A Blessing & a Curse

by ReShonda Tate Billingsley

  “We’ll need a suite with two bedrooms, preferably three. If there’s not a three-bedroom available, Mae Frances will need her own room.”

  “And why should I pay for all of that?”

  “Because that’s the only way I’ll come.”

  There was so much silence after that that Jasmine had wondered if Rachel had changed her mind. And if she had, that would have been fine. But even that request hadn’t been enough to get to Rachel and when she agreed, Jasmine had hung up.

  Though Rachel had finally agreed to cover their hotel, meals, and transportation around Smackover, that didn’t mean Jasmine trusted her. And she had her own plans.

  Turning away from Starbucks, Jasmine moved as fast as she could toward Rachel and Jacqueline.

  “How are you, Jacquie?” Rachel said as she wrapped her arms around her. “It’s so good to see you.”

  Rachel held Jacqueline just a little too tight and Jasmine didn’t like it. “Jacquie,” she said. “Come on, you don’t want to mess up Miss Rachel’s . . .” She paused and looked Rachel up and down. “You don’t want to mess up Miss Rachel’s jeans, do you?”

  “Oh, that’s okay,” Rachel said, pulling Jacqueline even closer to her. And then she said, “Hi, Jasmine.”

  Jasmine squinted, studying Rachel, trying to see if there was any deception in her eyes. But Rachel had been such a liar for so long, she knew how to hide behind eyes that pretended to be genuine.

  Jasmine knew this whole Jacqueline’s Hope thing was a ploy. Oh, of course, there was really a building—Jasmine had checked that out. And there was really a staff that had been hired to help them get started, including one of Rachel’s aunts—Jasmine had checked that out, too. But even though Rachel had promised, Jasmine knew this was all about getting her down to Smackover during Rachel’s family reunion.

  Jasmine had wanted to tell Rachel that she could never outslick a slickster. But she kept all her plans to herself. She planned on losing herself, Hosea, and the kids in the city so that Simon would never even catch them at the hotel. And she planned on telling the front desk and the concierge to alert her if anyone came by asking for her—at least for tonight. While she was on the plane, she’d come up with another plan. As soon as Rachel dropped them off at the hotel, she was going to check them into another hotel and not tell Rachel where they were.

  Jasmine still hadn’t greeted her when Hosea hugged Rachel and then Rachel embraced Zaya. When she pulled back she said, “So, where’s Mae Frances?”

  “Here I am!” Mae Frances waved her hand high in the air as she sauntered over from the escalators. “I had to take care of my business in the restroom.” When she stood in front of Rachel, Mae Frances added, “So you missed me, Roberta? Is that why you asked?”

  Jasmine expected Rachel to roll her eyes, suck her teeth, or do one of her ghetto rolls with her neck. But she did none of the above. Just gave Mae Frances a small smile and answered, “I’m glad to see you, Mae Frances.” Then she looked at Jasmine, Hosea, and finally, the children. “I’m glad to see all of you.”

  “Well ain’t you something?” Mae Frances said. “Now that you got yourself a sis . . .”

  Before Mae Frances could finish, Jasmine punched her in the arm.

  “Owww! Jasmine Larson. What’s wrong with you?”

  Jasmine stroked her hand against the matted fur of Mae Frances’s coat. “I’m sorry. I thought I saw something crawling up your arm. Anyway, Rachel, where’s baggage claim?”

  “Right here.”

  Jasmine hadn’t noticed that they were practically at the baggage claim area. This airport was almost as small as the one she’d flown into in Mobile. Only Jasmine had expected a little bit more from Little Rock. After all, wasn’t Little Rock the capital of Arkansas?

  At the baggage carousel, Hosea stood on one side of Rachel and Mae Frances stood on the other as Rachel held on to Jacqueline and Zaya as if they were . . . long-lost relatives. When had this happened?

  First of all, Hosea hardly knew Rachel, so why was he over there chitchatting? And her children. Sure, they’d seen Rachel far more than Hosea had, especially when they were in Atlanta filming their reality show. But when had they become so close to Rachel that Jacqueline, who hardly let Jasmine kiss her in public, had to be all up under Rachel now?

