“How am I supposed to do that, David?”
He went back to puffing on his cigarette then said, “Next time you see Jasmine, pull a piece of her hair.”
“For what? It’s not like it’s hers. It belongs to some lady in India.”
“Oh, my bad.” David laughed. “Just ask her to take a DNA test.”
“Oh, yeah, like she’s going to go for that.” Jasmine and Rachel had an up-and-down relationship, and after their stint on reality TV, they’d been more down than up, so having a heart-to-heart talk would get them nowhere.
“If you want to know if the girl is our sister, just sit her down and talk to her.”
“So, call her?”
David shook his head. “No, that’s a conversation you need to have face-to-face. Isn’t Lester going to New York next week anyway?”
Rachel had forgotten all about that. Lester was scheduled to speak at a church in Queens. He’d asked her if she’d wanted to go and she’d said no. Maybe she needed to change her mind.
“Okay, I can do that,” she said, nodding, finally feeling better about this situation. “I’ll get some of Daddy’s DNA, go to New York, get Jasmine’s DNA. And I’ll run the test without anyone being the wiser.”
David flicked his cigarette on the ground, then picked it up when Rachel gave him the side-eye. “Look, I know I don’t know much about Jasmine, but I doubt if you can show up on her doorstep and say, ‘Hey, can I have some of your DNA?’ ”
“I know how to be creative, I watch Law & Order.”
“Rachel. Just ask the woman.”
Yeah, David didn’t know Jasmine at all. She was as difficult as they came. Nothing was as simple as just asking. But Rachel decided she’d figure out the how later. Right now, she needed to go tell her husband that she would be making the trip with him to New York, and come clean about how she needed to prove once and for all that she was absolutely not related to Jasmine Cox Larson Bush.
Chapter
5
Jasmine
Jasmine hung up the phone, plopped down onto the sofa, and then clapped her hands. “It’s all set,” she said to Hosea and Mae Frances. “We’re going to Pensacola.”
“So you gave Serena the dates and everything?” Hosea asked, as he looked up from his tablet.
“Yup. We’re going to go before the end of July. You and me and Zaya and Jacquie will be heading down there for a two-week vacation.”
“That’s great, darlin’.”
“Great?” Mae Frances growled. She tossed the newspaper she’d been reading onto the floor and glared at Jasmine. “I can’t believe you’re excited about going to Florida.” She shook her head as if that was the worst idea she’d ever heard. “If you want to go away, go and see the world. Go to where I’ve been: Paris, Patras, or Palermo. Or if you just can’t see yourself as international, visit someplace as pedestrian as Palm Springs. But Pensacola?” She shuddered.
Jasmine had to press her lips together so she wouldn’t say a word. Mae Frances was acting brand-new, as if she’d always had lots of money, as if she’d always traveled the world and dined in nothing but five-star restaurants. Well, maybe it had been that way before Jasmine had come into her life. But when Jasmine had met Mae Frances back in 2006, she had been barely surviving in her East Side apartment with her ratty old furniture and bare cupboards.
But Jasmine loved the woman who had become her best friend too much to go at her like that. So all she said was, “Hosea and I have plans to take Jacquie and Zaya all around the world, but this, right here, right now, is about family.”
And Jasmine meant that. Although she’d spent most of her adult life putting her lower-middle-class upbringing far in the past, being around Serena always gave her a new perspective on their family and her upbringing. As they had spent that week together reminiscing about pajama parties and Christmases, birthday gifts and Thanksgiving dinners, Jasmine finally realized that the love for and pride in her that her parents had felt was far more valuable than all the material possessions she’d longed for growing up.
She’d never have the chance to thank her parents on this side of Heaven, but she could do something they would love. She was going to take Jacquie and Zaya down to Pensacola to meet Uncle Jethro, and Uncle Ben, and Aunt Em. And their cousins Lucas, Joe-Joe, and Willard.
