She didn’t.
He called the center. “Hey, Mrs. Whittingham,” he said when the woman answered. “I was checking on Jasmine. I’m on my way back and—”
“She’s not here. She left a while ago . . . with Brian,” she said, whispering the last two words.
He fought to keep the image—of Jasmine and Brian—away.
“Ah, they probably just went to get some coffee . . . or something.” That’s what he had to believe. Their lives didn’t need any more drama.
Mrs. Whittingham huffed, “That’s what I thought, but they’ve been gone a couple of hours.” Her voice got even softer. “Why don’t you try her cell?”
“I’ll do that.” He hung up the phone and, with the tips of his fingers, massaged his head. He wasn’t trying to get rid of his ever-present headache, but he was trying to rub away his thoughts, because right now, Jasmine was with Brian . . . somewhere.
He released an audible sigh. His focus had been on fighting for Jacqueline, but now he’d have to fight for Jasmine, too. His father was right, though—his wife, his family, were worth fighting for. He could do it, and he would.
It would just be a lot easier if Brian wasn’t in New York.
Forty
“THANK YOU,” JASMINE WHISPERED AS the taxi jerked a bit, then rolled to a stop. “I really needed this.”
Brian’s smile was without any sign of cheer as he looked down to where his hand held hers. They’d been connected that way most of the day after they left the mall, then roamed through the streets of Harlem. As they’d walked across 125th Street, then back, across Lenox Avenue and then Eighth, they’d hardly exchanged a word. But Brian knew their thoughts were the same as Jasmine’s eyes scanned each building, searched each window, as if she hoped to uncover a clue about where their daughter might be.
But though they’d found nothing, it seemed the walk had been therapeutic for her; her tears had been gone for hours and she’d spent an easy afternoon away from the burden of sadness that was a part of her now.
She said, “I really appreciate your getting me out of there.”
“I’m glad you had some time . . . away.”
The way she stared, Brian could tell that she wanted to say more.
“Would you like to come up?” The way his face spread in surprise made her add, “Well, maybe not up to my apartment, but there are lots of places around here,” while looking out the window.
His eyes followed hers to the line of stoic, century-old buildings that lined Central Park South.
She said, “Maybe we can grab something to eat.”
Her question reminded his stomach that he hadn’t had a thing since breakfast, and his insides growled so loudly that even the cabdriver glanced at him through the rearview mirror.
Still, he said, “I’m not hungry.”
“Are you sure?” she asked with hope. “We could grab something at . . . the Plaza. It’s right down the street.”
When he shook his head, he didn’t bother to mention that the Plaza was where he was staying. She didn’t need to know he was that close.
He reached across her lap and squeezed the door handle, opening the door for her. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.
He didn’t look back as the cab pulled away from the curb, but he knew that she was still standing in front of her apartment building, watching him. He didn’t have far to go; her building was on one end of Central Park South, and the Plaza was on the other.
As memories of the day tracked through his mind, he wondered, What is going on? This day was not one that he’d planned, even though, he had to admit, it had been enjoyable—at least as enjoyable as it could be in the middle of all this grief.
For hours he and Jasmine had walked hand in hand, as if they were a pair. And for some of those hours it had felt as if they were.
Brian sighed. He couldn’t deny that there had always been chemistry between the two of them, though chemistry wasn’t really the word. It was more like lust. Jasmine had been part of his addiction. Nothing more.
Except now, it felt like so much more. Every time he saw Jasmine, he wanted to hold her. Not as if he loved her, but as if he cared. He couldn’t help but care.
It was because of her face.
To him, she’d always been an attractive woman; he’d just never noticed before how much emotion was in her expressions. Every feeling she had was right there. The pain, the grief, the torment. It was the torment that made him care the most, the torment that made him want to hold her all the time, the torment that made him want to stay.
But what did that mean? Was he willing to give up his life in Los Angeles?
No! It certainly wouldn’t come to that. He would be here only until Jacqueline was found. A week, two at the top. By then, his daughter would be home and he would return to L.A. At least that was his constant prayer.
In the morning, he’d call Jefferson and have him explain to their other partners. No one at the clinic would fault him for being a devoted father.
But if he was going to stay, there would have to be a few changes. He couldn’t be around Jasmine so much—at least not in the way they’d been today. It was Hosea’s hand that she needed to hold. Just like he needed to be holding Alexis.
Alexis.
There was a big part of his heart that wasn’t even in New York—the part of him that Alexis owned. Not an hour passed when he didn’t think of her. But he never allowed her image to linger long. He couldn’t, because if he did, he’d have to acknowledge that he hadn’t heard a single word from her. He’d have to acknowledge what that meant.
He knew that Alexis had decided as long as Jasmine—and Jacqueline—were in the picture, there was no place for her. Her rules, not his. Because if he’d had his way, she’d be here right now, holding him, comforting him, encouraging him.
Brian shook thoughts of Alexis away as the cab stopped in front of the hotel. He tossed a twenty to the driver, signaled that he didn’t want change, and jumped out of the car. There was no use pining away for Alexis; he’d put her on hold until this mission was accomplished.
