A Sin and a Shame (29 page)

J
ust the aroma of the
barbecued ribs added inches to her hips, but Jasmine didn’t care.

She inhaled again before she picked up a bone, sucked the meat into her mouth, and then moaned with pleasure.

Hosea said, “It’s good to see you eating, darlin’.”

Jasmine didn’t respond. Didn’t take another breath or a break. Didn’t notice the children running through the park, nor the men slamming dominoes at the adjacent table. All she could do was eat.

For weeks, crackers had been the main staple of her diet. But the nausea had passed, and was replaced by the desire to consume anything.

“Hey, you guys.” Malik swung his legs over the wooden bench.

“Hey, yourself,” Hosea said.

Jasmine waved.

“You have to excuse my wife.” Hosea chuckled. “She’s a little bit hungry.”

“I can tell,” Malik said as Jasmine traded her rib for a spoonful of potato salad.

“So, you came alone, bro?” Hosea asked.

“No doubt. There’re two places a man shalt not invite a woman: to a wedding and to church.”

Jasmine frowned. “This isn’t church.”

“It’s a church picnic. And any time you ask a woman to join you for church or a wedding, it’s beyond a date. That’s darn near a commitment.”

Hosea laughed, and Jasmine rolled her eyes.

“Darlin’, didn’t I invite you to church?” Hosea kissed her cheek, then glanced at his watch. “I’m one of the umps for softball. You gonna play, Malik?”

“Nah, I’m going to hit the courts.”

“Okay, catch up with you later.” Hosea stood and folded his empty paper plate. “You want me to take yours, darlin’?”

Jasmine slapped his hand as he reached for her plate; Hosea laughed before he stepped away.

Malik asked, “Did you guys just get here?”

Jasmine shook her head. “Been here a while, but we drove up ourselves. I didn’t want to be stuck on the bus for an hour with these church folks,” she whispered as she glanced at the crowd who had gathered at Bear Mountain State Park. Some five hundred City of Lights members had joined Reverend Bush for the annual anniversary celebration.

Malik said, “These are your people now.”

They laughed, but then Jasmine leaned toward Malik. “Did you talk to Reverend Bush?”

“Didn’t I tell you that I wasn’t going to do that?”

“Yes, but I was hoping your love for me would override that,” she said before she shoveled a spoonful of baked beans into her mouth.

Malik hesitated. “I talked to him.”

She stopped chewing and pushed her plate aside.

“He didn’t tell me anything.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing. We just chatted about you. I told him I thought you and Hosea were really happy.”

“What did he say?” she repeated.

He shrugged. “He said he thought you and Hosea were happy too.”

“So, you don’t think he suspects anything?”

“He didn’t give me any signs. There was one point when he seemed a bit surprised by something I said. I can’t remember what it was, but really all he said was that he knew Hosea loved you and that you loved Hosea.”

Jasmine exhaled.

“But, don’t get it twisted. I still think you need to talk to your husband,” Malik said. “Because I know the reverend. If there’s a secret to be found, he’ll find it.”

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.

P
regnancy 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.