A Sin and a Shame (25 page)

B
liss was all she knew
.

Jasmine didn’t want this time to end. Even now, as she listened to the sound of the shower’s rain coming from her bathroom, she wanted to join her husband, but he’d already warned her.

“Stay away from me, woman,” Hosea had teased when he rolled from the bed just minutes before. “I’ve got to get to work!”

“Don’t you want to stay home with me?” she’d whined.

“I do, but we’ve played for two weeks, I’ve got to get to the studio.” He laughed as he trudged to the bathroom.

Indeed, they had spent fourteen days romping through paradise. Although their private villa at Cambridge Shores in Bermuda gave them access to two private beaches, they’d rarely ventured from their honeymoon home. Instead of playing golf and tennis and snorkeling in the blue seas, they’d done little more than make love, order exotic dishes from room service, and then make love again.

Yesterday, they’d begrudgingly returned to New York, but they’d continued their celebration by consummating their union in each room until they finally collapsed into bed well after midnight.

It had been two weeks filled with joy—except for her intermittent bouts of nausea that blessedly, she’d been able to hide from Hosea. Still, the queasiness was so infrequent that it made her wonder—maybe her pregnancy scare had been nothing more than jitters. Or maybe God had answered her prayers. Still, she needed to be sure, and that thought took her cheer away.

Her heaven returned when Hosea sauntered from the bathroom with a towel tucked at his waist. Her husband was unlike any man she’d been with. All of her conquests had been fit enough to be models for Gold’s Gym. But not Hosea. A slight roll of skin hung over the towel around his middle. And there were other parts of him that were cushier rather than muscular. Yet, she loved every extra inch of him. All of the plans she once had to change him were gone. She loved the man he was.

“I cannot believe you’re going to leave without making love to me.” She wrapped the silk sheet around her, then sauntered to where he stood. “How can you do this?” she whined before she dropped the sheet to the floor.

Hosea swallowed, his eyes ingesting her. She reached for his towel.

“Stay away from me,” he groaned. “Please, I’m trying to get to work.”

“All I want is a kiss.”

He looked at her as if he didn’t believe her, but then brought his lips to hers. Quickly, he backed away. “That’s enough,” he breathed. “Or I’ll never leave.”

She pouted playfully, as she watched him dress.

“So, what are you going to do today?” he asked.

She turned away, afraid that her eyes might not lie as well as her lips. “Nothing much.” She strutted back to the bed. “I told Malik I’d be in on Wednesday; I just want to take these two days to rest.”

He leaned over her. “Well, as you’re resting, just make sure that you’re thinking about me.” He kissed her. “Just like I’ll be thinking of you.” Before he walked out the bedroom, he added, “I’ll be home as early as I can.”

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

She waited until the front door closed and then she jumped from the bed.

Jasmine dashed back into
her building, past a grinning Henrikas.

“That was quick, Mrs. Bush,” he said with extra emphasis on her new name.

She greeted him with a nod, then rushed to the elevator. When the doors opened, she hurried forward and bumped into Mae Frances.

“What the—” Mae Frances stopped. Glared at Jasmine. “What has you in such a hurry and when did you get back?” she asked as if she were owed an explanation to both questions.

Jasmine pushed past her neighbor and held the Open Door button. “We got home yesterday.”

Mae Frances smirked. “Did you have a good honeymoon?”

Jasmine nodded. “Mae Frances, can we chat later?”

The woman peered at her through narrow eyes. “Yes,” she said slowly. “I’ll stop by later and—” the elevator door closed on the rest of her words.

Inside her apartment, Jasmine didn’t stop moving until each of the nine boxes she’d purchased were lined on the bathroom counter. Then, she sat on the commode and stared at the pregnancy tests.

“Okay, Lord,” she said. “I need you like I’ve never needed you before.”

Jasmine picked up the first box, read the instructions. Did the same with the rest. Then she paced and wished there was someone she could call to hold her hand. But her friends list was short; she was on her own.

She began with the test she’d seen most often on television, then took each one until nine strips lined the bathroom counter. She paced. Thought. Prayed.

The waiting sobered her, made her forget the beauty of the past weeks. Made her think only of the horror of what these results could bring.

She sat again on the commode. Listened to time passing. Finally, she moved in front of each box. Slowly. Studied each strip. Carefully.

