Lady Jasmine (29 page)

She wondered why not. She had enough fear to share.

He said, “Let’s see what happens.”

In her head, Jasmine tried to count back the hours: How long ago had it been when she sat in the boardroom? How much time had passed since she’d been filled with such victorious joy?

It seemed like ages ago.

Victory was gone. But she refused to allow defeat to rise up in its place.

So she closed her eyes. And even though she was tired, she prayed.

Twelve hours passed.

Jasmine paced the length of the hospital hall, not wanting to return to Reverend Bush’s room.

She couldn’t sit in there anymore. Couldn’t stare into the ashen face of her father-in-law any longer. This time, there were more machines and more tubes and more doctors stopping by, as if Reverend Bush was a case study in imminent death.

Imminent death. Those weren’t the words that Dr. Lewis had used, but they described what she had told them.

“He’s not responding,” she’d told Hosea and her two hours ago. “His blood pressure is still too low. And his fever…we may need to pack him in ice.”

“Like ice from the freezer?” Jasmine had asked as if she’d never heard of anything more ridiculous.

“Yes,” the doctor had responded. And then, with a breath, she told them all the other problems. “We drew some labs, and he has multisystem organ failure.”

Jasmine remembered how her eyes had clouded as the doctor rambled on and on about Reverend Bush’s kidneys shutting down. And enzymes showing damage to his liver. And how his heartbeat was erratic.

But as bad as all of that was, it didn’t compare to the words the doctor had spoken next.

“Your father’s body may be letting us know that it’s not healthy enough to sustain life, and we should really listen to it.”

With a voice packed with emotion, Hosea asked, “What are you saying?”

The doctor had looked him straight in his eyes. “Even if your father pulls through this time…”

“He will,” Hosea said as if
he
were the doctor.

The doctor nodded. “If he does, this could happen again. And each time, there’s more damage to his brain.” She paused. “Would your father want to live this way?”

“Yes.” Hosea’s chin rose a bit higher and his shoulders squared a bit more when he added, “The point is, my father would want to live.”

But Dr. Lewis was as determined to make her point. “I don’t think he’d want to live if he weren’t functional. What we’re doing right now, Mr. Bush, is keeping someone alive who seems to be dead. Would your father
really
want to live like this?” she had asked again before she walked away, leaving her words behind.

With a huff that Jasmine had not seen in her husband this whole time, he’d stomped back into the room to be with his father.

And she’d been with him, too. Sitting next to Hosea at the edge of the bed. Praying with him and not moving even when Brother Hill came in. Hosea’s godfather had stood at the other side with his head bowed. Then Malik had come with Sister Pearline. And the two had taken their posts at the bottom of the bed before they began to pray.

When Mrs. Whittingham and Brother Stevens had shown up, Jasmine felt like they were holding a vigil—some kind of watch service, waiting for Reverend Bush to die.

The thought had overcome her with nausea, and she’d rushed to the bathroom.

Now she stood outside, wanting never to go back in.

But even outside, the images of Reverend Bush stayed in her mind. She squeezed her eyes, trying to rid herself of the sickly image of the man she’d loved for just a few years—although in her heart the love she had for him was big enough for a lifetime.

“Jasmine?”

She looked down and into Ivy’s eyes.

“How are you?” she squeaked, her forehead etched with lines of concern.

Jasmine shook her head, slightly.

Ivy asked, “Has something happened to—”

“No, he’s still…” Jasmine couldn’t bring herself to say alive.
He wasn’t alive to her.

Ivy looked toward the door. “Who’s in there?”

“Your…” Jasmine caught herself before she spoke. “Your sister and Brother Hill. Malik and a couple of other people. And Hosea.”

Ivy frowned. “I thought they only let two people in at a time.”

“They’re breaking the rules for us.”

Ivy gave Jasmine a long stare, knowing what those words meant. Then she tugged at the bottom of her suit jacket and scurried into the room.

Not a minute passed before the door opened again and Hosea joined her. Without saying a word, he leaned against the wall, taking the same stance as her.

They faced the nurses’ station, but the women behind the desk ignored them, probably used to families in their grief finding refuge in the halls.

Finally, Hosea whispered, “What’re you doing out here?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Just thinking.”

He nodded, gave her a look that told her he understood. “I’ve been thinking, too.” He paused. “I want to go home. I want to get Jacquie.”

Her eyes widened a bit.

“Remember we talked about bringing her here? I want to do that now,” he continued. “So that she can see Pops.”

Slowly, Jasmine nodded; the golf-size lump in her throat didn’t provide enough air for her to breathe, let alone speak. She knew what this was—Hosea’s first step toward his final good-bye.

