Sins of the Mother

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  So they’d driven through Brooklyn, and it didn’t take long for Hosea to be glad that he had Mae Frances and Sonny with him.

  But by the end of the day, Mae Frances had said that her legs ached; all the walking had been too much for her.

  This morning, she’d told him, “I can’t do it again, but Sonny wants you to call him and let him know what time to be ready.”

  Hosea never made that call.

  Now he wondered if he should have taken Sonny up on his offer. Today, Hosea had worked alone, walking the streets of the eastern part of Queens and some of Long Island. But he’d put up all three hundred of the signs that had been in his car.

  He shook his head and wondered if any of this was even doing any good. Was Jacqueline still in New York? Was Jacqueline still . . .

  He had to do it again: Unclench. Breathe in. Breathe out. Count.

  Now he was fine.

  He whispered, “Where are you, Jacquie?”

  Often, he released that question into the atmosphere, hoping for some kind of cosmic connection, some supernatural force that would allow him to feel his daughter, see her thoughts, find her, and bring her home. It just had to happen, and soon—because each day that passed without her took a piece of him away. A piece that he wasn’t sure would ever grow back.

  That thought of defeat made him roll off the couch, onto his knees. In the dark of his living room, he leaned against the couch and prayed, “Lord, I’ve never been a weak man, though that’s how the world may see me because I follow you. But I feel helplessly weak now. I know that You’re in charge and that this is part of Your divine plan, but Father, please bring our girl home. And in the meantime, hold her in Your arms. Protect her mind, protect her heart, protect every single part of her body.” The last words were barely out before a sob rose from his throat, and he paused to hold back the others building inside. He was a man; he was not supposed to cry. And what were tears going to do anyway?

  Pain made its way to his brain, and he released a soft, “Argh!” Looking down, he saw his hands—clutched into tight fists, his fingernails tearing into his skin. With more words to God, he relaxed and stood.

  Moving into Zaya’s room, he clicked on the light, and for a nanosecond, panic rose in him at the sight of the empty space where Zaya’s crib had stood. But in the next instant, he remembered that Zaya’s crib was in their bedroom. When he entered his bedroom, he saw that he was right.

  Only the soft glow from the moon that shined through sheer curtains illuminated the room. But the light shined right on Jasmine’s face as she held their son. Both were asleep, though only Zaya snored. Hosea stood still and cherished the moment.

  It was only during these times, when Jasmine was with Zaya, that he saw any signs of happiness in her. As she slept she smiled, and Hosea wondered if she was dreaming about Jacqueline. Did she imagine their daughter home?

  I’m going to bring her home, Jasmine, he said to himself. If she’s still alive, I will find her.

  With a gentle tug, he pulled Zaya from Jasmine’s arms, and both sighed in their sleep. He tiptoed to the crib and put Zaya to rest. Jasmine remained on top of the covers, leaning back against the headboard. Shrugging from his jacket, he flung it across the chaise then crawled onto the bed. Sitting next to his wife, he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his chest. She opened her eyes for just a moment before she snuggled against him, her soft sounds of sleep resuming instantly.

  He sighed with contentment as he held her and thought about the number of days that had passed when they’d hardly talked, and definitely hadn’t touched. He had to stop that now. There was no way he could allow this to destroy his family, especially since there was the chance that Jacqueline was . . .

  No! He wouldn’t allow himself to finish that thought. At least not tonight. Tonight’s thoughts would be about love, not loss. Tonight, he would remember all the ways that God had answered his prayers in the past—and the way God would answer him now.

  “Hmmmm,” Jasmine moaned in her sleep.

  Hosea closed his eyes and squeezed her tighter.

  “Hmmmm,” she moaned again, and stroked his chest.

  He smiled.

  And then she whispered, “Brian!” wiping away every good thought that Hosea had.

  Forty-nine

  “I’M HER MOTHER,” JASMINE EXCLAIMED as if that should be explanation enough. “Keith, I can do more than just stuff a flyer inside an envelope. We can get kids to do that.”

  “Yeah, but the phones?” He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Jasmine sighed and looked around the center for someone to agree with her. Surely, if Brian had been there, he would have told Keith that she could handle the phones and much more. But Brian hadn’t arrived yet, and there was no need for her to wait when she wanted to take action.

  “Keith,” she began, another strategy already in her mind. But before she could plead her case, Mrs. Whittingham waddled across the room to her rescue.

  “Jasmine, Keith’s just concerned because most of the calls we get are from some really strange people.” Then Mrs. Whittingham turned to Keith. “But if Jasmine knows this, I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

  Keith raised his hands in the air, surrendering, and motioned for Jasmine to take a seat at one of the tables with a phone.

  “Now remember,” he said, standing over her as if he was her protector. “If a call comes in that you can’t—”

  “Would you stop?” she interrupted him. “I’m okay.” She turned her back and dismissed him.

  She understood Keith’s concerns. When she’d walked into the center on that first day, she’d been so fragile. Then Brian had arrived, and he made her believe. Since then, she’d been here every day. Yes, this was the place where she would see Brian, but it was also where she could help in the hunt. And today, she was ready to do more.

  Because of Brian.

