Jasmine nodded because she couldn’t think of anything else to do.
“Speak up, child.”
If she wasn’t so much older, Jasmine would have had some choice words for the woman. But she only said, “Okay.”
Mae Frances nodded. “Have a good night, Jasmine Larson.”
Jasmine sighed with relief when the woman opened the door. She couldn’t wait to dump whatever was in that basket into the trash. There was no way she was about to eat food from someone she didn’t know.
But before she stepped into the hallway, Mae Frances turned back. “And don’t worry about eating my food. I may be a stranger to you today, but you can trust me.”
Jasmine tried not to show her surprise. Had she spoken her thoughts aloud?
Mae Frances continued, “I’m just being neighborly. We haven’t had many people in this building who look like us. So, I’m just being what my mother raised me to be.” She lifted her chin an inch higher. “I may live in New York, but I still have the good graces of my Southern roots. Enjoy your dinner.”
For the second time that day, Mae Frances Van Dorn left Jasmine standing with her mouth open. But only for a moment. Jasmine rushed to the dining room table and pulled away the cloth covering the basket. She eyed the chicken in the plastic container, the bundle of grapes, and the small box of crackers. It was a strange combination.
She peeled off the cover of the container and the aroma of the fried chicken knocked away her concerns. She tore a wing apart, took a bite, and moaned with delight. It had been a long time since she’d tasted chicken like this—seasoned, fried, crisp, and tender.
Who are you, Mae Frances Van Dorn? The question played in her mind as she carried the basket to the sofa and feasted on the three pieces of chicken. With each swallow, her trepidation about eating food from a stranger disappeared. It didn’t take long for the basket to empty, and Jasmine lay back, satisfied, still wondering about her new neighbor. But she didn’t linger with those thoughts for long.
She had work to do. First, she’d focus on Rio. And then, she’d turn all of her attention to Reverend Bush.
Chapter 5
Jasmine, this looks great.”
Startled, Jasmine dropped the telephone back onto her desk. What was she thinking? She should’ve closed her door.
Malik entered with a hesitant grin. These were the first words he’d spoken to her since they were at church last night.
He dropped a binder onto her desk. “I can’t believe I never thought of it and J.T. never mentioned it; that’s what happens when you’re computer free. But, you’re right; we need a website.”
“I’ll get working on it.” When he stayed in place, she said, “Is there anything else?”
“I know it’s only been a couple of weeks, but you’re doing a great job.”
She waited for an apology to accompany his compliment, but when he said nothing more, she asked again, “Is there anything else?”
His eyes stayed trained on her before he shook his head and walked out of the office. She followed him, and closed her door.
She hated this tension, but if Malik couldn’t accept her and Reverend Bush, that was his problem. She knew what she wanted and no one had ever stopped her from getting—or doing—what she wanted.
She thought about the plan that had come to her during the early morning hours, and then dialed the numbers to City of Lights.
When Mrs. Whittingham answered, Jasmine turned into Scarlett O’Hara.
“Hello,” she drawled. “My name is…Kyla Blake.” She paused to stop herself from laughing as she gave her used-to-be best friend’s name. “I’m calling from Christian Today magazine.”
“Oh, yes, how are you?”
Jasmine hesitated at Mrs. Whittingham’s greeting. “I’m just fine this wonderful morning, and how are you?”
“Blessed and highly favored.”
Jasmine wanted to gag, but kept the smile in her voice. “I’m calling because we want to do a feature on Reverend Bush—about the new community center.”
“Is this a follow-up to the interview you did last month?”
What? Jasmine almost said aloud. Had she picked a real magazine who had talked to Reverend Bush already? “Ah…yes…in a way…this…is a follow-up,” she stuttered. “I didn’t do the interview last month, but my colleague has asked me to check a few details.”
“That’ll be fine,” Mrs. Whittingham said as if Jasmine was her best friend. “When do you want to come in?”
“Ah…I’m working under a deadline and I was wondering if Reverend Bush had any evenings available this week?”
“Evenings?”
“Yes,” Jasmine said quickly, hoping to erase the frown in Mrs. Whittingham’s voice. “I want to interview the reverend by telephone, but I want to do it at a time when he isn’t so likely to be interrupted.” For good measure, she added, “You know what I mean, sugah?”
“That makes sense.” Mrs. Whittingham’s smile was back.
“I know how important Reverend Bush is and I know it’s hard for him to make this kind of time during the day. So, when would be a good evening for me to call?”
“Can you hold?”
“Sure.” Jasmine held her breath, counting the seconds.
“Well, you are blessed today. If you can call him tonight, Reverend Bush will be here in the office. He has a meeting that should end around seven-thirty. But by eight, everyone should be gone.”
Jasmine had to force herself not to leap from her seat. “Do you think he’ll wait there in the office for me? I mean wait for me to call?”
“Definitely. I just told him and I’ll leave a reminder. Just call between eight and eight-thirty.”
“Aren’t you the sweetest thing. I don’t know how to thank you!”
“You’re more than welcome. We love your magazine and the way you bring news to the Christian community.”
