“Babe,” she said as she stepped inside, “I can’t figure—” She stopped. “Oh, Brother Hill, I didn’t know you were here.”
She smiled at him, and Brother Hill gave her a fake smile back.
Hosea said, “Jasmine, the Wyatts are gone.”
“Gone?” she asked, as if the word was foreign to her.
The two men nodded.
Brother Hill said, “I was able to convince the super to go into their apartment. He’d seen me with Eugene a few times, and I explained that the Wyatts had been missing for a couple of days and that I thought something may have happened. He still didn’t want to let me in, said that he would check himself, but when he opened the door, I followed him inside.”
Jasmine’s eyes were wide with amazement. “And they weren’t there?”
“No.” Brother Hill shook his head. “All of the furniture was there, but no clothes in the closet, no luggage anywhere. They’re gone, that’s for sure.”
“What do you think happened?”
As if it was choreographed, the men shrugged. Then together, they shook their heads.
Standing still, as if she was in total shock, she finally said, “Okay, I’ll be in my office, Hosea.” She had what she needed.
She left the men sitting silently, pensively, as if the right amount of quiet thought would give them answers.
She marched back toward her office with her head high. By herself, she’d taken down all those saints and saved her husband, his position, and his father’s church.
Someone needed to give her a medal. She deserved the Olympic gold for Wife of the Year.
Jasmine rolled over and, as her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could see her husband, lying on his back, his hands folded behind his head, his eyes wide open. Exactly the way he’d been when she’d turned off the lights about three hours before.
“Babe,” she whispered, “are you okay?”
“Yeah,” was all he said.
Jasmine clicked on the lamp and glanced at the clock. It was almost two in the morning. She pushed back against the pillows and pulled the sheet to cover her bare chest. “I wish you would talk to me.”
He shook his head, glanced askance at her. “I’m trying to figure this out.”
“What? The Wyatts?”
He twisted and leaned on one arm, facing her now. “Yeah, the Wyatts, and so much more. I mean, look at what’s gone down in the last few days. First, the board meeting gets postponed; then, Jerome gets hit. And now, the Wyatts disappear without a word, without a trace. Something’s going on.”
Jasmine shrugged. “Maybe this is the favor of God that you’re always talking about.”
He shook his head. “I keep telling you, no one else’s misfortune is God’s blessing to me.”
Jasmine could hear the slow seconds ticking on the clock as she sat in the quiet, waiting for Hosea to say something. But he just stared, and she shifted under the heat of his scrutiny.
Finally, “Do you know anything about all of this?”
By the time the last word came out of his mouth, Jasmine’s heart was pounding. “I don’t understand what you’re asking me.” She had no idea how she kept her voice calm.
He peered at her, even longer this time. And now she squirmed inside and out. “I’ll just come out and ask: Did you have anything to do with everything that’s going on? With Jerome’s arrest? With the Wyatts?”
Jasmine jumped from the bed, mostly to hide her trembling. “I can’t believe you’re asking me that,” she yelled, totally unaffected by the cool air that rushed her naked body.
Hosea sat up. Motioned with his hands for her to lower her voice. “I’m just—”
She didn’t let him finish. “So I’m the reason that Jerome’s in jail? What do you think I did? Do you think I held him at gunpoint while he sat at some computer and tried to solicit girls over the Internet?”
He shook his head but still didn’t get a chance to speak.
“And what did I do with the Wyatts?” Her hands thrashed through the air. “You think I have them chained in a basement somewhere?”
“Jasmine, calm down.”
But she didn’t. “And why stop there? You probably think that I’m responsible for global warming. Or the war in Iraq. Or the Red Sox beating the Yankees. Blame all the problems of the world on me!”
He paused, contemplating her words. “Okay, what I asked…maybe it was wrong.”
“Maybe?” She crossed her arms.
“Can you blame me?”
“Yeah, I can. Because Hosea, I’m tired. I’m so tired of answering your questions.”
“You’re right.”
“You always say that. And I haven’t done anything to make you doubt me like this since we returned from L.A.”
“I told you before, I’m trying.”
“It’s not enough. I need you to promise that no matter what, you’ll believe in me.” She paused. “I’m your wife, Hosea,” she said with a shaky voice. And this time, she wasn’t acting. “I need that. I need to see something else in your eyes when you look at me. Something besides doubt and disbelief.”
“You forgot love.”
“What?” she snapped.
“In my eyes, you’ve got to see how much I love you.”
But even though she was wrong, she refused to give in. He didn’t know she was lying; and because of that, he shouldn’t have questioned her. He was supposed to just trust her.
She stood there, her arms crossed, her toe tapping an impatient beat. She stood, silent. Glaring.
Until the phone rang.
Then they both stood like stone. They stared at each other before both pairs of eyes shifted slowly toward the telephone.
The thought in their minds was the same—no one called in the middle of the night unless it was bad news.
Even when Hosea grabbed the phone, Jasmine didn’t move. She just closed her eyes and went straight to God. Begged him to make it all right, whatever it was.
“Yes. Yes. Yes.” The words were sharp. And then, “We’ll be right there.”