  And finally, there was Mae Frances, who just needed to change her name to Judas. She was the ultimate betrayer, standing and chuckling as if Rachel (and not Jasmine) were her best friend. Really? Mae Frances could hardly remember that child’s name and now they were friends?

  But this wasn’t her family’s fault. This was all Rachel with her fake self. They didn’t even realize that they were being sucked into Rachel’s web. Well, Jasmine had something for her.

  “Okay, these are all our bags, right?” Hosea asked.

  Jasmine hadn’t even noticed that the bags had rolled around. She counted. “Yes.” Then she glanced around. “Uh . . . where are the porters?”

  Rachel smirked. “You’ll have to carry your own luggage here.”

  “What? Surely . . .”

  “That’s okay, darlin’,” Hosea interrupted, handing both Zaya and Jacqueline their bags. “We can carry our own bags just this once.” When her husband smirked at her the same way Rachel had, Jasmine wanted to smack both of them. “It’ll be an adventure!” he added.

  “Yeah, an adventure,” her children chimed in together.

  “And anyway, the car is parked right outside.” Then Rachel marched away, followed by Hosea and the children. Mae Frances lingered behind.

  “You really need to fix your face,” her friend said when the others were far enough away. “You look like you don’t want to be here.”

  “How high does your IQ need to be to figure that out?”

  “Look, Jasmine Larson, don’t get snarky with me. It’s not my fault your mama got around.”

  She chuckled and Jasmine glared at her. “I thought you were my friend.”

  “I am.”

  “Why did you come down here, anyway?”

  “That’s a good question, because I could’ve been home working on the outline for my book. But you need me for moral support.”

  “Well, your support is not working.”

  “It would work if you would let it. Here’s my advice: you have to be here anyway, so let’s enjoy it. Have you ever been to Arkansas?”

  “No.”

  “Me either. And that means that you’ve never been to Smackover. So I say let’s have a good time while we’re here. Let’s do what Preacher Man said. Let’s make this an adventure.” Then she strutted off, ahead of Jasmine as if she wanted to catch up with Hosea and the kids . . . and Rachel.

  Jasmine pouted. But then she stepped out into the July heat of Little Rock and she melted. “There is no way I can walk in one-hundred-degree temperatures.” Looking at Rachel, Jasmine added, “Can you just get the car?”

  “The car is right over here, Jasmine,” Rachel said in a way-too-nice voice. “Just a couple of steps and you’ll be right there.”

  Less than a minute later, the trunk of the Escalade was open and Hosea was stuffing their bags inside. Rachel opened the doors and the kids piled inside before Jasmine could get into the backseat. Well, at least she would still be able to sit in the second row.

  But then Hosea whispered, “You sit up front with Rachel.”

  He didn’t give her a chance to respond before he jumped in next to Mae Frances. Jasmine could have squeezed in with them, but then Rachel would’ve looked like she was driving Miss Daisy.

  Not that she had any problem with that, but Hosea certainly would have. So she climbed into the front seat, secured her seat belt, and kept her eyes on the road ahead.

  “So, how far is Smackover, Rasheda?”

  “It’s about two hours south,” Rachel answered as if Mae Frances had addressed her properly. “Right down 167.”

  Two hours? What am I supposed to talk about for two hours? But as they rolled out of the airpor
t, Jasmine realized that she wasn’t going to have to say too much. It seemed like Rachel was going to play tour guide.

  “So, do y’all know anything about Little Rock?”

  “No,” everyone sang. Everyone except for Jasmine.

  “Well, Little Rock is the capital and largest city in Arkansas. It has a population of about seven hundred thousand, and is actually in central Arkansas . . .”

  Really? Did she think anyone cared?

  Rachel went on and on about the hills and the lakes, the mild winters and humid summers—all the things that no one in the world would be interested in. So why was her family oohing and aahing with every word that passed from Rachel’s lips?

  After about fifteen minutes, once they’d hit the two-lane highway, Jasmine wanted to tell Rachel to just shut up! But she let her talk to Hosea and Mae Frances and Jacqueline and Zaya because that meant that she didn’t have to talk to her.

