He shook his head; all signs of the cheer he’d walked in with were gone. “You’re determined to fight us, aren’t you?”
“I’m determined to do what’s right.”
He leaned so close that he inhaled the faint scent of her minty toothpaste. He wanted to take her right then, right there. On top of her desk, on the floor, on the sofa—just love her anywhere. And then maybe he’d be able to tear down this wall that she was determined to keep between them. “Let me tell you what’s right . . . you and me,” he said, with his face still right in front of hers. “Nothing’s going to change that.”
“Brian—”
When he pressed the tips of his fingers against her lips stopping her words, she closed her eyes and sighed.
Inside, he smiled. Gotcha!
But he didn’t say another word. Just pushed himself up, strolled toward her door, and left her alone.
He didn’t even bother to look back.
Fifty-three
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
DECEMBER 2009
HOSEA TUCKED THE BIBLE BACK onto the shelf, then, with a sigh, sat behind his desk. His plan had been to get an early start on Sunday’s sermon so that he could spend more time at the center. But since Brian’s call, he hadn’t been able to concentrate.
He wasn’t a fool. He was sure that Brian’s quick decision to get out of New York had something to do with Jasmine. In his heart, he believed what he’d told Alexis—that Jasmine and Brian were connected only through this tragedy. But his head had him believing something else.
The doubt had started when he’d been holding Jasmine and she’d uttered Brian’s name. For the rest of that night, straight through till dawn, he had not shut his eyes. All he wanted to do was snatch Jasmine from her sleep and demand an explanation.
But what was he supposed to say? “You called out Brian’s name in your sleep!”
And what would have been her answer? “No, I didn’t!”
Knowing Jasmine, she would have argued him down, come up with ten thousand words that sounded like “Brian.” Or maybe she would have admitted it and said something like, I don’t know what I said in my sleep, and I don’t know why I said it. I’ve been spending a lot of time with Brian—maybe that’s why. But whatever, it didn’t mean anything . . .
And if that had been her explanation, she would have been correct. Just because they’d been spending a lot of time together, and just because he was always holding her, and just because she called out his name—none of that meant that she was sleeping with Brian.
Still, she called out his name.
And it didn’t mean that she wanted to sleep with him. And even if she did, could he convict her on what was inside her head? Could he condemn her for something she might do?
But still, she called out his name.
He’d endured a lot with Jasmine, but since their vows, he’d never questioned her fidelity. He was the one who’d come close to having an affair. So why did he doubt her? Why couldn’t he just understand the strain they were under?
He closed his eyes and thought about that truth—they were stressed. They were wallowing in their stress . . . and their despair . . . and their grief. They were drowning . . .
His eyes popped open. Oh, my God!
It was true—they were going through all of that. But now, Hosea wondered if Jasmine felt what he felt—like he was going through all of this alone.
He didn’t feel like he had a spouse, and it had to be the same for Jasmine. Really, he had been absent; he’d been so busy trying to make it right—putting together the center, working at church, keeping life normal for Zaya. Where was Jasmine in all of this?
Hosea tried to remember the last time they’d talked, really talked. He wasn’t thinking about one of their debates, when she’d told him that she didn’t know how to go on living. And he certainly wasn’t thinking about when he’d told her that he was taking Zaya to church no matter what she thought.
Hosea moaned as he remembered that argument. He hadn’t thought it all the way through last Sunday—Jasmine must have felt so alone.
He grabbed the telephone, called Jasmine on her cell, then hung up when it went straight to voice mail. Next, he called home.
“Ms. Jasmine’s not here,” Mrs. Sloss told him. “She went out a while ago.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
“No, Mr. Hosea.”
He hung up, tried her cell again, then called the center, even though he was certain that she wouldn’t have gone back there after yesterday.
“She’s not here,” Keith said once Hosea got him on the phone. Then he added, “She did come in this morning, but she wasn’t here for five seconds. She didn’t say anything, just took one look around and left. I think what happened yesterday really got to her.”
