Hosea nodded and then stepped inside, his eyes wide with expectation.
With the stuffed animals, plastic dolls, pint-size cars, and shelves loaded with books, the room looked more like a children’s playroom than an office. Jasmine sat in an oversize upholstered chair in the corner, shoulders slumped, her eyes focused on the paper coffee cup she held.
“Mr. Bush.”
The woman standing behind the desk looked like any other Fortune 500 executive.
She shook Hosea’s hand. “I’m Marley Morrison,” she said, her voice low. “We spoke earlier.” With kindly and caring eyes, she glanced at an unmoving Jasmine before she slipped from behind her desk. “Feel free to use my office for as long as you need it.”
He nodded, then stayed in place when he was left alone with his wife.
On the phone, Marley Morrison had said that Jasmine seemed confused, but when he looked at her now, she seemed fine—except for the fact that she hadn’t taken her eyes off the cup, not even to look at him.
She looked well, though, dressed in the emerald designer pants suit that he’d bought for her last Christmas. Her hair was upswept in a style that she reserved for the most formal of occasions. Whom had she dressed for today?
When he decided that he didn’t need to know the answer to that question, he took steps toward his wife. Kneeling by her side, he whispered, “Darlin’, are you all right?”
It took a moment, but then Jasmine slowly lifted her head, brought her eyes to his.
It took restraint for Hosea to hold back his gasp. She had looked fine to him, until then.
The foundation that she had undoubtedly carefully applied earlier was now streaked where her huge tears had left their tracks. Mascara was caked around her lids, and her lips were dry and chapped, as if she’d spent many hours in the cold without any protection.
But it was her eyes that disturbed him the most, her eyes that let him know that there was something majorly wrong. Her eyes were dull, unfocused, as if she had gone somewhere deep inside of herself.
I need to get her to the hospital.
But then in the next instant, she blinked and brightened just a bit.
“Hosea!” she said, as if she was just now seeing him.
He swallowed. “Yeah.” His voice was shaky. “It’s me. Are you all right?”
“I want to go home, but they . . .” She stopped, took a glance around the room, and frowned. Confusion was written all over her face. She shook her head. “There were people here, and they wouldn’t let me go . . . ?” It was supposed to be a statement, but it came out like a question.
“We can go home now.” He took her hand and lifted her from the chair.
She adjusted the purse on her shoulder, and with the cup still in her hand, she stepped in front of him.
Hosea waited for a moment, to make sure that she was steady. But when she got to the door and looked back at him, he followed.
The store was still crowded with customers as the two moved through the masses, and while he didn’t see Marley Morrison, Hosea did see the guard who greeted him when he’d first arrived.
The man smiled. “You take care, Mrs. Bush,” he said to Jasmine as they approached the front door.
Jasmine paused for a moment, stared at the man, then dumped the cup she held into his hands.
Both Hosea and the guard frowned, but all Hosea said was, “Thank you,” before he followed Jasmine onto the sidewalk.
Still, he wasn’t sure if he should take his wife home or to a hospital. But looking at her now, standing at the curb, with her hand raised for a taxi, she seemed like any other New Yorker.
Even though it was Friday night, it took less than a minute to catch a cab. As the car pulled from the curb, Jasmine leaned her head on Hosea’s shoulder, and he sighed. Maybe she was fine.
In just minutes, they were in the elevator of their apartment building. Hosea waited for Jasmine to speak, but all she did was take his hand. For the moment, that was enough.
Inside their apartment, Jasmine paused in the foyer and stared at the grand space of their living room.
One second passed, then another, and then another before Jasmine let her hand slip from his.
With quick steps and without a word, she moved toward their bedroom, leaving Hosea with his brows bunched into a frown.
“Jasmine, are you all right? Do you need anything?”
She paused and took a moment before she turned to him. Her dull eyes were back. She looked as if she’d lost a piece of herself just by walking into their home.
She shook her head. “I don’t need anything.”
“Have you eaten?”
“No, but I don’t want anything.” Before he could protest, she said, “Look, I’m just tired. I’m trying to figure all of this out.” She must’ve seen the doubt in his eyes because she added, “I’m fine, Hosea. I don’t even know why those people called you.”
“They said you were confused.”
It was her turn to frown. “Confused?” She spoke as if she’d never heard that word. “I wasn’t . . . It wasn’t that. I was in the store, and I heard Jacquie.”
His eyes widened.
She pressed her fingertips against her temples. “Not Jacquie. I mean, I thought I heard Jacquie.” She rotated her fingers as if she had a headache. “And then I was looking for Brian.”
This didn’t seem to be the best of times to tell her about Brian’s phone call.
But then her eyes brightened, and she exclaimed, “Brian!” as if just the mention of his name brought her joy. She added, “I’ve got to call him.”
Hosea knew he needed to tell her the truth. “Brian’s not here,” he said slowly, carefully. “He went home . . . to Los Angeles. He asked me to let you know.”
There was no more confusion, no more dullness.
Jasmine kept her eyes on his, even as a single tear rolled down her cheek. Hosea tried to keep himself straight, even as he watched his wife cry for another man.
