Sins of the Mother

by Victoria Christopher Murray

“I only meant that I can’t stand the thought of what may be happening to her. I don’t want her to suffer; I don’t want her to have any pain. I don’t want her to be afraid. And since I can’t be there to protect her . . . then I . . . I . . . if that’s what’s happening to her, then I’d rather give her to God.”

  “How can you say that?” Jasmine cried. “How can you give up on her like that when she’s out there?”

  “I’m not giving up!” Hosea said. “Never. I was just talking to my father about what’s in my heart.”

  “And your heart wants our daughter dead ?”

  “No. My heart wants her safe. My heart wants her happy. My heart wants no harm to ever come to her. But with every day that goes by, with each hour that passes, I know that our chances of finding her—”

  He couldn’t finish that thought, not the way Jasmine barreled toward him, her hands already raised, her fingers coiled into fists. He grabbed her wrists before she could take a swing.

  “Let go of me,” she growled as she fought to escape his grasp.

  After a moment, he released his grip, but then stepped away from her reach. “Jasmine,” he began.

  “Don’t say anything else to me, Hosea.” She shook her head as tears tracked down her face. “I can’t believe you,” she sobbed. “I can’t believe you would give up like this.” Only the walnut desk that she leaned on kept her from dropping to her knees.

  “I’m not giving up,” his voice quivered as he tried to convince her. He let a few silent moments pass before he took a step forward. He needed to hold her and make her understand.

  But when he moved, she did, too. She glared as she backed up. Looked at him as if she would never be able to love him again.

  “I understand,” she whispered.

  He wanted to believe that she did, but the way she spoke, he knew that she didn’t.

  She said, “I understand your lack of faith. I understand why you want to forget Jacquie. I understand your horrible words. Because she’s . . . not . . . your . . . daughter.”

  Her words were so sharp, they went beyond his heart. She slashed straight through to his soul. “No!”

  She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “She’s not yours,” she repeated, deepening his wound. “So you couldn’t possibly love her the way Brian and I do!”

  “No!” But even though he yelled, he knew her heart had hardened; she couldn’t hear him.

  Jasmine stomped out of the office and slammed the door behind her.

  You couldn’t possibly love her the way Brian and I do!

  For the next hour, Hosea sat and heard those words over and over again.

  Thirty-eight

  REGRET! THAT’S WHAT BRIAN WAS living with. Like a chronic disease, his regret was ever present, ever growing.

  He couldn’t pinpoint the exact date when he first noticed the symptoms, though he was sure the first prickling probably came when he’d allowed Hosea to raise his child. But the doubts hadn’t disturbed him much then—they’d just lingered in a corner of his mind, simmering. After all, wasn’t he doing the right thing for everyone?

  But then he’d received the call from the FBI and had made the trip across the country. He’d sat with Jasmine and shared her grief. And his regret had begun to bubble.

  Then there was yesterday. The fear he’d felt when Hosea had walked into that room and said that a girl had been found made every bone inside of him tremble. While he’d waited on the other side of those heavy doors at the morgue and wondered if the dead little girl was his, his bubbling regret began to boil.

  By the time he’d stumbled into his hotel room last night, his regret was volcanic. Full blown. Chronic.

  Brian was sure that was why Jacqueline had come to his dreams last night, crying out for him to save her. And that was why before the New York sun even began its rise, he was already out of bed, on his knees, praying like he never had before—for forgiveness for what he’d done and for God’s mercy to bring Jacqueline home.

  Then after he’d eaten and dressed, he made a list of friends and contacts who could hook him up with media. He’d make those calls tonight.

  Now at the mall, Brian rattled the doorknob of the center, but the room was locked. So he waited. And paced as he waited. And thought as he paced. And his thoughts became a strategy.

  “Hey, you’re here early.”

  The voice startled him from his deep thoughts.

  As Keith unlocked the door, he said, “Maybe I should give you the keys and let you open up in the morning.” He chuckled.