As he moved toward the hotel, his plan began to take form: he’d start with this evening—order room service, call his friends about media contacts, go to bed early, sleep without regret. Then tomorrow, he would be at the center, first thing, and would begin this all over.
His head was down as he headed toward the elevator, his thoughts already on the room service menu.
And then he heard, “Brian.”
His first thought was that Jasmine had followed him; she’d caught a cab and trailed him, determined to have her way. The only thing—that wasn’t her voice. But it was a tone that he knew so well—the sound of an angel.
He turned around, not hoping, yet full of expectation. And every wish he’d ever made stood right in front of him.
He looked into the eyes of Alexis.
Three years of celibacy made them efficient, but still, this had to be some kind of record. For how quickly Brian and Alexis had stepped into the elevator, locked lips as the chamber ascended, stumbled through the eleventh-floor hallway, tripped over unfamiliar furniture inside the suite, and then finally made their way into the bedroom. By the time they hit the sheets, they were naked, their clothes blazing a trail from the door to the bed.
It didn’t take more than four minutes.
Now they rested beneath the dampened sheets, holding hands in the dark.
“The truth is, Brian”—Alexis whispered, as if they were not alone and she didn’t want to be overheard—“I fought it all the way. I really didn’t want to come, but . . .” She paused and rolled over, still holding his hand, now facing him. “I had to be here.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “So you tracked me down because you love me so much.” He chuckled.
“It wasn’t hard to track you down,” she said, ignoring the love part of his statement. “I made one call to your favorite hotel.”
Now he dropped her hand and wrapped his
arms around her, holding her tight. He closed his eyes . . . and then shuddered.
She looked up at him. Even in the dark, he could see her frown. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said, pushing aside thoughts of Jasmine that didn’t belong in his mind. “I’m just glad that you’re here. I need you, Alexis.”
They stayed that way, connected, just holding each other. Each with separate thoughts of what her trip to New York would mean.
And then his insides growled.
Alexis pushed herself up. “What was that?” she asked, feigning horror.
He clicked on the light and shrugged. “I guess I need to order room service.”
She laughed and jumped from the bed, not bothering to cover herself. “Order something for me. And call down to the bellman. Tell them to bring up my bag.”
His heart filled with love . . . and lust as his eyes followed her traipsing uninhibited toward the bathroom. Once she closed the door, he grabbed the phone. He needed to eat quick; he needed as much nourishment as he could get. Because he’d need his strength—to jump right back into the bed with the woman he loved.
Forty-one
IT HAD BEEN A HARD night.
Hosea had been pacing when Jasmine finally came home with Brian still in every part of her mind.
“Where’ve you been?” he’d asked.
She had stared for a second before she pushed past him and moved toward their bedroom.
“What? You’re just going to walk by without answering me?” he bellowed. “Where are you going now?”
She spun around and gave him her first words. “You have a lot of questions.”
The way he looked at her—with eyes packed with the same sorrow that was in hers—made her want to soften. But how could she when she knew what was really in his heart? When she knew that he wished her daughter was dead.
He released a soft sigh. “Jasmine, please don’t do this.”
“I’m not doing anything,” she said, crossing her arms and tapping her foot as if she was already bored with their exchange. “I’m going to check on Zaya.”
“He’s fine,” Hosea said. “Mrs. Sloss called me when she couldn’t find you.”
Her arms dropped. “Why? What happened?” She turned toward the bedroom. “Is my baby okay?”
“Yes!” His shout stopped her. “Mrs. Sloss wanted to check on her daughter, and I told her to go on. She’ll be back in the morning.”
She exhaled, not even realizing that she’d been holding her breath.
Hosea said, “You don’t have to worry. I’ve been with him since she left. But I was worried about you.”
Jasmine rolled her eyes.
He said, “I called the center.”
She wondered if that’s what this was about. Had someone told him that she’d left with Brian?
He asked again, “So where were you?” His tone told her he desperately wanted to know.
Now she was sure—this was about Brian. It wasn’t like he had anything to worry about; it wasn’t Brian who had kept her out past dark.
After Brian had left her standing on the curb, she’d spent hours walking the streets of their neighborhood. Not that she had anywhere to go—she just hadn’t wanted to go home. She had no desire to be in the apartment if Jacqueline wasn’t there. All she really wanted to do was take Zaya and go away. Somewhere. Anywhere.
But since she was sure that Hosea was probably home, she’d just rambled through the streets, from one block to the next. First, across Central Park South past the Plaza Hotel and then up Fifth Avenue. From there, she made her way across Sixty-fifth and then down Madison. She walked and walked the same path, passing the same holiday-decorated stores, unfazed by the biting December wind.
Then darkness descended, and the wind bit and scratched. So she’d done what she had to do—she’d come home.
“I just want to know,” Hosea said, breaking through her thoughts, “where you were.”
It was anger that fueled her glare and her words, “I was out looking for my daughter.” Then she’d stomped into their bedroom.
