A Sin and a Shame (18 page)

He turned, paused, stared, as if he were waiting for her to take it back. Then, he grinned. “I feel the same way, darlin’.” He kissed her forehead. “Get some rest and call me as soon as you wake up. Malik said the offices are closed tomorrow, right?”

She nodded.

“Good, then stay in bed all day. I’ll bring you breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

It had been hours since she’d smiled. “I’d like that.”

She watched until he disappeared inside the elevator. She closed her door. Exhaled. A moment later, Brian stepped from her bedroom, fully dressed.

“I thought he’d never leave.”

She glared at him. Wondered how someone she despised so much could make her feel so good.

“So, that’s your man?” He slid his jacket over his shoulders. “I didn’t believe it when you said you were involved.” He grinned. “Seems like you have a good thing going.”

She hated that he was the one to remind her of that.

He buttoned his jacket and then stepped toward her. “I had a good time…again. Thanks…darlin’,” he smirked.

She wanted to slap him, but instead opened the door, wanting to just get rid of him.

He said, “I’ll see you again soon.”

“I don’t—”

Before she could finish, Mae Frances’s door opened again. “I thought you two had gone inside.” Then, she squinted at Brian. “You’re not the preacher man.”

Brian laughed. “Your man’s a preacher?” Then, he faced Mae Frances. “No, the preacher man just left.” When he turned back to Jasmine, he leaned over, and let his lips linger on hers for a long moment.

As much as she wanted to pull away, she didn’t.

He stepped back, and his fingers traced the curve of her jaw. “Like I said, I’ll see you soon.” He disappeared into the staircase.

Mae Frances was still holding her stance, but her glare had turned into a grin.

“You got them coming and going!” She shook her head. “Hmph. There must be something to this Christian thing.” She closed her door and Jasmine could still hear her laughing when she closed hers.

R
io was a hit
.

The accolades poured in, from celebrities to the media. After just a week, the buzz was that Rio was the place to be.

But Jasmine found little reason to celebrate. Her emotions were waging war. First, she wondered when her plan had morphed to love. There was no denying the way she felt, especially every time she saw Hosea. She was intoxicated with love, but guilt stole her ecstasy. And then there was the fear when she wasn’t with him that somehow, he—or his father—would find out about Brian.

It didn’t help that every time she entered her building, she was reminded of that night. Henrikas continued to open the door and greet her the way he always did, which just thickened her shame.

But even more than the shame she felt with Henrikas, there was the disgrace she felt with Mae Frances. No one could ever accuse her of being a Holy-roller kind of girl, but surely she didn’t want to do anything to push people away from God. Especially not after the sermon that Reverend Bush had preached last Sunday.

“As Christians, we have a responsibility to God. When we tell someone we love the Lord, they will watch us. See how we talk, see how we walk. People will get all up in your business, even taking notice of who you’re hanging out with.”

It was at that point in the service that Jasmine felt the first pang when the image of her in the hallway, first with Hosea, then with Brian, came to her mind.

“Once you profess to be a Christian,” Reverend Bush had continued, “once you ask the Lord into your heart, your responsibility is to bring people to Him, not turn people away. Make no mistake, we all will be held accountable. Especially if you’ve done anything to push someone away from God.”

Jasmine had wanted to run from the church. That’s exactly what she’d done to Mae Frances—probably pushed her away from God for good.

Since last Sunday, she’d wanted to talk to her neighbor. Needed to explain that what Mae Frances saw wasn’t who she was. It had taken eight days to build the courage, but on Saturday morning, Jasmine decided that she couldn’t go back to church on Sunday—couldn’t face God—if she didn’t take care of this.

She still wasn’t sure what she would say when she approached Mae Frances’s door. When her neighbor appeared, her smirk said that she remembered that night.

“Jasmine Larson, what can I do for you?”

“I…” She stopped. Couldn’t think of the right words. “I…was going to the store to pick up a few things,” she said, hoping God would count this as repentence. “Do you want anything?”

Her smirk went away. “No, thank you.” Her chin jutted forward. “I have plenty of food.”

“Okay, well…” Jasmine turned away. “See you later.”

But she’d taken just two steps when Mae Frances said, “Actually, I do need a few things.”

With a smile, Jasmine turned back. “Wait here,” Mae Frances said, leaving Jasmine in the hallway. A few minutes later she returned. “I made a list.”