“We certainly try. You know what I’m going to do for you, Mrs. Whittingham? I’m going to get you a subscription to our magazine, free, of course.”
“We get it here at the church, but I would love my own copy.” She gave Jasmine her home address and thanked her again. “By the way, one last thing…ah, I apologize, what’s your name again?”
Jasmine frowned. “Kyla.”
“And your number, Kyla?”
She only had a second to think before she rattled off her cell number.
Jasmine hung up feeling smarter than most people, but she didn’t spend too much time savoring this victory. She called the rental car company and arranged for the car to be driven to her.
The next hours were filled with shuffling papers and thoughts of tonight. It would only take this one time. She’d be charming, he’d be smitten. They’d be together.
Just after seven-thirty, Jasmine picked up her purse, and the envelope and folder she’d prepared, then turned off the light in her office. As she pressed the Lower Level button on the elevator, she thought about how someday she’d tell Reverend Bush just what she’d gone through for the two of them to be together.
Jasmine maneuvered into the church’s parking lot. As expected, the lot was empty—except for a green Land Rover and a white Impala. Jasmine grimaced. She’d only expected to see one car. But then she shook her concern away. Even if the car belonged to Mrs. Whittingham, there would be nothing she could do to mess up her plan.
Jasmine turned off the car, looked around the parking lot, then lifted the envelope from the passenger seat. She pulled the knife from the packet, and wondered for a moment if she’d need a larger one.
When she stepped out, her eyes scanned the lot once more before she knelt down and with a quick jab, stabbed the tire, then twisted the knife before she pulled it away. Within seconds, the air fizzled, and the tire began to shrink. She waited a few minutes more, then returned the knife to the envelope, reached into the car for the folder, and rushed to the church.
She was surprised when the door was locked; she rang the bell.
<
br /> “Jasmine?” Reverend Bush said as he opened the door.
She was pleased—even in the dark, he recognized her. “Reverend Bush.” She stepped inside. “How are you?”
“Just fine,” he said, and his frown deepened. “What can I do for you?”
“Actually, I’m here to give this to Malik. He left important papers behind again.”
The way the reverend’s lips turned slowly upward and ended somewhere between a grin and a smirk, let Jasmine know that he didn’t believe her. “Malik’s not here,” he said in a you-know-this-already tone.
She frowned. “He’s not? He told his secretary he had a meeting with you.”
Reverend Bush shrugged. “Not tonight. He was here last night, remember?”
“Wow.” She lowered her eyes. “I don’t know…” She paused. “Oh, well.” She turned toward the door. “Thank you, Reverend.” She smiled inside when she saw his frown return. Like he expected more from her. Like maybe now, he believed her story. “Have a good evening,” she said and moved as if she was anxious to get away.
When she placed her hand on the door knob, he said, “Wait.”
She almost laughed. It wasn’t even going to take the flat tire to get his attention.
“How did you get here?” he asked. “Do you need to call a cab?”
Those were not the words she wanted to hear, but still, she was encouraged. “No, I have a rental. I had to run some errands for Malik.”
He peeked into the parking lot. “Okay, I’ll stay here while you walk to the car.”
“Thank you, Reverend,” Jasmine said, turning away from him. “Have a good night.”
She could feel his eyes on her and even in the night’s winter air, she slowed her walk, added more swivel to her step. She’d thought he’d walk her to the car, discover the flat tire with her. But whichever way it went down, they’d spend the rest of the night together.
As she approached the car, she slowed even more, careful to put surprise in her body language. “Oh, no,” she whispered, and leaned next to the car. She stayed, kneeling, even though her knees began to ache. Behind her, she heard the reverend’s footsteps on the concrete.
“What’s wrong?”
“I have a flat tire,” she cried out.
Reverend Bush peered at the flattened rubber. “Looks that way.”
“I must have run over something.”
Even in the dark, she could see him squint. “I can’t imagine what would cause a gash like that.”
“Guess I should call the rental company,” Jasmine said. “Or some kind of auto club.” She paused and looked up at him. “Or something.”
He glanced at the tire once again. “Okay, come on back inside.” He took her hand, pulled her up. When she stood, he was so close—his lips just inches from hers.
She saw it again—the glimmer in his eyes.
Seconds ticked past before, with a turn and a cough, Reverend Bush moved away. But there was triumph in her smile and victory in her step as she marched behind him.
In her head, she reviewed the next phase—how she’d make the call, then they’d sit and sip coffee. They’d wait. And talk. And in the end, he’d know the best parts of her. She was almost skipping when they walked into his office.
“May I use your phone?” she asked, slipping her coat from her shoulders. She smoothed her plum-colored suit over her waist.
“Hold on.” He motioned for her to take a seat as he picked up the telephone. “Brother Hill, can you come into my office?”
In the silence that followed from the moment Reverend Bush hung up until Brother Hill stepped into their space, the reverend’s words still hadn’t connected. Nothing registered until Brother Hill appeared. His smile switched to a smirk when he looked at her.
“Brother Hill, Sister Jasmine has a flat tire. Can you help her change it?”
“No problem.”
