Sins of the Mother (22 page)

She didn’t respond, at least not with words. At the bottom of the escalator, she simply strolled past the shops sprinkled with early-Saturday-morning shoppers. And Brian followed. They walked in rhythm to “Hark the Herald” that rang from the ceiling speakers.

As they wandered, he studied Jasmine and thought about what had gone down between her and Hosea upstairs. It was just stress, he was sure. He knew the feelings in his heart,
and he couldn’t imagine what Jasmine and Hosea were going through.

Suddenly, she stopped.

“What?” he asked.

At first, he thought she was falling, but when he tried to grab her, she pushed his hand away. She crouched down in front of the glass window, pressed her face against the pane, and stared at the yipping puppies.

It took him a moment to get it, and his eyes widened. He hadn’t thought this through. This was the mall where Jacqueline had disappeared. Though he didn’t know specifics, this store must’ve had something to do with it.

“Come on, Jasmine,” he said, taking her arm.

She shook her head, stayed in place. She pushed in even closer to the window, as if she were trying to get through the glass.

Brian looked to his left, then to his right, before he squatted down next to her.

“Jacquie loved these puppies,” she whispered, her hand flat against the window.

As he put the scenario together, he lifted his hand and covered hers. They stayed that way, staring at the barking puppies, until Brian’s knees began to ache. He pushed himself up before he took her hand and helped her to stand, too. She was already sobbing when he pulled her close.

They stood that way, connected beyond the physical. They were oblivious—oblivious to the crowds, to the music, to the yelping puppies.

And they were oblivious to Hosea . . . who stood across from the pet store, watching his wife in Brian’s arms. Watching his wife turn to Brian in her grief.

They never saw Hosea. Never felt his stare. Never saw him turn around and walk out of the mall.

H
OSEA HELD HIS HEAD IN
his hands.

What am I going to do?

The light tap on the door startled him.

“What are you doing here?” Reverend Bush asked as he walked into the office. Before Hosea could answer, his father sank into the chair in front of his desk.

With all that was on his mind, Hosea smiled. He couldn’t help it. In fact, every time he looked at his father, he thought of God . . . and he smiled.

Sometimes he felt as if he was living in the middle of his father’s miracle. It was a wonder how, after being caught in the middle of gang-related gunfire, being shot in the head, and being in a coma for months, his father had awakened one day and never looked back.

After a year of physical therapy—from a wheelchair to a walker and then to a cane—and speech therapy, there were few signs of what he’d been through. It was because of his father’s
miracle that Hosea held on to the belief that he and Jasmine could have their own.

“I thought you were going back to the mall,” Reverend Bush said.

“I did.” By the way his father’s smile washed away, Hosea knew that he saw and felt his pain.

Now Reverend Bush leaned forward. “You heard something about Jacquie?” he whispered.

Hosea shook his head quickly. “No, I spoke to Detective Cohen this morning, but there’s nothing new.”

The reverend released a breath before he reached for his son’s hand. “Don’t get weary. We’re gonna find her.”

Hosea sighed and wondered if his father really believed that or if it was just what he was used to saying—just like everyone else.

Those words of comfort had worked for the first few hours last Friday. Then he’d been sure himself that Jacqueline would be found playing hide-and-seek behind some closed door. But that was seven days ago, and now those words were no longer reassuring. Now they felt like an empty promise.

It was the statistics that made him crazy, that had his hope fading. He was trying to hold on, but . . .

It sounded as if everything inside of him ached when he moaned.

“Son,” his father began.

Hosea held up his hand. “It’s not just Jacquie,” he breathed. “I’m not giving up; I never will. But I feel like I’m losing everything. Jacquie and Jasmine . . .”

Reverend Bush frowned. “Jasmine?”

“Jasmine and I got into a bad fight yesterday.”

“Oh.” Reverend Bush waved his hand as if Hosea’s words were no big deal. “That’s to be expected. Both of you are under a lot of pressure.”

Hosea pushed away from the desk and wandered to the window that looked out onto the parking lot where Reverend Bush had been shot. When he turned back, one glance at his father made him remember again that miracles were possible.