Hosea frowned. Then why would she go back there? “She didn’t say where she was going?”
“Nope, she didn’t say a word. But with the way she looked, kind of crazed”—and then, as if he realized what he’d said, Keith added—“I mean, she looked like she was really sad. I bet you she went home.”
Hosea’s thoughts were deep as he hung up. In the past, if Jasmine was upset, she would have come straight to him, her husband, her comforter. But now they were living on separate islands.
Well, their healing would begin tonight; he would be there for her. He would comfort her, protect her. He would hold her, and they would talk, really talk. They would pray and work through this distance that had come between them. Tonight, they’d be one again; he’d make sure of that.
Now the call from Brian was no longer a distraction. He was glad Brian had called, glad that he was out of the way.
Hosea reached for his Bible again and tucked the Holy Book under his arm. It was time to get back to his sermon. But he would go home and work from there. Then he’d be home when Jasmine arrived. This way, he’d truly be there for his wife.
Fifty-four
AGAIN, JASMINE TURNED OVER EVERYTHING in her mind. Second by second, minute by minute, she reviewed every word she and Brian had exchanged. But nothing explained what was happening today.
She had already left so many messages, Brian’s voice mail was full. When he didn’t call back, she’d rushed over to the center, sure that he would be there. But just a glance told her that he was not, and that was when she’d made the first call to the hotel. But after three attempts, the woman at the front desk still said the same thing: Dr. Lewis had checked out.
The first time the woman had told her that, Jasmine had screamed into the phone, “That’s impossible!”
“I’m sorry,” the woman said, maintaining her decorum. “But Doctor Lewis checked out this morning.”
Jasmine hung up, redialed, and asked the hotel operator to connect her to the front desk again. When the same woman answered, Jasmine asked for her name.
“This is Shawn.”
Jasmine put on the sweetest voice she could. “Shawn, I’m calling about Doctor Lewis.”
“Yes, ma’am, I recognize your voice.”
“Can you please connect me to his room?” Her tone was still sugary.
After a pause, Shawn said, “Ma’am, as I already told you, Doctor Lewis checked out.”
The sweetness was gone. “He did not!”
“I don’t know what else to tell you.”
Jasmine hung up; she couldn’t stand service people who didn’t do their jobs. It was not possible that Brian had checked out. She didn’t believe that, because if she did, she’d have to consider that he’d left New York. Left her. Left their daughter. And that was the part that was impossible.
Standing in the middle of 125th Street, Jasmine hailed a cab, told the driver that she was going to the Plaza, then leaned back and planned her words as the taxi sped south.
In less than ten minutes, Jasmine walked through the doors (held open by the white-gloved doorman) of the legendary hotel. Like yesterday, her heels clicked against the marble tiles, and she paused for a
moment in the spot where she and Brian had shared that kiss. She remembered and shuddered; she had to find him.
Moving toward the front desk, she took a deep breath, determined to stay calm by any means necessary.
She eyed the young woman, a twentysomething African American who, with a gold jacket and her hair pulled back into a severe bun, fit right into the elegance and opulence of the six-star hotel.
Straightening her coat’s collar, Jasmine stepped forward and noticed the name on the golden tag pinned right above her heart: Shawn.
Just great. There was no way Jasmine wanted to talk to this woman, but the man behind the counter was engrossed with two guests.
Jasmine had no choice when the woman smiled and asked, “How may I help you?” showing perfect teeth.
“I’m here to see one of your guests,” Jasmine said, with a bit of a southern twang so the woman wouldn’t recognize her right away.
“Yes, ma’am.” She pointed to a bank of gilded rotary phones lined up against the wall. “You can use one of the guest phones.”
“Ah, I’m not sure of his room number. Can you just connect me?”
“Of course. What is the guest’s name?”
Another deep breath. “Doctor Brian Lewis.”
