Sins of the Mother

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  So it had never been about just lust, and it was a relief to know that now.

  But there was a problem—Alexis!

  Jasmine couldn’t believe that she hadn’t thought a moment about Alexis until two days ago when she’d walked into that center. She’d almost had a heart attack when she’d looked up and into the eyes of her nemesis—the woman she’d hated for more than twenty years.

  But even with Alexis there, Brian hadn’t changed, and it made Jasmine wonder, What was Alexis’s game? She said she wanted to help, but Jasmine wasn’t fooled. Alexis couldn’t stand her and had proven it yesterday. Sunday, she’d been civil, even on the verge of kind. But when she and Brian had walked into the center on Monday, after Alexis said, “Hello,” Jasmine could have counted the number of words she’d spoken to her on one hand and had fingers left over.

  No, Alexis may have said she was there to help, but she was there for another reason. And after thinking about it all night, Jasmine knew what it was—Alexis was there to get Brian.

  Jasmine had figured it out when she peeped that neither one of them was wearing a wedding band. They must’ve broken up, maybe even divorced. Yeah, divorce!

  And Alexis must’ve chased Brian all the way to the East Coast with the goal of getting him back. Well, that wasn’t going to happen, not right now. Just like Hosea had to understand, Alexis would have to chill, too. This situation was all about her and Brian and their daughter. Everything and everyone would have to wait until Jacqueline was home. And even after that, it was up for grabs . . . if Brian loved her . . .

  “Love Mama!” Zaya rushed into her bedroom, scattering her thoughts. He jumped onto the bed and wrapped his arms around Jasmine’s neck.

  “I love you, too, baby. Good morning.”

  “Yaki?”

  Jasmine looked up and saw Hosea standing in the door, his arms folded, his eyes sad at their son’s question. Zaya didn’t mention Jacqueline much, but in recent days, he’d asked about his sister more and more.

  With her eyes on her husband, she hugged Zaya. “Jacquie’s away.”

  “Away?”

  Still she looked at Hosea, and he nodded, telling her to continue. She said, “Yes, but Jacquie’s coming home soon.”

  “Comin’ home?”

  Hosea was still nodding, still looking at her. “Yes, soon,” she said to her son.

  Now Zaya giggled. “Love Mama.”

  From where he stood, Hosea said, “Son, that’s something that you and I have in common.” As he strolled into their bedroom, he added, “I love Mama, too.” Hosea held Jasmine in his arms and squeezed her as if he planned never to let go.

  His touch could always do this—make blood rush from her toes to her head. And she felt it now—the rush! And truth—she wanted it, she wanted him.

  The problem was . . . she wanted Brian even more.

  Jasmine busted into the center as if she were the police. With a quick scope of the place, she saw that Brian wasn’t there.

  Where is he?

  He had to come soon because in two hours she’d be leaving to take Zaya to his pediatrician’s appointment. In the past, this was something Mrs. Sloss would have done. But not anymore.

  She’d had to let Zaya go to church with Hosea because she didn’t have a way to stop him. But besides that, no one else was ever going to be responsible for her children.

  So that meant Brian needed to come quickly. With everything that had been on her mind, she had to see him. Had to talk to him. Had to make sure that he felt what she felt.

  “Have you seen Brian?” Jasmine asked Keith.

  “Nah, I was hoping that he and his wife would be here.”

  The way Keith said “his wife” and grinned made Jasmine roll her eyes. Why did every man react that way to Alexis? She’d never been able to figure out what was so special about that woman.

  He said, “I was hoping Brian and Alexis could help us with these. We could use the extra hands.” Keith held up the oversize poster board.

  It was the same photo of Jacqueline, under the same MISSING banner, and with the same telephone number beneath the picture. But now the background was bright red.

  “These just came in, and we’re going out in teams, putting a bunch up here in Harlem and all through the city. And Hosea even wants us mailing some out.”

  She nodded but turned away. Every time she saw that photo, her constant ache intensified.