He was halfway to his closet before he hung up the telephone. “It’s Pops,” he exclaimed. “We have to get to the hospital!”
As Jasmine and Hosea raced down the hall from one end, Dr. Lewis approached from the other.
“Doctor!” Hosea called out to her. “What happened?” he asked, when they stood in front of the ICU room where Reverend Bush had been moved.
“We’ve been watching this for a few hours,” she said. “I’ve been on the phone with the other doctors. Your father’s temperature started going up earlier.”
“When?” Then he added, “I was here this morning,” as if that should’ve made a difference.
“It was a gradual rise that we were trying to manage. That’s why we didn’t call you,” the doctor said. “But a couple of hours ago, his blood pressure started dropping. We’ve started the pressors again. Let me get in there.”
Holding hands, Jasmine and Hosea rushed behind the doctor, who was dressed as they were—in a sweatsuit, the appropriate outfit for a middle-of-the-night emergency. But the moment Dr. Lewis realized the couple was behind her, she stopped them.
“Please. Wait outside. I’ll be out as soon as I can.”
“Doctor!” one of the nurses called her.
“Please,” she said, this time with more urgency.
Slowly, Jasmine and Hosea backed away, but Jasmine’s eyes were plastered on the place where her father-in-law lay. She needed to get a good look at him even as she prayed that this wouldn’t be the last time she saw him alive.
Jasmine took in all that she could. The gray of his skin—like before. The stillness of his form—like he’d been from the first day.
It wasn’t until they were in the hallway and the door had closed on them that Jasmine breathed.
Hosea leaned against the wall, his forehead against the white plaster, his eyes closed. Jasmine stood next to him, staying quiet, sure that the mental photo of her father-in-law that sh
e’d taken was the same image in Hosea’s mind.
They stood together, in that space, listening to the muffled commands that seeped through the door. They stood together until Jasmine took Hosea’s hand and led him a few feet away to the plastic chairs lined up against the opposite wall.
“I should have come back tonight,” Hosea whispered.
“That wouldn’t have made a difference,” she tried to assure him.
Hosea leaned back and closed his eyes. Jasmine knew he was praying and she needed to join him, but she was tired.
For more than two months, they’d lived half of their life in this building, their hope secured inside a roller coaster not in their control. How many times was God going to take them to the brink of death?
As they sat, time passed. Another doctor went in. Then another nurse. And no one came out.
More time went by. Then the door swung open, and Dr. Lewis ambled out. And this time, the mask that she usually wore was gone, all of her emotions apparent. She was shaking her head, gloom etched on her face.
The last sliver of Jasmine’s hope vanished.
Hosea stood and used the arms of the chair to steady himself. “Doctor…”
“He’s alive,” she said, and then she allowed a beat to pass, as if she wanted them to appreciate those words. “But it’s not good.”
“What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “We’re still not sure; we’re waiting for the blood cultures, and I suspect it’s another infection. We have him back on the antibiotics.”
“So then he’s going to be all right,” Hosea stated. “Like last time.”
In a tone that was softer and without the strength that she always carried, Dr. Lewis said, “That’s my prayer,” as she gently touched Hosea’s shoulder.
The doctor’s words, her gesture brought tears to Jasmine’s eyes.
Dr. Lewis said, “Why don’t you two go into the waiting room? I’m going to check on your father again.”
Once alone, Jasmine put her arm around Hosea’s waist and led him into the waiting area. She helped him first sit in a chair, and then she sat next to him. She rested her head on his shoulder, so that he wouldn’t see all the fear in her eyes.
“Is there anyone we should call?” she whispered.
He shook his head. “It’s the middle of the night. If we call…I don’t want to scare anyone.”
She wondered why not. She had enough fear to share.
He said, “Let’s see what happens.”
In her head, Jasmine tried to count back the hours: How long ago had it been when she sat in the boardroom? How much time had passed since she’d been filled with such victorious joy?
It seemed like ages ago.
Victory was gone. But she refused to allow defeat to rise up in its place.
So she closed her eyes. And even though she was tired, she prayed.
Twelve hours passed.
Jasmine paced the length of the hospital hall, not wanting to return to Reverend Bush’s room.
She couldn’t sit in there anymore. Couldn’t stare into the ashen face of her father-in-law any longer. This time, there were more machines and more tubes and more doctors stopping by, as if Reverend Bush was a case study in imminent death.
Imminent death. Those weren’t the words that Dr. Lewis had used, but they described what she had told them.
“He’s not responding,” she’d told Hosea and her two hours ago. “His blood pressure is still too low. And his fever…we may need to pack him in ice.”
“Like ice from the freezer?” Jasmine had asked as if she’d never heard of anything more ridiculous.
“Yes,” the doctor had responded. And then, with a breath, she told them all the other problems. “We drew some labs, and he has multisystem organ failure.”
Jasmine remembered how her eyes had clouded as the doctor rambled on and on about Reverend Bush’s kidneys shutting down. And enzymes showing damage to his liver. And how his heartbeat was erratic.
But as bad as all of that was, it didn’t compare to the words the doctor had spoken next.
“Your father’s body may be letting us know that it’s not healthy enough to sustain life, and we should really listen to it.”
