Silence filled the room as Simon sat on the edge of his seat in shock. A glaze covered his eyes and it was a full minute before he spoke.
“I . . . I need to see her.”
“I think we need to give her a little time, Dad. Like you said, this is very hard for her to process right now.”
Simon nodded his understanding. “Well, when will I get to talk to her?”
“I don’t know, Daddy.”
Those words seemed to tear at his heart. “Baby girl, I don’t know how much time I have left.”
“I thought you said you weren’t sick,” Rachel said, feeling a race of nervousness.
“No, I don’t mean it like that,” Simon said. “I’m still in remission from the prostate scare, but none of our days are promised. I’m getting older and I’ve already lost years, decades, with Jasmine. I don’t want to wait another minute to keep from getting to know her.”
“Well, let’s give her at least a week. Maybe you can fly up to meet her after that,” Rachel said.
“Oh, no, you know he’s not gonna fly,” Brenda spoke up. She was right about that. It had taken an act of Congress to get her father to fly to Los Angeles for the American Baptist Coalition Convention. He’d been so nervous and had sworn he’d never fly again.
“We will just drive to New York,” Simon said.
“Daddy, you can’t drive across the country,” Rachel said. “That’s a twenty-four-hour drive.”
Lester finally spoke up. “Aren’t we going to Arkansas in two weeks for the family reunion? Why don’t you guys just see if Jasmine and Hosea will come there?”
Simon’s eyes lit up at that suggestion and Rachel’s mouth dropped. She loved her country relatives and had been looking forward to the family reunion, but the idea of Jasmine commingling with that crazy side gave Rachel chills. Jasmine thought she had enough to harass Rachel about now? Meeting her crazy family would give her ammunition for days.
“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” Rachel said. “Jasmine in Smackover, Arkansas? If you looked up city girl in the dictionary, you’d see Jasmine’s picture. No way is she coming to the country.” Rachel laughed. Simon didn’t.
“You think you can make it happen?” Simon asked, his eyes full of anticipation.
“Daddy, Lester’s just talking,” Rachel said, cutting her eyes at her husband. “There’s no way Jasmine’s going to agree to come to Smackover.” She left off the part about how she didn’t want Jasmine there.
“Why not?” Simon responded. “We’re her family. She needs to get to know her family. All of us.”
“Well, if you ask her, she has a family,” Rachel replied. If she had known this suggestion was a possibility, she would’ve waited until after the reunion to break the news to her father.
“And we’re her family, too.” Simon reached over to the coffee table and picked up the cordless handset. “What’s her number? I’ll call her.”
“No, Daddy. Not yet,” Rachel said. She knew her dad was excited, but he didn’t need to go there just yet. The anticipation in her father’s eyes made her heart sad. Rachel would just have to find a way to ask Jasmine to go to Arkansas, because if Jasmine said the wrong thing to her daddy, or said something smart or sarcastic, or hurt his feelings, they were going to be two sisters fighting. No, Rachel would convince Jasmine to come, or maybe she’d convince Hosea or even Mae Frances. Regardless, if that’s what her dad wanted, she’d do it for him. She’d find a way to get Jasmine to Smackover, Arkansas.
Hell will freeze over first, a little voice in her head muttered. No, I can do this, Rachel thought. I can. Then she pushed aside the little voice that was now laughing hysterically at the idea. Rachel wouldn’t rest until she got Jasmine to come to the Jackson Family Reunion.
Chapter
13
Jasmine
“Mommy, you’re squeezing me!” Jacqueline shrieked like a seagull. She squirmed to loosen herself from Jasmine’s grasp. “I can’t breathe.” Then the nine-year-old coughed as if she were choking.
It was Jacqueline’s normal over-the-top drama, though Jasmine had held her daughter so tightly she could almost feel the bones through her thin frame.
Jasmine released Jacqueline and turned to her son. “Mama,” Zaya said before she could squeeze the life out of him. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying,” Jasmine said, though tears dampened her cheeks. “I’m just a little sad ’cause I’m gonna miss you.”