He said, “Jasmine and I didn’t have any ordinary argument.” He shook his head. “Yesterday, when you and I were talking, and I said that I wished . . . the little girl . . .” He had to pause, because in his head he heard Jasmine’s cry, remembered her look. “Jasmine heard me say that I wished Jacquie was dead.”

Reverend Bush let out a long whistle before he walked over to his son. “She had to know what you meant.”

He shrugged. “I tried to explain, but she wouldn’t listen. All she heard were those words . . . and she lost it. Now she thinks that I don’t want—”

“No.” Reverend Bush didn’t let him finish. “She knows that you love Jacqueline.”

“I’m not sure that she does.” He slumped back into his seat and told his father what Jasmine had said about Jacqueline being loved only by her and Brian.

Reverend Bush leaned against the desk, moving as close as he could to his son. “I’ll admit that was tough for Jasmine to hear, and okay, maybe you’re in for a fight, but I have no doubt that you’ll win this. Keeping relationships on track is never easy and this . . . this kind of thing is tough. But you’ll be able to do it for two reasons: first, you’re holding on to the hand of God, and second, you and Jasmine love each other.”

“I thought we did.”

“Thought? Man,” Reverend Bush began, waving his hand in the air, “you and Jasmine have been through so much, you can’t help but make it through this. You need each other.”

Hosea nodded at his father’s words. That’s what he wanted to believe. He and Jasmine had survived so many lies, the
worst had been revealed when he discovered he wasn’t Jacqueline’s biological father. And then there were the lies she told about her age, about not having been married before, about forgetting that she’d been a stripper while she attended college.

They’d survived loads of lies.

But Brian was bigger than all of that.

He didn’t even have to close his eyes to see Jasmine in that man’s arms. It was like a montage that played through his mind—every time Brian was around, he was holding Jasmine. From the day he arrived. Yesterday. Today. It never stopped. Jasmine kept turning to him. As if he was the man that she loved.

Reverend Bush said, “Trust me, Jasmine will be fine. It was just a shocker for her to hear those words like that.”

“And then there’s Brian.”

Reverend Bush folded his arms. “He’s not a part of this,” he advised.

“It feels like he is. It feels like there are three of us in this now.”

The reverend shook his head. “Don’t give him credence; he’s not a part of your relationship.”

Hosea shrugged, like he wanted to believe his father’s words but didn’t.

Reverend Bush leaned forward, his face close to his son’s. “Listen to me. This is about you and Jasmine, only. Stay in that lane.”

Hosea nodded.

The reverend continued, “Now Jasmine may not have enough inside of her to fight, but you do.” He paused and stared into his son’s eyes. “Your faith is deeper. You know how to really hold on to God’s hand; you know how to talk to Him. So tell Him! Tell Him to carry you and Jasmine through this. Fight this with all you got. The fight might be all yours, but
you have enough of Him inside for both of you.” His father stood. “Go back to Jasmine. I’ve got it all under control here; go take care of your wife, because she needs you.”

Alone, Hosea replayed his father’s words, then picked up the phone and speed-dialed Jasmine’s cell. It rang five times before it hit her voice mail. He hung up and tried again, sure that she was still angry and was just ignoring his calls. She’d answer the second time for sure.

She didn’t.

He called the center. “Hey, Mrs. Whittingham,” he said when the woman answered. “I was checking on Jasmine. I’m on my way back and—”

“She’s not here. She left a while ago . . . with Brian,” she said, whispering the last two words.

He fought to keep the image—of Jasmine and Brian—away.

“Ah, they probably just went to get some coffee . . . or something.” That’s what he had to believe. Their lives didn’t need any more drama.

Mrs. Whittingham huffed, “That’s what I thought, but they’ve been gone a couple of hours.” Her voice got even softer. “Why don’t you try her cell?”

“I’ll do that.” He hung up the phone and, with the tips of his fingers, massaged his head. He wasn’t trying to get rid of his ever-present headache, but he was trying to rub away his thoughts, because right now, Jasmine was with Brian . . . somewhere.