She’d stood at the side of Zaya’s crib, staring at her sleeping son. When her legs tired, she perched on the edge of their bed and watched him from there. She sat in the dark until Hosea came into their bedroom.
“Jasmine, if we can’t talk to each other,” he said, sitting next to her, “then we definitely need to pray together.”
With just a slight twist of her body, she dismissed him. Without words, without a glance, she let him know that she had no intention of praying with him—and after the week she’d just had, she wasn’t even sure that she would pray without him.
Still, he stayed, until he realized that she wasn’t going to move. Then he’d stood and left her alone. After a time she’d gotten up and stripped, leaving her jogging suit in a pile right at the foot of the bed.
It wasn’t even nine o’clock when she’d closed her eyes and, after a slow mental review of the day, drifted to sleep.
But now she felt soft kisses on her cheek, and she snuggled deeper into the sheets.
Butterfly kisses, she thought inside her dream. That’s what Jacqueline called them, when she would kiss and kiss Jasmine until she awakened.
Jacqueline. Butterfly kisses.
She wanted to keep her eyes closed, stay in that place, feel the kisses and her daughter so near.
She sighed, reveling in the realism; she could actually feel lips against her skin.
Her lids fluttered open.
And she looked into the eyes of her son. And her husband.
“Love Mama,” Zaya giggled as he leaned to kiss her again.
She fought to keep the smile on her face; she fought to keep her disappointment away.
“I love you, too, baby.” She lifted him from Hosea’s arms.
“Good morning.” Hosea spoke with a smile, as if he’d forgotten all the anger she’d hurled at him last night.
“Good morning.” She hugged and kissed Zaya, then wondered if she should do the same with Hosea. It was clear that he wasn’t holding a grudge, and she didn’t want to either . . . all she wanted was for Hosea to fight and not give up on their daughter.
Maybe he hasn’t, she thought . . . she hoped.
That consideration made her look at him, smile, tell him with her eyes that she wasn’t as mad anymore.
Hosea slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him; together, they sat with Zaya between them. They watched their son pretend to read his book, pointing to each picture.
“Dog! Cat! El-phant!”
For a while, Jasmine smiled. Laughed even, as Zaya continued to read.
“Bear! Pig! Ga-raff!”
Then she remembered other Sundays. Mornings when Zaya and Jacqueline had joined them in bed, and the four Bushes had hung out before they prepared for church.
She wanted to cry, but the place where her tears came from had been sapped dry. So she just tucked herself back under the covers and rolled away from her husband and son.
“I’m going to take Zaya into Mrs. Sloss,” Hosea said after a few minutes. “I heard her come in about an hour ago.”
She closed her eyes and nodded.
Then, “I was thinking that we should go to both services today.”
Her eyes popped open, and she sat up just as quickly. “I’m not going to church!”
His stare showed every bit of his disapproval, but with a giggling, wiggling Zaya in his arms, he left the bedroom.
Jasmine stayed in place, pulling the duvet up high to her chin. She shook her head, almost amazed at his words. How could he think she would go to church? After that e-mail?
And what was she supposed to do once she got there? Pray? It wasn’t like her prayers—or Hosea’s—were being answered.
But the way Hosea walked back into the room let her know that he was ready for a fight.
“We need to go to church, Jasmine,” he said, sounding like the pastor talking to one of his parishioners.
The cover dropped from in front of her when she crossed her arms. “You need to go, but that church doesn’t have a single thing to do with me.”
“Since when?”
“Since someone snatched my daughter. Since those witches started sending around that e-mail.”
“That e-mail was started by one person, and how can we let anyone drive us away from where we’re supposed to be?”
She leaned back against the headboard, her stance stiff, suggesting she planned to stay that way for the long haul.
“Jasmine,” he began softly and slowly, “don’t turn your back on God; He didn’t have a thing to do with Jacqueline’s being abducted.”
“You know what? That’s what I wanted to believe. But if I listen to you and all the things you’ve ever said, then God has everything to do with this.”
“What?”
“You’re the one who’s always saying that God is sovereign, that He’s in charge of it all. Well, if that’s the case . . .” She held up her hands to indicate she’d just made her case.
“It’s not like that. God didn’t cause this; He allowed it to happen, but this isn’t because of Him, and it’s not what He wanted.”
“Well, I don’t know how you explain it, but let me tell you what I know . . . Jacqueline is missing . . . I want her back . . . I asked God to bring her back.” She stopped, tilted her head. “Is Jacquie in her bedroom?”
Hosea sat down next to her and lowered his head as if he was about to pray. “This is hard to explain if you’re dead set against hearing it, but don’t let your desire to understand what’s going on make you question God. You’re gonna have to figure out a way to trust Him. Whether you like or understand this, He’s in control. No matter what the reason or what the outcome, God’s got this, and He’ll win.”
Jasmine jumped up, needing to get far away from Hosea’s words. “Don’t preach to me! I’m not interested in understanding outcomes. And you can’t give me a single reason for a child to be taken from her mother.”
Sins of the Mother Page 18