“But we’re just going to camp,” Jacqueline said. “We’ll be home later.”
“I know,” Jasmine said, standing up and sniffing back more tears. “Silly me.”
“Well, buh-bye,” Jacqueline said as she opened the door. Then she shouted, “Nama!” And she jumped into Mae Frances’s arms as if she hadn’t just seen her yesterday.
“How’s my big girl?” Mae Frances said as she hugged Jacqueline.
“You know you’re gonna have to stop calling me that. I’m more than a big girl; I’m almost a teenager.” Then she turned to her brother. “Zaya, come on! Daddy’s waiting for us downstairs!” She gave Jasmine a final glance and another “Buh-bye!”
But even though his sister rushed into the hallway, Zaya lingered behind. “Are you gonna be all right, Mama?” The concern was written all over his six-year-old face.
“Yes, baby,” she said. “I’m going to be fine.”
“Maybe I should stay home today,” Zaya said, and that made Jasmine cry even more. “Just to make sure.”
Jasmine pressed her palm against her son’s cheek. Her sweet, sensitive son. He was just like his father. “No, you don’t have to do that. You go on,” she said. But he didn’t move until he heard his sister shouting from the hallway, “Come on, Zaya! The elevator’s here!”
And then there was Jacqueline, who was just like her mother.
Zaya scurried out of the apartment before Mae Frances closed the door. Once they were gone, Jasmine let her tears flow.
When she turned toward the living room, Mae Frances followed her. “You can get poisoning from all that crying, you know.”
Jasmine blew her nose into a tissue and flopped onto the couch. Tucking a pillow beneath her head, she stretched out on the long sofa—her plan was to stay there and cry until the children came home.
“Jasmine Larson!” Mae Frances planted her hands on her hips. “What are you gonna do? Just stay in this apartment and cry until you die?”
That was a good question and a good suggestion. Maybe that would be what she’d do. Stay right here in the apartment and grow old. Of course, she’d never feel the sun again, never hang out in the wonderfulness of New York again, never attend any of her children’s events again. She’d never see a graduation or see her children get married. Those thoughts were so ridiculous . . . or not. Because if she stayed behind these four walls, she’d never have to come face-to-face with the reason for all these tears.
“You need to get up and get over this,” Mae Frances said. Then she raised her hands and added, “I don’t understand. Why are you so upset?”
Those words made Jasmine sit up straight. “You don’t understand. Suppose you found out that your father was not your father?”
She shrugged. “I never knew my father.”
Jasmine paused. Another rare moment when Mae Frances spoke about herself. If her heart wasn’t aching so much, she’d ask a couple of follow-up questions.
But right now, this was all about Jasmine and her pain. So she kept her focus there. She said, “Well, how would you like it if you found out your mother wasn’t your mother?”
“I’d feel like I’d won the lottery.”
Another pause from Jasmine. These little comments from Mae Frances were almost enough to take her focus away. Almost, but not enough. “Well, I don’t feel that way. I don’t feel like I’ve won a thing; I feel like I’ve lost everything.”
Mae Frances lowered herself to the sofa and shrugged. “I’m not trying to be insensitive.”
Jasmine gave her a side-eye.
Mae Frances continued: “Okay, maybe I’m insensitive, but it’s only because I don’t get all the tears. Yeah, I get that you’re surprised, but all that’s happened is that you found out that you came from somebody else’s sperm. So what? The man who raised you is still your daddy and your mama is still your mama.”
“But how did all this happen? And why?” Jasmine cried. “And why didn’t anyone tell me? I mean, I don’t know anything. I don’t understand. Hell, was my mother really my mother?”
“Seems like you’ve got questions.”
“I do!”
“Then you need to get some answers.”
“From where?” Jasmine whined, then she flopped back onto the sofa, resuming her position.
“From your aunt Virginia. I know she’d want to talk to you.”