He released an audible sigh. His focus had been on fighting for Jacqueline, but now he’d have to fight for Jasmine, too. His father was right, though—his wife, his family, were worth fighting for. He could do it, and he would.

It would just be a lot easier if Brian wasn’t in New York.

“T
HANK YOU,”
J
ASMINE WHISPERED AS
the taxi jerked a bit, then rolled to a stop. “I really needed this.”

Brian’s smile was without any sign of cheer as he looked down to where his hand held hers. They’d been connected that way most of the day after they left the mall, then roamed through the streets of Harlem. As they’d walked across 125th Street, then back, across Lenox Avenue and then Eighth, they’d hardly exchanged a word. But Brian knew their thoughts were the same as Jasmine’s eyes scanned each building, searched each window, as if she hoped to uncover a clue about where their daughter might be.

But though they’d found nothing, it seemed the walk had been therapeutic for her; her tears had been gone for hours and she’d spent an easy afternoon away from the burden of sadness that was a part of her now.

She said, “I really appreciate your getting me out of there.”

“I’m glad you had some time . . . away.”

The way she stared, Brian could tell that she wanted to say more.

“Would you like to come up?” The way his face spread in surprise made her add, “Well, maybe not up to my apartment, but there are lots of places around here,” while looking out the window.

His eyes followed hers to the line of stoic, century-old buildings that lined Central Park South.

She said, “Maybe we can grab something to eat.”

Her question reminded his stomach that he hadn’t had a thing since breakfast, and his insides growled so loudly that even the cabdriver glanced at him through the rearview mirror.

Still, he said, “I’m not hungry.”

“Are you sure?” she asked with hope. “We could grab something at . . . the Plaza. It’s right down the street.”

When he shook his head, he didn’t bother to mention that the Plaza was where he was staying. She didn’t need to know he was that close.

He reached across her lap and squeezed the door handle, opening the door for her. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

He didn’t look back as the cab pulled away from the curb, but he knew that she was still standing in front of her apartment building, watching him. He didn’t have far to go; her building was on one end of Central Park South, and the Plaza was on the other.

As memories of the day tracked through his mind, he wondered,
What is going on?
This day was not one that he’d planned, even though, he had to admit, it had been enjoyable—at least as enjoyable as it could be in the middle of all this grief.

For hours he and Jasmine had walked hand in hand, as if they were a pair. And for some of those hours it had felt as if they were.

Brian sighed. He couldn’t deny that there had always been chemistry between the two of them, though
chemistry
wasn’t really the word. It was more like lust. Jasmine had been part of his addiction. Nothing more.

Except now, it felt like so much more. Every time he saw Jasmine, he wanted to hold her. Not as if he loved her, but as if he cared. He couldn’t help but care.

It was because of her face.

To him, she’d always been an attractive woman; he’d just never noticed before how much emotion was in her expressions. Every feeling she had was right there. The pain, the grief, the torment. It was the torment that made him care the most, the torment that made him want to hold her all the time, the torment that made him want to stay.

But what did that mean? Was he willing to give up his life in Los Angeles?

No! It certainly wouldn’t come to that. He would be here only until Jacqueline was found. A week, two at the top. By then, his daughter would be home and he would return to L.A. At least that was his constant prayer.

In the morning, he’d call Jefferson and have him explain to their other partners. No one at the clinic would fault him for being a devoted father.

But if he was going to stay, there would have to be a few changes. He couldn’t be around Jasmine so much—at least not in the way they’d been today. It was Hosea’s hand that she needed to hold. Just like he needed to be holding Alexis.

Alexis.

There was a big part of his heart that wasn’t even in New York—the part of him that Alexis owned. Not an hour passed when he didn’t think of her. But he never allowed her image to linger long. He couldn’t, because if he did, he’d have to acknowledge
that he hadn’t heard a single word from her. He’d have to acknowledge what that meant.

He knew that Alexis had decided as long as Jasmine—and Jacqueline—were in the picture, there was no place for her. Her rules, not his. Because if he’d had his way, she’d be here right now, holding him, comforting him, encouraging him.