Lady Jasmine (28 page)

Pulling the strap of her purse onto her shoulder, she said. “You have my word. This will remain between the three of us. All you have to do is drop the vote.” She stood, looked down at both of them, but neither one looked back at her. “So I’ll see you in the board meeting tomorrow?”

Their eyes were still on each other, and they still said nothing to her.

Jasmine shrugged. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

And then she walked away and back out into the sunlight of the wonderful Sunday afternoon.

Three down.

It was done.

J
ASMINE PACED IN FRONT OF
her desk as Mae Frances read the article from the
Le Marque Daily.

“And the last paragraph says, ‘Although no formal charges have yet been made, sources say that Viceroy’s arrest is imminent.’” Then, the sound of paper crinkling as Mae Frances pushed the newspaper aside.

“Wow,” Jasmine said, still moving. “Who would’ve thought that would have made it all the way down there?”

“I’m not surprised. Jerome Viceroy was always trying to make it onto the national scene. He was an aspiring Al Sharpton.”

“Who aspires to be Al Sharpton?” Jasmine smirked.

“You better show some respect, Jasmine Larson,” Mae Frances huffed. “The good reverend is a friend of mine.”

Jasmine rolled her eyes. Was there anyone who wasn’t a friend or a connection?

Her friend said, “So now that you have Jerome Viceroy and Mrs. Whittingham out of the way, what do you think Pastor Wyatt will do?”

“What can he do?” Jasmine whispered. Even though her door was closed, she wasn’t taking any chances of being over
heard. “Pastor Wyatt is going to show up, give a resounding speech about Hosea being the best man for the job, then sit his butt down until I tell him what to do next.”

A pause and then, “Jasmine Larson, does that sound like the Pastor Wyatt you know?”

“The Pastor Wyatt that I know doesn’t exist anymore. I’m in charge now.”

This time, Mae Frances’s pause was longer. “You know what rats do when they’re cornered?”

“Oh, please. Do you think I’m scared of him? Knowing that Eugene is really Earvin is all the rat poison I need.”

The knock on the door stopped the conversation.

Hosea peeked inside. “You ready?”

She nodded. “Mae Frances, I’ll call you after the board meeting.” She clicked off her BlackBerry and took her husband’s hand.

“How’s Nama?”

He’d asked that question, but Jasmine could tell by his tone that, if she answered, he wouldn’t hear her. His eyes were focused ahead, on the path of this long hallway that led to the conference room.

His burden was on her heart, too. She knew his fear—that he was about to lose his father and his father’s church at the same time. She wanted to throw her arms around him and let him know that the church part was under control. She wanted him to know that she had his back when no one else did, now and always. And that in an hour or so, they’d walk out of the church exactly the way they’d come in—with Hosea Bush, still the senior pastor.

But Jasmine had to stay silent. And pretend that this situation was playing out by itself.

Right outside the conference room, she squeezed Hosea’s hand. And then she stepped inside, wearing enough confidence for both of them.

The chatter stopped when the two walked in. But Jasmine pretended that she didn’t notice.

“Hey,” she said to Malik, as he stood to hug her.

In a hushed tone that was normally reserved for a funeral, Malik asked Hosea, “How you holding up?”

Hosea nodded as the two bumped knuckles.

Jasmine glanced at the members surrounding the table, but only Sister Pearline had the guts to look at her. Even though the old woman smiled, Jasmine’s lips stayed flatlined, her anger at Sister Pearline apparent.

No one else at the table looked their way, which let Jasmine know that, even with all of the lies she’d had to tell, all the tricks she’d had to play, she’d done the right thing, because if there had been a vote, she had no idea who would’ve been on their side.

Her eyes stopped when she looked at Mrs. Whittingham. She was sitting at the opposite end, staring down at the blank notepad and rocking a little.

She was going to have to speak to her about looking so disconsolate. People were soon going to start asking questions, and she didn’t want Mrs. Whittingham buckling under the scrutiny.

“We’re waiting for Pastor Wyatt,” Brother Hill began, “And then we’ll get started.” He glanced at his watch. “Did anyone see him today?”

A chorus of nos rose through the room.

Brother Hill shook his head. “I don’t know what’s keeping him.” And then under his breath, he grumbled, “He’s the one who wanted this darn meeting.”

