Bridge to Fruition

by Laurie Larsen

  Jasmine, in her two-piece swimsuit accentuating her trim, fit physique. It had been an effort to restrain himself from staring, open-mouthed, when she first emerged, showing all that skin. His imagination ran away with images of running his fingers down that soft, tan skin; satin, perfect skin encasing glowing, gleaming curves.

  Jasmine.

  He gripped the steering wheel and concentrated on taking a deep breath in, pushing it out.

  His phone rang and he fumbled to pull it out of his back jeans pocket. He glanced at the caller, intending to throw it on the seat beside him. But it was Pedro. He’d take a minute. He pressed Speaker.

  “Hey Pedro. What’s up?”

  “Hi. How was the beach?”

  “Unbelievable. Have you ever been to one?”

  “No.”

  “This was my first. So glad I went.” He began to describe the texture of the sand on his feet, the saltiness of the water on his tongue, the coolness of the waves against his skin. Pedro wasn’t having it.

  “So what about the girl?”

  “The girl?”

  “Yeah, man. Jasmine.”

  Dax smiled. “We had a good time. A real good time.”

  “She’s something special, huh?”

  “Yeah.” He answered automatically, with no regard to the ribbing and teasing that admission would surely bring from the thirteen-year-old on the other end.

  “Jasmine and Dax sitting in a tree?” Pedro said with a laugh.

  “Shut up.”

  “Seriously man, are you in lo-o-o-ve?” He drew out the word comically.

  Dax started to deny it because it seemed the thing to do, the thing that was called for in a conversation with a juvenile. But he stopped.

  Love. Was it possible?

  He’d barely known Jasmine for a heartbeat. Could he be in love with her? He didn’t have experience in that realm. He’d been “in like” with girls before. He’d certainly been “in lust.” But with Jasmine, it was different. She was special. Sure, she was beautiful and he had a strong physical attraction to her. But she had potential for something more, something more lasting and permanent.

  But how do you explain that to an immature adolescent?

  “I don’t know, buddy. Maybe.”

  The kid laughed and they talked a few minutes about Pedro’s day, the progress of his finals and his plans for the summer. Then they said good night.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jasmine awoke, anxious to get to work. She needed to edit her video into a few minute clip featuring all her fashions. She needed to go through all the photos she’d taken at the beach and narrow them down to a manageable number of only the finest photos. If she got all that done, she could start responding to the employers who had asked for these deliverables, and then expand her search to others.

  Sounded like at least a week’s worth of work.

  First thing’s first. She’d been away from email and social media while she was at Pawleys Island, so she needed to get reconnected. She took her cup of coffee, booted her laptop while sitting at the kitchen island and waited.

  The whirring of the hard drive ensured her the thing was waking up after a short vacation. She sipped and daydreamed. Then, ding, ding, ding – little musical sounds filled the air. She pulled her mind back to the computer. Why was it going crazy?

  Notifications. Lots of them. Hundreds. What was going on? What was all this stuff?

  She looked at her loading Inbox. Notifications from Facebook and Twitter saturated it, filling the list, loading more and more. She switched to her internet browser, pulled up all her social media sites and studied her most recent posts.

  There it was. Her posts about the Phone Booth Baby. They’d gone viral!

  The Facebook post had been shared over a hundred times and it had almost five hundred comments. Good Lord. Her pulse raced, and she was unsure if she should feel excited or shamed by the results.

  She clicked quickly over to Twitter. It had been retweeted forty seven times and had almost a hundred replies.

  Her plans for productivity with her photos and job applications were immediately put on hold. She would have to dig into this phenomenon. What the heck was going on?

  Her father walked by on his way to the coffee pot. He was dressed impeccably as always in his suit pants, white button down shirt and tie. “Hitting it bright and early, huh?”

  “Yeah.” Impulse had her wanting to hide what she was looking at from her dad. They’d talked briefly last night about her results from her trip, and he was very supportive of continuing with her job applications. This detour would not be well-accepted.