She fought, but she lost the battle to keep the tears away. And when he wrapped his arms around her, she sobbed even more.

Hosea was making plans to let his father go, but Jasmine wasn’t ready to do that. She’d done this too many times—more
than twenty years ago with her mother, and much too recently with her father. How would she do this again?

Minutes passed before she was able to sniff back the rest of her tears. Looked up into her husband’s eyes and said, “Let’s go home. Let’s get our daughter.”

“C
AN YOU HAVE
J
ACQUIE READY?”
Jasmine asked. “We’re on our way now.” She clicked off her phone when the nanny agreed.

Hosea’s eyes were on the road, as if he couldn’t face his wife when he asked, “You don’t think this is a good idea?”

Jasmine turned so that he could see her. “Yes, I’m fine with it.”

He exhaled a long breath. “I want Jacquie to see…I want her to have a chance…”

She rubbed her hand on Hosea’s shoulder, silently letting him know that she understood and truly agreed.

As the SUV rumbled down Central Park West, he said, “I hope it’ll be okay for her. She’s so young.”

“But we’ll be there.”

“I don’t want her to be scared.”

“She won’t be,” Jasmine said in a tone that was a lot surer than what she felt. That was her fear, too—that Jacqueline would take one look at her grandfather and cry. This wasn’t how she wanted her daughter to remember him. But she also knew that Hosea needed this moment—with their daughter, with his father.

Not even an hour later, they were back in the car, Jacqueline
secured in her car seat. As they sped north, her toddler’s voice rang out, “He got the whole world,” as she clapped her hands.

Today, she sang alone.

Glee came from the back, but didn’t make its way to the front. When Jasmine glanced at Hosea, even in the dusk of the evening, she could see the water in his eyes. And her heart ached. For her husband. For her daughter, who would never remember her grandfather.

Jacqueline kept singing as Hosea drove. Her song continued, even as they parked and her father carried her through the halls of Harlem Hospital.

It was the privilege of pending death that allowed Jacqueline to be taken past the security guard and into the elevators.

“Pumpkin, I want to tell you where we’re going,” Hosea whispered in Jacqueline’s ear as he held her in his arms.

With a toddler’s curiosity, Jacqueline’s glance wandered around the elevator.

“We’re going to see Papa,” Hosea told her.

Her eyes brightened. “Papa!” She giggled, her excitement coming through.

Jasmine wondered if there were words she should say to prepare her daughter. But what was she supposed to tell her two-year-old? How could she make her understand that they were going to say their final good-bye to her grandfather when that was something Jasmine couldn’t even accept yet?

The elevator doors parted and they took slow steps down the hall. Outside the room, Malik stood next to Mrs. Whittingham, but no one could gather a smile—not even for Jacqueline.

Hosea paused. Looked at Jasmine as if he wanted her permission. She nodded, then pushed the door open.

Brother Hill and a nurse who had been by Reverend Bush’s side tiptoed away, but Jasmine kept her eyes on her daughter, searching for any signs of fear.

Jacqueline’s eyes widened as she looked first at the machines
surrounding Reverend Bush. The beeping and the lines, capturing her attention.

“TV!” Jacqueline pointed a pudgy finger.

Jasmine’s chuckle was not from a place of humor. “No, baby.”

Hosea tightened his arms around her as they moved closer to the bed. It took Jacqueline a few moments to look down.

Then she saw him. She squealed, “Papa!” and tried to wiggle from her father’s arms, her legs aimed for the bed as if she wanted to lie next to her grandfather.

It amazed Jasmine—the bandages, the tubes—none of that mattered to Jacqueline. All she saw was the man she loved.

“No, pumpkin.” Hosea had to shift to keep Jacqueline in his arms. “Papa’s sleeping.”

“Sleeping?” She stopped twisting. Looked down at her grandfather. Her eyebrows bunched together as she studied Reverend Bush. Then shaking her finger at him, she demanded, “Wake up, Papa!”

“He’s not going to wake up right now, baby,” Jasmine said. “Papa has to sleep. He’s tired.”

“Tired?” Her eyes were still on her grandfather. “Wake up, Papa!” And then, she began to sing, “He got the whole world…”

That was not what Jasmine had expected. And then she remembered—Jacqueline’s favorite song…her grandfather had taught her!

Singing with my granddaughter is one of my life’s greatest pleasures.

It was the same for Jacqueline.

And so as Jacqueline sang, Jasmine joined in, “In His hands. He’s got the whole wide world…”

Hosea made them a trio, “In His hands…”

The three Bushes softly sang together over and over. They serenaded Reverend Bush while the machines beeped, as if
those sounds of life were part of the melody. They sang until Jacqueline was ready to stop, until she rested her head against Hosea’s chest and yawned.