  Actually, Jasmine didn’t want to talk to anyone. All she wanted to do was think about Smackover and her mother.

  She closed her eyes and imagined her mother, all those years ago, rolling down this road on one of those rickety church buses. The first year, her mother didn’t know what awaited her. But Jasmine could imagine her mother’s excitement each time after that as Doris headed toward the city where Jasmine had been conceived.

  This is where I was born, she allowed herself to think. Of course, she’d actually breathed her first breath in Los Angeles. But if it weren’t for Smackover . . .

  At least, she should be grateful to Simon Jackson for that—for giving her life. Not that she wanted to give him any kind of credit, lest it took away from the man who really loved her.

  She leaned back in the seat and let her mind continue to wander. It was just so hard to believe that the woman she’d called Mommy had done all the things she’d told Jasmine not to do.

  The only way to keep the boy is to keep the boy waiting, her mother had told her when she was twelve years old.

  You don’t want to grow up too fast, Jas. Grown-up acts are for grown-up people, she’d said when Jasmine was fourteen.

  But all her warnings had really kicked in when Jasmine was sixteen.

  Be careful because boys only want one thing.

  She had been trying to pass on the lessons she’d learned, and Jasmine didn’t even know it.

  Jasmine’s mind drifted with memories, long-ago situations that she had long ago forgotten. The times when it was just her with her mother, the times when her mother had told her that she was her special girl, the times when her mother had loved on her as if she was the most precious girl in the world.

  Jasmine had been right—coming here did help her to feel closer to her mother.

  And that made her smile.

  “Okay, here we are.”

  Finally! Jasmine opened her eyes just as the car came to a stop, and she blinked. And then blinked. And she blinked again. Then she wiped her eyes to remove the sleep that was causing her to hallucinate. And finally, she frowned. She looked around at the parking lot, and then once again glanced up at the marquee above the hotel: SUPER 8.

  “Uh . . .”

  Trying to appear innocent, Rachel glanced at Jasmine. “We’re here.”

  “Yay!” Jacqueline and Zaya cheered.

  Even though Hosea opened the door, Jasmine would not move. “You know we’re not staying here, right?”

  “Yes, we are,” Hosea said, giving a quick glance to Rachel. “You told her to make the arrangements.”

  “Well, then she’ll just need to make new ones.”

  “We can’t ask her to do that.”

  “Why not, Hosea. This is the Super 8,” Jasmine said, thinking that maybe Hosea hadn’t seen the sign.

  Rachel came around to the passenger side and folded her arms. “What’s wrong?” she asked, still wearing that half smile.

  “Okay, I get it,” Jasmine said to her. “You’re trying to get back at me for telling you to pay my expenses.”

  “That was foul, but I’m not trying to get back at you for anything.”

  “So what is this about?” Jasmine asked. “Because you know I don’t stay in Super 8 hotels.”

  “Well, that could be a problem,” Rachel said. When Jasmine hardened her stare, Rachel sighed. “Okay. If you don’t want to stay here, you can stay with our aunt Ruby. She’s Daddy’s sister and Daddy will be staying there. I’m staying with my cousin Linda. She has a nice four-bedroom home, but me and my brothers and our kids are there, so it’s not enough room, but Aunt Ruby could make you a pallet on the floor . . .”

  “Rachel! I’m not playing with you.”

  “And I’m not playing with you! This is the only hotel in Smackover, so you’re either staying here or you’ll be with Aunt Ruby. So which one is it?”

  “The only hotel?” Jasmine whispered.

  Rachel nodded.

  “In Smackover?”

  She nodded again.

  “Welp!” Mae Frances said, jumping out of the car. “Guess we’re about to lay our burdens down at the Super 8 tonight!”

  As everyone else piled out of the car, grabbed their bags, and strolled into the hotel, Jasmine stayed in the front seat, staring up at the three-story building. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. After all, it wasn’t a motel. That would’ve been completely unacceptable. And this looked like it could’ve once been a Holiday Inn or a Ramada Inn . . . once. A long, long time ago.

  But whatever it was in the past, it was a Super 8 now. There was no way she could stay here.

