As the limousine inched forward in the Seventh Avenue congestion, Jasmine said, “How’re you gonna write a book when you have so many secrets?”
“Secrets? What kind of secrets does Nama have?” Hosea asked.
That quickly, Jasmine had forgotten about her husband.
Mae Frances didn’t give Jasmine any space to answer. “I don’t know what she’s talking about,” she said to Hosea. Then, she turned squinted eyes to Jasmine. “ ’Cause I don’t have any secrets . . . do I, Jasmine Larson?”
Jasmine wanted to spew out everything she knew about the woman. She wanted to tell Hosea how it was Mae Frances who had helped her lie to him about their daughter’s true paternity, making Hosea believe that the baby Jasmine was carrying when they got married was his. She wanted to tell Hosea how Mae Frances had all kinds of strange connections. How Mae Frances had dated everyone from politicians to pastors, probably dating a couple of them at the same time.
But Jasmine said none of these things because, first of all, Mae Frances and her connections had gotten Jasmine out of every bind she’d ever been in, so she owed her for that. And . . . she was afraid of her. Not physically. Jasmine was (almost) sure that she could take this woman who was at least twenty years her senior (no one knew Mae Frances’s age for sure). But it was the other kind, the nonphysical damage that Mae Frances could do, the secrets (Jasmine’s secrets) that Mae Frances could tell, that left Jasmine with her lips pressed together.
So, all she could say was, “I don’t mean you have secrets. I just mean you’re a private person.”
Mae Frances gave her a nod as if she approved of the way Jasmine had handled that. “That I am. Private. But since I’m the one writing the book”—she paused and waved her hand in the air—“I don’t need one of those ghost-writing people . . . I will be the one who decides what goes on those pages and what doesn’t.”
“So, what kind of book are you writing, Mae Frances?” Hosea asked.
“A novel,” Jasmine spoke up before Mae Frances could say a word. “It’s all fiction.”
She glared at Jasmine. “You know I’m not writing any fiction. I’m writing a true story—the story of my life.” She kept her stare on Jasmine for just a little longer. Then, “That’s right, Preacher Man. I’m going to tell the world about Mae Frances.”
Hosea grinned. “Well, I think that’s a beautiful thing, Nama. I bet you it’ll be a New York Times bestseller.”
Mae Frances giggled and Jasmine turned to the window. Even though the sun was bright, she searched for the full moon that had to be rising. Mae Frances writing a book? That would never happen.
The ringing of her cell phone pulled her thoughts away from this craziness of Mae Frances the author. But when she grabbed it out of her bag and glanced at the screen, she felt like she was in the twilight zone. There was definitely going to be a full moon tonight because the wolves were out. And this one, whose name appeared on her screen, would be the first wolf out there howling.
She pressed the ACCEPT icon. “Rachel?”
“Hey, Jasmine. What’s up?” Rachel said as if the two were friends who spoke often.
Really, Jasmine didn’t consider Rachel anywhere near a friend. Yes, when they found themselves in the same space together, they always seemed to have to team up—them against the rest of the crazies out there. But when Jasmine and Rachel were apart, Rachel was just one of those crazies to Jasmine.
“What do you want, Rachel?”
“Dang! Is that how you greet a friend?”
“No, I greet my friends differently. So . . . what do you want?”
“You know what? See, this is why I hate talking to you.”
“Well, I didn’t call you, Rachel. You called me.”
“Oh. Yeah,” she said, as if she’d forgotten.
Jasmine took a deep breath. She’d thought that a little bit of her intelligence would have rubbed off on Rachel after all the time they’d spent together.
“Anyway,” Rachel continued, “I was calling to get some information from you.”
“What kind of information? And why?”
“Well, see . . . um . . . there’s this newspaper down here that wants to do an interview about us.”
“For what?”
“For the American Baptist Coalition. They were impressed with me on the show and I told them to include you, too.”