  “Good job, honey.” He came up behind her and planted a kiss on the top of her head. Jasmine surreptitiously pushed the laptop closed. “Put yourself on a schedule and get those things out.”

  “Yes, Daddy.” She watched him grab a banana, put coffee in a travel mug, and head for the door. “Have a good day.”

  In the solitude of the empty condo again, she pulled open the laptop and dug into the amazing results of the post. A twinge of apprehension invaded her. No one she’d shared this endeavor with, supported it. Her mother wanted her to forget it. Dax had told her the same thing. Why was she so intent on pursuing it?

  She paused, her eyes skimming over all the comments. It was tempting to find out if there was one helpful clue in there. How could she ignore them now? What harm could come from finishing the research she’d started? She blew out a breath and made up her mind. Kissing her hopes of a productive morning of job hunting good-bye, she dove into her Inbox.

  After several hours of work, she’d disregarded all the comments wishing her good luck in her search, telling her they’d been to Pittsburgh once, and the ones sharing their own adoption stories. The weaning out had resulted in several potentially helpful comments.

  One said, “Paul Mason was my next-door neighbor during this timeframe. I remember the day he found the baby and delivered her to the hospital because he was so excited when he came home, gushing with smiles and stories of the good deed.”

  Jasmine’s pulse bumped up. That was the closest hit she’d had yet. She clicked on the person’s name who had written the comment: Elisa Smith. Elisa’s personal page came up. She still lived in Pittsburgh, was in her late fifties and posted all kinds of pictures of three particular young girls. Probably grandchildren. Jasmine opened up a Private Message box and typed, “Thank you for your response about Paul Mason. Do you have any further information about him? Is he on Facebook? Or could I contact him directly?”

  She sent the message into cyberspace and went back to reviewing the list of comments. Moments later, her computer gave her a ding. Elisa had responded. She pulled up the note and read: “Unfortunately, Paul passed away several years ago. Such a nice man. Thanks for the memories. The thought of Paul doing this kind deed for a baby in need is so consistent with the man’s character. I like the thought of his legacy being relived this long after it happened. God bless you, dear.”

  Jasmine sighed as she stared at the message. She gave a quick prayer of thanks for kind people who performed deeds every day, not knowing what impact they would have on the lives of others. Positive, generous deeds, not for the recognition or the reward, but because they knew it was the right thing to do.

  God’s network of people, helping each other, one step at a time.

  She continued through the other messages. Maybe one would help her take a step further.

  Almost an hour later, she ran across an intriguing comment. “Contact me by Private Message. I may have information you’d be interested in.”

  Jasmine tried to tamp down her excitement. Could be a whacko with no information whatsoever. On the other hand, it could be something useful. She clicked on the woman’s name: Fran Chambers, pulled up a Private Message box and typed, “Hi. I’m the one who posted about the Phone Booth Baby. You asked me to contact you?”

  Hoping for an immediate response from Fran proved futile. Would someone named F
ran have Instant Messager on her smart phone, able to respond on the spot to her message? In her mind, she didn’t imagine Fran to be particularly tech-savvy. Jasmine sat and stared at the Private Message, willing Fran, wherever she was, whoever she was, to respond.

  Fifteen minutes of waiting got sucked into a vacuum of inactivity, a total waste of time. Jasmine glanced at the clock on the stove. She’d been at this Phone Booth Baby thing now for three hours. She’d reviewed all the comments, followed up with the few that held promise of more information. This last message to Fran was the best lead she had. And Fran wasn’t talking. So, she needed to move on.

  She dragged herself away from the computer and jumped on her dad’s treadmill. She set the pace to a brisk jog for a half hour. She pushed herself faster and faster, and when she was done, her heart was pumping a rewarding pace, her skin was moist with perspiration and she felt better about sitting around like a slug all morning.