  For the last two days, she and Brian had been a team, hanging signs through Harlem and talking to street vendors and store owners. Together, they were making people aware, and with every person who sent them on their way with a “God bless you,” Jasmine’s hope kept rising. So today, she was ready to move to the next level here at the center, too.

  The ringing phone startled her, but she grabbed it before Keith could say, See, I told you!

  “Hello, this is the center to find Jacqueline Bush; how may I help you?” she asked, breathless with anticipation. Would this be the call, the one that would finally bring her daughter home?

  “I . . . have . . . her!” The voice sounded mechanical.

  “What?”

  “I . . . have . . . her! Do you want to know what we’re doing right now?”

  First, confusion.

  “Do you want to know what the little girl is doing to me?”

  Jasmine frowned.

  “Ah . . . it feels so good.”

  Then, understanding.

  “We’re making love.”

  Finally, horror!

  “And I’m planting my seed. She’s going to have my baby!”

  Jasmine screamed, “Oh, my God!” She stood up. “You sick bas—” Before she could finish the word, Keith pried the phone from her fingers.

  He put it to his ear. “Hello . . . hello!” Then he hung up.

  “No!” she yelled.

  Keith frowned.

  “You hung up!” she cried.

  “We hang up on all of those calls,” Keith explained.

  “But he has Jacquie!” Every part of her trembled. “And you hung up on him! Are you crazy? Now we’ll never find her!”

  “What the . . .” Brian rushed into the room and pulled Jasmine into his arms. “What happened?”

  Keith and Mrs. Whittingham told him about the call, and within minutes Brian had calmed Jasmine, got her to sit down.

  Brian told her, “That man doesn’t have Jacquie.”

  “But you didn’t hear him,” she exclaimed. “He said he had her.”

  “W
e get a million calls like that,” Brian explained, keeping his voice soft, gentle. “And the police know which ones are legit and which are from . . . well, I don’t even know what to call them. But I can tell you this, the man you spoke to doesn’t have Jacquie.” He stroked her hands.

  Jasmine inhaled. “Okay,” she said. “Okay, okay, okay,” she repeated so that she would finally believe it. But the voice was stuck in her mind. The words played again and again. “I’ve got to get out of here,” she said softly.

  Brian nodded. He whispered something to Keith, and then as he helped her stand, Mrs. Whittingham hugged her.

  “I should’ve never let you take the phones,” the woman said. “But don’t worry. We’re going to find that baby.”

  Right now, that was exactly what Jasmine needed to hear, and when she embraced the woman, every bit of disgust that she once carried for Mrs. Whittingham was gone.

  Once outside the mall, Brian asked, “Where do you want to go?”

  “To your hotel,” she said.

  He looked at her, his eyebrows raised.

  She said, “I just need some time away from all of this. I don’t want to see anyone; I don’t want to talk to anyone . . .”

  He said, “Let’s go somewhere . . . grab a bite to eat.”

  She nodded. “That’s what I was talking about—the restaurant in your hotel. It’ll be better there, trust me, because Hosea and I know so many people in New York. We’re always running into someone, and right now I just couldn’t take it . . .”

  “Okay,” he said. Even as he hailed a cab and they slid inside, Jasmine could tell that Brian wasn’t feeling this trip to his hotel. But she didn’t care. She needed to get as far away from the mall, and Harlem, and that voice, as she possibly could.

  Just before he told the driver their destination, her cell phone rang, and she glanced at the screen—Hosea. She knew what this was about. Keith or Mrs. Whittingham had contacted him. He was checking up on her, and he’d have a million questions. What had happened? Was she all right? Where was she right now?

  She glanced at Brian, who was staring straight ahead—his eyebrows bunched—just like Jacqueline. Quickly, she pressed Ignore on her cell phone, then turned it off before it could ring again.

  When the cab stopped in front of the Fifty-ninth Street entrance to the Plaza, Jasmine’s face stretched with surprise. “I can’t believe you’ve been this close to me all this time.”

  Brian didn’t respond, just helped her from the car and led her into the hotel. Within minutes, they were settled inside the Palm Court, which sat in the center of the legendary hotel’s lobby.

  When the server came by, Brian ordered iced tea for both of them.

  Jasmine waited until the man stepped away before she said, “I should’ve ordered a drink. That’s what I really need.” With her elbows on the table, she dropped her face into her hands. “I still can’t believe what happened,” she whispered.

  “Why were you answering the phones?”

  “I wanted to.” She looked up at him. “I wanted to help. I wanted to do more.”

  “I understand.” He took her hand and squeezed it.

  “That man . . . what if he really does—”

  Brian shook his head. “Trust me, he doesn’t have her.” Her eyes were so wide with sadness, he asked, “You do trust me, don’t you?”

  She glanced down to where he held her. Stared at their hands, which looked like they were meant to be together.

  He said, “I promise you, Jasmine. We are going to find her.”

  Every time he uttered a word, she felt better. She nodded, needing to believe every syllable he spoke.

  Still holding on to him, she said, “When we get her back, when she comes home, I really want you to meet her. Not like before in L.A. I really want you to get to know her.”

  He smiled.

