Clicking off the television, she turned to the radio, finding her favorite Christian station. She lay back once again, trying to lose herself in the lull of the music, but was surprised when tears found their way back. She was not going to cry anymore, she couldn’t allow herself to break down.
A shower. That’s what she needed. She went into the bathroom and started taking off her clothes. She folded them, then leaned into the bathtub, turning on the water.
When she stood straight, she caught her reflection in the mirror and put her hand over her mouth in horror. Her eyelids were swollen and puffed, as if she’d been beaten. Her hair stood wildly over her head and her face was streaked with tears that had run through her makeup. But it was her eyes that exposed her pain. In their redness, she could see the end. She bit her lip and cringed; she looked like a battered woman.
Staring at herself under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights, the tears that she’d been fighting so hard to control flowed. She stepped into the shower, hoping the water would soothe her.
But instead, for the first time since her ordeal began, she released the pent-up sorrow that had been building inside since she’d seen Jasmine in her bed. She cried from her center. The pain was not just emotional, it was physical. The ache was so sharp, so deep, she wanted to jump out of her skin to get away from it. She screamed from the depth of her core, putting a sound to the intense emotions that reared inside, fighting to find their place on the outside. Falling to her knees, the water poured over her aching body. She lifted her head, letting the salt of her tears mix with the tepid water surging from the showerhead.
How could love cause this kind of pain? It was unreal. She had never felt anything this extreme, this deep before. The enemy was vicious, holding her prisoner but she couldn’t escape. There was nowhere to flee. The pain rose to her throat, choking her entire being until she was sure each breath would be her last. Curling up on the base of the cold porcelain tub, she coiled into a fetal position, bringing her knees to her chest, covering her heart. She had to protect her heart, knowing that if she didn’t, it would burst from her.
As she lay there, the enemy traveled, bleeding from her pores, seeping out, covering her skin. All the love she felt for her husband, all the feelings that had unfolded throughout the years culminated now to form this.
The pain was so fierce, so furious, so profound that she knew she could no longer live with it . . . she wanted to die. She had to die. What did she have to live for anyway? This misery was too severe to endure. With this revelation, her tears began to subside. She wanted to die. She wanted to die. She wanted to die. The thought reverberated through her mind.
And as quickly as that wicked thought tried to control her, another more powerful one countered. It jumped into her heart, crushing all thoughts of death. The thought came from one of her favorite praise songs and the words seemed to be hidden in the water drops that continued to pour upon her. She lay still on the base of the tub, listening as the words fell. Lifting her head, she cocked it to the side so that she could hear better.
The water streamed down the side of her face. Yes, she could hear the words in the soothing water. And as she listened, the words became clearer, still soft, but clearer. Late in the midnight hour, when you feel all alone, God will turn it around for you . . . She listened silently, letting the water minister to her. Then, she began to sing along, softly, slowly, off-key at first. Late in the midnight hour, when you feel all alone, God will turn it around for you. Lifting herself, she stood and raised her face to the ceiling, letting the water hit her directly in the face. She began to sing with the water, faster and louder . . . Late in the midnight hour, when you feel all alone, God will turn it around for you.
Her tears had been replaced by the words of the song. Turning off the shower, she stepped from the tub and stood in the middle of the bathroom raising her voice. She sang louder and louder, the words came faster and faster. She raised her hands in praise to the Lord. She cried out, knowing she was heard. God was right there, always there.
She knew what to do. She was a praiser! When all was bleak, when things were at their darkest, she knew how to enter into praise. And, she was a worshipper. When all was grim and she was discouraged, she knew how to worship.
She sang and sang, repeating that verse over and over . . . Late in the midnight hour, when you feel all alone, God will turn it around for you.
She had found her peace; she had found her joy. It was in the Lord. She would take herself out of it and put it into God’s Hands. The Word said she was the Lord’s child. God would always take care of her.
Kyla had no idea how long she stood in that small hotel bathroom in the middle of nowhere, naked and dripping wet, praising her Lord. But time was not her concern. She was releasing herself. Losing control and herself in the presence of the Lord.
Finally, physically exhausted, mentally drained and full of hope, she wrapped a towel around her body, letting her thoroughly soaked hair drip onto her shoulders. Walking into the bedroom, she looked at herself in the mirror again, looked past her hair, past her face, into her eyes. And there, she saw life. The Lord had spoken.
She knew there were still many things she had to face; this journey was nowhere near the end. Nor was it going to be easy. She didn’t know what she wanted; she didn’t know what Jefferson wanted. But she knew what God wanted. He wanted her to stand, stand before her friends, stand before her enemies. And, she would proclaim that, following Psalm 118: she would not die, but live. She would trust in the Word of the Lord.
Sitting on the bed, she took a deep breath, then exhaled, releasing her fear so that she could now walk by faith. With faith, she knew she’d be able to face the day; she’d be able to stand up to it all. But first . . . she had to get some sleep.