  “Whatever it takes,” Brian said, trying to keep the impatience from his voice. He wasn’t interested in any kind of chitchat; he was ready to work his plan. First, he would stuff one thousand envelopes, then he’d hit the computers. After that, the phones. Then he would go to the police and the FBI and anyone else who was involved.

  “So . . . you’re from California, right?” Keith asked as he clicked on the lights.

  “Yeah.” Brian was already heading to the back of the room where he’d sat with Jasmine yesterday.

  “So . . . how long are you going to be here?” Keith asked.

  Brian pivoted and faced the young man. Twenty-four hours ago, his answer would have been just a day or two. He would have explained that he’d come just to give his support, but there wasn’t really anything that he could do. Then last night, he’d slept with all that regret.

  After a moment of thought, he said, “I’m gonna stay for as long as it takes.”

  The light-brown-eyed young man nodded. “Yeah, ’cause she’s your daughter, right?”

  From the moment he’d walked into this room two days ago, Brian had known he was the topic of many hushed conversations. He’d said nothing, not wanting to be any kind of distraction.

  But this, he wasn’t going to take. This, he had to set straight.

  “Hosea’s her father,” he said with more baritone than was naturally in his voice. “And you need to understand that. I’m just here to help Jasmine and Hosea find their daughter.” His stare was hard. “Just like you are.”

  Keith held up his hands, began to back away. “Hey, sorry. Didn’t mean to offend.”

  “No offense taken,” Brian responded, though they both knew he was clearly disturbed. “I just want to make sure that everyone knows the real deal.”

  Keith said, “I know now.”

  “Yes, you do.” Though he was finished, Brian didn’t make a move. Just glared at the man as if his message could be sealed with a stare.

  The air was thick with tension, with silence. Then their release as the door behind them swung open.

  Keith turned first, as if he was looking for any reason to back away even farther from Brian. “Hey, Hosea, Jasmine. I didn’t expect you guys here so early.”

  Hosea glanced at his wife before he said, “Uh, I have to get to the church, but I wanted to make sure Jasmine was fine.” Standing behind her, Hosea couldn’t see the way Jasmine crossed her arms, rolled her eyes.

  But Brian saw.

  “I have a conference call,” Hosea began, “and I’ll be back right after.”

  Brian frowned just a bit, his glance moving back and forth from Jasmine to Hosea. He was sure Hosea’s words were meant for his wife, but she said nothing.

  Only Keith responded, “Okay, I’ll take care of Jasmine till you get back.”

  Hosea hesitated, waiting for an acknowledgment from his wife. But when Jasmine moved toward the back of the room without a word or a glance, Hosea shook his head and walked out the door.

  Brian said to Keith, “I’m going to finish up those envelopes that I was working on yesterday.”

  “Sure,” Keith said with more than a bit of relief in his tone. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  Brian had already moved away—his eyes, his thoughts, on Jasmine. She’d returned to the chair where she’d been sitting yesterday.

  It must be the strain, Brian thought as he looked at Jasmine, so different than when he’d seen her
the day before.

  He sat next to her and lifted a flyer from the stack. “Should we just pick up where we were?”

  Jasmine didn’t look at him when she nodded. She stared at the envelopes on the table until Brian handed her a folded flyer.

  Silently, the two moved together. Their own assembly line: a flyer, then an envelope. A flyer, then an envelope.

  Brian kept up with her, but with a sideways glance he studied her slumped shoulders, slackened face, and dreary eyes. He could tell that she hadn’t taken the care to get dressed the way she had yesterday. He was used to seeing Jasmine in only high-end clothes and perfectly applied makeup, no matter what she was going through. But not today.

  The faded black jogging suit she wore with its frazzled sleeves looked just about ready to be thrown away. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, though there was more hair outside of the elastic band than there was being held back. And without makeup, Brian could see the worry lines and the circles under her eyes.

  He let some time pass, then, “Are you okay?”

  Tears were already making paths by the time she raised her eyes. Brian didn’t wait for an answer, just grabbed her hand, lifted her from her seat, and led her toward the door.