  “You’re going to love her,” she said. “She’s so smart.”

  “Ah,” he leaned back, “you told me that before. I bet she got that from my side of the family.”

  She laughed and hit his arm. “What do you mean? I’m pretty smart, too, you know.”

  “Go on,” he said, “tell me more.”

  “Well . . .” For the first time today, Jasmine’s eyes were bright. “Jacquie is such a drama queen.”

  “I wonder where she gets that from.”

  She laughed again, but this time kept going. “Though she doesn’t want to be an actress. She wants to be an astronaut.”

  “Really?” he asked, before they gave their orders to the waiter who’d been standing discreetly to the side of their table. “So, an astronaut. Where did she get that?”

  “She loves to fly. And she says that she wants to get in a rocket so that she can take off and see God in heaven.”

  He nodded, and their chatter continued as Jasmine filled Brian in on everything she could think of about their daughter. Over their lunch salads, she told him how Jacqueline loved to sing and dance, but that what she loved most was reading. “She has a whole library in her room.”

  Jasmine told him how Jacqueline had given her brother the name Zaya, and how she had loved him to pieces when he was born, but soon found him to be a pest—her word—once he learned to crawl and take her toys.

  Brian laughed and asked all kinds of questions. Jasmine told him about Jacqueline’s favorite movie: The Prince of Egypt. Her favorite song: “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands.” Her favorite color: Pink, pink, pink!

  “Her world is all about pink. She even asked me if she could change her name to Pink!”

  They laughed and chatted easily for more than an hour and a half, and when the waiter came to clear the table, Jasmine wanted to send him away, to tell him not to return until she was ready. But Brian called for the check, and Jasmine sighed. It was time for them to leave. It was time for her to go home. To Hosea. To a home without her daughter.

  When Brian took her hand and helped her from the chair, she hugged him. “Thank you,” she said after she finally stepped away from their embrace.

  Then he mesmerized her. Held her captive with his eyes. And when he pulled her back into his arms, electrical currents shot right through her.

  The heat that surged between them brought tears to her eyes. And when strong fingers caressed her back, she did cry.

  She’d been right—he did want her.

  After a bit of time, he backed up and, with his fingertips, gently lifted her chin. “Stay strong,” he said, his voice sounding husky to her. “We’re going to find our daughter.”

  His words were like a blanket of warmth; his tone was filled with love. And his lips . . . were right there. She could tell he wanted her.

  But she had too much class to stand in the middle of one of New York’s most elegant restaurants and make out. It was hard, but she would wait. How much time could it possibly take to get to his room?

  “Okay,” she breathed. “I’m ready,” she told him.

  He held his hand against the small of her back and guided her through the restaurant to the front. When they stepped over the threshold, she paused, glancing to the left, then the right, searching for the elevators.

  Brian frowned and bent over close. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his face mere inches from hers.

  Again . . . his lips . . . right there. And now she couldn’t wait. She pressed her mouth against his, and in the millisecond that it took for him to respond, she parted her lips and invited him in.

  There in the lobby, in front of patrons who’d paid six hundred dollars a night for a room, they kissed with the passion they’d always had.

  Jasmine moaned and yearned for more.

  Brian moaned, then grasped her shoulders and pushed her away. “I’m sorry,” he panted.

  She frowned, wondering why he was apologizing. “No, it’s fine.” And then she realized they were standing in the middle of the lobby. She giggled nervously. “I guess we got carried away. Come on.”

  While he moved to his left, she
moved to the right. They each took two steps, looked back, and frowned.

  “Where . . . ,” Jasmine started.

  But Brian said, “I need to get you out of here. A cab . . .” He pointed to the front of the hotel.

  “No!” she said, loudly enough to make the designer-clad men and women, who just seconds before had glanced away with embarrassment, turn to them again. “Brian, what are you doing? I don’t want to go.”

  “Jasmine, please.”

  “I want you,” she said. “And I know you want me.”

  He shook his head, then tentatively reached for her arm, as if he was afraid to touch her.

  “No,” she said as he guided her to the front. “No,” she repeated as Brian, with just the smallest nod of his head, signaled the uniformed doorman.

  Think, Jasmine. Think!

  But seconds later, Brian was stuffing her into a cab, giving the driver a twenty because he was going only a couple of blocks.

  “No!” she said again. “Brian, I want you!” She couldn’t believe she was actually begging a man. And not just any man—this man. The one who had brought her nothing but grief, but who had also given her the greatest joy of her life—their daughter.

  She was still mouthing no when the cabdriver edged into the heavy afternoon traffic. Twisting, she looked through the window, her face and her palms pressed against the glass until she couldn’t see him anymore.

  Defeated, she bounced against the seat. In her mind, she turned over every hour, dissected every minute. Was it something she’d said? Something he’d said?

  “Okay,” she whispered. “Calm down.”

  She had to think. At least now she knew where he was staying. By morning, she’d figure this out. By morning, it would all be fine again.

  And it had to be. Because without Jacqueline, all she had was Brian.

  Fifty

  BRIAN HELD HIS HANDS OUT in front of him, waist high, and watched as his fingers still shook. More than an hour had passed, and nothing he did stopped his trembling.