She pulled back the thin stained blanket, threw the soaked towel on the floor and climbed in, pulling the sheets over her body. Her hair was still dripping wet, not a great idea for a black woman—perm or no perm. But, she would deal with that, and everything else, in the morning. Lifting up, she leaned over to turn off the light and her eyes focused on the clock radio. The large red digital numbers revealed the time clearly . . . it was midnight.
Jefferson glanced again at the huge round clock hanging above the mantel; it was exactly midnight. Sixteen hours had passed and now as a new day was birthing, he still did not have any idea where his wife was. He stood and walked through the house, turning on all the lights. He wanted their home to be shining like a Christmas tree when she returned.
Making his way back to the family room, he dropped onto the couch and sighed. Where could she be? He’d spent the entire day asking that question as he sat by the phone willing it to ring. But the phone had remained stubbornly silent. The waiting was his greatest pain. There was absolutely nothing he could do and it was killing him. Dr. Jefferson Blake was not a man used to waiting.
Now, as he held his head in his hands, his heart pleaded for his wife. All he wanted to do was see her, hold her, kiss her, and beg unashamedly for her forgiveness. He would do anything to get her back, but the fear that consumed him told him he might never have that chance.
The Bible on the end table caught his eye. They had Bibles throughout the house, almost as a reminder of the kind of life they wanted to live. Staring at the words on the leather cover, he read them aloud, “Holy Bible.” Holy. Holy. Holy. He had tried to live his life as a righteous man, not perfect, just a man that loved the Lord. He was a husband, a father, a doctor, but the most important role in his life was that he was a man of God. All he had to do was look around his church on Sunday and see how important that was. There were not enough black men in the church and he believed he was called to be an example.
Jefferson’s prayer had always been that when anyone looked at him, they would know he was a child of God. That God’s light would shine through him. His life’s walk was his witness. But what kind of testimony would he have to give now?
Already forgiven
by God, he was grateful for the Blood of Jesus and God’s abiding love, but would he ever be able to forgive himself? And what about Kyla, could she forgive him? Pastor Ford had said she would, but he had his doubts. He put down the Bible and stood, moving to the mirror that hung over the fireplace, but he couldn’t raise his eyes. Not yet.
Where was she? Just the thought of her out there somewhere, alone and in pain was torture. He had to find her so that he could hold her, comfort her, assure her of his love.
He walked outside into the starless night. The early morning hours of Monday offered no hope as he was met only by a dark, still silence. Even the air didn’t move; the neighborhood was at rest.
Thirty minutes passed and with a resigned sigh, he returned inside. It was time for him to face it—Kyla was not coming back. At least not tonight, he thought. He had to hold onto that thought—at least not tonight. Any other thoughts were too grievous to handle.
He wanted to call the police so that others would be looking for her, but he knew that no one would consider Kyla missing until twenty-four hours had passed. And what would he say anyway? That his wife had run away after she had found him in bed with her friend? He wondered how many times the police had heard that story.
He leaned back into the couch’s pillows and closed his eyes. Exhaustion tried to claim him and he curled up on the couch knowing he would not get a good night’s sleep, even though a full appointment book awaited him in the morning. But, it didn’t matter. He would stay right here, by the door, so that he would hear Kyla as soon as she came in. And she would return; of that, he was sure. He had to be sure because if he allowed himself to think anything else, he knew he’d never survive.
Jasmine listened to the clock ticking the minutes into hours and in the darkness, she tossed with emotion. It was meant to happen. Her and Jefferson. And, she wasn’t sorry. But why didn’t it feel as good as she thought it would?
Finally, she sat up and turned on the light. It was just after midnight and she’d been trying to fall asleep for over two hours now. She should have been exhausted after she had spent the entire day getting her life in order—cooking, cleaning—all for Jefferson. Or was it just to keep busy?
She hugged her knees to her chest. She had hoped that Jefferson would have called her this afternoon, though she knew that was unlikely. He was probably still grieving. But Kyla would never return to him. Jasmine was sure of that. So, she would be here waiting for him as soon as he was ready.
Replaying the morning in her mind, she couldn’t erase Kyla’s face from her mind. But why should she feel sorry for Kyla? Kyla had never done anything to help her.
Looking at the clock again, she picked up the phone. She needed to talk and her sister would just have to forgive her. The phone rang five times before a groggy Serena answered.
“This is Jasmine.”
“Jasmine, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing . . . I just had to talk to someone.”
“Are you all right? Is everything okay?”
“Something happened today . . . I got involved with someone and I’m really happy about it,” she said thinly.
“You don’t sound happy. And why would you call me in the middle of the night to tell me this?”
“Well, because . . . it’s Jefferson.”
Silence hung in the air for several seconds. “Are you telling me that you got involved with Kyla’s husband?” Serena whispered.
Jasmine swallowed hard. “Before you say anything, let me explain. He and Kyla broke up.”
“Broke up?” Serena said, suddenly sounding wide awake. “Just last week you were telling me about a birthday party Kyla had given for him. Jasmine, this doesn’t make sense.”
“Well, why are you jumping all over me? They broke up and it was almost natural that Jefferson and I would get together. We’ve been friends for a long time.”