“He didn’t tell me that he was leaving,” she said, seemingly cognizant now.
“It’s fine that he’s gone. I’m here.”
She shook her head slowly from side to side. “You’re not him.”
He took a breath and worked hard not to be hurt by her words. He remembered that this was the woman whom God had chosen for him, the woman he’d promised the Lord he’d honor and cherish, for better or for worse. The woman who was so sick with grief that she couldn’t possibly know what she was saying. Because of that, he was able to say, “You’re right, I’m not Brian. I’m me. And for you, that’s better.”
She pressed her hand against her lips, but that didn’t keep the sob inside.
“But if he’s gone, then Jacquie’s gone, too.”
“No,” Hosea said, taking a step closer. “He’s still going to help us.”
“I mean, if he’s gone, then Jacquie’s gone, because he’s Jacquie.”
He knew it now for sure—she needed help.
“No, he’s not,” Hosea said. Now, right in front of her, he spoke softly. “Listen to what you’re saying, Jasmine. Brian’s not Jacquie.”
He could tell that she was replaying her words inside, trying to make sense out of her nonsense.
“But . . . but I know that. But the way he looks—”
“Yes, Jacquie looks like him.”
“And so . . . that makes him . . .” Then she stopped. And right in front of him, Hosea watched the dullness return. He could see the way she retreated, then crawled inside herself.
Only this time, her eyes closed, and before she could drop to the floor, he caught her.
Fifty-seven
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
DECEMBER 2009
THIS IS JUST ABOUT BEING a friend. Alexis turned over those words in her mind. Nothing more, nothing less. She repeated that so much, it became her mantra.
She maneuvered into the circular driveway, then stopped in front of the building where she used to live.
�
��How ya doing, Mrs. Ward-Lewis.” The concierge grinned as he opened the door. “You want me to park the car for you?”
She reached for the bags from Panda’s that rested on the passenger seat; the aroma of the sausages inside the package filled the car. Balancing the two bags in one hand, she said, “No, Steven, don’t park it. I’m just going to be a minute or two.” This is just about being a friend. “Can I leave it right here since this is going to be quick?” Nothing more, nothing less.
“You got it,” the doorman said, though Alexis never heard him. The mantra in her head was louder than his voice.
It had taken a lot for her to come here. She’d gone to bed last night determined to stay far away from Brian. She was no longer going to deny her deep feelings—she probably even loved him. But what pleased the heart wasn’t always good for the soul, and she wasn’t going to let her heart drag her backward.
But this morning, she’d awakened with new compassion. Just because she didn’t want to be Brian’s wife didn’t mean she couldn’t be his friend. And friends looked out for friends. He needed support now, with all that he was going through. It had to be hard to leave New York. That’s why she decided to come by and help out a friend.
The elevator doors parted; Alexis stepped out, then paused.
“Good morning,” Brian said, leaning against his front-door frame as if he was waiting for her. Dressed in jeans and a V-neck undershirt, he added, “Steven called. Told me you were on your way. He just wanted to make sure that I was up so that I could greet my wife properly.”
Her eyes roamed over his body, and she had to take a breath to stay steady. This is just about being a friend. She moved past him—as if she didn’t care—and said, “I’m sure Steven didn’t say anything about my being your wife.”
Brian stuffed his hands inside his jeans pockets and grinned.
“Anyway,” Alexis turned away as she placed the bags with the takeout boxes on the kitchen table, “I was thinking that you probably didn’t have anything in your refrigerator. And I know you’re going to be busy catching up on everything—”
“Nope, I’m not busy at all,” he said. “I’m gonna just relax today and tomorrow so that I can hit the floor on Monday.”
As he talked, she stared. And took another cleansing breath. “Well, anyway,” she said, “I brought you breakfast.”
“Wow. Gee.” He peeked inside the bags. “Thanks.”
Then there was nothing. So after long moments of silence, Alexis added, “I just wanted to make sure that you had something to eat. There’re pancakes and eggs and sausage.”
“My favorites.”
“And a couple of doughnuts.”
“Thanks.”
When that was all he said, she added, “About three or four.”
“Three or four?”
“Doughnuts.” Then, “Glazed.” My favorites.
“Oh. Okay.” He nodded.
She waited, sure that he was going to invite her to join him, since it was Saturday and she’d brought extra glazed doughnuts. She stood firm, ready to tell him no, that she couldn’t stay.
But he didn’t say another word, so she did. “I don’t want you to think that this is anything more than just me being a good friend.”
“Okay,” he said.
Her eyebrows pinched together, just a bit. “Because all we can be right now, Brian, all that I can handle, is friendship.” She shook her head. “I can’t go backward and—”
He held up his hands, stopping her. “You’ve said that over and over, Alex, and, finally, I got you. I hear you. I’m done. I’m just going to accept that this is what you want. So no more flowers, no more phone calls, no more dates. No more harassment. Just friends.” The smile he had greeted her with was gone.
“But . . .” She stopped, not sure what she wanted to say. She’d been ready for a fight—between friends—but here he was giving in, giving up on them. She pressed back her shoulders, raised her chin. “Okay. Great.”
