Temptation: The Aftermath

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  She grabbed me in a hug that let me know she would always be there, just like she’d been for more than thirty years. Then, she stepped back and with her hands on my shoulders, she said, “Jefferson is going to be all right.”

  That was a command for me to believe. And I gave a nod to my friend before Brian pulled me into his arms for a hug.

  He said, “I really wish you’d let one of us go with you to New York.”

  Before the last word was out of his mouth, I shook my head. “No, I’ll be all right. I really need you here.” Turning to Alexis, I said, “I’m so grateful that you’ll stay with Mom.”

  “Of course. She’s my mom, too.”

  That made me pause for just a moment. That was something that Jefferson always said.

  I faced Brian again. “Jefferson will really need you at the clinic because we don’t know ….” I had to pause for air. “We don’t know how long he’ll be away.”

  He gave me a long stare, then a short nod, as if he knew that I was right, but he still didn’t agree. “I hate it because Travis won’t even be there when you land.”

  I nodded. “He wanted to cancel his trip to Guatemala, but Jefferson wouldn’t want that. You guys do such good work down there, and there’s nothing that Travis can do for Jefferson in New York.”

  It didn’t seem like I was moving Brian at all.

  So, I added, “And I won’t be alone for long; Nicole will fly in as soon as she can.”

  “You spoke to her?” Alexis asked as she took my hand and led me into the living room.

  “I did,” I said right before I sat on the sofa. Alexis dropped down next to me. “I was just glad that I didn’t have to wake her in the middle of the night. She was just about to leave the embassy. Which helped a little …. I think.” I shook my head. “I’d rather call her at work than have to wake her in the middle of the night when she’s six thousand miles away.”

  “All right, then,” Alexis began.“So, what do you need me to do?” She didn’t take a breath. “You have your flight arrangements; did you pack?” She spoke in a chop-chop kind of tone, taking over like she always did.

  “I didn’t even think about packing. I don’t know what ….” Before I could finish, Alexis jumped up and as if she were passing me off, Brian sat down. Alexis was on the staircase headed to my bedroom before I could even gather the words to stop her. Not that she would have listened.

  Once Alexis was out of sight, Brian took my hand. “Jefferson is going to be all right,” he said.

  I wasn’t quite sure that his words were for me, but I said, “I know,” just in case.

  He asked, “What about your mom? Did you wake her? Tell her?”

  I shook my head. “She’s going to be so worried and I don’t want to put that stress on her heart.”

  “You can’t keep this from her.”

  “I know. I just didn’t want to wake her when there’s nothing that she can do. I know this is going to ….” I swallowed back my fear.

  Brian squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry. Alex and I will tell her in the morning. And she’ll be in good hands. Remember, I’m a doctor.”

  That almost made me smile.

  He chuckled.“I mean ophthalmologists are good for something.”

  “You’re good for everything.” The little bit of the smile I felt inside faded and in its place, were more thoughts of my husband. “Brian … I just want to thank you and Alexis ….”

  He shook his head and pulled me into his arms once again. “No thanks necessary. You just go to New York and bring Jefferson home.”

  And then in the quiet that followed, I said the prayer again …

  Please God ….

  Now I sighed, so grateful for what I called my middle-of-thenight friends. That was how I’d always referred to Alexis in the past and she’d proven last night that was who she was, arriving at my door still practically dressed in her pajamas.

  I gasped a bit as the plane’s wheels bumped off the runway and the jet glided into the air, defying gravity as it headed over the Pacific Ocean before making its U-turn, taking me East to where I needed to be.

  It had surely taken long enough. At around two this morning, I began to wonder if walking was an option. Anything to get to my husband.

  My husband, my wonderful husband. The man who’d already been wonderful when we’d met all of those years ago …

  I felt like I was going to die from the suffocating heat. Even now, outside on the porch, I felt waves of all of that warmth threatening to smother me here, too.