  Keith frowned as they passed; he opened his mouth, took another look at Brian, and then shut his mouth hard.

  Jasmine and Brian kept moving until they bumped into Mrs. Whittingham.

  She took one look at the two holding hands, and she said, “Where . . .”

  But they were already down the hall at the escalator by the time Mrs. Whittingham finished her question. Only then did Brian release Jasmine’s hand.

  Jasmine sniffed and asked, “Where are we going?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “We can grab a cup of coffee. Or we can just walk. Whatever you want.”

  She didn’t respond, at least not with words. At the bottom of the escalator, she simply strolled past the shops sprinkled with early-Saturday-morning shoppers. And Brian followed. They walked in rhythm to “Hark the Herald” that rang from the ceiling speakers.

  As they wandered, he studied Jasmine and thought about what had gone down between her and Hosea upstairs. It was just stress, he was sure. He knew the feelings in his heart, and he couldn’t imagine what Jasmine and Hosea were going through.

  Suddenly, she stopped.

  “What?” he asked.

  At first, he thought she was falling, but when he tried to grab her, she pushed his hand away. She crouched down in front of the glass window, pressed her face against the pane, and stared at the yipping puppies.

  It took him a moment to get it, and his eyes widened. He hadn’t thought this through. This was the mall where Jacqueline had disappeared. Though he didn’t know specifics, this store must’ve had something to do with it.

  “Come on, Jasmine,” he said, taking her arm.

  She shook her head, stayed in place. She pushed in even closer to the window, as if she were trying to get through the glass.

  Brian looked to his left, then to his right, before he squatted down next to her.

  “Jacquie loved these puppies,” she whispered, her hand flat against the window.

  As he put the scenario together, he lifted his hand and covered hers. They stayed that way, staring at the barking puppies, until Brian’s knees began to ache. He pushed himself up before he took her hand and helped her to stand, too. She was already sobbing when he pulled her close.

  They stood that way, connected beyond the physical. They were oblivious—oblivious to the crowds, to the music, to the yelping puppies.

  And they were oblivious to Hosea . . . who stood across from the pet store, watching his wife in Brian’s arms. Watching his wife turn to Brian in her grief.

  They never saw Hosea. Never felt his stare. Never saw him turn around and walk out of the mall.

  Thirty-nine

  HOSEA HELD HIS HEAD IN his hands.

  What am I going to do?

  The light tap on the door startled him.

  “What are you doing here?” Reverend Bush asked as he walked into the office. Before Hosea could answer, his father sank into the chair in front of his desk.

  With all that was on his mind, Hosea smiled. He couldn’t help it. In fact, every time he looked at his father, he thought of God . . . and he smiled.

  Sometimes he felt as if he was living in the middle of his father’s miracle. It was a wonder how, after being caught in the middle of gang-related gunfire, being shot in the head, and being in a coma for months, his father had awakened one day and never looked back.

  After a year of physical therapy—from a wheelchair to a walker and then to a cane—and speech therapy, there were few signs of what he’d been through. It was because of his father’s miracle that Hosea held on to the belief that he and Jasmine could have their own.

  “I thought you were going back to the mall,” Reverend Bush said.

  “I did.” By the way his father’s smile washed away, Hosea knew that he saw and felt his pain.

  Now Reverend Bush leaned forward. “You heard something about Jacquie?” he whispered.

  Hosea shook his head quickly. “No, I spoke to Detective Cohen this morning, but there’s nothing new.”

  The reverend released a breath before he reached for his son’s hand. “Don’t get weary. We’re gonna find her.”

  Hosea sighed and wondered if his father really believed that or if it was just what he was used to saying—just like everyone else.

  Those words of comfort had worked for the first few hours last Friday. Then he’d been sure himself that Jacqueline would be found playing hide-and-seek behind some closed door. But that was seven days ago, and now those words were no longer reassuring. Now they felt like an empty promise.

  It was the statistics that made him crazy, that had his hope fading. He was trying to hold on, but . . .