Sister Pearline said, “Well, I don’t want to be here all night. Somebody needs to call him so that we can get started.” Jasmine wanted to growl at the old woman for being such a traitor. “Y’all know that I don’t like Monday meetings. Don’t make no sense that I have to miss my
CSI.
” Jasmine rolled her eyes, but the woman continued, “And anyway, I’ve been thinking about this. It don’t really make no sense to vote in a new pastor when
we already got a perfectly good one.” She passed Hosea a girlish grin. “I don’t know what I was thinking, baby. These people,” she pointed to Brother Stevens, “they had me confused.”

Brother Stevens’s eyes widened. “Sister Pearline…huh, I don’t think we need to talk about this yet—”

“That’s right,” Brother Hill agreed. “We need to wait until everyone is here for the full discussion.”

“Then somebody needs to call that pastor!” Sister Pearline pounded her walking stick against the floor. “I’m not going to sit here all night.”

Hosea said, “Brother Hill, would you mind giving Pastor Wyatt a call? Make sure he’s on his way.”

Brother Hill nodded before he stepped out of the room.

The murmurs began, one-on-one conversations around the table.

Malik whispered to Jasmine, “I would’ve thought Wyatt would have been the first one here.”

Jasmine nodded. “Maybe he came to his senses.”

“You’re working under the assumption that the man has some sense to come to.” He chuckled. “And speaking of losing your mind”—he twisted his body so that he faced her and lowered his voice even more—“looks like they’re really pressing charges against Viceroy. Can you believe it?”

Jasmine shrugged. “I haven’t been following the story.”

“I don’t know how you can stay away from it. I turn the volume up every time a report comes on New York One about him. I can’t stop—I got that watching-a-train-wreck thing going on.” Malik shook his head. “Soliciting sex from a minor. I would’ve never thought it.”

Before she could say anything else, Brother Hill returned, stopping all the talk. “I can’t find Pastor Wyatt. He’s not answering his cell, and neither is Enid. And there’s no answer at their home.”

Hosea’s frown deepened. “What could have happened?”

This time when the confused mutters began, only Jasmine sat quietly. There was no need for her to speculate—she knew exactly what had happened—those fools had left New York City! Cowards!

That was not what she wanted. Her hope had been to keep Earvin and Enid around. Work them like she was working Mrs. Whittingham.

She glanced, once again, down to the other end of the table. Mrs. Whittingham still sat silently, staring. And rocking, even more now, looking like Sofia—Oprah’s character in
The Color Purple
—after she’d been released from prison.

Jasmine sighed; that woman was all she had.

Hosea said, “We can’t do this without the person who called for the vote. So…”

“We should adjourn.” Brother Hill made that statement as if it made him happy. “I’ll catch up with Pastor Wyatt, and we’ll reschedule.”

“Make sure it’s not next Monday,” Sister Pearline demanded.

Brother Hill ignored her. “If there are no other issues—”

Malik piped in, “This wasn’t on the agenda”—he opened the folder resting in front of him—“but I had planned to share these today—the financials for the last month.” He passed the pages around the table. “We don’t have to discuss this now, but I wanted everyone to see tithes and offerings are almost back to where they were two months ago before Reverend Bush—” He stopped, just like everyone else did when they mentioned the reverend.

After their eyes scanned the financial page, Jasmine watched Brother Stevens and Sister Clinton exchange a long glance. She wondered if they were willing to vote against Hosea now.

Not that it mattered—there would never be a vote.

Brother Hill said, “If there’s nothing else, we’ll reschedule and Sister Whittingham will be in touch.”

Hosea pushed his chair back and leaned toward Jasmine. “Let’s get out of here,” he kept his voice low, “I want to stop by
the hospital for a minute.”

She smiled, knowing what he wanted to do—he was going to tell his father. “Let me get my purse.”

“Good night.” Hosea raised his voice and his hand in a farewell wave to the others.

Jasmine departed without saying a single word to anyone except for Malik. Why should she talk to them after the way they’d turned on her husband? Soon enough all of them would be in line the way they were supposed to be—the Bushes were back in control, and that meant she would keep her crown.