The edges of the woman’s lips lost their curve. She squinted at Jasmine when she asked, “Did you just call here?”
Jasmine didn’t respond.
Shawn said, “Doctor Lewis checked out this morning,” in a tone that underscored, I already told you this.
“That can’t be right.”
She said, “Well, I don’t know what to tell you,” her decorum now gone.
“Why don’t you check again?”
“I’ve already checked three times. Why don’t you accept the fact that he’s not here?”
“Because he would have told me if he was leaving.”
“Maybe he didn’t want you to know,” Shawn said, snaking her neck just a bit.
Jasmine’s mouth opened wide. “Let me speak with your supervisor.”
Shawn’s good manners came right back. “I’m sorry I said that. But you keep asking the same question, and I already told you—”
“Your supervisor,” Jasmine said, holding up the palm of her hand, stopping the young woman’s words.
The woman pushed her shoulders back and held her head high, but still, Jasmine saw her fear. A minute later, she knew why when she returned behind a lanky white-haired woman who looked like she spit fire and was just waiting for a reason to terminate someone on the spot.
“Hello, Miss.” She paused, waiting for Jasmine to give her name.
“Jasmine Bush, and I want to file a complaint.”
The woman folded her hands together, bowed her head a bit, and said, “I’m so sorry.” She glanced over her shoulder at Shawn, who stood behind her almost trembling. “Our goal here at the Plaza is to make sure that all of our guests are completely satisfied—”
“But she’s not a guest,” Shawn said. “She’s—”
In the most genteel manner, the woman held up her forefinger. That small motion made Shawn shut her mouth and made Jasmine smile.
Jasmine said, “I’m looking for a dear friend who’s staying at this hotel.” She lowered her voice. “He’s been here for a week, and we even had lunch here yesterday. But Shawn refuses to let me speak with him.”
The woman frowned. “Is he accepting calls?” She glanced at Shawn.
“He was . . . when he was here,” Shawn said in a tone that suggested she’d forgotten to whom she was talking. “He checked out this morning.”
“He did not,” Jasmine countered.
The woman said, “Let me check that for you.”
Again, Jasmine gave Brian’s name. Again, his name was typed into the computer.
And the white-haired woman said, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bush, but it seems that Shawn is correct. Doctor Lewis has checked out.”
“But—”
“I’m very sorry,” the woman said, cutting her off. “But he’s not here.” In her tone, Jasmine heard the same implication that Shawn had made—he left and he didn’t want you to know.
Jasmine started to protest, to tell the supervisor to check again. But it was Shawn who stopped her. Shawn, who stood behind the white-haired woman with her arms crossed. Shawn, who was no longer trembling. Shawn, with her smug smile. It was Shawn who made Jasmine just walk away.
Now it was Jasmine who pushed her shoulders back and lifted her head. But as she moved toward the door, all she could manage was a stagger that made her look intoxicated. And she was drunk, drunk with the realization that Brian had left her.
Maybe he just went to a different hotel.
But no matter what her head said, her heart knew the truth.
What was she supposed to do now? How was she going to make it through without him? He was the only person who understood her, the only one who gave her hope, the only one who helped her to see Jacqueline every day. She needed him. Without Brian, there was no way she could go on.
But the truth was, Brian was gone.
Fifty-five
JASMINE WALKED AND WALKED. TEARS streamed down her face. Her sobs were silent, but still she cried. Yet not one New Yorker noticed her.
And then she looked up. Stood still. She had walked dozens and dozens of blocks to come right back to where she’d started. She was across the street from the Plaza, in front of F.A.O. Schwarz—Jacqueline’s favorite place.
Jasmine couldn’t count the times that she’d brought Jacqueline to this famous toy store just blocks from their apartment. It was how they spent their special days. When Hosea took Zaya, she and Jacqueline would go shopping.
Mama, let’s go!