  “Some party, huh?”

  Turning around, I had to squint through the darkness to focus on the mocha-skinned brother dressed in red and white fraternity paraphernalia. He swaggered toward me and then sloped against the outside wall.

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “A little hot, though.”

  “I like things hot,” he said with a half-smile ….

  I’d had a half-smile then, but I was full-out grinning now remembering that time at the Back-to-Campus party at the Kappa Alpha Psi House on Queen Street, right off of Hampton’s campus. He’d told me his name, then asked mine before he serenaded me as if he were the lead singer of the Ohio Players ….

  “Fire! Fire! The way you walk and talk really sets me off to a full alarm … ”

  I sighed, remembering the way he’d sang, then told me that I was gonna be his wife. We had never seen each other on campus before, but he’d spoken that line with more than the usual male upperclassman bravado. He’d spoken with almost a divine certainty ….

  “Oh yeah – you’re gonna be my wife.”

  “You don’t even know my name.” I chuckled. “Okay, wife, tell me your name.”

  I stepped closer to him, just so he knew that I wasn’t intimidated by all of his testosterone. “My name is Kyla. Kyla Carrington.”

  He brought the beer can that he held to his lips, took a swig, then said, “That’s all I need to know. The rest I’ll learn over the lifetime of our long and happy marriage.”

  It was only because I wanted to show him that I had toe-to-toe capabilities, that I said, “So, Jefferson, if we’re going to be married, don’t you think I should know your last name?”

  “Is that a yes? Does that mean you will marry me?” I laughed ….

  That had been only our first laugh together and we’d had a billion more of those moments. And we’d shared so many other amazing times, too:

  Like the way he’d been the one standing at the altar with tears coursing down his face on the day when we really did marry and we held hands in front of Pastor Ford.

  “I now pronounce you man and wife. Jefferson, you may ….”

  Our pastor didn’t even have a chance to finish before his lips were on mine, lingering in the gentlest, longest kiss we’d ever shared.

  I would always remember that moment, especially since our journey to the altar hadn’t been the easiest road ever taken. From the moment our first date had come to an end, that’s when our struggle began ….

  “This was really nice, I had a good time,” I told him.

  His smile was huge as he leaned against the doorpost to my room, then moved in for the kiss. I kissed him, so pleased that it was a gentle meeting of our lips. But then, he tried to probe his tongue further and I knew I had to stop.

  “I think we should end this now.”

  “Really?” His voice was husky, but he sounded a bit amused. “I was thinking that I could come in.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

  He leaned back and frowned. “I thought you said your roommate was away for the weekend.”

  “She is.”

  “Well,” he returned his hands to my waist. “I figured we’d have some private time.”

  I kept my smile even though I knew we were coming to the hard part. I’d been here before … and I’d sent more than my share of guys running.

  I said, “There’s something you should know.”

  “You talk too much.” He kissed
my neck and I trembled. “Because whatever you have to say isn’t what I want to know.”

  It was so hard concentrating when his lips felt so good against my …. “I don’t do this.”

  His frown was so deep, I hoped he wouldn’t give himself a headache. Then, he grinned, like he was sure my words were a joke. But I swiped that smile away with the words, “I’m a virgin.”

  His hands dropped from me so fast, I really couldn’t say that I saw him move. “Uh … well ….”

  I laughed. “That’s exactly what everyone says.” “Uh … well … I should say ….”

  He stopped like he didn’t have any other words. So, I filled in the blanks for him. “Good night?”

  “Yeah … uh … well … good night.”

  I stood there, watching him walk away. Those were not new words for me, but this was the first time those words hurt because I liked Jefferson and I knew what would happen next. Like the others, Jefferson would see me in the cafeteria and look the other way. He’d see me on the street and cross to the other side. Being a virgin was like having the world’s worst contagious disease — no one wanted to catch virginity.

