Lady Jasmine (31 page)

I
T FELT LIKE A DEEP,
long sleep. No dreams, no sounds. Just sweet peace.

Jasmine’s eyelids fluttered until she was fully alert. But the glare of the light made her quickly close her eyes.

“Darlin’?”

It was his soft voice that made her want to see. Slowly, she forced her lids apart. And through a murky veil, she saw her husband’s face.

She tried to lift herself, pushing her shoulders from the bed. And her head spun.

With a moan, she fell back onto the mattress.

“No, Jasmine. Stay there,” Hosea said, gently pressing his hands against her.

Jasmine frowned, and from her prostrate position her eyes scanned the room. This was not the ceiling of her Central Park South apartment. She tried to figure it out, but her thoughts were gray.

She spoke, though her mouth felt as if it was stuffed with cotton balls. She took a breath. “What?” She pushed out the question. “Where?”

“You’re in the hospital,” Hosea answered softly. With gentle fingers, he stroked her hair. “But you’re okay.”

Hospital?
She frowned, closed her eyes again, and pressed hard to remember. But the few memories she had were jumbled together—Reverend Bush waking up, her feeding Jacqueline breakfast. She did remember this morning and getting ready for church. But that was where her life ended.

“What…” It was difficult to speak through the web in her mouth. She licked parched lips. “Water.”

It didn’t take Hosea long to move from her side and fill a paper cup from the pitcher on the table. He held the cup to her lips.

She still felt dizzy when she sat up, but she was grateful for the few sips she was able to take. She asked again, “What happened?”

Hosea smiled and held her hand. “You got a little sick in church.”

“In church?” she asked, confused.

“Yeah.” He chuckled a little. “I was preaching and…”

Her world snapped back into clarity: Mrs. Whittingham’s confession. Mrs. Whittingham’s secret. And then her own.

Jasmine’s eyes widened as the events of the day flooded her. She remembered now—the way Mrs. Whittingham had started to confess. She remembered the way her eyes closed and how she had fallen. And then there was nothing.

“Oh, my God!” Jasmine searched her husband’s eyes for the answers that she needed. What had Mrs. Whittingham told him?

“Jasmine?”

She couldn’t tell anything through the fog. She couldn’t see him clearly. He smiled at her, but she didn’t trust his smile. She didn’t trust him.

“Jasmine?”

“Oh, my God!” She could tell by the way he called her name
over and over that he knew. He knew everything. And he was just waiting to see if she was going to tell him the truth. He had tried to trick her that way before.

“Darlin’, you’re all right.” He comforted her. “It was just your blood pressure. That happens to you…look, I have something to tell you.”

She shook her head. She couldn’t let him tell her what he knew. She had to do it first. Then he wouldn’t be able to accuse her of keeping another secret. He wouldn’t be able to say that she was telling more lies.

And then he wouldn’t be able to walk out on her.

Pushing herself up, she said, “I have to tell you—”

“No.” He chuckled. “This is one time where you’re going to let me go first.”

His laugh sounded like a growl to her. His grin looked like a sneer. Through the fog she couldn’t see his joy.

So together, they spoke.

She said, “I used to be a stripper!”

He said, “You’re pregnant!”

A FEW MONTHS LATER

Jasmine huffed as she forced her weight against the glass door of Lenox Hill Hospital.

“Here, let me get that.” The security guard grabbed the door for her.

“Thanks!” She paused and breathed as if she’d been walking for miles. Trying to get that door open had left her totally spent—it was much heavier than it had been last month. She should’ve used the revolving one, but she needed every bit of exercise.

But by the time she made it to Dr. McKnight’s fourth-floor office, she was ready to give up exercise until well after this baby was born.

“I can take you back right now,” the nurse said, once she’d greeted Jasmine. Looking over her shoulder, she asked, “Are you by yourself?”

Jasmine nodded.

The nurse’s smile faded as she looked at Jasmine with eyes that said she felt so sorry for pregnant women who were alone.
“Well,” she began, her tone now conciliatory, “you do look very nice today,” as if her compliment was the consolation prize.

Jasmine smiled her thank-you, even though she wanted to slap the nurse upside her head for lying like that. Sure, she looked nice—if you liked elephants in tutus. The black dress she wore had looked fashionable—last month. But now, with carrying a baby who felt like it was ready to make its debut well before the eleven weeks from now when it was due, the dress was busting at the seams. But this was the only black outfit she had to wear to the funeral.

Inside the examination room, the nurse helped Jasmine slide onto the padded table. “Doctor McKnight will be right with you,” and then she was alone again.

She sighed and massaged the swell of her belly. She hated having to come here so often, but her blood pressure had to be monitored regularly so that there wouldn’t be any more fainting spells.

Jasmine sighed whenever she thought about that. Low blood pressure and fainting spells. Something that happened to her during pregnancy. That was why she’d passed out in church that Sunday. That’s how she’d found out she was three months pregnant.

And that’s how Hosea had found out about her secret.

Thinking about that day was the perfect antidote to her medical problem because she could feel her pressure rising whenever she thought about what happened.

She had to have been delirious when she’d shouted out, “I used to be a stripper!”