Nine times—she was pregnant.

She didn’t know why she trembled as she staggered back to the toilet. Her heart, her body had already told her. But the absolute truth sickened her. And now, she was scared.

The knock on her
front door made Jasmine leap from the toilet.

She had no idea how long she’d been in the bathroom, holding a death-grip stare on the strips. Hoping that her glare could turn fact to fiction. But now, with a quickness, she stuffed all the evidence into the shopping bag.

The knock came again and she had a vision of Hosea standing on the other side of the door, wondering where were his keys and why did he have to wait so long for his wife to answer.

She kicked the shopping bag underneath the bed, then straightened the bedskirt. When she opened the door with a smile, the ends of her lips dipped a bit.

“Are you okay in here?” Mae Frances brushed past Jasmine. “You asked me to come over and then you take all day to answer the door.”

She didn’t remember inviting Mae Frances anywhere, but all she said was, “I’m sorry. I was unpacking.”

Mae Frances sat on the couch. Crossed her ankles. Rested her hands in her lap. Patted a spot next to her and said, “Sit down. Let’s talk.”

Not now,
she thought. How could she chat when she was consumed with misery?

“Jasmine Larson, what is wrong with you?”

In her mind, she saw the truth again, wrapped in the pregnancy strips—all blue. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the tears flowed anyway.

“Jasmine Larson?” Mae Frances’s voice was softer this time.

She tried to keep the sobs inside, but now she cried. And when Mae Frances wrapped her arms around her, she cried more.

“Child, don’t tell me that man has done something to you already?” She led Jasmine to the couch. “I tried to tell you. Men—”

“I’m pregnant.” Her words shocked them both.

It took a moment for Mae Frances to say, “Child, please. You’ve been married for three minutes. You can’t possibly be pregnant. And even if you were—”

“I’m pregnant, Mae Frances,” Jasmine interrupted. “But it’s not Hosea’s baby.” She left the truth right there.

Mae Frances frowned. Then her eyes became quarter-size wide. “That other guy?” she whispered. “The one who I thought was better for you?”

Jasmine nodded.

“Oh, Jasmine Larson, you stepped into some serious stuff, didn’t you?”

Jasmine said nothing.

“Child, how did you end up pregnant? Didn’t you use a condom?”

It made her crazy, the way Mae Frances spoke like an informed, responsible forty-year-old. If only she had acted like one.

“I wasn’t thinking….”

“Obviously,” Mae Frances stood. Walked back and forth in front of her friend. “Well, I don’t understand why you’re crying. You know what you have to do.”

“I know,” Jasmine said, wiping her face clear of the tears. “It’s just that it’s been so much pressure not knowing, and now knowing—”

Mae Frances waved her hand, as if she were erasing Jasmine’s words. “You don’t have the time for emotions. Just do what you have to do.” Mae Frances paused her words, stopped her pacing. “You
are
going to take care of it, right?”

“Definitely.”

“Good, because this is not the time to go Christian on me.”

Her neighbor’s words carried an extra sting. God’s thoughts hadn’t been any part of hers. But surely God wouldn’t mind an abortion in this case. He was the one who wanted her to be with Hosea. Certainly He knew what would happen if Hosea learned of this.

“We need to get moving.” Mae Frances was in command mode. “A doctor who takes care of these things had an office in this building a few years ago. He’s moved, but I’m sure I have the number. So, you make an appointment, have the abortion, and your husband will never know.”

Jasmine’s glance rested on the picture on the mantel. The photo of her and Hosea that had appeared in
The New York Times.
It made her shudder, the way he’d held her, like he’d always love her, always trust her.

She turned away, looked instead at Mae Frances. “Can you get me that number?”

Mae Frances beamed as if she’d just won a prize. “I’ll be right back.”

When Mae Frances closed the door, Jasmine sank into the couch.
This has to be from God,
she thought. Or it wouldn’t have been so easy. He understood.

Everything will be fine. Hosea will never know.

When the door opened, she spun around. “Mae Frances—”

“I can’t believe you’ve forgotten your husband already,” Hosea joked.

“Sweetie!” Jasmine breathed to keep her voice steady. “What are you doing home?”

“I got that thing.”

She frowned.

“That thing where I’m missing you, wanting you, can’t get enough of you.”

