Sins of the Mother (31 page)

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.

J
ASMINE WALKED AND WALKED
. T
EARS
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.

H
IS 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.”

Hosea nodded and then stepped inside, his eyes wide with expectation.

With the stuffed animals, plastic dolls, pint-size cars, and shelves loaded with books, the room looked more like a children’s playroom than an office. Jasmine sat in an oversize upholstered chair in the corner, shoulders slumped, her eyes focused on the paper coffee cup she held.

“Mr. Bush.”

The woman standing behind the desk looked like any other Fortune 500 executive.

She shook Hosea’s hand. “I’m Marley Morrison,” she said, her voice low. “We spoke earlier.” With kindly and caring eyes, she glanced at an unmoving Jasmine before she slipped from behind her desk. “Feel free to use my office for as long as you need it.”

He nodded, then stayed in place when he was left alone with his wife.

On the phone, Marley Morrison had said that Jasmine seemed confused, but when he looked at her now, she seemed fine—except for the fact that she hadn’t taken her eyes off the cup, not even to look at him.

She looked well, though, dressed in the emerald designer pants suit that he’d bought for her last Christmas. Her hair was upswept in a style that she reserved for the most formal of occasions. Whom had she dressed for today?

When he decided that he didn’t need to know the answer to that question, he took steps toward his wife. Kneeling by her side, he whispered, “Darlin’, are you all right?”

It took a moment, but then Jasmine slowly lifted her head, brought her eyes to his.

It took restraint for Hosea to hold back his gasp. She had looked fine to him, until then.

The foundation that she had undoubtedly carefully applied earlier was now streaked where her huge tears had left their tracks. Mascara was caked around her lids, and her lips were dry and chapped, as if she’d spent many hours in the cold without any protection.

But it was her eyes that disturbed him the most, her eyes that let him know that there was something majorly wrong. Her eyes were dull, unfocused, as if she had gone somewhere deep inside of herself.

I need to get her to the hospital.

But then in the next instant, she blinked and brightened just a bit.

“Hosea!” she said, as if she was just now seeing him.

He swallowed. “Yeah.” His voice was shaky. “It’s me. Are you all right?”

“I want to go home, but they . . .” She stopped, took a
glance around the room, and frowned. Confusion was written all over her face. She shook her head. “There were people here, and they wouldn’t let me go . . . ?” It was supposed to be a statement, but it came out like a question.

“We can go home now.” He took her hand and lifted her from the chair.

She adjusted the purse on her shoulder, and with the cup still in her hand, she stepped in front of him.

Hosea waited for a moment, to make sure that she was steady. But when she got to the door and looked back at him, he followed.

The store was still crowded with customers as the two moved through the masses, and while he didn’t see Marley Morrison, Hosea did see the guard who greeted him when he’d first arrived.

The man smiled. “You take care, Mrs. Bush,” he said to Jasmine as they approached the front door.

Jasmine paused for a moment, stared at the man, then dumped the cup she held into his hands.

Both Hosea and the guard frowned, but all Hosea said was, “Thank you,” before he followed Jasmine onto the sidewalk.

Still, he wasn’t sure if he should take his wife home or to a hospital. But looking at her now, standing at the curb, with her hand raised for a taxi, she seemed like any other New Yorker.

Even though it was Friday night, it took less than a minute to catch a cab. As the car pulled from the curb, Jasmine leaned her head on Hosea’s shoulder, and he sighed. Maybe she was fine.

In just minutes, they were in the elevator of their apartment building. Hosea waited for Jasmine to speak, but all she did was take his hand. For the moment, that was enough.

Inside their apartment, Jasmine paused in the foyer and stared at the grand space of their living room.

One second passed, then another, and then another before Jasmine let her hand slip from his.

With quick steps and without a word, she moved toward their bedroom, leaving Hosea with his brows bunched into a frown.

“Jasmine, are you all right? Do you need anything?”

She paused and took a moment before she turned to him. Her dull eyes were back. She looked as if she’d lost a piece of herself just by walking into their home.

She shook her head. “I don’t need anything.”

“Have you eaten?”

“No, but I don’t want anything.” Before he could protest, she said, “Look, I’m just tired. I’m trying to figure all of this out.” She must’ve seen the doubt in his eyes because she added, “I’m fine, Hosea. I don’t even know why those people called you.”

“They said you were confused.”

It was her turn to frown. “Confused?” She spoke as if she’d never heard that word. “I wasn’t . . . It wasn’t that. I was in the store, and I heard Jacquie.”

His eyes widened.

She pressed her fingertips against her temples. “Not Jacquie. I mean, I thought I heard Jacquie.” She rotated her fingers as if she had a headache. “And then I was looking for Brian.”

This didn’t seem to be the best of times to tell her about Brian’s phone call.

But then her eyes brightened, and she exclaimed, “Brian!” as if just the mention of his name brought her joy. She added, “I’ve got to call him.”

Hosea knew he needed to tell her the truth. “Brian’s not here,” he said slowly, carefully. “He went home . . . to Los Angeles. He asked me to let you know.”

There was no more confusion, no more dullness.

Jasmine kept her eyes on his, even as a single tear rolled
down her cheek. Hosea tried to keep himself straight, even as he watched his wife cry for another man.

“He didn’t tell me that he was leaving,” she said, seemingly cognizant now.

“It’s fine that he’s gone. I’m here.”

She shook her head slowly from side to side. “You’re not him.”

He took a breath and worked hard not to be hurt by her words. He remembered that this was the woman whom God had chosen for him, the woman he’d promised the Lord he’d honor and cherish, for better or for worse. The woman who was so sick with grief that she couldn’t possibly know what she was saying. Because of that, he was able to say, “You’re right, I’m not Brian. I’m me. And for you, that’s better.”

She pressed her hand against her lips, but that didn’t keep the sob inside.

“But if he’s gone, then Jacquie’s gone, too.”

“No,” Hosea said, taking a step closer. “He’s still going to help us.”

“I mean, if he’s gone, then Jacquie’s gone, because
he’s
Jacquie.”

He knew it now for sure—she needed help.

“No, he’s not,” Hosea said. Now, right in front of her, he spoke softly. “Listen to what you’re saying, Jasmine. Brian’s not Jacquie.”

He could tell that she was replaying her words inside, trying to make sense out of her nonsense.

“But . . . but I know that. But the way he looks—”

“Yes, Jacquie looks like him.”

“And so . . . that makes him . . .” Then she stopped. And right in front of him, Hosea watched the dullness return. He could see the way she retreated, then crawled inside herself.

Only this time, her eyes closed, and before she could drop to the floor, he caught her.

L
OS
A
NGELES
, C
ALIFORNIA

D
ECEMBER
2009

T
HIS IS JUST ABOUT BEING
a friend.
Alexis turned over those words in her mind.
Nothing more, nothing less.
She repeated that so much, it became her mantra.

She maneuvered into the circular driveway, then stopped in front of the building where she used to live.

“How ya doing, Mrs. Ward-Lewis.” The concierge grinned as he opened the door. “You want me to park the car for you?”

She reached for the bags from Panda’s that rested on the passenger seat; the aroma of the sausages inside the package filled the car. Balancing the two bags in one hand, she said, “No, Steven, don’t park it. I’m just going to be a minute or two.”
This is just about being a friend.
“Can I leave it right here since this is going to be quick?”
Nothing more, nothing less.