Sins of the Mother (25 page)

The peopled shifted, his words, his actions, disturbing them—exactly the way he’d wanted.

He continued, “This burden shouldn’t have happened to me; it should be carried by someone else. That’s what I’m really saying when I ask, ‘Why me?’ And that’s what you’re saying when you ask that question.” He paused to let the people twist some more.

“Here’s the thing, Saints. We live in a fallen world where good
and
evil people will suffer. That’s a fact, period. It’s something we don’t understand. It doesn’t seem fair. It doesn’t seem right. But what is right is that the good—those who have promised to follow God—have His promises. Oh, yes!”

He had to stop again because this time the shouts were louder, the stomping made the floor vibrate, the waving sea of white handkerchiefs was blinding.

When it was quiet enough for most to hear, he continued. “Just because we’re following God doesn’t mean our hardships are going to be eliminated—that’s a lie that comes straight from the devil. Because if he can get you to believe that, he’ll get you to forget about God’s goodness when bad times do come. But let me tell you—I’m not going to let this situation or any circumstance in my life be the measure of God’s goodness! What He’s done for me already is beyond measure.”

The shouts were back. They were on their feet again, stomping, waving.

He said, “Y’all might as well keep standing ’cause I’m just getting started!”

“Hallelujah!”

He said, “I’ve been trusting God in all of the good times, so am I just supposed to drop Him now? Am I just supposed to live and love God for the good, and then during the bad times, it’s something else? No!” He banged his hand on the podium. “This is when my faith is tested, and I’m telling you, Saints, I’m gonna pass this test, this time.”

“Amen!”

“You see, the test of our faith is not in the suffering alone, but in the
not knowing
what’s going to happen . . . and trusting God anyway. Look at Job again—if he’d known what was going to happen, what would have been the test? If he’d known the outcome, how could you call that trust?” he bellowed.

“You know you right!”

“You better come on!”

“Preach!”

Hosea let them shout. He motioned for the Minister of Music to hit the keyboard, and they danced as they shouted. They sang—not words to a familiar song; they sang a new song. The words were personal, from their hearts, thanking and praising God even in the midst. And Hosea sang and danced with them.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before they’d worn themselves out, before they sat from pure exhaustion.

Hosea was out of breath, but he continued, “And as I close, Saints, I want to leave you with this . . . the greatest test is to trust God’s goodness where we see no goodness in life.” They were contemplative now, silently listening. “That is what I’m doing. I cry—” He stopped abruptly.

“Take your time,” rang out before some stood to their feet and clapped.

He lowered his head; he didn’t deserve any applause—he hadn’t brought his daughter home yet. He motioned for them to sit. “I cry,” his voice cracked, “when I wonder about Jacqueline. I cry when I pray for her, but I still have joy,” he said, though his eyes were filled with tears. “Because joy is based on His presence in us. And my joy is based on the fact that though I don’t know what the future holds, I know who holds the future.

“At the end of this story—whether here on earth or whether in heaven—God will be the victor. And that means that I, and Jasmine, and most importantly, Jacqueline, will be victorious, too. Amen and Amen!”

Though they were weary, the parishioners were back on their feet.

And Hosea was just as worn out as he backed away from the pulpit. This was the part of the service where his father took over. As Reverend Bush gave the altar call, Hosea slouched in his chair. With his eyes closed, he prayed a silent prayer of thanksgiving. It was a message to the people, but he’d been preaching to himself. He had to remember his joy. And as long as he had joy, he could have hope.

“Come on down if you need prayer now,” he heard his father say. “Come now to the throne of grace. Come now to the mercy seat.”

Hosea raised his head, and his eyes widened as he saw the two who led the way. Brian, holding Alexis’s hand, stopped in front of Reverend Bush.

It shocked him, at first, but it didn’t take two seconds for Hosea to stand. He eased down the three steps that separated the altar from the rest of the sanctuary, and Alexis fell into his arms.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried as he held her. “My heart aches for you.”

He hugged her tight, tried to soothe her cries. He wanted to give her the strength that he’d just gained. Then, after another moment, he released her and embraced Brian. The two men held each other, recognizing, for the first time, their commonality. No matter how they had gotten here, the Bushes and the Lewises were in this together.