She wished that she could connect her children with her mother’s side of the family, too, but everyone except one aunt had passed away before Jasmine was born. But, her father’s family, even with their country names and countrified ways, were going to be a part of her life from now on.
Turning back to Hosea, Jasmine added, “Serena’s excited, but I don’t think she really believes we’re going to do it.”
“She doesn’t think we’re going to make that trip? Why not?”
“She said there aren’t very many five-star hotels in Pensacola.”
“Your sister knows I’m not that guy.”
“And I’m not that girl, either.”
Both Hosea and Mae Frances stared at Jasmine as she turned from one side to the other, looking at both of them.
“What?” Jasmine asked. “I mean, yeah, I love staying in the nicest of places, but this isn’t about luxury hotel suites or gourmet restaurants. I already said this is about family.”
Hosea grinned. “And that’s what’s most important.”
Mae Frances hmphed once again, but Jasmine ignored her as Hosea stood. “Mae Frances, it’s time for us to head uptown,” he said.
Jasmine frowned. “You’re going to the meeting, too?”
Hosea answered for her. “Pops asked her to sit in and take notes since Mrs. Whittingham is on vacation.”
“Your father wants her to take notes?” Jasmine asked. Turning to Mae Frances, she said, “You don’t even know how to use a tablet.”
“I’m going to take notes the old-fashioned way. I’m going to take dictation,” she said proudly.
Jasmine had never seen Mae Frances hold a pen or a pencil in her hand, so this wasn’t about taking any kind of dictation. This was all about the esteemed Reverend Samuel Bush. Mae Frances planned all kinds of ways to spend time with Hosea’s father.
Not that Jasmine ever thought anything would happen between those two. First, though she didn’t know her age, Jasmine was sure that her friend had at least a good decade on her father-in-law. Now, of course, age would never matter to Mae Frances. Based on the men in her life she had talked about, she’d been a cougar from way back.
But Mae Frances’s fiery attitude and her take-no-prisoners manner were a clear indication that she didn’t have a settling-down-with-a-pastor kind of personality, no matter how much she liked to flirt with Samuel Bush.
“Well, however you’re going to take notes,” Hosea said, “we better get a moving. Let me get my portfolio from the office.”
As Hosea traipsed from the living room, Jasmine glanced at Mae Frances and shook her head.
“What?” Mae Frances asked.
“Why are you going to this meeting? You don’t know how to take dictation.”
She grinned. “I’m going to spend a little time with Papa Bush.”
Jasmine rolled her eyes as Mae Frances did a little jig, sashaying around the sofa. “I’mma get me that man one day,” she sang.
Jasmine was just about to tell Mae Frances not to hurt herself when the phone rang. The concierge greeted her.
“Mrs. Bush, a Rachel Adams is here to see you.”
Jasmine frowned. “Rachel? What’s she doing here?”
“Uh . . .” The concierge hesitated as if he had no idea how to answer that.
“I’m sorry.” Now it was Jasmine who hesitated. What she really wanted to do was ask Stanley to put Rachel on the phone. It wasn’t like she wanted that woman in her home, since trouble always followed her.
On the other hand, she didn’t want the concierge or any of her neighbors who happened to be in the lobby to hear her and Rachel talking because there was no telling what that
nut was going to say.
“Okay, Stanley. Send her up, please.”
Jasmine hung up just as Hosea came back into the room. “Ready, Nama?” he asked.
“I was ready,” Mae Frances said. “But now, I just might have to stay. It seems that Raquisha has popped in for a visit.”
“Who?” Hosea frowned.
“She means Rachel,” Jasmine said, still looking at the phone. “She’s on her way up.”
“Rachel Adams? That’s a long way to come for a pop-in visit.”
“Exactly,” Jasmine said. “Rachel is up to something.” She was sure of that. First there was that call last week about some bogus magazine interview and now she’d flown all the way to New York? For sure, something was up. And it was serious.
“What do you think it is?” Hosea asked.
The ringing doorbell stopped Jasmine from responding. She rose, but Mae Frances was at least ten steps ahead of her and she was through the living room, into the foyer, and at the front door first.
