A Sin and a Shame

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  Jasmine shook her head. “I just have to be careful.”

  “You’ll never be able to be that careful.”

  “How many women do you think are out there who have passed their children off to a man who is not the father?”

  “None of them are the daughter-in-law of Reverend H. Samuel Bush.”

  Jasmine pushed away from the picnic table. “He’s just a man,” Jasmine said with more confidence than she’d had in weeks. “And I can handle any man.”

  Malik took a sip of his soda. “Whatever.”

  “I’m going to get some dessert. Do you want anything?”

  “Nah, I’m gonna head over to the basketball courts.”

  As Jasmine passed the spread of apple and peach pies, red velvet cakes, and brownies, she decided to get a little of everything, to celebrate. Seemed Reverend Bush didn’t know a thing.

  After she packed a plate with sweets, she reached for a soda.

  “Let me help you,” a voice behind her said.

  She faced Reverend Bush and he eyed her plate. “I guess you’re not suffering from morning sickness.”

  She waved her hand. “That stopped a while ago.”

  “A while ago?”

  She hesitated. “Yes, right before the end of my first trimester.”

  He tilted his head. “My wife had morning sickness well into her fourth month.”

  “I guess every woman is different.”

  “No doubt.” As Jasmine reached for the soda, Reverend Bush, said, “I’ll walk you back to your table.”

  Jasmine wanted to tell him to go away, but she moved with quick steps, hoping he’d disappear once she sat down. But then he took a seat next to her.

  “You know, Jasmine, it’s a shame that you and I haven’t spent more time together. Here you are, married to my son, and I feel like I hardly know you.”

  “Well, that isn’t totally my fault, Reverend Bush. You’ve made it clear how you feel about me.”

  “But now, we’re family. And you’re carrying…my grandchild, right?”

  It was the way he spoke those last words that made her only nod.

  He said, “I think it’s time we talked.”

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  The reverend shrugged. “Well,” he paused. “Tell me about your first marriage.”

  Jasmine could barely breathe. My first marriage? She took a long sip of soda, kept her eyes away from him, until she said, “I’m sorry, what did you say, Reverend?”

  He smirked, and repeated his question.

  “Reverend Bush, I’ve never been married.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Really? Malik told me you were divorced.”

  Inhale. Exhale.

  “I asked Hosea,” he began, “but he said you’d never been married.”

  Exhale. Inhale.

  She said, “My sister is married, but her husband passed away. Is that what you’re talking about?”

  “No. Malik said you were married. And that you were divorced.”

  “I…I don’t know…I’ve never been married.”

  “Why would Malik say otherwise?”

  “I…I don’t know…maybe he was confused?”

  Reverend Bush bobbed his head. “Maybe.” He pushed away from the table. “Well, I need to mingle. I can’t spend all my time with my daughter-in-law, can I?”

  Jasmine gasped for air as he strutted away. When she could no longer see him, she stood and rushed through the park, past the rows of picnic tables crowded with parishioners eating, chatting, totally oblivious to the fact that her world was about to end. Her eyes scanned the grounds until she found the basketball courts. Malik stood on the sidelines watching a half-court game. She grabbed his arm.

  “Why did you tell Reverend Bush that I was married before?” she hissed.

  “What?”

  “You told Reverend Bush that I was divorced and Hosea doesn’t know that. He thinks that I was never married.”

  Malik took her hand, moving her farther away from the crowd. “Jasmine, everyone knows that you were married. Why would you tell Hosea that you weren’t?”

  Tears stung her eyes. “He’s a minister and I didn’t think being divorced was good.”

  Malik moaned. “This is what I’m talking about, Jasmine. Lies are like boomerangs. They always come back.”

  She felt like crying a river, but she just stood, listening, trembling.

  “I’m trying to help, Jasmine. This is out of control and it’s only going to get worse. Look,” he said softening his voice, “if you want, I’ll do it with you. I’ll be there. But please. Before this really blows up, tell Hosea the truth…about everything.”