  She grabbed her cell phone and punched in Brian’s number as fast as she could. When he answered, she breathed. “Brian, are you on your way to the center?”

  “Ah, not yet. Why? Did something—”

  “No,” she said quickly. “There’s nothing new, it’s just that,” she lowered her voice, “I really need to see you.”

  “What’s up?”

  She frowned. She didn’t want to talk about this on the phone. She needed him—right here, right now. “There are new posters for Jacquie.”

  “Yeah, I know. I helped Keith design them.”

  That surprised her—Brian was working on things that she didn’t even know about, all to find their daughter. “Well, seeing them . . . it just brings back everything. Brian, I miss her so much. Do you think she’s safe?”

  His voice got softer. “Yes, she’s safe, Jasmine. And we’re going to find her.”

  Jasmine nodded, repeating his words in her mind. “So when are you going to get here?”

  “I’m in the middle of something right now.”

  She clutched the phone tighter; she could just imagine what that middle was all about. Still she pressed, “I need to see you, and I have to take Zaya to the doctor and . . .” She stopped, waited for him to say, Okay, I’ll be right there.

  Instead, he said, “Well, I’m not sure of my schedule. If I can, I’ll call you back later.”

  Then he hung up. As if there was something more important than being with her.

  She held the phone in her hand, just staring. What she wanted to do was throw it across the room, watch it crash into a million pieces. But with just a few deep breaths, she calmed down.

  Don’t get upset. He’s coming.

  Of course, he would be there; he’d never let her down. He just couldn’t say it because Alexis was there, probably staring down his throat, listening to every word.

  Or maybe she wasn’t there. Maybe they’d had an argument. Maybe he’d told Alexis his true feelings and sent her home.

  Yes, that made more sense—he’d probably told Alexis that she had no place in his life, at least not right now. Maybe he was just making sure that she got on that plane. And right after that, he’d be on his way to the center to see her.

  With that scenario in her mind, Jasmine settled down in the chair that had become hers. Now that she didn’t have to worry about Alexis, she could get to work. She would fold more flyers, stuff more envelopes. Maybe she and Brian would even go out together and hang some of those posters. She wouldn’t have even thought about doing that twenty minutes ago. But with Brian by her side, she could do anything.

  She glanced at her watch and at the same time said a prayer to God that Brian would get there soon.

  Forty-six

  ALEXIS BURIED HERSELF DEEP INSIDE the pages of the New York Times. But her eyes weren’t focused. Instead, her ears stood at attention, concentrating completely on Brian’s words.

  When his phone had rung just a few minutes before, Alexis had presumed the call was from Jasmine. It was barely nine, so no one from Los Angeles would be calling this early. And the way Brian had glanced at the screen on his cell, then pushed himself away from the breakfast table that room service had rolled in, confirmed her guess.

  Now, listening to just one side of the conversation, she knew what this call was about.

  I need you, Brian! Help!

  That’s what she imagined Jasmine was saying in her best mother-in-distress voice. Hearing Brian having to explain that he was in the middle of something confirmed for Alexis that what she’d decided to do was
the right thing.

  It had come to her yesterday while they were at the center, during one of those moments when Jasmine was all over Brian once again, crying as if her tears sprang from an ever-flowing faucet. It wasn’t that Alexis couldn’t empathize and sympathize—it was just that she hated Brian always being the prince. Where? Was? Hosea?

  That was when she knew she didn’t have enough heart to stand this, to do this, and she’d planned to tell Brian that last night. But they’d returned to the hotel, both emotionally exhausted: Brian, exhausted from Jasmine; and Alexis, from the calls she’d taken—many from sick fools who took pleasure in others’ tragedies.

  So they’d fallen asleep, so tired that they hadn’t even had dinner. And now, as she listened to Jasmine through Brian’s responses, she knew that not only had she made the right decision, but she needed to act today, before she fell into this relationship any deeper.