It had been a hard fight, but she’d won! She deserved to be wearing a tiara. A tiara—that was a good idea. Maybe she would go out and buy one so that she could wear it to church on Sunday.

And then she’d be Lady Jasmine for real.

J
ASMINE PRESSED 4 TO LISTEN
to the message again.

“Ah, this is Roxie.” The woman sounded flustered. “Ah, I need a little time. Away. I’ll call you when I’m ready to come back. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, right,” Jasmine whispered as she hit 7 for delete. She knew what this was about—Roxie had probably gone far away so that no one would look at or talk about the woman who’d been dating a pedophile. She would have said good riddance, if she didn’t feel so sorry for Roxie. But she wasn’t too worried—that women had millions to help her find happiness.

Tossing her phone onto her desk, she strolled to the front of the church for what had to be the fiftieth time in the last two hours. She tried to tiptoe past Hosea’s office, but each time she walked by, he looked up.

“What’s going down?” he called out to her.

Dang!
She walked backward until she stood at his door. And with a childlike, totally guiltless gaze, she said, “Nothing. I’m working on that Women’s Day event and I’ve been trying to find some of the old programs in the files.”

“Oh, okay.”

Jasmine hated the way he looked at her sometimes, as if he
still doubted every word that came out of her mouth. That was no way to treat his wife.

She stood in the center of the hallway, away from Hosea’s view, and waved until Mrs. Whittingham looked up. Then she motioned with her finger toward the woman.

It seemed to take minutes for the woman to waddle behind her, but once the two were alone, Jasmine whispered, “I need you to do something for me.”

Mrs. Whittingham gasped, and Jasmine wondered if she was going to be sick.

“What’s wrong?”

Mrs. Whittingham shook her head. “I can’t do this.”

“I haven’t asked you to do anything yet.”

“I can’t jump at your every demand!” the woman exclaimed as her hands flailed through the air. Her voice rose, “I can’t be your slave.”

“Would you calm down?” Jasmine said, closing her door. She lowered her voice and hoped the woman would follow her example. She didn’t have a lie ready if Hosea came down here and found Mrs. Whittingham hysterical. “I’m not asking you to be my slave.”

“Yes, you are!” she shot back with tears in her eyes and her voice. “I can’t…” And then the sobs came.

Jasmine moved toward her, but that was where her compassion ended. “I was going to ask you to let me know when Brother Hill comes in. Or if he calls Hosea.”

The woman sniffed. “But what about next time? What are you going to want me to do in the next minute, or an hour from now, or tomorrow?”

“Look,” Jasmine began, her voice stiffer now. “I’m not the one who started this.”

The woman stared at Jasmine with pleading eyes. “Ivy can never know,” she whispered.

Jasmine felt a pinch in the corner of her heart. But she ig
nored it when she said, “I’m just asking you to do me a few favors. It’s nothing like what you did to me.”

Mrs. Whittingham looked at her for a few moments longer, then nodded. As if she accepted her punishment.

With a sigh, Jasmine said, “Just let me know when Brother Hill comes in.”

Without a word, Mrs. Whittingham turned. Opened the door and then dragged away toward the front, as if her desk were located on death row.

Jasmine slumped into her chair and blew out a long breath of air. It wasn’t easy being a blackmailer.

Only twenty minutes passed before Mrs. Whittingham buzzed her.

“Daniel just came in,” she whispered. “He’s in Hosea’s office.” Then she slammed down the phone.

Jasmine pulled the receiver away from her ear. She couldn’t believe Mrs. Whittingham had dissed her that way, but her thoughts quickly moved beyond that.

She rushed into the hall, then tiptoed down the carpeted passageway until she was outside Hosea’s office. She ignored Mrs. Whittingham’s disapproving stare and leaned against the wall, trying to hear what Brother Hill and Hosea were saying.

Their voices were low, muffled—she heard words, but nothing she could understand. Jasmine rushed back to her desk, grabbed a folder, then marched into the hallway. Right outside of Hosea’s office, she took a breath.

“Babe,” she said as she stepped inside, “I can’t figure—” She stopped. “Oh, Brother Hill, I didn’t know you were here.”

She smiled at him, and Brother Hill gave her a fake smile back.

Hosea said, “Jasmine, the Wyatts are gone.”

“Gone?” she asked, as if the word was foreign to her.