  She needed to focus on the photos for the rest of the day. No more Phone Booth Baby distractions. If Fran happened to respond, that was a different story. But otherwise, all work, all day.

  Late afternoon, she received a text from her dad: “I’ll eat at the office. You’re on your own for dinner.” Jasmine smiled, stretched her arms over her head and yawned. She’d been on her own for dinner for the last four years. Yet her father felt compelled to tell her today that she needed to dig up her own food. Like she would starve if he didn’t come home and feed her.

  Ahh, she was being too hard on him. They were more roommates now than father/daughter. He was just being courteous. They’d gotten along fine since graduation, she and her dad. As long as they didn’t scratch beneath the surface and talk about the White Elephant in the room: his mid-life crisis, his affair and destruction of his marriage. No, as long as they didn’t talk about that, they were fine.

  Their living arrangement was temporary at best. She’d either move to New York to work in the fashion industry, or, if she was unable to secure a career, and she just needed to take a job to make money, she’d move to live with her mom. No brainer.

  Thinking about the beach led her to think about Dax. She smirked. Actually, just about anything led her to think about Dax these days. She glanced at her phone, wondering if he was done with his clients for the day. She’d take a risk and call him, see if she could brighten his day, or him hers.

  He answered after three rings. His deep, hushed voice caused a rumble in her lower stomach. “Hi. Are you with a client?”

  “No, just finishing up. Good timing.” He was speaking softly and she could picture him in the hallway outside his massage room, not wanting to disturb the client he’d just finished, with their immersion back out of the paradise he’d put them in with his magical fingers. “How’s your day going?”

  She took a deep breath, let it out. “Busy. Sedentary. I finished editing the video. I might send it to you and get your take on it.”

  “Great.”

  “And I’m done selecting Stella’s photos. Just have Emma’s left. I’ll tackle that tomorrow. Then I’ll be ready to start sending stuff out.”

  “Not a bad day’s work.”

  “Well, I got distracted. My Inbox exploded while I was gone.”

  “Really? With job offers from New York?” He laughed.

  “No. With my social media posts that went viral.”

  He paused. “What social media posts?”

  “Before I left for Pawleys I whipped off a couple posts asking for help on the Phone Booth Baby case. I hoped they would go viral, but I never had any expectation that they would. But they did! They really did!” He didn’t respond and she wondered if she’d lost the connection. “Dax?”

  “Yeah.” Was his voice hushed because his client had walked by? “Why are you doing this, Jasmine?”

  “Doing what?”

  “This is a mistake. This is exactly what I was talking about when I was sharing my concerns about the two of us being together.”

  Her breath was coming shorter now. “What?”

  “You have an abundance of family members, Jasmine. Lots of good people who love and support you. And yet, it’s not enough. You’re grasping on to this one mystery woman who abandoned your mother nearly fifty years ago. For some reason, you can’t let it go. Are you ever satisfied with what God has already provided you? Or, do you always want more?”

  The harshness of his words made her tongue-tied for a moment. Her mind whirled and she finally put her thoughts together. “But why? What’s wrong with wanting God’s blessings in abundance? Let’s see, I think it’s in Matthew, the Bible says, Seek and you shall find. Knock and the door will be opened. Ask and it shall be given. To me, that means that God wants to give us our heart’s desire. Or, at least to go after it. Sure, we don’t get everything we want. But that’s no reason not to try.”

  There was a pause from Dax. She guessed she could understand why he was so adamant on this point. It struck so close to home with his own family situation. Maybe he was taking it too personally.

  “I think you need to respect your mother’s wishes on this, Jasmine. I think this is headed for disaster.”

  “What I’ll do is tell my mom what I’ve come up with, and let her give me the green or red light to continue. Okay?”

  He hesitated, then said softly, “So what did you get?”

  “On the post?”

  “Yeah.”