  When Brian hung up, she stayed still, not turning to look at him. But with just a slight twist, she said over her shoulder, “I’m going home.”

  Even though she couldn’t see him, she could almost feel the distress she was sure was on his face.

  “Jasmine was just calling about the posters. Remember, I told you about those color—”

  Now she turned to him and held up her hand. “It wasn’t the phone call that made me decide to do this.” She put down the newspaper. “I hadn’t planned to stay too long anyway.”

  “I know, but I thought you’d stay at least for the rest of the week, through the weekend.”

  She looked down at her hands. “I have to get back to my business.”

  He nodded but said, “I need you.”

  Inside, she moaned and told herself that she had to go. She didn’t have the fortitude to be one-third of any kind of threesome. So she said nothing.

  When he sighed and tossed his cell phone onto the bed, Alexis spoke up. “I’m sorry; when I got here on Saturday, I should have told you that I was going to be here for . . . just a few days.”

  With slow steps, Brian closed the gap between them. “I understand.”

  She nodded and then had a thought—maybe this didn’t have to be over. She asked, “Are you . . . going to stay?”

  In the silence that followed, she had plenty of seconds to think. Was she really that selfish? Did she truly want him to leave behind New York . . . and his daughter?

  Yes, she admitted . . . and also admitted that she hated that part of herself. But she didn’t know how to live a life that included Jasmine.

  While Brian stood in front of her silent, pondering, she had hope.

  Until, “Yes, I’m staying. I have to.”

  She exhaled and blew away all of her optimism.

  When he took her in his arms and said, “It won’t be for much longer; we’re going to find Jacquie soon,” she had to press back tears. There was no reason to cry—this wasn’t about her.

  She stepped away from him and, without acknowledging his words, said, “I need to get dressed, and then I’ll catch a cab . . .”

  His eyes and mouth widened with surprise. “You’re leaving now?”

  She nodded. “It’s best,” her voice quivered. “I already called. There’s a flight at two.”

  This time, his embrace was tighter, and Alexis squeezed him back before she gently pushed him away and turned toward the bathroom. But she’d barely taken a step when he grabbed her arm, swung her around, and kissed her with the passion of a man who’d known only one true love. Within seconds, he’d freed the belt of her bathrobe and she stood naked inside his arms. By the time they fell back onto the bed, Brian’s bathrobe had fallen away, too.

  Now they were connected by more than their lips, but unlike the night when she’d arrived, this morning their lovemaking was slow. And sweet. And Alexis wondered if Brian knew what she knew—that this moment in time would soon be a memory that would have to last forever.

  Forty-seven

  EVEN WHEN BRIAN WALKED INTO the center alone, Jasmine didn’t dare hope that every single one of those wishes she’d made in the last twenty-four hours had come true. Even when Brian shook hands with Keith, then moseyed back to where she sat, she still didn’t really breathe.

  “Hey,” he said as he sat down.

  She returned his greeting, and then with wide, innocent eyes, she looked around. “Where’s Alexis?”

  The smile that he wore faded slowly as he folded a flyer. “She went back to L.A. last night.” Then, as if it was an afterthought, he added, “She said to tell you she’s still praying . . . she just had to get home.”

  “Oh,” was all Jasmine said, because if she’d said any more, she would have been on her feet doing the Electric Slide. She’d been right! Brian had sent Alexis away, and it was all because of her.

  But while her heart was having its own celebration, on the outside she remained calm. “We missed you yesterday,” she said. When Brian kept his head down, she added, “Keith was setting up teams to go out and put up posters, and I was hoping that you and I could have gone together.”

  Now he looked at her. “Are you sure you’re up to that?”

  She nodded. “If I can do it with you.”

  His head tilted a bit to the side. “What about doing it with Hosea?”

  That question shocked her. “Ah . . . he’s . . . working . . . at church. He can’t just pick up and go out like that.”

  He looked as if he didn’t believe her.