Jasmine’s eyes narrowed. As much as Rachel lied, she really should have been more proficient at that sin by now. There was no way Rachel would ever include Jasmine in an interview. She wasn’t about to share any kind of spotlight.
But in order for her to find out what Rachel was up to, Jasmine had to keep her talking. “So, what newspaper?”
“The Baptist Herald; it’s this big paper down here in Houston.”
Liar! “So why didn’t they just call me?”
“Because it’s a short article, and they’re really busy and so they asked me to ask you a couple of questions and then I’ll get back to them.”
Liar! “So what do they want to know?”
“Um . . . they need to know, where are your people from?”
Now Jasmine’s frown was so deep, the creases in her forehead looked as if they’d been carved into her skin. “My people?”
“Yeah, your people. Your parents’ family. Your ancestors.”
“Well, my ancestors are from Africa.”
“Ugh!” Rachel blew out an exasperated breath. “Can you just answer my question? Your people . . . aren’t they from Florida?”
“Yes,” Jasmine said. She and Rachel had just talked about this during the last taping of their reality show. Jasmine had been so proud to say that her father’s family was from Pensacola, Florida, after Rachel had said that her people were from a place called Smackover, Arkansas.
Jasmine was sure Rachel had lied about that. Really? A place called Smackover.
“Whew!” Rachel exhaled. “That’s what I thought.”
“Why do you sound so relieved?” Jasmine asked.
“Because that’s what I told the Houston Herald.”
“I thought you said the article was for the Baptist Herald?”
Rachel paused. “No, you must’ve heard me wrong.”
Pants on fire!
“Anyway, I told them that your mother and father were from Florida, so we’re good,” Rachel said.
“Wait. I didn’t say my mother’s family was from Florida.”
“You . . . didn’t?”
“No. My mom was born and raised in Mobile.”
There was a pause. “Mobile . . . California?”
Jasmine rolled her eyes. “No, Alabama.”
“Mobile . . . Alabama?”
Jasmine sighed. Why was Rachel talking like a robot?
So many quiet seconds passed that Jasmine finally said, “Hello?”
“Uh . . . yeah, I’m here. You know, I think one of my aunts lives down there.”
That was her cue. It was time to end this call because the last thing she wanted to do was listen to Rachel go on about her people in Alabama, or Arkansas, or wherever they were from.
“Yeah, my aunt Doris . . .”
Jasmine froze for a moment.
“Doris . . . Jenkins,” Rachel finished.
This time, a long breath of relief flowed through Jasmine’s lips. “That’s kinda funny. My mother’s name was Doris, but Jenkins was not her last name.”
More dead air. Why did this girl call her if she wasn’t going to talk? “Rachel?”
“Yeah,” she responded, sounding as if she was about to cry. “I gotta go, Jasmine. Talk to you later.” In the next second, all Jasmine heard was the sound of silence.
She stared at her phone for a couple of seconds.
“Who was that?” Hosea asked.
“Rachel.”
“What did Rafina want?” Mae Frances said, calling Rachel out of her name like she always did.
“I don’t know,” Jasmine said as she tucked her phone back
inside her purse. Rachel was up to something, but those questions didn’t give her any kind of hint at all. “She asked me a couple of questions and then hung up.”
“Well, who cares about that Ralonda woman, anyway,” Mae Frances said. “We have better things to talk about. Like my book. Where should I begin my story?”
Jasmine took a deep breath and exhaled. Mae Frances had never been the easiest person to get along with. But now that she thought she was about to be a star, Jasmine was sure life would be bordering on miserable.
Why couldn’t her life be simple? Why couldn’t Mae Frances go back to just being her friend and Rachel go back to being her enemy? Why couldn’t she just have peace?
Peace . . . that’s what Serena always talked about. Maybe she needed to move to Florida with Serena so that she could have peace, too. Yeah, that’s what she needed to do. Because between Mae Frances and Rachel, she had a feeling that peace might be a long way away.
Chapter
4
Rachel
Doris.