When Hosea and Brian separated, he was surprised to see the many who stood behind them at the altar—Mae Frances, who was falling out from her tears, was standing only because Malik held her up. Mrs. Whittingham stood next to them, cradling a sleeping Zaya. Then there was Brother Hill, and Detective Foxx, and even Triage Blue and his wife, Deborah. And volunteers from the center who hadn’t been a part of their church, until now.

All were standing with them. All were crying for them.

“Reach your hands toward my family,” Reverend Bush said, shedding his own tears.

Hosea stood in between Brian and Alexis and held their hands. And as the dozens surrounded them at the altar and the thousands sat in the seats, every head bowed, every eye closed. And the congregation sent up a united prayer for God’s grace, His mercy, and their hope that Jacqueline Bush would finally come home.

B
RIAN CLASPED
A
LEXIS’S HAND AND
helped her ease out of the taxi. “Are you sure about this?”

She nodded. “Of course, I told you I’m with you.” She hooked her arm through his, as if that would seal her words. “I want to see what’s been set up for Jacquie.”

He led her into the mall, and as they ascended on the escalator to the second level, he filled her in on the command center. The enthusiasm in her eyes encouraged him, and he shared the thought that rested in his heart. “I’m going to find her, Alex. I’m going to be the one to do it.”

She squeezed his arm and told him that she had no doubt—if it was possible, he’d make it happen.

He smiled and thanked God that she was with him here, with him now. He was sure that a great deal of Alexis’s eagerness to see the center was due to the fact that Jasmine wouldn’t be anywhere near this place. The truth was, he was glad about that, too. Not that he was happy that Jasmine wasn’t feeling
well—that’s what Hosea had told him after church when he and Alexis had joined him and his father in their private offices. But he was glad that now that Alexis was here, there would be real separation between Jasmine and him. Separation was what they needed.

Jasmine had a husband. And he had Alexis.

“This is it,” Brian said before he pushed the door to the conference room open.

But before he could even cross the threshold, Jasmine rushed into his arms.

“Where have you been?” she asked, breathless. “I’ve been calling you; I’ve been . . .” She paused, frowned, then blinked as if she were having a hallucination. “Alexis?”

Oh, no!
Brian thought. But then he watched Alexis plaster on a smile that didn’t seem too fake as she stepped into the room.

“Hi.” Her greeting was tentative, but then with more strength, Alexis said, “I hope you don’t mind my being here,” and she moved closer. “I want to help.” Reaching for Jasmine’s hand, she added, “I’m so sorry.”

Jasmine flinched when Alexis touched her, as if she expected the contact to be much more than just a gentle stroke of sympathy. “Thank you,” Jasmine replied, her words wooden. Jasmine looked at Brian, awaiting an explanation.

He said, “When we didn’t see you at church—”

“You went to City of Lights?”

He nodded. “We thought you were sick. I didn’t think you’d be here.”

With a slight tilt of her head, Jasmine’s eyes thinned, like she was trying to figure out exactly what his words meant.

She said, “I didn’t have any reason to go to church, but I have lots of reasons to be here.” Turning to Alexis, she asked, “So how long are you going to be in New York?”

Alexis paused before she responded. “I’m . . . not . . . sure yet. A couple of days, I guess.”

“Well, thank you for coming,” Jasmine said, her words softer this time.

Then she turned and marched to the other side of the room. Alexis began to follow, but Brian held her back.

“Do you want to leave?” he whispered.

“No!” Alexis glanced around at the stacks of posters and leaflets and envelopes. She smiled as the five volunteers who’d come out on this Sunday afternoon to help looked her way. “There’s a lot of work to do.”

Before Brian could say another word, Alexis strolled through the center, stopping to introduce herself to the others. Brian moved beside her, his eyes on Jasmine the whole time. Jasmine and Alexis were a combustible combination, and he didn’t know what would be left standing if they had to share the same space for more than a couple of minutes.

He held his breath as Alexis approached Jasmine and asked, “How can I help?”