  It sounded as if everything inside of him ached when he moaned.

  “Son,” his father began.

  Hosea held up his hand. “It’s not just Jacquie,” he breathed. “I’m not giving up; I never will. But I feel like I’m losing everything. Jacquie and Jasmine . . .”

  Reverend Bush frowned. “Jasmine?”

  “Jasmine and I got into a bad fight yesterday.”

  “Oh.” Reverend Bush waved his hand as if Hosea’s words were no big deal. “That’s to be expected. Both of you are under a lot of pressure.”

  Hosea pushed away from the desk and wandered to the window that looked out onto the parking lot where Reverend Bush had been shot. When he turned back, one glance at his father made him remember again that miracles were possible.

  He said, “Jasmine and I didn’t have any ordinary argument.” He shook his head. “Yesterday, when you and I were talking, and I said that I wished . . . the little girl . . .” He had to pause, because in his head he heard Jasmine’s cry, remembered her look. “Jasmine heard me say that I wished Jacquie was dead.”

  Reverend Bush let out a long whistle before he walked over to his son. “She had to know what you meant.”

  He shrugged. “I tried to explain, but she wouldn’t listen. All she heard were those words . . . and she lost it. Now she thinks that I don’t want—”

  “No.” Reverend Bush didn’t let him finish. “She knows that you love Jacqueline.”

  “I’m not sure that she does.” He slumped back into his seat and told his father what Jasmine had said about Jacqueline being loved only by her and Brian.

  Reverend Bush leaned against the desk, moving as close as he could to his son. “I’ll admit that was tough for Jasmine to hear, and okay, maybe you’re in for a fight, but I have no doubt that you’ll win this. Keeping relationships on track is never easy and this . . . this kind of thing is tough. But you’ll be able to do it for two reasons: first, you’re holding on to the hand of God, and second, you and Jasmine love each other.”

  “I thought we did.”

  “Thought? Man,” Reverend Bu
sh began, waving his hand in the air, “you and Jasmine have been through so much, you can’t help but make it through this. You need each other.”

  Hosea nodded at his father’s words. That’s what he wanted to believe. He and Jasmine had survived so many lies, the worst had been revealed when he discovered he wasn’t Jacqueline’s biological father. And then there were the lies she told about her age, about not having been married before, about forgetting that she’d been a stripper while she attended college.

  They’d survived loads of lies.

  But Brian was bigger than all of that.

  He didn’t even have to close his eyes to see Jasmine in that man’s arms. It was like a montage that played through his mind—every time Brian was around, he was holding Jasmine. From the day he arrived. Yesterday. Today. It never stopped. Jasmine kept turning to him. As if he was the man that she loved.

  Reverend Bush said, “Trust me, Jasmine will be fine. It was just a shocker for her to hear those words like that.”

  “And then there’s Brian.”

  Reverend Bush folded his arms. “He’s not a part of this,” he advised.

  “It feels like he is. It feels like there are three of us in this now.”

  The reverend shook his head. “Don’t give him credence; he’s not a part of your relationship.”

  Hosea shrugged, like he wanted to believe his father’s words but didn’t.

  Reverend Bush leaned forward, his face close to his son’s. “Listen to me. This is about you and Jasmine, only. Stay in that lane.”

  Hosea nodded.

  The reverend continued, “Now Jasmine may not have enough inside of her to fight, but you do.” He paused and stared into his son’s eyes. “Your faith is deeper. You know how to really hold on to God’s hand; you know how to talk to Him. So tell Him! Tell Him to carry you and Jasmine through this. Fight this with all you got. The fight might be all yours, but you have enough of Him inside for both of you.” His father stood. “Go back to Jasmine. I’ve got it all under control here; go take care of your wife, because she needs you.”

  Alone, Hosea replayed his father’s words, then picked up the phone and speed-dialed Jasmine’s cell. It rang five times before it hit her voice mail. He hung up and tried again, sure that she was still angry and was just ignoring his calls. She’d answer the second time for sure.