Jasmine’s mother’s name was Doris. But that was a common old person’s name; surely there were hundreds of Dorises in Mobile, Alabama. Surely this was not her father’s Doris.
Then what about the resemblance?
“No, no, no,” Rachel muttered to herself. Because if that Doris was her dad’s Doris, then that meant her father was right and Jasmine really was her . . . Rachel couldn’t even form the thought in her head again.
“Hey!”
Rachel jumped at the sound of her husband’s voice as he tapped on her car window. She took a deep breath and rolled it down. “Lester, you scared the bejesus out of me!”
“Umm, why are you sitting in the car talking to yourself?” Lester asked as he eyed her.
“I, ah, um, I . . . I, ah . . .”
He leaned in and examined the car, like he was expecting to find something to explain her strange behavior. “Are you okay?”
No. I’ll never be okay again. Not if I’m related to that hag, Rachel wanted to say. Instead, she simply said, “Yeah, I was just a little distracted.”
“A lot distracted.” He pointed to the gear then opened her driver’s-side door. “You want to put the car in park, please?”
Rachel hadn’t even realized she was idling in her driveway with the car in reverse. She’d hung up the phone with Jasmine and literally hadn’t moved.
Her mother’s name was Doris.
Rachel adjusted the gearshift to park, rolled up her window, turned off her car, and waited on Lester so she could step out. “Sorry, I’m a little stressed.”
“What’s wrong?”
Before she could answer, her cell phone rang and the “Dance With My Father” ringtone reverberated through the air. Without thinking, Rachel pressed IGNORE.
Lester raised an eyebrow. “Are you really going to ignore your father’s call?”
“Yeah, I can’t deal with him right now.” She was frazzled and had no idea what to say to her father.
“Rachel, what’s going on?”
“I can’t talk about it right now.” She finally noticed his keys and that he’d pulled his car up beside hers. “Where have you been? Who’s with the kids?”
“David came by right after you left. He offered to stay with them while I ran up to the church.”
Her brother! Rachel needed to talk to her brother about this. She couldn’t tell Lester just yet, because he would give her the whole “family is a blessing” spiel and she wasn’t about to hear that, especially since learning she was related to Jasmine was a definite curse. But David would help her figure this nightmare out.
Rachel didn’t say anything else to her husband as she turned and made her way up the brick walkway to their lavish seven-thousand-square-foot home. Rachel could feel her husband’s eyes studying her from behind, but she ignored him as she made her way to the den.
“ ’Sup, ma,” Rachel’s son, Jordan, said from his usual spot on the sofa. David was sitting next to him, the two of them engaged in some PlayStation football game.
“What did I tell you about that gangsta talk in my house?” Rachel asked.
Jordan pressed pause on the video-game controller that seemed to be permanently attached to his hands and turned to David. “Unc, ’sup is gangsta?”
David laughed as he kept pushing the controller.
“Yes, in this house, it is,” Rachel replied.
“It must be her time of the month,” Jordan whispered.
If Rachel wasn’t in such a mood, she’d pop her fourteen-year-old son in the mouth. He must be going through puberty because he was always making these crass comments lately. She made a memo to get him in check, but right now, her mind was somewhere else.
“Where is everyone?” she asked.
“Brooklyn and Lewis are asleep and Nia is upstairs playing that Movie Star Planet game,” David said.
Lester was standing over the bar, going through a stack of mail. Rachel leaned in and whispered, “David, can I talk to you? Out back.”
David narrowed his eyes at her, but didn’t respond. The silence made Lester look up.
“I just need to talk to David about something real quick,” she told her husband.
Lester continued studying her, but Rachel ignored him and grabbed her brother’s hand, making him drop the controller to the floor. “Come on.”
They walked out onto Rachel’s deck and David took out his pack of Kool’s. He tapped the package and removed a cigarette. It was strange seeing her brother smoke. He used to be an athletic health nut. But that had been before a bone-crippling injury had ended his NBA career before it had ever really started. He’d turned to drugs after that and it had taken him years to get clean, so she’d gladly put up with a cigarette any day.