  She sniffed back her tears. “I’m going to the restroom.”

  “Are you okay?”

  She nodded and turned away. But as she moved toward the restroom, her steps slowed. Reverend Bush stood leaning against the brick building that housed the ladies’ room.

  She stopped.

  They stared.

  Then he walked away.

  Jasmine stood still for only a moment before she scurried through the park in search of her husband.

  “Sweetie, we have to go,” Jasmine called to Hosea as he stood behind home plate.

  Hosea signaled to one of the men sitting on the bleachers. Then he took Jasmine’s hand. “What’s wrong?” he asked. Concern added lines to his forehead.

  “I feel sick. It’s too hot out here.”

  “I should have thought of that. We should have stayed home.”

  “Oh, no, sweetie, I’m fine. I just want to go.”

  “Okay, let me find Pops.”

  “No!” She paused. “With all these people it will take forever to find him, and then he’ll try to talk me into staying, and then I won’t want to disappoint him, and then—”

  “Okay, let’s go.” He held her as they wandered toward the parking lot.

  But even when their car exited the park grounds, and Jasmine closed her eyes, rest would not come. Reverend Bush marched through her mind, taunting and teasing, telling her that she was not safe.

  By the time they entered their apartment, Jasmine was exhausted.

  “I’m sorry,” she said to Hosea before she climbed into bed. “I know you wanted to stay at the picnic.”

  “The only place I want to be is with you and our baby. Get some rest. I’m going to hang out in the living room.”

  Still, Jasmine could find no peace. For hours she tossed, warring with the images that bombarded her mind, until they finally overtook her.

  First, Reverend Bush came to her, “I know what you did this summer.”

  “No.”

  “I know about you and Brian.”

  “No.”

  “I know about the baby.”

  “No.”

  He laughed so loud, she had to cover her ears. Then the reverend faded. In his place, Hosea stood, holding two suitcases. “You’re a liar.”

  “No.”

  “And a cheat.”

  “No.”

  “You should have told me. If you’d told me, I would’ve stayed.”

  “No,” she screamed.

  Then her husband marched toward the door. In the background, the baby cried. But it hadn’t been born. Yet, the infant’s screeches blended with her screams, creating a mournful melody that played as Hosea walked farther, farther, until he was gone.

  “Please come back, Hosea. I love you. Please come back. Don’t leave me, Hosea.”

  “Jasmine,” Hosea called.

  In her sleep, Jasmine’s screams continued.

  “Hosea, please don’t leave me,” she cried.

  “Darlin’, I’m not going anywhere. I’m here,” he said, shaking her awake.

  But her cries persisted, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  “Jasmine, wake up.”

  Her eyes focused—on her husband, holding her, trying to calm her.

  “You don’t have anything to be sorry about, darlin�
�. It was just a dream.”

  “A dream?” she whispered, her eyes focused on Hosea.

  “It was just a dream,” he repeated over and over.

  But Jasmine knew the truth. This was not a dream at all.

  Chapter 43

  Pregnancy privileges had given Jasmine a free pass.

  She knew Hosea wasn’t surprised when she told him she wasn’t up to going to church. After her nightmare, neither had closed their eyes until the morning’s first light peeked through their windows. It was exhaustion, coupled with the thought of looking Reverend Bush in his eyes—and him looking into hers—that made Jasmine beg for more rest.

  But now, an hour after Hosea left for church, Jasmine was still awake. Sleep avoided her like an elusive lover, promising but never delivering. Every time she closed her eyes, visions shook her awake. Reverend Bush taunted her. Hosea stomped away from her.

  Although her eyelids felt like fifty-pound weights, she slipped into her bathrobe and grabbed her keys. She scurried across the hall and shivered as she knocked on Mae Frances’s door, even though the summer’s heat clogged the hallway.