Slowly, Jasmine lifted herself up, head first, with her eyes on Mae Frances the whole time. In the first six months of knowing Mae Frances, Jasmine had realized her friend knew everyone. If Mae Frances told her she’d raised Barack Obama, she would’ve believed that. But to this point, Mae Frances had known all of these public figures. Was she saying that now she knew one of Jasmine’s relatives?
Her eyes were still on her friend as she wondered: Who was this woman? How did she know Aunt Virginia? And if she knew Aunt Virginia, did she know her mother? Did Mae Frances know this story?
“How do you know about Aunt Virginia?” Jasmine asked in a whisper.
Mae Frances frowned as if she didn’t understand the question.
Jasmine said, “You just told me that I need to talk to my aunt. How do you know her?” When Mae Frances stayed quiet, Jasmine jumped up. “Mae Frances, you better start talking. What do you know? Who do you know? And how is it that you always know everybody?”
Mae Frances folded her arms. “You know what you’re doing right now? You’re deflecting. You’re trying to take the attention off of yourself and turn it on me. But I’m not gonna let you do that.”
“And I’m not gonna let you sidestep my questions, Mae Frances. How do you know my aunt Virginia? And while we’re talking about that, how do you know everybody who’s important on earth? The living and the dead.” Jasmine stopped and faced her. “How do you know . . . every . . . damn . . . body!”
Mae Frances put her hand on her heart as if she were taken aback by Jasmine’s language.
“I’m serious,” Jasmine asked, sounding like she was pissed. “How do you know my aunt Virginia?”
“Well.” Mae Frances paused. “I know her because . . . Serena told me about her when we were at her house! How the hell you think I know her?”
For days Jasmine had been crying, but then looking at Mae Frances glaring at her, Jasmine couldn’t do anything but laugh. “Serena told you about our aunt?”
“Yeah. You fell asleep and she told me why she thought there was something to Rachel’s story. She told me about your aunt and your mother’s birth certificate. So what were you thinking?”
“I don’t know. You know everybody else. I was thinking maybe you knew my aunt. Maybe you knew my mother.”
“No, I didn’t know either one of them. I’m just sayin’ that you need to take the trip down to Mobile to get some answers.”
Jasmine thought for a moment. “And what am I going to do with those answers?”
Mae Frances shrugged. “I don’t know, but it’ll be a start, Jasmine Larson, so you can move forward. Unless you really do want to just stay on this couch and cry till you die.”
With a sigh, Jasmine sat back down and propped her chin up with her hands. After a moment she said, “All right, Mae Frances. All right.”
“And we need to do this soon, ’cause I have to work on my book, and once I start writing, I’m not gonna have time for all of this extra drama.”
Jasmine rolled her eyes.
“But I’m not writing a word until everything is all right with you, Jasmine Larson. ’Cause whoever is your father, whoever is your mother, you’re like a daughter to me.”
It was instant the way the tears filled Jasmine’s eyes once again. But this time it wasn’t because she felt like she didn’t fit in. This time it was because she knew she did.
Chapter
14
Jasmine
Jasmine slipped out of the car and stood in front of the gray house. Behind her, she heard Mae Frances’s voice as she spoke to the driver, but Jasmine paid no attention to her friend. Instead she stood at the edge of the curb, taking in the houses on the street.
The homes looked like war-worn soldiers, older structures that had seen too many years. This probably wasn’t the poorest neighborhood in Mobile, but it certainly was far from the richest.
Was this where her mother had grown up? Had her mother lived on this street?
“All right,” Mae Frances said. “What are you standing here for?”
Mae Frances marched up the uneven walkway, not noticing that Jasmine hadn’t moved. She wanted to, but she was overwhelmed by so much, trying to imagine what life had been like for her mother growing up in this city. Jasmine had new questions now. Why did her mother leave Mobile? How did she get to California? And the one that plagued her the most: is this where she met Rachel’s father?
Mae Frances raised her hand to knock on the door, but then a quick glance over her shoulder made her pause. “Jasmine Larson, come on up here,” she said. Her tone was gruff, though her face was soft with understanding.