When she swung it open, Jasmine heard Rachel before she saw her. “Dang! Do you live with them?” Rachel asked. “I thought you were in Atlanta.”
“You been here thirty seconds and got sixty questions.” Mae Frances slammed the door, leaving Rachel standing in the hallway.
“Mae Frances!” Jasmine shouted as she rushed to the door. She opened it and came face-to-face with her friend, her enemy, her frenemy.
“You really need to find yourself some better friends,” Rachel said as she stepped past Jasmine, not waiting for an invitation. She glared at Mae Frances.
Closing the door behind her, Jasmine asked, “Why are you here?”
Rachel turned back to her. “Dang, is that any way to say hello to a friend?”
“Let me help my wife out,” Hosea said as he joined them in the circular foyer. He hugged Rachel. “What brings you to New York?”
“Lester’s speaking at a church in Queens this weekend.”
“Wow, I didn’t know that. How long are you going to be here? Maybe the four of us can get together for dinner.”
Jasmine wanted to raise her hand and ask if she had a vote. Because if she did, she wouldn’t be spending any time at any dinner with Rachel. Where would they go, anyway? Knowing Rachel, her favorite restaurant was probably Red Lobster.
But Jasmine wasn’t going to protest too much right now. She’d put Hosea’s suggestion to break bread with the Adams family to rest later. Right now, she wanted to know what Rachel was doing in her apartment.
“Well, I’d love to stay and chat,” Hosea said, “but Mae Frances and I have to get going.”
“Like I said, Preacher Man, I just might have to stay here and—”
“No, Nama. You’re coming with me. Remember, Pops asked you to do this.”
“Oh . . . yeah . . . well . . .” She eyed Rachel up and down, then said to Jasmine, “Call me if you need backup.” Then she strutted out the door like she was some kind of OG.
All three of their glances followed Mae Frances; all three of them shook their heads.
Hosea kissed Jasmine’s forehead and said a final good-bye to Rachel before he disappeared out the door. Jasmine locked it behind them then faced Rachel. Crossing her arms, she asked again, “Why are you here?”
“Can we at least go inside? I mean, can I sit down and get a glass of water or something?”
Jasmine stood in place; her stance was her answer. But then when Rachel took the same stance—folded her arms and glared at her—Jasmine acquiesced.
She didn’t say a word as she turned, but Rachel followed her into the living room. Rachel paused at the arch. “Wow!” she whispered.
Jasmine watched as Rachel strolled into the room, clearly impressed by the grandness of it. Rachel’s eyes first took in the massive glass windows, which framed the million-dollar view of Central Park. Then she scanned the room itself, her eyes finally settling on the parlor grand piano in the corner.
“Wow,” she said again.
If it were any other time, Jasmine would have basked in Rachel’s surprise. She’d always bragged about her seven-thousand-square-foot home on two acres. And Jasmine had always told her that was nothing but country living. Come talk to her when she could live like this with the big boys, in the big city.
But right now, Jasmine’s thoughts were only on the meaning of Rachel’s visit. “Rachel, have a seat so you can tell me why you’re here.”
Rachel sighed but did as she was told. She sat on the sofa and Jasmine lowered herself onto the chair across from her. Rachel’s eyes still roamed around the massive room. And while she checked out Jasmine’s home, Jasmine checked her out. She hoped that Rachel felt the heat of her stare. She didn’t move her eyes away until Rachel finally faced her.
“So, what have you been up to?” Rachel asked, as if she really had just stopped by for a friendly visit.
“Are you kidding me? You asked to come into my home, you asked to sit down. Now stop playing and tell me what’s up.”
“Okay.” She clasped her hands together and brought them up to her chin like she was about to say a quick prayer.
“I came by to ask . . . to see . . .” She stopped and then, with surprise in her tone, asked, “So, you cut your hair?”
“What?”
“The last time I saw you, your hair was longer.”