Jasmine tried not to show her shock when she glanced at the paper filled from top to bottom with items.

“Let me give you the money.” Mae Frances dug through her purse, searching. She didn’t look at Jasmine when she said, “I must have forgotten to go to the bank.”

“No problem. I’ll pick these up and you can pay me later.”

Mae Frances stood straight, pushed her shoulders back. “Thank you, Jasmine Larson.”

Guess I got some shopping to do,
she thought as she turned toward the elevator.

The moment Jasmine stepped
off the elevator, Mae Frances’s door opened.

“I’ll see you next time,” a man said, and then both of them appeared in the hallway. The man nodded as he passed by Jasmine.

Staying in place, Jasmine’s eyes followed the tall, ruggedly handsome man as he strolled down the hall; she kept her stare until he was gone. With raised eyebrows, she followed Mae Frances into her apartment.

“Thank you, Jasmine Larson,” her neighbor said, as if a good-looking man hadn’t just walked out of her place. She took the shopping bags from Jasmine and motioned for her to sit. “I’ll put this away and then I’ll join you.”

Jasmine smiled. She didn’t know Mae Frances had friends like that and she couldn’t wait to ask a few questions. She wandered through the living room pausing at the mantel. She lifted one of the silver frames that sat on the shelf and peered closer as if she’d missed something. The frame was empty. Just like all the others.

“I thought you’d like some tea,” Mae Frances said, carrying a silver tray with a teapot and two matching cups. She sat, crossed her ankles, and spoke as if she were hosting a small party.

“Thank you.” Jasmine lowered her eyes as she joined Mae Frances and took a sip from her cup. Her frivolous thoughts of the man were gone. She took a breath, hoping that her words would not offend. “Mae Frances, there’re some things I don’t understand.”

“Like what?”

Jasmine glanced again at the fireplace. “Your pictures over there.”

Mae Frances straightened her back even more. “Sometimes I wonder why I bother with you.”

“What?” Jasmine’s voice was full of attitude.

“Why are you always in my business?”

Jasmine glared at Mae Frances, sitting tall, defiance in her eyes. And then Jasmine saw more. Pride etched in the lines of Mae Frances’s scowl.

With a breath, Jasmine inhaled a bit of calm. “That’s not what I want to do. I just care about you.”

Her penciled eyebrows rose. “You care?” she said as if those two words were the butt end of a joke. “Why?”

Jasmine opened her mouth, then stopped.
Why?
She wasn’t sure, but she knew that in these months she’d come to care about the woman who wore diamonds and minks, rode in a limousine, yet her cupboards were as bare as her photo frames. “I care because I like you, and I believe that if I needed you, you’d be here for me.”

Mae Frances blinked, “Thank you for caring, Jasmine Larson,” she said softly. Then, the defiance returned. “But I’m fine.”

“I know you are. I just want to know how I can…” She paused, took a breath. “Does your ex-husband help you—”

Her laugh was loud and long. “Help me? Oh, yes. He’s the reason that I’m living off of Central Park and not in it.” Her laughter continued. “Look around. Can’t you tell that the great Dr. Elijah Van Dorn is helping me?”

“Mae Frances, I’m just asking because—”

“Because of the empty cabinets. Because my furniture and clothes look secondhand?” Mae Frances stood, wandered to the mantel, and stared at the blank frames. “I am fine, Jasmine Larson.”

“Okay. But I was thinking, we could call someone, if you ever need help.”

Mae Frances’s eyes flashed with fire. “Like who? Some charity? Or the government? Are you talking welfare?” she said with an insulted inflection.

“No, not welfare. But my church, my pastor, we have programs to help seniors—”

Her laugh, even louder this time, stopped Jasmine. “Church?” She paused, and then added with a sneer, “It’s because of church and your God that I’m alone.” She pushed her shoulders back. “I would rather live in the park, and eat from the trash, than get involved with your church.”

Jasmine frowned. “Mae Frances, God is not responsible for what your husband did.”

“I know that. I know they were just using the name of some nonexistent being. But I’m telling you I won’t have anything to do with a church, where people claim to love in the name of some image they can’t see, but then they stab you straight in your back. Some even take the knife out, show it to you, and stab you again. Oh, no.” She waved her hands. “No church, no God.”