She tried to chuckle, moaned instead.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as he put his arm around her.

“Nothing. I’m just surprised to see you.”

He kissed her. “I thought I’d come home…for lunch,” he said huskily.

“It’s barely ten,” she said.

The adoration in his eyes as he pulled her into his arms said that he would love her always. That made her hold him tighter.

“So,” he began. “Can I get some…” He nuzzled her neck.

The knock on the door stopped her response. “Sweetie,” she started with as much calm as she could gather. “That’s Mae Frances.”

He leaned back. “I know you’re not going to open the door.”

Her neighbor knocked again. Again. Again.

He said, “I’ll get it.”

“No,” and then she lowered her voice. Placed her lips against his ear. “Go into the bedroom. Get ready for me.”

He grinned. “That’s what I’m talking about.” As he strolled away, he added, “Don’t be too long. I only got an hour…or two…or three.”

“Close the door,” she said with a smile in her voice. “If Mae Frances gets a peek, she might try to steal you away.”

He laughed; she didn’t. At the door, she blocked her neighbor’s entrance. “Do you have the number?”

Mae Frances frowned. “Why are you whispering?”

“Hosea’s home.”

“In the middle of the day?” Mae Frances shook her head as if she didn’t approve. “Don’t get used to this. It won’t last,” she said like the expert she was on bad marriages. She handed Jasmine a torn piece of paper. “Call right away.”

Jasmine thanked her before she closed the door.

“Darlin’, what’s that?”

Before she faced him, she stuffed the telephone number into her jeans. Then, turned, smiled, said, “A recipe.”

“Oh, yeah?” He grinned and stepped toward her wearing nothing under his open bathrobe. “Let me see.”

She shook her head. “No, let
me
see,” she said as she rolled the robe over his shoulders.

She squealed as he lifted her. When he laid her down and rested on top of her, she thought about the shopping bag hidden beneath their bed.

But when her husband kissed her, he took away all thoughts of the tests, the baby. Erased everything that wasn’t centered completely on him.

J
asmine stood at the
door until Hosea stepped into the elevator. She waved, but before she could close her door, Mae Frances opened hers.

“Jasmine Larson, what’s going on?” Mae Frances asked. “I waited all day yesterday, and I almost came by last night, but I knew the preacher man was probably home,” she said, as if that irritated her.

Jasmine tightened her bathrobe and stepped into the hall. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Hosea stayed home for the rest of the day and I couldn’t call. But I’m going to right now.”

“Well, let me know how it goes,” Mae Frances snapped.

Inside her apartment, Jasmine leaned against the closed door. Thought about what she had to do. Held her hand over her stomach. Let it rest there for long moments. Imagined the baby inside. Then shook her head, wiping that image away. She couldn’t allow herself to think of this as a baby. She had to remember that this was a problem.

She took determined steps into the bedroom. Inhaled a cleansing breath, and dialed the number. Minutes passed after a receptionist asked her to hold for a scheduling nurse. Jasmine paced with anxiety.

A woman came onto the line, identified herself and asked, “Ms. Bush, were you referred by a doctor?”

“It’s Mrs. Bush,” Jasmine said, and then wondered why she’d carelessly given her real name.

“I apologize, Mrs. Bush. Were you—”

“No,” Jasmine said quickly. “A friend referred me.”

“Okay. I hope you’re aware that our doctors only do first trimester abortions. How many weeks are you?”

Her pacing began again. “I’m not sure exactly.”

“You’re calling to schedule an abortion and you don’t know how far along you are?” the nurse asked with a frown in her voice. “Have you taken a pregnancy test?”

“I’ve taken those home tests.” Jasmine stopped. She’d forgotten about the shopping bag under the bed and she pulled it from its hiding place. “I took nine tests and they were all positive. So, I’m absolutely sure that I’m pregnant.”

“Jasmine.”

The sound of him made her lose her grip on the phone. She whipped around. Hosea stood in the doorway, stiff, his eyes wide with shock.

Slowly, she lifted the phone from the floor, her eyes not parting from her husband. She hung up, without speaking another word to the nurse.

“Jasmine,” he repeated her name.

“Hosea.” She stood frozen with fear. “Hosea, I’m so sorry.”

He frowned. “Sorry?” He moved toward her. “Darlin’, why would you be sorry?”

