Sins of the Mother (32 page)

“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?

N
EW
Y
ORK
, N
EW
Y
ORK

D
ECEMBER
2009

T
HERE WERE VOICES
. A
ND 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.

L
OS
A
NGELES
, C
ALIFORNIA

D
ECEMBER
2009

B
RIAN 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 asked, 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.

But he’d stayed back, determined to make a new play. After
all, what else could he do? He’d chased and chased until his heart was tired of running. So he decided to stop, and his hope was that she would chase him.

He hadn’t been sure, but as it turned out—he was brilliant! Alexis was trying to fight love, and there wasn’t a soul on earth who could win that battle.

He jumped, startled when the phone rang again. Slowly, he lowered his feet, leaned forward to get a peek at the caller ID. Could Alexis be calling back already?

But it wasn’t her number on the ID.

“Brian Lewis,” he answered.

“Brian, this is Abel Perez, one of the producers at Crime Stoppers.”

That made him sit straight up. “Mr. Perez, how are you?”

The two exchanged pleasantries, but only for a minute before Brian asked, “So, do you think you’ll be able to do something for my daughter?”

Perez said, “That’s why I’m calling. We want to do a short segment on tomorrow’s show, then a more extensive interview with you and Jacqueline’s mother on Sunday.”

Filled with relief, Brian slumped back onto the couch. This was just what they needed. He said, “Thanks so much. You don’t know how hard we’ve been working, trying to get the media involved.”

“Well, it’s tough. There are so many children missing, there are not enough television hours to cover all of them. Though I have to admit I’m a bit surprised that the media didn’t jump all over this. Samuel Bush is such a prominent pastor, and his granddaughter has been kidnapped . . .”

“Yeah, well . . .” That was all Brian said. No need to go into the politics of Jacqueline’s being a missing black kid. “So what do we have to do?” he asked, just wanting to move forward.

Abel Perez filled Brian in—on tomorrow’s show, they’d use
stock photos and information from the police. Then on Sunday, they’d send a crew for a live feed. “You’re in New York, right?” Perez asked.

Brian explained that although he wasn’t, who they really should be interviewing were Jasmine and Hosea.

By the time Brian hung up, he had more hope than at any other time since he’d first found out about Jacqueline’s abduction. This was huge, because once she was profiled, new leads would pour in. This was just the chance they needed.

See, Jasmine,
he said in his head,
I promised you.

That thought made him grab the phone. He dialed 212 and the first three digits of Jasmine’s number, but then he hung up.

He waited for the dial tone again, and this time he called Hosea.

N
EW
Y
ORK
, N
EW
Y
ORK

D
ECEMBER
2009

A
LL
J
ASMINE COULD REMEMBER WAS
Hosea’s voice. And the kaleidoscope of colors.

Now, as her eyelids flickered open, neither Hosea nor the colors were there. But in their place was a hangover.

At least that’s what the jackhammer inside her head felt like—a back-in-the-day kind of hangover.

She squinted, then shielded her eyes as the sun pushed its way through the curtains. With the way the light shined on her pillow, she could tell it was about noon, though she had no idea what day it was.

Falling back onto the bed, she sighed. The way she felt, she wished she
had
been drinking. A trio of mojitos would have been so much better than having a headache from heartache.

She wondered how long she’d slept. There was little that she could recall from her darkness: the toy store, Dr. Howard, and
the point at which she’d awakened and Hosea had held a cup while she sipped some soup. But she remembered nothing more.

The ache in her chest was ever present, a constant reminder that the devil had stolen her daughter.

Slowly, gently, she pushed herself up. The blood rush brought another memory—Brian. She closed her eyes and remembered their kiss. She groaned.

Her rest had brought her some clarity, and now she asked herself why had she done that. Maybe it was because he had been so kind, so caring, so understanding.

It was all of the above, but mostly it was his face. And the way he smiled. And the way he bunched his eyebrows. And the way he gestured with his hands.

The way he looked like Jacqueline.

Jasmine tossed aside thoughts of Brian as she flung away the duvet that covered her. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, then stayed still because she had no choice—she waited until she felt steady enough to move. As she shifted, her eyes focused on the photo of her daughter.

Her lips trembled, and she felt herself once again sinking into that cavernous hole of sorrow—a fissure so deep that she wondered if she would ever find her way out. Would she have to live in this darkness forever?