Their exchange moved faster than she had time to think. Brother Hill asked, “Is your car in the lot?”
She nodded. When he gestured for her to follow him, she did.
Think, Jasmine, think.
The deacon paused at the door and took a coat from the rack. “Of course, there’s a spare in the trunk?” he asked in a tone that told her he suspected this was no ordinary flat tire.
She wanted to slap that smirk from him. “I would think so.” She crossed her arms. “But I don’t know. It’s a rental.”
“Give me the keys.” She dropped them into his hand. “Wait here.”
Her eyes followed as Brother Hill stepped outside to the car and knelt by the back tire. With the cold of the night, she was sure he’d work fast.
I should have taken out the spare.
But there was still time. When Brother Hill popped open the trunk, Jasmine took a deep breath and returned to the reverend’s office.
“Thank you so much, Reverend,” she said as she stood at his opened door.
“Not a problem,” he said, looking up from papers scattered on his desk. “Brother Hill will take care of you.”
She nodded. “Would you happen to have any coffee or tea?”
He shook his head. “No, Sister Whittingham cleans up everything when she leaves. Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” Jasmine said entering his office and settling into a chair.
But before she had the chance to lean back, the reverend said, “Sister Jasmine, would you mind waiting outside? I’m sure Brother Hill will be finished in a few minutes and I’m expecting a call.”
“A call?” she said.
“Yes, I have an interview I have to do.”
No, you don’t.
“I’m preparing for that now.”
Still, she sat in place.
“Sister Jasmine?” He stood and came around his desk. “Would you mind waiting in the lounge?”
She nodded and stood.
Think, Jasmine. Think.
He escorted her to the couch in the outer office, then peeked out the window. “It doesn’t look like it’ll take Brother Hill too long,” the reverend said. “It sure is cold tonight.”
“I can call Triple A so he doesn’t have to be out there.”
“No, Brother Hill has it under control.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m sorry, Sister Jasmine, but I’ve really got to prepare for this call.”
How could she tell him there would be no call? What could she say to get him to focus on her?
But she stayed, sitting silently, as he stepped into his office. And closed his door. And left her no closer to him than she was fifteen minutes before.
Think, Jasmine. Think.
She didn’t have a plan when she finally stood and marched to his door. But she’d figure out what to say when she was inside. There was no way she was going to waste this time, especially not after the charge that had shot between them in the parking lot.
Her hand was still in the air, preparing to knock, when she heard Brother Hill behind her.
“Sister Jasmine, your car is ready.”
Like all the other times she’d come face to face with Brother Hill, Jasmine wanted to curse him out. How could he change a tire so quickly?
She smiled, hiding her frustration. “Thank you so much…Brother Hill.”
He took off his gloves and blew on his fingers. “It’s cold out there.”
She said nothing. Didn’t think it was a good idea to tell him that she wished he’d frozen to death.
He said, “Can I give you some advice?”
Still, she kept silent.
Brother Hill spoke as if she’d invited his words. “You need to set your sights on someone else.” He paused and looked directly at her. “Reverend Bush is not interested in you.”
She crossed her arms.
He continued. “Do you think you’re the first woman who has thrown herself at the reverend?” he asked with a chuckle in his voice. “Women like you run through this church like the A train. There’s another one coming along in a few minutes or so.”
&nb
sp; “You have a lot of nerve talking to me that way,” she hissed.
He raised his eyebrows. “Talking to you what way? Like you were a woman hurling herself at a man who’s not interested?”
Jasmine was tempted to reach for the glass paperweight that sat on Mrs. Whittingham’s desk and knock his squat behind silly. She rolled her eyes and brushed past him. As she paused to close her coat, he opened the door for her.
“Have a good night, Sister Jasmine,” Brother Hill said. As she took the first step outside, he added. “And try not to run over any more knives.”
She whipped around and he held up her knife. She opened her mouth to deny his accusation, to rant about his nerve, rummaging through her personal property, but then she grabbed the knife, turned, and marched toward her car. It didn’t matter what he thought. If he said anything to Reverend Bush, she would deny it. She had the knife. It would be his word against hers. And with the way Reverend Bush looked at her tonight, she knew he’d take her side.
Brother Hill was still standing at the door as she screeched from the parking lot. The first thing she was going to do when she became Mrs. Samuel Bush was get rid of Brother Hill. He was going to have to leave City of Lights. Find some other Christians to harass.
Just that thought brought back her smile.
“Okay,” she said aloud. “This was just a little setback.” And really, there was nothing to be upset about, especially when she recalled the few moments she and the reverend shared. The way they stood close. The way their lips almost touched. Her plan was well on its way.
She was almost at her apartment when her cell phone rang. She looked at the number, rolled her eyes, but clicked TALK anyway.
“Hey, Serena. What’s up?”
“Hey, yourself, you don’t sound like the happy New Yorker.”
“Had a long day.”
“Well, I was calling to check on you. How’s it going?”
Jasmine sighed as she pulled the car to a stop in front of her building. She could see Henrikas peeking through the door. “It’s okay, just a lot of work.”
A Sin and a Shame Page 5