He pulled her into his arms. She could feel the tears building, but she couldn’t lose it now. Somehow she had to explain, make him understand.

He leaned back. Looked into her eyes. “My baby is going to have our baby. But are you sure? Isn’t it too soon to know?”

She shook her head, mystified by his words. And then she realized, no matter what he’d heard, she’d said nothing to implicate herself. Nothing that would make Hosea know that she was a liar. And a cheat. And carrying another man’s seed.

“Darlin’, sit down,” he said softly as if volume could hurt her. He held her as he led her the few steps to the bed. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

She nodded, feeling safer in the silence.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “When did you take these pregnancy tests?”

“Just a little while ago,” she squeaked.

He shook his head. “I’m going to be a father, a daddy. Already. Wow.”

“Are you upset?”

“Upset? I’m thrilled.” He pulled her close. “Just a little stunned because it’s so soon. What made you decide to take those tests? I mean, it’s only been two weeks.”

She shrugged. “I just had a feeling?” Her words sounded more like a question. Sounded like she wanted to test her comment first to see if he believed it before she committed to the statement. When he nodded, she continued, “I’ve heard about women who got pregnant on their honeymoon. I wasn’t feeling well, so I thought I’d check.” She paused. “I…I was surprised.”

“Okay,” he said, taking hold of her hand. “Give me the details. What did the doctor tell you?”

She shook her head. “I was just about to make the appointment.” She looked at the telephone. “I wanted to find out for sure.”

He chuckled. “Nine tests aren’t enough for you?”

“I…I just wanted to be sure?” Again, a question wrapped inside her statement. Her voice quivered.

“Don’t be upset.” He kissed the palm of her hand. “Let me call the doctor back; I’ll make the appointment.”

“No, I—” she stopped, needing time. “I want to talk to the doctor myself.”

“Okay, but let’s get in to see him right away. This afternoon.” He reached for the phone. “First, let me call the studio. Tell them I won’t be back today.”

Think, Jasmine. Think.

“Okay,” she agreed.

Think, Jasmine. Think.

“Hosea, what are you doing home?”

It seemed to take a moment for his brain to catch up with the question. “Oh, I left some papers here. Thought I was going to do a quick pick-up, but this…” He paused. “I’m so glad I came home,” he said wrapping his arms around her once more.

For a moment, she allowed herself to take pleasure inside his embrace. Imagined for a second that this was really his child. Dreamed that his joy was hers too.

“I’ll call the doctor,” she said finally, “but I don’t want to go in today. I’m not feeling well and one day won’t make a difference.”

Hosea frowned. “If you’re not feeling well, we need to get to the doctor.”

“It’s not serious,” she said, pretending this was all about nothing. “I’m just tired. And I want a chance to get used to this.”

He frowned, still unsure.

She said, “I would not do anything to hurt…our baby. Don’t worry.”

“If you say so. But don’t tell me not to worry. That’s my job. To worry about you,” he put his hand on her stomach, “and our little one.” He shook his head again. “Well, rest today, but make that appointment for tomorrow. No matter what time, I’ll be there with you.”

She nodded, leaned against the headboard, yawned, played this lie to the end.

“I hate to leave you.” He kissed her forehead. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I’m not sick. What are you going to do if I’m really pregnant? Stay home every day?”

He laughed, kissed her again. “I’ll call you as soon as I get to the studio.”

She followed him with her eyes as he walked out their bedroom. She could hear him in the loft, shuffling through a box that remained unpacked. She heard every paper he lifted, every book he opened. Why hadn’t she heard him when he came into the apartment?

“Darlin’, you know what I was thinking?” Hosea asked, interrupting her whirlpool of thoughts. “Maybe this is why you were so sick on our wedding night.” But before the words were out of his mouth fully, he said, “Duh, how could you have been pregnant before we were married?” He laughed, unaware that his words had stopped her heart. “Don’t mind me,” he said before he kissed her again. “I’m so excited, I’m not even thinking.”

“Hosea, please don’t start acting crazy about this,” she said, glad he couldn’t see the way her hands shook under the blanket. “First, we need the test; I may not be pregnant.”

“Oh, you’re pregnant, darlin’, I can feel it.” He chuckled. “And if you’re not, I’m going to sue all those pregnancy-test companies for getting my hopes so high.”