There had been many times in the past when Jasmine had questioned Rachel’s intelligence; now she wondered about her sanity. “If you came all the way here to talk about my hair . . .”
“I was just asking. I was thinking about cutting mine. Wearing it short, like yours. You know, going natural . . .”
“Rachel . . .” Jasmine dragged out her name like it had six syllables.
“May I have a glass of water?”
“What?”
“You know, that stuff that comes out of the faucet. May I have a glass, please?” Rachel coughed and tapped her throat. “I feel a little parched.”
Jasmine raised an eyebrow, surprised that Rachel even knew that word. She wanted to tell her she’d give her a drink after she told her what was up. But Jasmine needed a moment to get away. Maybe if she had a couple of minutes, she could figure out what Rachel was up to, then throw her out.
“I’ll be right back.” She stood and wished that Mae Frances had stayed. Two minutes with Rachel and Mae Frances would’ve known what was going on.
Inside the kitchen, Jasmine grabbed a bottle of Perrier from the refrigerator, but then she paused and reflected on all the questions going through her mind. What in the world did Rachel want?
She thought back to the questions Rachel had asked her when she’d called last week. About her mother. And her father. About where her family was from. She was sure this visit was about those questions.
But what did it all mean? And why? And why was Rachel even . . .
A crash stopped Jasmine’s thoughts. She put down the bottle of water before rushing into the living room. She paused. Unless Rachel was playing hide-and-seek, she was not there.
Where had that girl gone?
Jasmine stayed still until she heard more noise coming from . . . her bedroom? She ran down the long hallway, pausing in the doorway. The room was empty, but she heard the clatter of jars and bottles clanging together.
“What in the world?” She took slow steps toward her bathroom and then stopped. The sight in front of her made no sense—Rachel on her knees, surrounded by what looked like the contents of her medicine cabinet.
“What in the world . . .”
“I’m sorry,” Rachel said, not even looking at Jasmine as she placed one bottle after another on the counter.
Jasmine shouted, “What are you doing?”
“I was looking for an aspirin and your cabinet came crashing down. You should really check into this. This building is old; it might be falling apart.”
Without thinking, Jasmine reached down and grasped Rachel’s arm. She pulled her from the floor and swung her around until she
faced her.
“What are you doing? Why are you in my bedroom? Why are you going through my things? Why are you even in New York? What is going on, Rachel? What . . . is . . . going . . . on?”
“Okay.” Rachel jerked her arm away from Jasmine’s grasp. “I’ll tell you.”
“You better tell me now,” Jasmine said, sure smoke was seeping from her ears. “I’m not playing any more of your games.”
“I said okay.” Rachel took a deep breath and then tears sprang into her eyes.
Was she getting ready to cry? Why?
“I came to New York to get your DNA.”
“What?”
“Your D-N-A,” she repeated. “I didn’t want you to know, but I have to have your DNA for a test.”
Jasmine shook her head as if she were trying to get Rachel’s words to compute. “What kind of test? And why?”
“A paternity test. Because the worst thing in the world could be happening. Every bad thing that I’ve ever done could be coming back down on me. I could be cursed.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m cursed, Jasmine. At least, I will be if I find out this is true.”
“If you don’t tell me right now what’s going on . . .”
“You could be my sister!” Rachel cried. “You could be my sister!” she shouted again. Then she rushed to the commode and leaned over the toilet as if just saying those words made her sick to her stomach.
Chapter
6
Rachel
Growing up, Rachel had always prayed for a sister. When her brothers were torturing her, she’d bargained with Jesus. She’d be good all the time if she could get a sister. When she had to play with her Barbies all by herself, she’d prayed harder. But, nothing. Until now.
God sure had a strange sense of humor.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Rachel was lying back on Jasmine’s sofa, a wet towel across her face. She knew this whole situation was nauseating, but had it really made her physically sick?
“Yeah, I’m good,” she finally managed to say as she sat up and removed the towel. “I guess I just ate something bad.”
A Blessing & a Curse Page 4