  “Mama!” Jacqueline came dashing out of the hotel. “You have to come in and see. I’ve never seen a hotel like this. They don’t even have a lobby! It’s just this little space,” she said, excited. “And the lady behind the desk said that we can have three towels, but any more will cost us extra. But she said they have a pool!”

  Oh my God! I can’t stay here.

  Jacqueline grabbed her mother’s hand. “Come on, you’ve got to see this.”

  Once again, the heat was stifling, but this time it wasn’t the one hundred degrees that was going to make her faint. Right before Jasmine stepped through the sliding door, Rachel stepped out.

  “Oh, I was looking for you!” she said, her voice filled with cheer. “So, I gave Hosea the keys, he paid for the extra towels, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then Rachel walked—almost skipped—away. Over her shoulder, she shouted back, “Just call me if you need anything. Smooches!” Rachel slid into her car and pressed the pedal to the metal, leaving a little stream of exhaust behind her.

  Jasmine swore she saw Rachel laugh. Swore that Rachel had leaned her head back and let out a good one. She wanted to run behind that car, drag Rachel out, and choke her until she couldn’t take another breath. Rachel could’ve told her that there was only one hotel in Smackover. No wonder she didn’t mind making the reservations and paying for it. It probably only cost her two dollars for three rooms.

  “Come on, Mama,” Jacqueline said, tugging her arm. “Come and look inside. This is going to be an adventure.”

  An adventure? Weren’t adventures good things? So why did Jasmine feel like crying?

  Chapter

  20

  Rachel

  Simon Jackson had better be glad he was a loved man. That was the only reason Rachel was going through all of this—she really and truly wanted her father to be happy. And if she was being honest with herself, a part of her hoped Jasmine could reconcile whatever feelings she had and maybe, just maybe, they could have a real sister relationship. Rachel didn’t know why she was suddenly longing for that. Of course, she still felt some kind of way about her father’s fascination with Jasmine, but her desire to have a real sister was perhaps overtaking that.

  It took Rachel all of three minutes to get to her aunt Ruby’s house, where the family was gathering for the Friday fish fry. Ruby lived in a wood-frame home that had withstood decades of wear and tear. According to Simon, he and his eight siblings had all been born right ther
e in that house, which his father had built from the ground up.

  Rachel smiled as she pulled into the dirt driveway. Several of her cousins were sitting on the front porch, laughing and joking around. The mosquito zapper hummed and the music blasted.

  There was something about being here that gave her peace. She’d spent summers here, running up and down the dirt road, playing kickball, dodgeball, and hide-and-seek on the two acres of land. Rachel didn’t make it back often, but when she was here, she relished her time. She didn’t feel the need to be fabulous, and despite the craziness, there was no shortage of love.

  “What’s up, cuz?” her cousin Wanda said, greeting her first. She was sitting in her usual spot on the front porch, in a metal chair that looked like it would collapse at any minute. She always sat in that metal chair, watching the comings and goings of Smackover. Wanda was three years older than Rachel, but country living had worn her down and she looked about twenty years older.

  Some guy Rachel had never seen stood in front of Wanda, his oversize CD case spread out on the ground.

  “Hey, pretty lady, I got that new Tyler Perry movie,” he said, pointing toward the case.

  “Aww, naw, she ain’t the Tyler Perry type,” Wanda said. “She’s more Meryl Streep.” They all busted out laughing like something was really funny.

  “No, I’m more ‘I don’t do bootleg,’ ” Rachel replied.

  “You got to excuse my cousin: she’s siddity.” Wanda chuckled.

  “I got three movies for ten bucks. You can’t beat that,” the guy said.

  “I. Don’t. Do. Bootleg,” Rachel replied. “And I report people who do.” She rolled her eyes and turned to go inside to find her father when she bumped right into her cousin Sky.

  “See, Rach, you need some of this right here. It’ll help you relax,” Sky said, lifting a small joint up in her direction. Sky was in a perpetual state of highness (hence the name Sky). Ever since he was thirteen years old, he began and ended each day with marijuana.

  “Boy, you can’t be offering the first lady no dope,” her other cousin, Big Junior, said. “So, let me hit it.”