“Yes, definitely, great!” he said.
She waited.
Nothing.
Surely, he wasn’t going to let them end this way.
Still . . . nothing.
Then, “Okay. Well. Let me get going so that you can start your day,” she said, though she didn’t move.
But he did. Toward the front door. He opened it as if he couldn’t wait to get rid of her.
She glanced once again at the bags—one filled with her favorite doughnuts—that she’d left on the table. “Enjoy,” she said, though there was no joy in her voice.
“I will.”
When she paused at the door, he hugged her with a light pat on her back, then stepped back so that she could walk out. He closed the door the moment she was in the hallway.
She had been dismissed, just like a friend.
Exactly the way she’d wanted it.
But if this was what she wanted, then why did being a friend make her feel so bad?
Fifty-eight
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
DECEMBER 2009
THERE WERE VOICES. AND THIS time, when Jasmine’s lids fluttered slightly, she saw blue. Azure really, the color of the sea. She tried to sink into the blue—this was so much prettier than the yellow she’d seen last time. And it was much better than the pink that had made her cry the first time she tried to wake up.
“I’m really worried.”
Hosea!
She could hear him but couldn’t see him. The voice was behind her. So she twisted to turn over. But her body felt like a block of solid stone, impossible to move.
“There’s no need to be worried.”
Who’s that?
A woman spoke now. In a familiar voice. “It’s really just exhaustion. Exhaustion on top of depression. With this stress, it’s a wonder that you’re not both down. She just needs rest.”
And then there was a pause, as if they had stopped to look at her.
“I can’t help worrying,” Hosea said in a voice that was like the color pink, a tone that made her want to cry. “She’s been asleep for more than twenty-four hours. That can’t be normal.”
“Trust me, Pastor Bush, nothing that you and Lady Jasmine have been through in the past two weeks is normal.”
Someone from church.
“And,” the woman continued, “the very best thing that she can get now is rest.”
“What about eating? I’m worried that she hasn’t had a thing.” He sighed. “Maybe I should . . .”
What?
“No! For now, she’s much better off here at home,” the woman said as if she knew what Hosea had been thinking. “And I don’t mind stopping by. She’ll probably be awake in the morning, and I’ll come by then. But call me if she wakes up before. We may have to give her something for depression.”
“Thank you, Doctor Howard.”
Tracy Howard. A psychiatrist. From City of Lights.
Then Jasmine felt them move away from her, until there was nothing but her and silence in the room. She wanted to tell Hosea so badly that she was all right. That, surely, she didn’t need a psychiatrist.
She would have told him that, except her legs, her arms, her head, her eyes, were all so heavy, made her feel so tired. There was nothing more that she could do except lay there and listen.
But now she didn’t even want to listen. Now even her ears were weary.
So she succumbed again, to the peace of slumber where she didn’t have to think about anything that would make her cry. All she had to wonder was what color she would see the next time she opened her eyes.
Fifty-nine
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
DECEMBER 2009
BRIAN GLANCED AT THE CALLER ID and laughed out loud. All day long at the office, he’d been so concerned that it had been hard to concentrate. But the green digital numbers on the screen let him know that he had no worries and he’d been absolutely right.
He answered the phone, casualness was all in his tone. “What’s up?” he ask
ed, as if he was speaking to one of his buddies.
“Ah . . . nothing,” Alexis said. “Just checking on you. You never called me back on Saturday.”
He grinned, but kept his tone serious. “I didn’t know you expected me to call.”
“Well, I just thought after you ate the breakfast I brought, you would’ve said something.”
“Oh. Okay. Sorry ’bout that. It was great,” he said. “Thanks again.” Then he said nothing. Waited for her.
It worked.
She said, “Okay, then . . .” Another pause. “Brian, are you sure you’re okay?”
He grinned. Why? Because I’m not all over you? “Yeah, I’m fine.” And then he threw her a bone. “I mean, I’m still worried about Jacquie.”
“Oh!” she said, as if that explained his distance. “Definitely.”
He gave and then took away. “But as far as everything else, I’m cool. Really, really cool.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, call me . . . I mean, only if you need anything.”
“Sure, but like I said, I’m fine.” Then abruptly he said, “Gotta go. See ya!”
He clicked off the phone before he started laughing, then cupped his hands behind his head, leaned back on the sofa, and stretched his legs out onto the coffee table. This was exactly what he’d hoped for. He could hear it in Alexis’s voice—she was good and hot. Pissed and confused. She had no idea what was going on.
At first, he hadn’t been sure about working it this way. Alexis was too smart to fall for any tricks. But he knew that no matter what she said, he had her heart. And when someone steals your heart, sometimes they take your reason right along with it.
Not that he felt all that good about Alexis feeling bad. Every time he saw her, all he wanted to do was make love to her. When she’d walked in with all of that food on Saturday, he’d had to stuff his hands inside his pockets or else he would’ve jumped all over her. Not only did he love her, but there was nothing sexier than a woman who wanted to take care of her man.
Sins of the Mother Page 25