With a voice packed with emotion, Hosea asked, “What are you saying?”
The doctor had looked him straight in his eyes. “Even if your father pulls through this time…”
“He will,” Hosea said as if he were the doctor.
The doctor nodded. “If he does, this could happen again. And each time, there’s more damage to his brain.” She paused. “Would your father want to live this way?”
“Yes.” Hosea’s chin rose a bit higher and his shoulders squared a bit more when he added, “The point is, my father would want to live.”
But Dr. Lewis was as determined to make her point. “I don’t think he’d want to live if he weren’t functional. What we’re doing right now, Mr. Bush, is keeping someone alive who seems to be dead. Would your father really want to live like this?” she had asked again before she walked away, leaving her words behind.
With a huff that Jasmine had not seen in her husband this whole time, he’d stomped back into the room to be with his father.
And she’d been with him, too. Sitting next to Hosea at the edge of the bed. Praying with him and not moving even when Brother Hill came in. Hosea’s godfather had stood at the other side with his head bowed. Then Malik had come with Sister Pearline. And the two had taken their posts at the bottom of the bed before they began to pray.
When Mrs. Whittingham and Brother Stevens had shown up, Jasmine felt like they were holding a vigil—some kind of watch service, waiting for Reverend Bush to die.
The thought had overcome her with nausea, and she’d rushed to the bathroom.
Now she stood outside, wanting never to go back in.
But even outside, the images of Reverend Bush stayed in her mind. She squeezed her eyes, trying to rid herself of the sickly image of the man she’d loved for just a few years—although in her heart the love she had for him was big enough for a lifetime.
“Jasmine?”
She looked down and into Ivy’s eyes.
“How are you?” she squeaked, her forehead etched with lines of concern.
Jasmine shook her head, slightly.
Ivy asked, “Has something happened to—”
“No, he’s still…” Jasmine couldn’t bring herself to say alive. He wasn’t alive to her.
Ivy looked toward the door. “Who’s in there?”
“Your…” Jasmine caught herself before she spoke. “Your sister and Brother Hill. Malik and a couple of other people. And Hosea.”
Ivy frowned. “I thought they only let two people in at a time.”
“They’re breaking the rules for us.”
Ivy gave Jasmine a long stare, knowing what those words meant. Then she tugged at the bottom of her suit jacket and scurried into the room.
Not a minute passed before the door opened again and Hosea joined her. Without saying a word, he leaned against the wall, taking the same stance as her.
They faced the nurses’ station, but the women behind the desk ignored them, probably used to families in their grief finding refuge in the halls.
Finally, Hosea whispered, “What’re you doing out here?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Just thinking.”
He nodded, gave her a look that told her he understood. “I’ve been thinking, too.” He paused. “I want to go home. I want to get Jacquie.”
Her eyes widened a bit.
“Remember we talked about bringing her here? I want to do that now,” he continued. “So that she can see Pops.”
Slowly, Jasmine nodded; the golf-size lump in her throat didn’t provide enough air for her to breathe, let alone speak. She knew what this was—Hosea’s first step toward his final good-bye.
She fought, but she lost the battle to keep the tears away. And when he wrapped his arms around
her, she sobbed even more.
Hosea was making plans to let his father go, but Jasmine wasn’t ready to do that. She’d done this too many times—more than twenty years ago with her mother, and much too recently with her father. How would she do this again?
Minutes passed before she was able to sniff back the rest of her tears. Looked up into her husband’s eyes and said, “Let’s go home. Let’s get our daughter.”
FIFTY-FOUR
“CAN YOU HAVE JACQUIE READY?” Jasmine asked. “We’re on our way now.” She clicked off her phone when the nanny agreed.
Hosea’s eyes were on the road, as if he couldn’t face his wife when he asked, “You don’t think this is a good idea?”
Jasmine turned so that he could see her. “Yes, I’m fine with it.”
He exhaled a long breath. “I want Jacquie to see…I want her to have a chance…”
She rubbed her hand on Hosea’s shoulder, silently letting him know that she understood and truly agreed.
As the SUV rumbled down Central Park West, he said, “I hope it’ll be okay for her. She’s so young.”
“But we’ll be there.”
“I don’t want her to be scared.”
“She won’t be,” Jasmine said in a tone that was a lot surer than what she felt. That was her fear, too—that Jacqueline would take one look at her grandfather and cry. This wasn’t how she wanted her daughter to remember him. But she also knew that Hosea needed this moment—with their daughter, with his father.
Not even an hour later, they were back in the car, Jacqueline secured in her car seat. As they sped north, her toddler’s voice rang out, “He got the whole world,” as she clapped her hands.
Today, she sang alone.
Glee came from the back, but didn’t make its way to the front. When Jasmine glanced at Hosea, even in the dusk of the evening, she could see the water in his eyes. And her heart ached. For her husband. For her daughter, who would never remember her grandfather.
Jacqueline kept singing as Hosea drove. Her song continued, even as they parked and her father carried her through the halls of Harlem Hospital.
It was the privilege of pending death that allowed Jacqueline to be taken past the security guard and into the elevators.
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