The two men nodded.

Brother Hill said, “I was able to convince the super to go into their apartment. He’d seen me with Eugene a few times, and I explained that the Wyatts had been missing for a couple of days and that I thought something may have happened. He still didn’t want to let me in, said that he would check himself, but when he opened the door, I followed him inside.”

Jasmine’s eyes were wide with amazement. “And they weren’t there?”

“No.” Brother Hill shook his head. “All of the furniture was there, but no clothes in the closet, no luggage anywhere. They’re gone, that’s for sure.”

“What do you think happened?”

As if it was choreographed, the men shrugged. Then together, they shook their heads.

Standing still, as if she was in total shock, she finally said, “Okay, I’ll be in my office, Hosea.” She had what she needed.

She left the men sitting silently, pensively, as if the right amount of quiet thought would give them answers.

She marched back toward her office with her head high. By herself, she’d taken down all those saints and saved her husband, his position, and his father’s church.

Someone needed to give her a medal. She deserved the Olympic gold for Wife of the Year.

Jasmine rolled over and, as her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could see her husband, lying on his back, his hands folded behind his head, his eyes wide open. Exactly the way he’d been when she’d turned off the lights about three hours before.

“Babe,” she whispered, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” was all he said.

Jasmine clicked on the lamp and glanced at the clock. It was almost two in the morning. She pushed back against the pillows
and pulled the sheet to cover her bare chest. “I wish you would talk to me.”

He shook his head, glanced askance at her. “I’m trying to figure this out.”

“What? The Wyatts?”

He twisted and leaned on one arm, facing her now. “Yeah, the Wyatts, and so much more. I mean, look at what’s gone down in the last few days. First, the board meeting gets postponed; then, Jerome gets hit. And now, the Wyatts disappear without a word, without a trace.
Something’s
going on.”

Jasmine shrugged. “Maybe this is the favor of God that you’re always talking about.”

He shook his head. “I keep telling you, no one else’s misfortune is God’s blessing to me.”

Jasmine could hear the slow seconds ticking on the clock as she sat in the quiet, waiting for Hosea to say something. But he just stared, and she shifted under the heat of his scrutiny.

Finally, “Do you know anything about all of this?”

By the time the last word came out of his mouth, Jasmine’s heart was pounding. “I don’t understand what you’re asking me.” She had no idea how she kept her voice calm.

He peered at her, even longer this time. And now she squirmed inside and out. “I’ll just come out and ask: Did you have anything to do with everything that’s going on? With Jerome’s arrest? With the Wyatts?”

Jasmine jumped from the bed, mostly to hide her trembling. “I can’t believe you’re asking me that,” she yelled, totally unaffected by the cool air that rushed her naked body.

Hosea sat up. Motioned with his hands for her to lower her voice. “I’m just—”

She didn’t let him finish. “So I’m the reason that Jerome’s in jail? What do you think I did? Do you think I held him at gunpoint while he sat at some computer and tried to solicit girls over the Internet?”

He shook his head but still didn’t get a chance to speak.

“And what did I do with the Wyatts?” Her hands thrashed through the air. “You think I have them chained in a basement somewhere?”

“Jasmine, calm down.”

But she didn’t. “And why stop there? You probably think that I’m responsible for global warming. Or the war in Iraq. Or the Red Sox beating the Yankees. Blame all the problems of the world on me!”

He paused, contemplating her words. “Okay, what I asked…maybe it was wrong.”

“Maybe?” She crossed her arms.

“Can you blame me?”

“Yeah, I can. Because Hosea, I’m tired. I’m so tired of answering your questions.”

“You’re right.”

“You always say that. And I haven’t done anything to make you doubt me like this since we returned from L.A.”

“I told you before, I’m trying.”

“It’s not enough. I need you to promise that no matter what, you’ll believe in me.” She paused. “I’m your wife, Hosea,” she said with a shaky voice. And this time, she wasn’t acting. “I need that. I need to see something else in your eyes when you look at me. Something besides doubt and disbelief.”

“You forgot love.”

“What?” she snapped.

“In my eyes, you’ve got to see how much I love you.”

But even though she was wrong, she refused to give in. He didn’t know she was lying; and because of that, he shouldn’t have questioned her. He was supposed to just trust her.