Jasmine did as she was told, moving on shaky legs, and once she stood by Mae Frances’s side, her friend knocked hard on the wooden door.
As they waited, Jasmine’s thoughts shifted from the past to the present. She thought about what she was about to hear and she grabbed Mae Frances’s arm. “Let’s go. Let’s get out of here.”
“What?”
“I want to go home.”
“No, Jasmine Larson. We came too far.”
“It doesn’t seem like anyone is home. Maybe this is a sign.”
“We’ll just wait.”
“I don’t want to wait,” Jasmine said, sounding like tears were not far away. “I don’t want to know. I just want to—”
The door swung open before she could finish and Jasmine looked into the eyes of the woman she could only remember seeing three times in her life; the last time more than twenty years ago, when Virginia had made the trip to Los Angeles for Jasmine’s mother’s funeral.
The silver-haired woman was bent over slightly, her frame weary with age. She peered through eyes that Jasmine wasn’t sure could see much, but then her head reared back. “Jasmine Cox,” she said as if two days, not two decades, had passed between them.
“Hi, Aunt . . .” And she paused. “I hope you don’t mind me dropping by. I know you weren’t expecting company and I should’ve called.”
Aunt Virginia shook her head. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Jasmine frowned. “Oh, did Serena call you?”
“No. I’ve just been expecting you for a long, long time now.” She stepped aside and motioned with her hand for Jasmine to come in.
They were inside when Jasmine remembered. “Oh, Aunt . . . Virginia. This is my friend, Mae Frances. She flew down here with me.”
Aunt Virginia and Mae Frances exchanged nods and then the two visitors followed Aunt Virginia farther into the house. “I was in the kitchen, baking up a few things for the sale we’re having after church tomorrow. So y’all come on back here.”
They moved behind Aunt Virginia as she took slow steps, but Jasmine didn’t mind. This gave her time to scan the living room with the extra-long brown crushed-velvet sofa and mismatched wingback chairs. In the long hallway, the walls were covered with dozens of frames holding faded photos.
In the kitchen, Jasmine and Mae Frances sat at the small round table and Aunt Virginia asked, “Do you want anything to drink?”
Jasmine shook her head, but Mae Frances said, “What you got?”
Before Aunt Virginia could resp
ond, Jasmine blurted, “You said you’d been expecting me. How did you know that I was coming?”
Aunt Virginia’s glance moved from Mae Frances to Jasmine, then back to Mae Frances before she sat down at the table.
“I knew you would be here one day,” she said, lowering her eyes. “Either your mama was going to bring you back”—then she looked up—“or you were going to make this trip on your own.”
“How did you know?”
“Because secrets never stay down low. Secrets are like cream: they always rise to the top. Only cream can be sweet, but secrets rarely are.”
“I don’t know about any secrets,” Jasmine said. “I’m just here to ask you some questions.”
“About your mother.”
Jasmine nodded.
“And your father,” Aunt Virginia added.
This time Jasmine paused, not sure which father Aunt Virginia was talking about. Was she talking about the man who raised her? Or was she talking about Simon? Did Aunt Virginia know Simon?
“I just want to know . . . I never knew anything about my mom, not really. I knew she was from somewhere in the South, I knew she was from Mobile. But beyond that, I never cared. Not really. Serena cared, but I didn’t.”
Aunt Virginia chuckled, just a little. “Yeah, Doris told me you were just like her. Wanting to be part of the bigger world. She said you were always antsy, never content. Always wanting more than you had.”
“I didn’t know that you talked to my mother all that much.”
“Oh, we talked. Not often, but often enough so that I always knew that she was all right. That was my girl. I loved her like she was my own daughter.”
“So you raised her? After her parents died?”
Aunt Virginia frowned. “Is that what she told you?”
Jasmine paused as if she were trying to recall. “I don’t remember; I just knew that her parents were dead.”
Aunt Virginia released a long breath. “The truth is, when Doris told you that, her parents were very much alive. But they treated Doris like she was dead.”
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