She could almost hear her daughter as she pushed through the front door. The throng of tourists—with only thirteen shopping days till Christmas—slowed her down, but soon, Jasmine found her stride. She wandered through the aisles, retracing steps that she and Jacqueline had taken the last time they were here, just days before the abduction.
Her tears were still streaming, but the holiday crowd was too distracted to notice. Jasmine drifted from one colorful section of the store to another. She stumbled past stuffed animals, past Barbies, past rows and rows of LEGOs. On the up escalator, she held her breath until she got to Jacqueline’s favorite part—the Book Monster.
That was when she heard her.
Mama, I want this! And this! And that!
Jasmine stopped. Looked around. That was a voice that she knew. She could hardly breathe as she listened.
“Mama, I want this!”
Now she tried to follow the voice. She had to find her.
“Jacquie!” Jasmine called out. But her voice faded amid the chatter and the laughter and the music.
No one heard her, but she could hear the little girl. “Mama, can I have this?”
Jasmine rushed past the larger-than-life stuffed animals and made her way around the store’s famous teddy bear.
“Jacquie!”
Her steps were quicker now, but she didn’t know where to go. She heard the voice of the little girl all around her, coming from every direction.
Her head was pounding as she stopped. She stood in the middle of the second floor and twirled in place.
“Jacquie,” she cried, again and again.
“Excuse me, miss.”
She stopped and wobbled a bit, dizzy now.
The man held her arm gently, holding her up. “Are you all right?” he asked.
For a moment, she stared at the man in the blue uniform. “My daughter,” she whispered.
“Your daughter? Have you lost your daughter?”
She squeezed her eyes shut. She could still hear the voice in her head, but once she opened her eyes, she heard the voices of many little girls all around her.
She moaned and whipped past the security guard, then pushed through the crowd on the escalator. She rushed from the store and out onto the street.
Every part
of her—her head, her heart, her feet—was aching. She fought through the Fifth Avenue crowd, bumping and dodging bodies until she got to the edge of the street. There she grabbed a lightpost, desperate to hold on. The steel against her hands felt frozen. But she couldn’t let go. How else would she keep standing?
“Help me,” she whimpered as she looked up at the sky that was more white than blue, with the cumulus clouds that looked like the welcome gates to heaven. “Help me,” she cried.
She had lost Jacqueline. She had lost Brian. And now, she was sure, she was losing her mind.
Fifty-six
HIS TOES WERE TINGLING AND his fingers felt frozen stiff. But once Hosea pushed through the revolving doors (still huffing from the blocks he’d just jogged), he was greeted by the din of holiday happiness.
Above him, the three-story clock sang a welcoming song about the wonderful world of toys, and around him F.A.O. Schwarz was still thick with shoppers, even though the darkness of night had descended.
“Pastor Bush?” An African American man who looked as if he was a grandfather many times over called out to Hosea even though several feet separated them.
Still out of breath, Hosea blinked when the elderly uniformed man reached out his hand. “I recognized you from your TV show,” the security guard explained as they shook hands. “You can come with me.”
Hosea took off his gloves, blew on his hands, then followed the man through the children’s wonderland.
“Your wife was outside the store,” the man repeated what he’d already told Hosea when he called.
“Is she all right?” It was a question that Hosea hadn’t had a chance to ask. Once the manager of security from F.A.O. Schwarz had called him and said that his wife needed him, Hosea had dashed from the apartment. There was no need to wait for a cab; the store was so close, though it had seemed much farther on foot, at night, in the cold.
“She seems to be good now, but she wasn’t earlier.” The man explained how he’d found Jasmine spinning in the middle of the store and then how he’d raced outside after her when she ran away from him. “It took me a couple of minutes to get her away from that pole,” the guard said after he told Hosea how Jasmine had been clasped to the streetlight. “She was wrapped around that thing like it was some kind of lifeline.” He paused when they stopped in front of an office. “Mrs. Bush is in here with the manager.”
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