She stood there, her arms crossed, her toe tapping an impatient beat. She stood, silent. Glaring.

Until the phone rang.

Then they both stood like stone. They stared at each other
before both pairs of eyes shifted slowly toward the telephone.

The thought in their minds was the same—no one called in the middle of the night unless it was bad news.

Even when Hosea grabbed the phone, Jasmine didn’t move. She just closed her eyes and went straight to God. Begged him to make it all right, whatever it was.

“Yes. Yes. Yes.” The words were sharp. And then, “We’ll be right there.”

He was halfway to his closet before he hung up the telephone. “It’s Pops,” he exclaimed. “We have to get to the hospital!”

As Jasmine and Hosea raced down the hall from one end, Dr. Lewis approached from the other.

“Doctor!” Hosea called out to her. “What happened?” he asked, when they stood in front of the ICU room where Reverend Bush had been moved.

“We’ve been watching this for a few hours,” she said. “I’ve been on the phone with the other doctors. Your father’s temperature started going up earlier.”

“When?” Then he added, “I was here this morning,” as if that should’ve made a difference.

“It was a gradual rise that we were trying to manage. That’s why we didn’t call you,” the doctor said. “But a couple of hours ago, his blood pressure started dropping. We’ve started the pressors again. Let me get in there.”

Holding hands, Jasmine and Hosea rushed behind the doctor, who was dressed as they were—in a sweatsuit, the appropriate outfit for a middle-of-the-night emergency. But the moment Dr. Lewis realized the couple was behind her, she stopped them.

“Please. Wait outside. I’ll be out as soon as I can.”

“Doctor!” one of the nurses called her.

“Please,” she said, this time with more urgency.

Slowly, Jasmine and Hosea backed away, but Jasmine’s eyes
were plastered on the place where her father-in-law lay. She needed to get a good look at him even as she prayed that this wouldn’t be the last time she saw him alive.

Jasmine took in all that she could. The gray of his skin—like before. The stillness of his form—like he’d been from the first day.

It wasn’t until they were in the hallway and the door had closed on them that Jasmine breathed.

Hosea leaned against the wall, his forehead against the white plaster, his eyes closed. Jasmine stood next to him, staying quiet, sure that the mental photo of her father-in-law that she’d taken was the same image in Hosea’s mind.

They stood together, in that space, listening to the muffled commands that seeped through the door. They stood together until Jasmine took Hosea’s hand and led him a few feet away to the plastic chairs lined up against the opposite wall.

“I should have come back tonight,” Hosea whispered.

“That wouldn’t have made a difference,” she tried to assure him.

Hosea leaned back and closed his eyes. Jasmine knew he was praying and she needed to join him, but she was tired.

For more than two months, they’d lived half of their life in this building, their hope secured inside a roller coaster not in their control. How many times was God going to take them to the brink of death?

As they sat, time passed. Another doctor went in. Then another nurse. And no one came out.

More time went by. Then the door swung open, and Dr. Lewis ambled out. And this time, the mask that she usually wore was gone, all of her emotions apparent. She was shaking her head, gloom etched on her face.

The last sliver of Jasmine’s hope vanished.

Hosea stood and used the arms of the chair to steady himself. “Doctor…”

“He’s alive,” she said, and then she allowed a beat to pass, as if she wanted them to appreciate those words. “But it’s not good.”

“What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “We’re still not sure; we’re waiting for the blood cultures, and I suspect it’s another infection. We have him back on the antibiotics.”

“So then he’s going to be all right,” Hosea stated. “Like last time.”

In a tone that was softer and without the strength that she always carried, Dr. Lewis said, “That’s my prayer,” as she gently touched Hosea’s shoulder.

The doctor’s words, her gesture brought tears to Jasmine’s eyes.

Dr. Lewis said, “Why don’t you two go into the waiting room? I’m going to check on your father again.”

Once alone, Jasmine put her arm around Hosea’s waist and led him into the waiting area. She helped him first sit in a chair, and then she sat next to him. She rested her head on his shoulder, so that he wouldn’t see all the fear in her eyes.

“Is there anyone we should call?” she whispered.

He shook his head. “It’s the middle of the night. If we call…I don’t want to scare anyone.”