“Yeah, and you’ve been friends with Kyla even longer. If she and Jefferson were having problems, you should’ve been the one trying to help her through—not stealing her husband.”
“Stealing her husband?” Jasmine was indignant. “I didn’t have to steal him.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. But what I’m trying to say is that even if they have broken up, do you think it’s a good idea to get involved with your best friend’s husband? What will this do to your friendship with Kyla?”
“I don’t care about Kyla!” Jasmine snapped. “Why is it that everyone is always looking out for poor Kyla? You should be thinking about me, Serena.”
“You are the one that I am thinking about. I don’t want you to get hurt and this all seems so sudden. It just doesn’t make sense.”
“You know, I am so sorry I called you.” Jasmine slammed down the phone. She should’ve known Serena would never support her. She was so much like Kyla.
This time when she clicked off the light, she was determined to fall asleep. It didn’t matter what anyone said. She was going to have everything she wanted. And why shouldn’t she? Kyla always got what she wanted.
Well, let people say what they had to say. She had her plans. And the first thing was to solidify her relationship with Jefferson and make sure he didn’t try to go after Kyla.
A complete plan began to form in her mind. Tomorrow, she would make sure that Jefferson understood his future. She would go to him, apologize for what had happened, but convince him that they would be good together.
With it all clear in her mind now, she relaxed and inhaled the sweet smell of the blackberry potpourri that filled her bedroom. She wondered how long it would be before she had Jefferson in this bed.
Finally, she allowed herself to surrender. Tomorrow would be the most important day of her life. And with that thought, she fell asleep.
Eleven
* * *
As the sun seeped through the French doors, Jefferson stirred. With great effort, he sat up and rubbed his eyes, then looked around, remembering. He jumped from the couch, tripping as he ran up to the bedroom. Empty.
He glanced at the steady glow of the light on the answering machine—no messages. Lifting the phone, he called information for the telephone numbers to area hospitals. The next minutes were spent checking hospital emergency rooms for anyone matching Kyla’s description. Next, he called the police stations. Nothing. At least he knew she was safe, at least physically. He looked at the clock; it was just after six. Moving to the bathroom, he showered, then dressed. He made one last call and was surprised when he got the answering machine.
“Uh, Brian. This is Jefferson. I really need to talk to you, man. Uh, I don’t know where you are so early in the morning, but I’m leaving for the clinic. Give me a call at the office if you get this anytime soon. Thanks, man.”
Maybe Kyla had contacted Alexis and she was holding out on him. Brian would know. And, Brian would tell if he knew where Kyla was.
With slumped shoulders, he sank down onto the bed. How could he have been so stupid? His entire life was crumbling and for what? For a few minutes of lustful pleasure that he wanted more than anything to forget.
Shaking his head, he prepared for work and within an hour from when he’d awakened, he was sitting in his office, sipping watered-down coffee he had prepared in the Mr. Coffee machine that he had never learned how to use. Maybe he should have stayed at home—waiting. But when he looked down at his full calendar, he knew he couldn’t do that. From ten o’clock on, every hour was filled. He looked up, peering beyond the window. He just had to see her today. She had to call or something. If she didn’t, he didn’t know what he would do.
He jumped when he heard the knock on his opened door.
“Hey, Jefferson. I was in the shower when you called and thought you needed something for the expansion proposal, so I decided to just come in. What’s up?” Brian asked sitting down into one of the chairs.
“Uh, nothing. You really didn’t have to come in, we could’ve done this over the phone.”
“That’s okay. I ca
n get some paperwork done. What’s up?” he asked again.
“Uh, I know you were at Alexis’ yesterday. Did Kyla happen to call her?”
Brian frowned. “Not that I know of. But Alexis was worried when you guys didn’t show up at church and then she was really concerned after she spoke with you. Is something wrong?”
Jefferson sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know . . . are you sure Alexis hasn’t spoken to Kyla at all?”
Brian nodded. “I’m pretty sure. What’s going on with Kyla?”
Jefferson hesitated. “I don’t know . . . I haven’t seen her since yesterday morning when she got back from Santa Barbara.”
“Are you serious? What’s going on?” When Jefferson remained silent, Brian probed. “You’ve got to talk to me, man.”
“I don’t know . . . this might not be a good time. The office, other people may start coming in . . . we have to get to work . . .”
“Look, if Kyla’s missing, there is no better time.” Brian stood and closed the door. “There’s no one else here, but as soon as people start arriving, they’ll see your closed door.” Brian stood over his desk. “So, talk to me.”
Jefferson lowered his head. “Man, I’ve messed up. Big time.”
“What?”
“I . . . whew, this is hard to say . . .”
When Brian sat down and crossed his legs, Jefferson continued. “I got involved with another woman . . .”
“What! You? I don’t believe it!” Brian exclaimed leaning forward in his chair. “What happened? When? Who?”
“Whoa, wait a second . . .”
“I’m sorry, man. It’s just that I can’t even imagine you with someone besides Kyla. I never thought you’d leave her.”
Jefferson sat up straight. “I am not leaving Kyla!” he almost shouted.
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