“My church isn’t like that. At City of Lights, we’re not one way inside and another way outside.”

“You’re not?” The ends of her lips curled into a grin. “Well, what do you call that stuff I walked into last week in the hall? Hmph. You got men coming and going at the same time. You’re just like all the rest of God’s children.”

Jasmine clenched her teeth so tightly that her jaw ached. “I was just saying—”

“And I’m just saying,” Mae Frances interrupted, “keep that church crap to yourself.”

Jasmine glared at her; wondered why she cared. “Fine.” She stood and stomped all the way to her own apartment.

“Forget you, Mae Frances!” Jasmine yelled to her walls. She bounced onto the couch and clicked on the television.

But as she flipped through the channels, her eyes misted. And then, a tear fell. Mae Frances had hurt more than her feelings. She had hurt her heart with the truth. Jasmine just prayed that God wouldn’t hold this one against her because if He did, she couldn’t imagine what her punishment might be.

Jasmine snatched the phone. “Hello.”

“Hey, darlin’, you sound upset. What’s up?”

She sighed. “Nothing.”

“Come on. Don’t make me go through all of this. I gotta run to a meeting, and I don’t want to spend all this time asking you over and over. So just tell me now, and then I can spend the rest of the time telling you how much I miss you.”

Jasmine chuckled, but her humor went away as she told Hosea about her conversation with her neighbor, carefully excluding Mae Frances’s last comments. “I’ve just never met anyone who talks about God the way she does,” Jasmine concluded. “Isn’t that blasphemy?”

“Darlin’, there are a lot more people like Mae Frances than there are like us. Just be patient. You’ll win her over.”

“I don’t think anyone will ever make Mae Frances change her mind.”

“Remember what my pops preached. Just by watching your walk, she can come to see who God really is.”

The image of the hallway scene returned and Jasmine shuddered. “Whatever,” she said, needing to get away from those thoughts. “Anyway, who’s your meeting with?”

“Actually, my pops. We’re going over some items for the Teen Outreach Program. But I’m calling, darlin’, ’cause I wanna know what you got going after church tomorrow. Any plans?”

“Just planning on being with you.”

“Then add one more to that list. We’re going to have lunch with my pops.”

Jasmine sat straight up. “Lunch with Reverend Bush?”

“You know, we’re gonna have to do something about that. You can’t keep calling my pops Reverend Bush.”

She wanted to tell him that she didn’t want to call his father anything. Never wanted to talk to him at all.

For months, she’d done all she could to stay far from the reverend. If Hosea stayed for the second service, she made work-related excuses to get away. And she’d deftly changed the subject anytime she felt Hosea approaching any discussion of the two of them spending time with his father.

Hosea interrupted her thoughts with, “Maybe you should just call him Pops.”

He laughed. She didn’t.

“Aw, come on, Jasmine. Don’t let Mae Frances get you down.”

“I won’t,” she said. Her neighbor was a good cover. Now, she wished she could use Mae Frances to get out of this invitation. “Lunch with your father? Tomorrow? I don’t know. I still have so much work to do.”

“What work do you have to do after church?” She could hear his frown. “Are you trying to avoid my pops?”

“No, it’s just scary meeting the folks, you know?”

“That would make sense if you didn’t already know my father. But you know what kind of man he is. And he’s been asking me to arrange this for some time.” When she still said nothing, Hosea added, “I promise I won’t let him chew you up and spit you out.” He laughed.

“That’s not funny.” She shivered, imagining the sight. She could see Reverend Bush, with Rottweiler fangs. And she, a mangled mess at the end of lunch.

“Stop being so serious. After ten minutes with Pops, you’ll be wondering why we didn’t do this before.”

Jasmine remembered the last time she spent ten minutes with the reverend.
If there is anything that stinks, I’ll smell it.
After what she’d done, how was she going to sit across the table from the man who’d spoken those words?

“So, I was thinking we’d have brunch at Tavern on the Green. Okay?”

No was not an option. “I guess.”

“Great, and you’ll see. It’ll be fine.”

Jasmine couldn’t wait until they’d said good-bye. For the next hour, she sat, staring, silent, wondering how she would ever get through lunch with the man who just by looking at her had the potential to make her dreams come toppling down.

Her stomach stirred, and Jasmine had a feeling that after tomorrow her life would never be the same again.