A few seconds of silence passed and then Hosea whispered, “Okay.” He looked across the bed at Jasmine. “It’s time to go.”

The peace of these last minutes was why Jasmine didn’t want to leave. And then there was the knot that was growing inside, telling her that this was going to be the last time.

She said, “Do you want to stay? I can take Jacquie home.”

He stared down at his father for a long moment, giving thought to Jasmine’s words. Then, looking back at her, he said, “I’m going home. With you.” To Jacqueline, Hosea asked, “Do you want to kiss Papa bye-bye?”

The girl nodded, and when her father lowered her closer to the bed, she pressed her lips against her grandfather’s. “Bye-bye, Papa!” she exclaimed. And then she waved her finger once again and made her final demand, “Come home.”

Those words made Jasmine want to sit down right there and cry. Jacqueline had said to Reverend Bush what they’d all wanted to say, but what each of them was beginning to suspect would never happen.

Hosea stood over his father for a moment longer before he turned away. Jasmine followed her husband and daughter, until they got to the door. There she looked over her shoulder, wanting to take her final glance at Reverend Bush.

“Good-bye,” she whispered before she stepped out of the room.

T
HERE WAS TOO MUCH SADNESS
in the quiet.

But Jasmine didn’t know what to do. She certainly didn’t have anything to say because her mind was flooded with more images than words. Pictures of the years that she’d spent with Reverend Bush—the man who’d loved her and taught her so much about the Lord.

The silence stayed as Hosea maneuvered their car toward home. And as the miles spread between them and the hospital, their sorrow thickened.

Jasmine almost wanted to wake up her child—tell her to “Sing song!” But Jacqueline dozed in the backseat, the only one in the car who had peace.

Inside their apartment, they put their daughter down and watched her sleep until Jasmine couldn’t stand up anymore. Then in their bedroom, they lay together, atop the comforter, still fully clothed.

But even though exhaustion made her ache, Jasmine stayed awake. Even as the clock ticked past midnight, her eyes would not close. And inside her husband’s arms, she knew that he could not sleep either.

Although they hadn’t shared a single word in hours, Jas
mine knew they shared the same thoughts. They were waiting—for that call to come. They were waiting—for that final one.

But then, time dipped into the early hours of the next day and the phone never rang. When the sun began to reveal its first light, Hosea rolled over.

He asked, “Do you think it’s too early?”

Jasmine looked at the clock. It wasn’t even six. “It’s not early at all.”

Together, they jumped from the bed. And for the first time that Jasmine could ever remember, they left their apartment without either of them bothering to shower or change.

Their steps were eager as they walked down the hallway. Jasmine kept thinking,
The phone never rang,
and that gave her a triple dose of hope.

But as they approached Reverend Bush’s room, Jasmine’s feet and heart stopped when she saw the doctor stepping through the door.

“Doctor Lewis,” Hosea and Jasmine called her name at the same time. Their mouths wouldn’t move anymore, but their eyes questioned why the doctor was there so early.

“Your father is fine,” she rushed to tell them. “In fact, he’s really fine. I came in early when the nurse called to tell me that his fever had broken. And he’s just beginning to respond to the pressors; his blood pressure is slowly rising.” She shook her head as if she was talking about a miracle. “He’s doing even a little bit better than he was before.”

Jasmine’s eyes widened when, a moment later, Hosea lifted Dr. Lewis in the air and spun her around in a full circle.

“Whoa!” the doctor squealed.

“I’m sorry,” Hosea said, putting the doctor back on solid ground. “I don’t know…it’s just that—”

Dr. Lewis held up a hand. “I understand. This is something to be excited about. But let me caution you—”

“I know, I know. He’s not well
yet.”

She shook her head. “He’s not. He hasn’t awakened in two months,” she said, as if they needed to be reminded. “That’s serious. But he’s a fighter, and he has that going for him.”

“Oh, Doctor, he has that and a whole lot more,” Hosea said, before he raised his eyes toward the ceiling.

“I hear that!” Dr. Lewis grinned. “Go on in there with your father.”

Jasmine hugged the doctor. “Thank you,” she said, before she followed her husband into the room.

“‘You are the God who performs miracles,’” Hosea softly read the psalm, “‘you display your power among the peoples.’”

Jasmine stood at the foot of the bed, with her eyes closed, as she listened to her husband reading the Bible.

This did feel a little bit like a miracle.

Even though Jasmine was exhausted by another day of the long hours in the hospital, today she didn’t mind. Each hour that passed brought a bit more improvement.