  “I mean, he cares about Jacquie,” she further explained, “but he knows that the people here will do whatever’s necessary. And he has a life. So I want to go with you.”

  It took Brian a moment to say, “Let’s finish up with these flyers. Then there are some follow-up calls I have to make, and I need to speak to Keith—”

  “Anything you can talk about with me?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t want to upset you. You didn’t sound good when I spoke to you yesterday.”

  Because you weren’t here.

  She wanted to tell him that she could talk to him about anything, especially Jacqueline. But she backed off.

  Brian seemed a bit different today, not as easygoing and open as he’d been when he’d arrived a week ago. But it was just because of Alexis. It had to be tough on him, the way he’d probably thrown her out. After all, she couldn’t deny that Brian did care for Alexis. She could see it every time he jumped when Alexis said something or had a question. Even though Jasmine knew what was up with Alexis, Brian didn’t seem to know that he was being played. Alexis was just acting like a needy woman to get his attention. Jasmine had always hated females who used tricks . . . Alexis was proof that those tactics never worked.

  Still, Jasmine knew she had work to do with Brian. Alexis was gone, but it would take a little bit of time for Brian to forget about her. And while he worked to get Alexis out of his system, she would be the shoulder he could cry on. She would be there for him, the way he was there for her.

  From the corner of her eye, she peeked at Brian. Even now she had to inhale as his thick eyebrows bunched together like he was in deep thought—just like Jacqueline did when she was writing her name, or studying her numbers, or trying to color within the lines. And his profile—the small hook to his nose, his square jaw—and the rest of him, from the cinnamon tint of his skin to the walnut-brown color of his eyes, he’d given it all to Jacqueline.

  Jasmine loved looking at him, and being close to him, and touching him. All she wanted to do right now was rest her head on his shoulder. Because when she was with him, they were both closer to Jacqueline.

  She wanted to cry—fake tears so that he would hold her. But there would be plenty of time for that. Just as she waited for Jacqueline, she would wait for Brian.

  And she had a feeling that she wouldn’t have to wait too long.

  Forty-eight

  HOSEA DRAGGED INTO THE APARTMENT and rested for a moment at the front door. Every light in the front room was out, but he easily made his way through the dark. />
  He hadn’t planned to be out this late, but there were a lot of storefronts, and bus stops, and tree trunks between here and Long Island. And since yesterday, Hosea was sure that he’d seen every one of them.

  Sinking onto the couch, he kicked off his shoes and massaged his feet. It had been the longest two days.

  Mae Frances—and a friend of hers—had joined him on his journey to put up the new posters all over Brooklyn. Though he’d been focused on the posters, he’d spent many of those hours trying to figure out Mae Frances’s friend.

  It had been a surprise when he’d gone to pick up Mae Frances and the man had walked out of the building with her. They were an odd couple: Mae Frances, so tall (almost six feet) and bundled inside her old mink; and the man, a good foot shorter, wearing an Indiana Jones–style fedora and a trench coat that hung down to his ankles.

  “This is my friend, Sonny,” Mae Frances had said simply when she stepped up to the car. “He’s going to help us.”

  That was all she’d said. Hosea had wanted to ask a bunch of questions, but what did he need to know? Sonny was a friend who wanted to help. Lots of volunteers had come out.

  But Sonny had a lot of questions for him. He sounded like the police, the way he interrogated him in his heavy Brooklyn accent: “So you don’t know anyone who would do this?” “Did you or your wife ever feel like you were being followed?” “Have you ever been threatened?”

  After a while, Hosea had glanced at the man through the rearview mirror. “What’s up with all the questions?”

  The man had stared right back at him. “I’m just curious. What . . . you don’t want to find your daughter?”

  That tone, his attitude, had made Hosea want to stop his car and tell the man to walk back to Manhattan. But then he’d remembered—Sonny had come to help. He was, after all, a friend of Mae Frances. Maybe Sonny was just as eccentric—and crazy—as she was.