  “Well, Jasmine Larson,” Mae Frances said when she opened the door. She clutched the collar of her well-worn robe. “I thought you’d be in church.”

  “I wasn’t feeling well.”

  Her smirk disappeared. “Come on in, child. I’ll make you some tea.”

  Minutes later, Jasmine sat next to Mae Frances, their silver teacups filled.

  Jasmine said, “I’m thinking about telling Hosea the truth.”

  As if Jasmine had said “the sun is shining,” Mae Frances took several sips before she gingerly placed her cup down. Then, with the same casualness, she said, “Why would you do something that stupid?”

  The gruffness of her neighbor’s tone didn’t bother Jasmine; she just needed someone to listen to her thoughts. She carried Mae Frances through the past days—her encounter with her father-in-law, her discussions with Malik, her nightmare. “I’m afraid Malik is right. This will never stay a secret.”

  “You’re listening to men, now listen to me. What do you think your husband will do when you tell him?”

  “He’ll be upset—”

  “He’ll be more than upset.”

  “I know, but I’m trusting that he knows I love him.”

  “Please, you can’t trust a man.”

  Jasmine sighed. “Mae Frances, that’s your experience—”

  “Jasmine Larson, you don’t know anything about my experience. Let me tell you.” She stood, with her head high. “Men don’t know how to love.” She held up her hand before Jasmine could protest. “I thought my husband loved me. But when I made a mistake, all he did was run out that door.” She pushed her shoulders back before she faced Jasmine. “I made the same mistake. I had an affair, and Elijah Van Dorn left me.”

  Jasmine’s mouth opened wide. “I thought you said your husband left you because you were black.”

  “He did. I have no doubt he would have stayed if I were white.”

  That made no sense to Jasmine. “Mae Frances, I don’t think color has anything to do with this.”

  “Then you’re naïve, because the affair was just an excuse for him to get out of this marriage. But if you don’t believe that, remember this. Elijah Van Dorn is a Christian, just like your husband. And Christians preach forgiveness, but they don’t live it. Christians will judge you and run out when the situation gets tough.” She held her head as if the memories made her ache. “In fact, it was my husband’s father—the minister—who found out about my affair and told his son to leave me.”

  Jasmine pressed her hand against her chest. Mae Frances’s life was her nightmare. “But this just proves what Malik told me,” she said, though her heart thumped hard against her chest. “These things never stay a secret. If Hosea is going to find out, it’s better if he hears it from me. And it’s better if he hears it now, rather than later.”

  “What kind of logic is that?” Mae Frances asked as if she thought Jasmine wasn’t very bright. “Even if you accept that the preacher man will eventually find out, later is always better. Later translates into more money that he’ll have to pay you.”

  “I’m trying to save my marriage. I’m not thinking about money.”

  Mae Frances laughed. “Who are you kidding, Jasmine Larson? It’s all about money. Isn’t that why you went after the preacher man?”

  Jasmine’s eyes widened.

  Mae Frances sucked her teeth. “You think I don’t know. Jasmine Larson, you are who I used to be.”

  Those words made Jasmine shudder. She stared at her neighbor, starting at her feet, covered by terry-cloth slippers with holes the size of nickels, up to the same dingy-white bathrobe that she’d worn for months. She ended at her face that was dressed with the thickest coat of two-shades too-light makeup, even in the earliest hours of the morning. But what was startling was the way Mae Frances’s lips twisted against the hardness of her jaw. And the way her eyes glared under the frames of her penciled eyebrows. The stench of bitterness was her perfume.

  “Your husband will leave you,” Mae Frances said as if her fate would become Jasmine’s. “You tell the preacher man tonight, and you’ll wake up alone tomorrow.”

  Jasmine said nothing more.

  “Look,” Mae Frances continued, “I think you’re just worried about how you’re going to pull this off. Calm down, and know that I’m on your side. I’ll help you get through this. But remember, what happened to me will happen to you if you don’t listen.”