He didn’t give Jasmine a chance to respond, “Well, Jasmine and I have been focused on these flyers.” He passed one to Alexis, and she gazed at Jacqueline’s photo. He added, “We’ve been stuffing these envelopes—the flyers are being sent all across the country to doctor and dentist offices.”

Alexis pulled out a chair on the other side of Jasmine. “I’ll help you stuff, if you want.”

Brian wanted to keep talking for Jasmine, but now, he didn’t know what to say.

Jasmine shrugged a little, as if she was as unsure as he was. She said, “This isn’t very hard; you don’t have to think much as you’re doing this.” She paused. “And for me, it’s easiest when I don’t have to think.” Then Jasmine looked up, and the expectation was all over her face. She was waiting for one of Alexis’s
infamous put-downs—a one-line zinger like the others that Alexis had thrown Jasmine’s way over the years.

Alexis said, “Then this is what I want to do, too.” She shrugged off her coat. “I want to work with you.”

The ends of Jasmine’s lips spread into the smallest of smiles as Alexis slipped into the chair next to her. For a minute, Brian watched the two—who’d always considered each other more than a mortal enemy—work side by side.

Then he squeezed into the chair on the other side of Jasmine and began folding flyers so that he could keep up. The women didn’t say a word—not to each other, not to him. But silence was probably best.

To Brian, this time was bittersweet. A child had been taken from them, but what they’d found in the midst was a way to behave as adults. He wondered if this would last, but then he just as quickly tossed that thought aside. There was no need to worry about tomorrow. He was going to focus on the quiet blessings of today.

T
HIS WAS HARDER THAN
A
LEXIS
thought it was going to be, harder than it was supposed to be.

When Jasmine leaned over and whispered to Brian for what had to be the one hundredth time in fifteen minutes, Alexis jumped up so fast her chair fell backward onto the floor.

In a second, Brian was behind her. “Honey,” he said, returning the chair to its upright position, “is something wrong?”

“No”—she shook her head—“I just need a moment.”

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Let’s walk outside.”

“You stay here,” she said, waving her hand in Jasmine’s direction. She waited for Jasmine to look up, but she didn’t move. As if she knew what this was about. As if she knew that she had pissed Alexis off, and there was nothing Alexis could do about it. She said, “I’m just going to the restroom.”

Brian hugged her before she walked away. “It’s hard now, but it gets better,” he whispered. “Each day you’ll be able to look at that flyer, and even though you’ll still be sad, it won’t be as bad.”

Alexis nodded, indicating that he was correct to interpret her mood that way, that this was all about Jacqueline. But once she was outside, she wanted to turn back and scream that he was wrong—it was Jasmine who had made her behave like a madwoman. She stifled a scream before she punched open the door to the ladies’ room.

It had seemed so right, her coming to New York last night. So what had happened?

Jasmine!

As much as she tried, Alexis just couldn’t like that woman, not even in the middle of this tragedy. She leaned against the sink, glanced into the mirror, and once again asked herself if Jasmine had anything to do with her daughter’s disappearance. Not that she could imagine any mother—not even Jasmine—doing this. But that woman just seemed to be getting too much out of this situation.

She was getting Brian—he was so attentive, so concerned. And Jasmine was milking it; every other minute she was having another breakdown and Brian was right there, her refuge. Then in the minutes in between breakdowns, Jasmine just had to lean close to Brian and ask him this . . . or ask him that.

Putting her fist up to her mouth, Alexis released a muffled scream.

Where is Hosea?

She wished Jasmine’s husband was here so that he could see what was going on. But Alexis knew Hosea wasn’t going to help. Even if he was here, he probably wouldn’t see what she saw. He would see only a grieving mother, which in fact was all there really was to see.

“Stop it, Alexis,” she said to herself. She twisted the faucet, releasing the water full blast. Her thoughts were ridiculous, she knew that. Brian . . . loved . . . her! And there was nothing that Jasmine could do about it.

So why did she feel that, at any moment, Jasmine and Brian could very well run away together?

Leaning over the sink, Alexis flung cool water onto her skin and waited for the calm to come. She dabbed at her face with a paper towel, and when she tossed that paper into the trash, she threw away her absurd thoughts with it.