  But Jefferson hadn’t left me alone. No one even needed that feather to knock me over when he called a few days later and asked me out again. He’d interrogated me on our next date, boldly questioning my motives as if what I’d told him was some kind of game. I explained it to him simply, explained that I was a Christian who’d kept the celibacy vow I’d made at thirteen.

  Of course, Jefferson gave me all the lines that I’d heard before: it had been a long time since I was thirteen — things and times had changed — in the Bible, God wasn’t talking about the twentieth century — the Lord certainly wasn’t talking about us.

  Of course, he hadn’t been able to convince me, but what was shocking was that I had changed him. He still called me, even though after our second date, it wasn’t very often. Until it became more often, until it became exclusive, until we fell in love.

  But not even love could change my mind. Nothing could do that, not love, not pressure, not temptation.

  “Jefferson, as much as I love you, I love God more.”

  It had been a battle, though I wasn’t just clashing with Jefferson. I’d been fighting my own flesh, too, because Jefferson Blake was hot. Period. It was hard not to give in to the walking temptation that he was.

  But then, our wedding night …

  “Mrs. Blake, what would you like to drink?”

  The first-class flight attendant startled me away from the memory of the consummation of our marriage. I’d been so into it, I had to shift in my seat.

  I really needed some coffee since I hadn’t been asleep. That was what I told her, but then I added, “And a glass of water, please. With ice.”

  Less than two minutes later as I took alternating sips of coffee and water, I stayed on this stroll down this single lane of my memory. Because I only wanted to think about this man who had been my dream.

  We’d had so many amazing moments in these years. From the best of times to the worst. There was the way he leaned over and kissed me just moments after Nicole’s birth. There was so much love in his watery eyes when he said:

  “Kyla, you have given me the greatest gift, the most beautiful gift. And I will always love you. Both of you.”

  Then, there was the way he held my mom right after my dad passed away and she was trembling with grief and fear:

  “We will take care of you, Mom. You don’t have to worry; we will always be here. Because you’re my mom, too.”

  I pressed back the tear that had pooled in the corner of my eye. There was no way that I could lose this man who made my heart beat. He was a giant among men, my partner in our perfect marriage.

  Perfect. Except.

  For that one time. For that one thing. Except.

  For Jasmine Cox Larson.

  I shook my head. Why had I allowed that devil to pop into my mind? There was no reason for me to even think about that single betrayal by Jefferson. No reason to think about that scar on our otherwise decades of ecstasy.

  Decades.

  God, that was not enough.

  I needed more. I needed a century, a millennium. I needed a million lifetimes.

  That was why I closed my eyes. And began to pray.

  Please God, please God, please God!

  chapter 3

  Jasmine

  All kinds of thoughts were swirling through my mind. Kyla had been kidnapped, Kyla was still lying in the store away from the eyes of the police, Kyla had been dazed and was walking around New York scared and lost.

  As if my husband heard my brain at work, he reached across the backseat of the car and squeezed my hand.

  I was sure Hosea was wondering about the burden I was carrying. How could I be so concerned about a woman I hadn’t spoken to in twenty years?

  But Kyla wasn’t an ordinary woman. And neither was our friendship from the moment we met ….

  It was the first day of school and I wasn’t sure yet, but I think I hated it. I didn’t want to play with these kids. The girls were silly and the boys wouldn’t let me play kickball with them.

  My baby sister, Serena, was much more fun and she had just been born. She was like a real live babydoll, better than any I’d ever had because she cried for real. And she wet her diaper for real, too. That was fun, so all I wanted to do was go home and play with her. But then, I saw this little girl leaning against the fence. She had been sitting at the table next to me in the classroom, but now, she was crying for real … like Serena. When she looked at me, she started crying harder.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I asked her.

  At first she looked like she didn’t want to tell me, but then, she pointed to three girls on the other side of the school playground.

  “Those girls over there,” she hiccupped, “are picking on me.”