  Sipping the last of her tea, Jasmine let her eyes wander around her neighbor’s living room. The tattered furniture, the empty picture frames, even Mae Frances herself, an aged relic.

  “You are who I used to be.” She heard Mae Frances’s words in her head.

  Jasmine put down her cup. Smiled at Mae Frances. “You’ve really helped me. Thank you.”

  Mae Frances smiled. “Well, I’m glad you were listening.”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “Good, then you know what to do.”

  “Yes, I do.” Jasmine stood and walked out the door. She knew exactly what to do because she would do anything not to become Mae Frances.

  Chapter 44

  Nepotism was hard at work.

  Jasmine hadn’t spent a full day at Kincaid Enterprises in a week, but Malik hadn’t seemed to notice.

  “Take all the time you need,” Malik had said at the beginning of the week when she told him what she was thinking. “I just want you to do the right thing.” He’d squeezed her hand and told her he’d be there for her.

  Since Sunday, thoughts had ping-ponged through her mind; she didn’t know which way to go. The ringing telephone grabbed her from her thoughts.

  “Jasmine, this is Reverend Bush,” he said after she’d said hello.

  The shock of his voice made her drop the budget she was reviewing. He’d never called her at work; he’d never called her at all. Her heart pounded with the knowledge that this was the moment. Her father-in-law was about to do what Mae Frances’s father-in-law had done—announce that the gig was up.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Fine.”

  “We missed you in church on Sunday. Hosea said you weren’t well.”

  “I’m better now.”

  “Good. You know that’s…” he paused, letting silence sit before he spoke, “my grandchild you’re carrying.”

  Jasmine pressed the phone closer to her ear. Tried to hear the words the reverend didn’t say.

  “I’m glad you’re doing better. Take care and I’ll see you on Sunday. And Jasmine,” he stopped again. “I was telling a young woman the other day that sometimes we get ourselves into situations where we don’t see a way out. But God always gives us a way. You just have to listen and be obedient.”

  “Good-bye,” she said, because she didn’t have the strength to hold on to the phone any longer. Her heart slammed against her chest. A matter of time was al
l that separated her lie and the truth.

  Tears burned her eyes again, and she wondered how many of those she had left. Every time she tried to imagine the talk—what she would say, what Hosea would say, what she would do, what Hosea would do—she couldn’t fathom it. It seemed impossible that she was even thinking about telling her husband. But Mae Frances’s story and now Reverend Bush were leaving her no choice.

  Tina was already at lunch when Jasmine grabbed her purse and left. Inside the cab, it took minutes before she conjured up the nerve to dial the number.

  “Talk to me.”

  “Hey, sweetie. I was calling to find out what time you’ll be home.”

  “It’s like that, huh?” Hosea chuckled. “You can’t wait to have your hands all over me. So, what do you have in mind for tonight?”

  “I want to talk.”

  She could hear his frown. “Talk? That’s not what I had in mind.”

  “I know. But I really need to talk to you.”

  “Are you all right? Is it about the baby?”

  She swallowed. “I’m fine and the baby’s fine.”

  “Okay, I should be home by six.”

  “Good, and Hosea—,” she swallowed again, “I love you. I really do.”

  “I know that, darlin’. And I love you.”

  Her lips trembled as she clicked End. That’s what she was counting on—love that would keep them together.

  As the cab edged up Avenue of the Americas, Jasmine clicked her phone again.

  “Hey,” Serena answered. “What’s up, Big Sis?”

  “I need a favor,” Jasmine said. “And I need you to do it without asking questions.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “I need you to pray for me.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I said no questions.”

  “I don’t care. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I haven’t spoken to you in weeks and now you’re calling for prayer? What’s going on?”

  “Just trust me. Just pray.”

  “Is it the baby? Hosea?”

  Jasmine sighed. “No.”

  After a pause, Serena said, “Okay, just tell me that neither you nor the baby are in physical danger.”