  “A lot of Shares. A lot of comments. Very little of importance. I did get a note from the neighbor of Paul Mason who rescued my mom from the phone booth and took her to the hospital. She said he was a nice guy, and she remembered the day he discovered my mom. He was happy to help her.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Yeah, a real Good Samaritan type. But I can’t get in touch with him personally. He’s dead.”

  “Okay.”

  “But my last lead is from a woman named Fran. She didn’t give me any information, but she left a comment telling me she had information, and asking me to contact her privately. Which I did. Now I’m waiting to hear from her.” His quietness left a sense of ill-boding in her.

  His sigh reached her across the cellular network. “I just wish you wouldn’t mess with this, Jasmine. This isn’t your battle to fight. This is your mom’s history, and she doesn’t want to pursue it. So why are you? Why do you want to dig up a can of worms?”

  She gripped the phone tighter. “It’s my family, too. This is my grandmother we’re talking about. If I can find her, why wouldn’t I give that some effort?”

  “She doesn’t want to be found.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because she hasn’t reached out to your mom. It would be so much easier for her to find your mom, than for you to track her down. Haven’t you considered that at all? She’s either embarrassed or ashamed. Or she just doesn’t care. She made her decision and has moved on.”

  Jasmine hesitated. Was he right? She was determined to satisfy her curiosity. What could it hurt? The worst that could happen would be, she found the woman who’d abandoned Leslie, and she refused to speak to Jasmine. Okay. She’d deal with it.

  On the other hand, the best that could happen is she’d find her birth grandmother, who would welcome her and Leslie with open arms. Her birth grandmother might not be savvy with the details of finding someone, and had just chosen the path of sitting back and praying for God to lead her daughter to her. If so, maybe God was working through Jasmine to answer those prayers.

  She didn’t know why, but she felt compelled to continue. Nothing this intriguing had ever happened to her in her lifetime.

  Dax continued, “What’s in the past is in the past. It doesn’t define your future. People rise above mistakes of the past all the time. It’s better to leave it alone.”

  “I see what you’re saying. Thanks for your advice.” And in that very nice, polite way, Jasmine closed the subject and went on to others. Twenty minutes later, she hung up and went to the kitchen to dig up some dinner.
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  Chapter Fifteen

  The next few days flew by for Jasmine. She finished her job search deliverables and sent them out to those employers that had requested them. She also researched more fashion industry employers in New York, and sent them her materials as well. She corresponded with several of her college friends who had landed jobs, or were searching for jobs, and they shared leads with each other.

  She also pointedly ignored the fact that Fran Chambers had not responded to her Private Message.

  Whenever she started fixating on Fran, she allowed herself a moment or two, then she pushed herself to do something more productive.

  On Thursday, she scanned her email list and selected one to open. She read the short message and she screamed. Full volume, top of her lungs scream. Of course, no one was there to hear it since her dad was in surgery. So she ran for her phone and dialed her mother. It went to voicemail. “Call me!” she said and called Dax. It went to voicemail. “Call me!”

  She did an excited twirl in the living room, barely able to contain her adrenaline. Fortunately, her phone rang. It was her mom. “Mom!” she yelled. “I got an interview request in New York!”

  “Oh, sweetheart! Good for you! This is the start of it! They loved your photos and your designs and you’re going to start making your dreams come true.”

  She absolutely loved her mom, saying just the right words that she wanted to hear at this moment. She took a closer peek at the email. “Oh! Guess what. The interview is with Henderson-Cloy. This must be connected to the contact Roxanne made for me. You know, the actress at Marianne’s dinner theater!”

  “Oh, fantastic. You should call her.”

  “I will. In fact, I will right now.”

  “Okay, sweetie. Congratulations and keep me posted.”

  She disconnected on her mom and looked up her new contact number for Roxanne.

  “Hello?” The sound of distant static came over the line. It took a moment for Jasmine to realize it was ocean surf.

  “Roxanne? It’s Jasmine Malone. You know, Marianne’s stepsister.”