  I wondered what was the big deal with that. I shrugged and told her, “So? Just punch them out.”

  Just remembering the way Kyla’s eyes had widened made my lips curl into a smile for the first time since I saw the news an hour ago. Horror was all over her face when she explained that her mother had told her she couldn’t do that because Christians would make God mad if they fought.

  With all the wisdom of a five-year-old, I told her that her mother didn’t know squat and then with all the bravado within me, I marched across the park and threatened those girls, telling them if they wanted to keep their two front teeth they needed to leave that other little girl (I didn’t even know her name) alone.

  When the teacher called us to go back to the classroom, I grabbed Kyla’s hand and dragged her back into the school.

  That was how it all started. On that day, a lifelong sisterhood had been born. At least through the years as we got closer, I’d thought it was going to be lifelong.

  From that moment, Kyla and I had been through so much, but we’d always been through it together. Through middle school, high school, then college and beyond, next to Kenny (who eventually became my first husband) Kyla had always cheered my celebrations and shared my tears. She held my hand and helped my heart to heal when my mother died, and she’d done the same after my divorce.

  But somewhere and somehow right after that, something happened to me. I hurt Kyla — though no one would ever believe me if I told them that had never been my intent. I’d loved her. Truly.

  I sighed and Hosea squeezed my hand, making me open my eyes; I didn’t even realize I’d closed them. When the car rolled to a stop at the corner of Malcolm X and 135th Street, we thanked the driver and slid from the car. Hosea held my hand as we walked so fast that we were almost trotting into Harlem Hospital. But then, once we stepped inside, Hosea’s steps slowed and I knew why.

  My husband had to come through these doors so often as a pastor, but there was one time when it was personal, a moment that Hosea always remembered. That time back in 2009 when we’d received the call in the middle of the night — about h
is father. My father-in-law had been shot, too.

  I made sure my steps matched Hosea’s until his memories faded. I was able to tell when that happened by the way his pace picked up and the dread drained from his face.

  As we made our way toward the Information Desk, I watched the woman behind it glance up and in an instant, her eyes shined with recognition. My husband, Pastor Hosea Bush, received many privileges that stemmed from him leading City of Lights at Riverside, the largest church in Harlem. With that and with both of the Sunday services televised, Hosea was recognized by most Harlem residents, whether they were church members, attended other churches, or were Bedside Baptists.

  I wasn’t sure which category the woman at the Information Desk belonged to when she exclaimed, “Pastor,” but she was a member of one.

  After they exchanged greetings, Hosea asked about Jefferson in less than a dozen words.

  “Oh,” her voice lowered a couple of decibels. “Is he a friend of yours?”

  “Yes,” Hosea said.

  “I was here last night when they brought him in.” She spoke to Hosea like she had no problem sharing information. I guess that was another one of those privileges of being a well-known pastor. She whispered, “He was admitted under a different name. You know, standard procedure with these kinds of shootings in case it’s gang-related.”

  That made me frown. It was all over the news that Jefferson was here at Harlem Hospital, though anyone could have guessed that this was where he’d been brought. Was Jefferson still in danger from the shooter?

  That question made my heart sink and my stomach do a triple backflip. Maybe my thoughts weren’t so out of line. Maybe Kyla was being held by the man who’d shot Jefferson because he knew she could identify him.

  I was able to keep my moan mostly inside as Hosea took my hand. After she’d made her announcement about Jefferson under a different name, I’d checked out and hadn’t even realized it. Thank God for my husband because obviously, Hosea had heard everything.

  He led me to the elevator and then, inside, I trembled more with my thoughts.

  When we stepped off on the fourth floor and walked up to the nurse’s station, if any of the three women (one standing, two sitting) behind the counter recognized Hosea, they didn’t show it. Because when Hosea said, “We’re here to see Doctor Jefferson Blake,” all three gave us stares as if my husband had never spoken. Hosea continued, “I know he was admitted under John