You know her?” both detectives and Hosea said at the same time.

  I took another moment to take in her image; it was a grainy picture, but so much of it was familiar. She was wearing a creamcolored dress, similar to the navy one she wore when I saw her — a dress that left no room to imagine what she’d look like with it off. And then, there was that hat that matched her dress … just like the other day.

  “Yes,” I exclaimed. “I mean, no. I don’t know her, but she’s been at the hospital.”

  “With your husband?” Detective Green asked.

  “Yes. I mean, no, I don’t know. I saw her coming out of Jefferson’s room the other day, but I was talking to Doctor Reid. But Jasmine,” I turned to Hosea, “she knows her.”

  Now it was his turn to look confused. “What?”

  “I mean, I don’t know if she really knows her, but they were talking a lot.” I decided to leave out that part about this woman being Dr. Reid’s girlfriend. If that were true, the detectives would figure that out. And if it was another one of Jasmine’s lies, I didn’t want to send them chasing false leads. “So who is she?” I asked the detectives again. “What’s her name? What was she doing with my husband?”

  “You said, Pastor Bush’s wife was talking to her. You didn’t ask her name?”

  “I did, but ….” I paused. “I think we got interrupted and something happened and I forgot all about it. I didn’t think at the time that it was any big deal. But now ….”

  “Well,” he slid the photo back to his side of the desk and slipped it into the folder, “those are all questions that we’re going to try to answer.”

  “What’s her name?” I asked again, as if that would give me a clue to something.

  “We don’t know. We only have the photo.” He took a breath. “But Pastor Bush, we may need to talk to your wife.”

  “That’s fine, Detective. Just give me a call,” Hosea pulled a card from his jacket, “and we’ll come down here if you need us.”

  “Okay, well,” Detective Green turned to me, “I told you we wouldn’t keep you long.”

  If he were dismissing us now, he had made and kept that promise. But even though just minutes before I didn’t want to come into this place, now, I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay and learn more. I wanted to know everything that they knew. About that woman. And what happened to my husband.

  When all three men stood, I hesitated for a moment, then did the same. But that was all I was capable of doing. Thank God, Hosea was with me. Because he shook their hands for me, said goodbye for me, led me through the door, down the hall, and into the street because surely, I wouldn’t have found my way without him.

  He called the driver, the moment we stepped outside and I paced a few steps to the left, then back to the right.

  So … Jefferson had been with a woman that night. That woman. That night and the night before. That woman. She’d been in Jefferson’s hospital room. That woman. And Jasmine had told me a lie.

  Why?

  Why had Jefferson been with her? Why had Jasmine lied?

  “Oh, God!” I moaned as I pressed my fingers to my temples.

  I’d forgotten that Hosea was with me until he wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “The car will be here in two minutes and then, we’ll talk.”

  I nodded and tried to hold on. And tried not to think about my husband having an affair.

  Again.

  And tried not to think that Jasmine had something to do with it.

  Again.

  chapter 18

  Kyla

  This time, Hosea sat in the back of the car with me and I wondered if it was because he could hear my thoughts. I wondered if he believed that, while this car was moving, I’d open the door and jump out into traffic.

  Of course, I would never do that — even though that was what I was feeling. Or was it? I couldn’t really say because in my mind, there was such a battle brewing:

  The good angel: Of course, Jefferson is not having an affair. After what the two of you went through twenty years ago, he would never bring that kind of pain and devastation into your lives again. He loves you and he’s spent all these years proving it.

  The evil one: Once a cheater always a cheater. And this probably isn’t even the first time that Jefferson cheated. This is just the first time that he got caught … again. ‘Cause that’s just what men do. For men, sex trumps love.

  “Oh, God!” I moaned.

  It wasn’t until Hosea covered my hand with his that I realized I’d said that aloud.

  He said, “I was thinking that we should go back to the hospital first and then ….”

  I shook my head. “No.” I didn’t want Nicole to see me this way. When she asked what happened at the police station, she’d know something was wrong right away. Not that she’d need lots of clues; it would be obvious from the break down that I was sure to have when I thought about her father and that woman as I was standing in front of her. I told Hosea, “I need a little time.”

  He squeezed my hand like he understood. “We can go somewhere. Have a late breakfast, early lunch.”

  Again, my head went back and forth. It wasn’t just that I couldn’t face my daughter, I didn’t want to do anyplace classified as public right now. I didn’t want to be any place where anyone could see me, because I just wasn’t sure how long my sliver of strength would last.

  Then, Hosea did what Hosea does. He heard my thoughts and answered my cries. Said to the driver, “Change of plans. We’re going to City of Lights.”

  City of Lights. His church. The mega-congregation, megasuccessful New York City icon that stood in the midst of Harlem. That was a good choice, I thought. In the middle of this Saturday afternoon, the church would be empty, I’d be out of public view and only one person — and God would see my breakdown if it were to come.

  Less tha
n ten minutes later, the car slowed to a stop in front of the Gothic building with its twin towers that flanked several stain-glassed windows. Like the police precinct, the church was gray, stood tall and looked old, but unlike where we’d just been, this massive structure almost bowed, smiled and said: Welcome.

  Hosea led me up the walkway toward the huge double-doors, then he made a left, and I was a little disappointed. I wanted to walk into the famed church and what so many had said was a spectacular sanctuary.

  But then, as we walked along the side path, Hosea said,“I’ll give you a tour of the church after I get you settled inside.”

  I looked at this man with wonder. And then, I looked for the cord that stretched from his heart to the sky because clearly, he had some kind of direct connection to God.

  When Hosea had told the driver to bring us to the church, I’d been pleased with that suggestion, thinking that no one would see my breakdown. But when we walked inside, I had been wrong about that. In front of us was a full office and although it was Saturday, it felt like everyone was in the middle of a workday operation.

  One, two, three, four … I counted nine people in total, who greeted Hosea, smiled at me, and then, kept it moving. Hosea led me through the activity of the church’s business, then, he stopped at one of the desks where a short, stout, gray-haired woman, stood as she spoke into the phone.

  “Okay, I’ll give Reverend Bush, Senior your message; he’ll be back next Tuesday. Thank you.” She hung up the phone, then glanced at us over gold-rimmed glasses that were set low on her nose. “Well, I didn’t expect to see you here today,” the woman said, eyeing Hosea first, then she turned that stern glance toward me. “Don’t you have an appointment with your wife?”

  “Oh.” With the heel of his hand, Hosea tapped his forehead as if that would knock his memory into place. “I need to call Jasmine. I’m going to have to cancel.” Facing me, he added, “Mrs. Whittingham, this is Jasmine’s friend. I told you about her, Kyla Blake.”

  The stern stare softened. “Oh, your husband was the one who was shot.” She reached for my hand. “I’m so sorry.”Then, she came around her desk and hugged me. “We’re all praying here and you and your husband are on our intercessory prayer list.”