She faked a laugh with him. “Still, sweetie, it’s really, really early. Anything can happen.”

“Don’t claim that, Jasmine,” he said, serious now. “Nothing’s going to happen. Not to you. Not to our baby.” He hugged her. “Call me if you need me, okay?” He walked to the bedroom door, but then turned back. “Jasmine, I didn’t think it was possible, but, I love you more right now…” He stopped. “Thank you for giving me this gift.”

She nodded without words. Didn’t even breathe again until the front door closed.

“How could you have been pregnant before we were married?”

She still trembled at the truth of his words.

“I love you more right now.”

She tried to think, but her mind was absent of solutions. Finally, she slipped into a sweatsuit, picked up her keys, and walked across the hall. She didn’t have any answers, but she had a feeling that Mae Frances would know exactly what to do.

Mae Frances didn’t utter
a word when she opened her door. Just invited Jasmine in, motioned for her to sit on the couch.

“What happened?”

Jasmine recounted the massacre that her heart had just taken. “I don’t know what to do,” she said finally. She stood, paced. “But I can’t go to a doctor with Hosea.”

Mae Frances sat, thoughtful. “You can still have the abortion. Then tell him it was a miscarriage.”

“Unless I have an abortion today, that won’t work. Hosea is not going to let another day go by without my seeing a doctor. And believe me, he’ll be right there with me.”

“So, are you saying you’re going to have this baby?”

It wasn’t until Mae Frances asked the question that Jasmine realized that was exactly what she was saying. She staggered back to the couch; the thought took her breath away. In the weeks that she’d suspected this pregnancy, never once had she considered having this child. That was an impossibility.

But now, as she thought about it, it was an abortion that was impossible. If she aborted this baby and then told Hosea she’d had a miscarriage, he would insist on speaking to the doctor. And, if she told him that she’d had a miscarriage at home, he would insist on taking her to the doctor. And if she didn’t oblige, he would be suspicious. And suspicion triggered questions. And questions demanded answers. And every answer would have her appearing in front of a judge in divorce court.

“I can’t have this baby,” Jasmine said, placing her hands on her stomach. “There has to be another way.”

Mae Frances’s eyes were sad as she glanced at where her friend’s hands rested. “There are doctors who could give you something…some kind of poison…make it look like a miscarriage.”

Jasmine jumped up.

Mae Frances said, “But I wouldn’t recommend that. Could kill more than the baby. Could kill you.”

Jasmine leaned against the mantel that held the empty picture frames. “Oh, God,” she moaned, feeling the nausea rising. She couldn’t ingest poison, but on the other hand, giving birth to this baby would be just as toxic. How could she live the rest of her life with this lie?

“Do you think you can pull off having this baby?”

“I don’t know,” Jasmine whispered. “What do you think?”

Mae Frances shrugged. “I think you should pretend the miscarriage. Have that baby sucked right out of you.”

Jasmine rushed back to the couch. Held her head in her hands.

“If you can’t do that…” Mae Frances strolled to the wooden desk that stood on three legs and a stack of old telephone books. From a pile of papers, she lifted a card and handed it to Jasmine. “Call him,” she said. “He’ll help you.”

Jasmine took the card.
Dr. Jeremy Edmonds.

Mae Frances walked out of the room, returning a momemt later with a cordless phone. “Call Jeremy. Tell him you need him to convince your husband that you are only two weeks pregnant.”

“Who is he?”

“Don’t worry; Jeremy is a good doctor.”

Jeremy.
“Can he be trusted?”

Mae Frances crossed her arms, twisted her lips, and released enough of a breath to make her annoyance apparent. “Would I put you in touch with someone you can’t trust? Jeremy is a reputable doctor who’s caught in this web of ridiculous malpractice insurance premiums. So, he’s been forced to make some…unscrupulous moves. Believe me, you can ask any number of people and they’d be able to refer you to someone like him. It’ll cost you, but it’ll be worth it.”

Jasmine nodded. Dr. Jeremy Edmonds could help her weave this web of deception. Could she do this? Did she want to?

“It’s not like you have a lot of choices,” Mae Frances said, reading Jasmine’s thoughts. “And you don’t have much time.” Mae Frances looked at her watch. “Your husband is going to take you to somebody’s doctor tomorrow.”