David took his time as he lit the cigarette. He inhaled then said, “So, what’s going on?”
Rachel took the Kool from her brother, took a puff, and broke into a coughing fit.
“Uh, what is that about?” he asked, snatching the nicotine stick back from her.
“I thought those things were supposed to relax your nerves,” Rachel said. The smoke had flooded her nose. She squeezed her nostrils to try to remove the smell. “That is disgusting.”
David took a long drag and slowly blew out circles.
“You got too much time on your hands if you’ve learned how to do tricks with the smoke.”
“Yeah, leave the smoking to the big dogs. Again, what’s going on with you, pulling me outside all secretive and stuff?”
She inhaled and began pacing the deck. “I don’t know how to say this.”
David stopped his cigarette in midair. “You’re cheating with Bobby?”
Rachel spun around. “What? Where did that come from?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s the love of your life.”
“He used to be the love of my life when I was young,” Rachel snapped. “I’m a First Lady now. I wouldn’t dare think of cheating on my husband.”
David smirked. “Yeah, okay, li’l sis. Whatever you say. Then what’s got you all worked up?” He paused, waiting. “Just say it,” he snapped when she just stood there.
It’s like the words wouldn’t even form in her mouth. Finally, she said, “I . . . I think we may have a half sister.”
“What?”
She sighed, then turned to look out over their two acres. “Yeah. Dad thinks he has a daughter.”
“Daddy was creeping?” David all but yelled.
“Shut up and lower your voice,” Rachel said. She blew a frustrated breath. “No, this was before Mom.”
“Rachel, what are you talking about?”
Rachel turned to face her brother head-on. “I don’t know how to say this. Daddy thinks he got an old girlfriend pregnant when they were teenagers.”
“How do you know this?”
“Daddy told me.”
David ran his hands over his head like he was thoroughly confused. “So do we know who this half
sister of ours is?”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “We don’t know anything for sure. But we think it’s Jasmine.”
“Jasmine who?” David huffed, like he was getting irritated. Then, his eyes grew wide. “Oh my God. Your Jasmine?”
“She’s not my Jasmine,” Rachel snapped.
And then David doubled over with laughter. “You have got to be kidding me,” he said, as he tried to catch his breath. “Jasmine is your sister. Ha ha ha ha!”
Rachel swatted his arm. “She would be our sister if this is true. Daddy thinks he got somebody named Doris from Mobile, Alabama, pregnant. He said she looked just like Jasmine. I’m thinking it’s another Doris.”
“Yeah, I’m thinking it’s not,” David said, still laughing.
“You know what? I don’t know why I thought I could talk to your silly behind,” Rachel snapped. She should’ve called Jonathan. Her other brother was much more rational than David.
“Okay, okay,” David said, trying to rein in his laughter. “Sorry. But you gotta admit, that’s hilarious.”
Rachel folded her arms and glared at her brother. “No, I don’t have to admit anything. But I do need to know for sure before I tell Daddy anything. I want to do a DNA test, but I don’t know how to make it happen.”
David looked like he was thinking for a minute. “I know. You remember when you were trying to find out if Lewis was Lester and Mary’s son? You pulled that baby’s hair straight out of his head so you could get some DNA.”
David was getting some kind of perverse enjoyment in all of this. That’s because he didn’t know Jasmine. If he knew Jasmine like Rachel knew Jasmine, he wouldn’t find anything funny.
“No,” Rachel said, shaking her head. “This is just a weird coincidence. We just need to tell Daddy that Jasmine’s mom’s name is Eartha or something. So he can just drop this.”
“So, you’re just gonna lie to our dad, the minister?”
Rachel looked at him like he was crazy. “Like you’ve never done it.” She released a heavy sigh. “I just don’t want to give him false hope until we know for sure.”
“Then you gotta find out for sure.”
A Blessing & a Curse Page 3