“It’s not much,” Dr. Lewis told them every time she came in to check on Reverend Bush. “He’s taking baby steps. And I want to caution you…”

Jasmine smiled now, like she did then, as she thought of the doctor’s words. Yes, they all knew they had to be cautious. But at least they could wrap their caution, now, inside a supersize order of hope.

Hosea stood, raised his arms above his head, and stretched.

“You’ve been sitting down for a long time,” Jasmine said.

He nodded. “I’ll read the whole Bible to him if that’s going to help.” He released a deep breath and tucked the Bible at his father’s side. “I’m gonna grab a soda. You want anything?”

She shook her head.

“We’ll stay a little longer and then get out of here.” He kissed Jasmine lightly. “I want to go home and give Jacquie a hug.”

After a moment alone with Reverend Bush, Jasmine walked to the window and looked out at the view that she’d taken in for so many days. But as she stood in the quiet, her thoughts were far from Harlem.

Staying in place, she turned and glanced again at her father-in-law. He was as still as the day he’d been shot, but inside of him, her secret lived.

A secret that never left her mind. A secret that made her ask herself over and over: Why had her father-in-law had her investigated, and what did he know?

She sighed as she remembered the words of the investigator’s report that told her dirty history.

“Why, Dad?” she asked aloud, still facing the window. “Why? What were you looking for?”

And then a thud!

Startled, Jasmine turned wide-eyed to the place where the noise had come from. She half expected to see Reverend Bush on the floor, but all that had fallen was the Bible Hosea had left at his father’s side.

With a frown, she inched toward the bed, all the time wondering how the book had fallen. She lifted the Bible and placed it on the bedside table.

Standing over her father-in-law, she looked for signs of life. But only his chest moved, the single indication that breath was still within him.

“What do you know?” she whispered.

There was nothing but silence.

“Why were you having me investigated,” she said into his ear.

Still nothing, except for the beep…beep…beep of the life-support machines.

Sighing, she returned to the window. She wasn’t sure why she was worried about this now. Even though Reverend Bush had improved since yesterday, he was still much closer to death than to life. It might never matter.

She closed her eyes and imagined Reverend Bush reading the report. What had been his thoughts? What had been his plans?

“Jasmine.”

Startled once again, she turned around. Looked at Hosea. “What?”

“How’d that get there?”

Her glance followed where he pointed. The thin blanket that had covered half of Reverend Bush’s body had been tossed to the floor.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. It wasn’t there a minute ago when I—” She stopped, stared at the blanket for a moment, before her glance slowly crawled back up to her father-in-law.

“Hosea,” she called to her husband slowly and softly, not taking her eyes off of Reverend Bush. “We need to get Doctor Lewis in here right now!”

Jasmine could hardly breathe as she watched the doctor.

“Reverend Bush!” Dr. Lewis called as if he was deaf. “Samuel, can you hear me?”

The doctor stood over him with a penlight in her hands.

“If you can hear me,” she continued to talk as if Reverend Bush was in another room, “squeeze my hand.”

They waited.

Nothing.

As she watched the activity moving around her, Jasmine tried to imagine all the ways the Bible could have fallen to the floor. Or the way the blanket could have found its way to the same place. But no scenario fit—nothing could have made those items move—except for Reverend Bush.

The doctor stepped away and turned to Hosea. “Sometimes patients in a coma do have involuntary movements…” She glanced at the reverend. “It was probably nothing.”

“Let me try.” Hosea quickly stepped around the doctor. He leaned over his father. Mimicked everything that the doctor had done—her words, her tone.

More nothing.

“Pops,” Hosea kept on calling.

Singing with my granddaughter is one of my life’s greatest pleasures.

Slowly, Jasmine moved to the opposite side of the bed. She stood across from Hosea and lowered her mouth close to the reverend’s ear.

Softly, she began, “He’s got the whole world…”

She kept her eyes down, knowing that the doctors and nurses who stood around probably thought she was a fool.

But she wasn’t—the Bible and the blanket were the first signs of life from Reverend Bush, coming hours after Jacqueline had visited. Her presence was the only thing that had been different, and she was his delight.

So Jasmine sang. “He’s got the whole world…” She kept her head down, her voice low. And she just kept singing.

And then, Hosea yelled, “He did it! He squeezed my hand.”

The doctor pushed Hosea aside and continued her own calls to Reverend Bush.

The warm sensation of water gathered behind Jasmine’s eyes, but she kept right on singing. Even when the first tear crawled from the corner and crept down her cheek, she didn’t stop.

“Reverend Bush, can you hear me?” the doctor called again.

Jasmine inhaled a deep breath and sang, “He’s got you and me and Jacquie, in His hands…”

And slowly, Reverend Bush’s eyes fluttered open.