For the rest of her days, Jasmine would never forget that moment. She had shocked Hosea, and he had done the same to her…

“What?” they spoke together again.

“I’m pregnant?”

“You used to be a stripper?” Hosea held up his hands. “Wait,
we’ve got to do this one at a time. What are
you
talking about?”

That was exactly what she wanted to know: She was pregnant? She pushed herself up on the gurney.

“Jasmine,” he called her name in a tone that said he was waiting for an answer.

There was nothing but deep confusion in the crevices of his face, but she kept her lips pressed together. She didn’t want to take the chance of blurting out anything else.

“Jasmine.” This time he whispered her name. “What do you mean you used to be a stripper?”

Her drive to survive set in—a million thoughts spun inside her mind. First, she was pregnant…with Hosea’s baby! Her hands moved to her center. Covered herself so that she could protect the child she carried.

Their baby!

She didn’t have any choice now; she had to lie. She had to protect this child. And Jacqueline. And herself. Because if Hosea found out this truth, he would leave her for sure.

It came to her instantly—the lie she would tell. She would say that she was delirious. That she didn’t know what she was saying. She could faint again—only this time, she’d fake it. And when she woke up, she wouldn’t remember saying a thing.

Jasmine opened her mouth, ready to tell her story. But his look stopped her. Inside the windows to his soul, she could see his love, his faith, his trust.

All that was missing was the truth. And when she parted her lips, it was the truth that came out.

“I was a stripper.”

His shoulders sagged, the weight of that truth too heavy for him to stand straight.

Her heart was beyond pounding when she continued, “In college, the year that my mother passed away, I became…an exotic dancer…so that I could pay for my last year in school.”

She prayed that he wouldn’t ask her for any more, but the
way his eyes got small, then widened, then small again, let her know that his brain was calculating—and more questions were coming.

“Okay,” he finally breathed, although there was nothing in his expression that said that any of this was okay. “But you’ve kept this from me for so long, why’re you telling me now?”

“I didn’t want to tell you,” she said honestly, “but you were going to find out. And this time, I wanted you to hear everything from me.”

His head moved from side to side as if he needed to shake her words away. “A stripper?” He looked at her, then quickly turned like she was no longer worthy of his glance. Now it was his hands that he studied when he said, “But…you told me…that there were no more secrets…no more lies.”

The pain inside his tone made its way to her heart. With her eyes, Jasmine tried to will her husband to look back at her.

But he wouldn’t.

She said, “I don’t know what to say…”

Now, he looked up. “Try. The. Truth.”

His tone sliced right through her, and she wanted to tell him anything but the truth. But now that she started, she was going to play it through. Count on the fact that with truth, she’d win.

So she said, “When we talked about those secrets and my lies, Hosea, I swear,” she shook her head, “I wasn’t even thinking about that long ago. I was so focused on your finding out about my being married before and my age, I just…I just…I just forgot.”

“No one forgets that she was a stripper.”

“I know. And I don’t blame you for not believing me, but truly, Hosea, that’s what happened. Back then, those days, they were so bad for me. I’d lost my mother, my dad didn’t have the money, I’d searched for other jobs—”

He closed his eyes and held up his hands, like he wanted her to stop.

She continued anyway, “I was so ashamed of the dancing; it’s something that I wanted to forget.” She reached for his hand, but he stepped back, away from her grasp. Tears sprang right to her eyes. “I’m telling you the God’s honest truth. I didn’t even think about that time of my life, or else I would’ve told you. But when it came up, a few weeks ago, I couldn’t tell you.”

He looked at her with the exact stare that she’d expected…and feared. Now she was the one who looked away from the disgust in his eyes.

Still, she kept on. “I couldn’t tell you because you were going through too much with your father and the church.”

His stare continued, like he was trying to see inside of her. Like he couldn’t trust the words from her mouth, so he would search for the truth in her heart.

“I knew it all along, Jasmine.”

Looking up, she frowned.

He said, “I knew that something was going on, but you made me believe that it was me and my suspicions. You made me feel guilty for not trusting you.” Moments passed, and then his eyes wandered down to her lap. Slowly, his arm moved toward her, and Jasmine gasped with a bit of relief—he was thinking of their baby; he would never—could never—leave now.

But then his hand froze in midair before he pulled back and swiveled toward the door. “I need to think,” his voice quivered. “I need some air.”

He was gone before she could beg him.

It was a déjà vu moment; he was walking out on her again…

Jasmine shut her eyes now, trying to close the door on those memories. Why was she doing this? Why was she taking herself back to that day, that place where there was so much pain?

“Jasmine.”

Slowly, she opened her eyes and smiled, then she turned and saw him standing in the doorway.

“Hey, babe,” she said. As Hosea moved forward, her smile turned into a grin when she eyed the bunch of flowers he held. They looked just like the ones he’d brought her that day when he had come back to the emergency room to tell her that he did forgive her.

The words he had said to her then as she’d lain back on the gurney, crying a river of tears, never left her mind.

I don’t care who you were or even who you are now. I’m here because when God chose you as my wife, it was all about who you were becoming, who He wants you to be.

On that day, Jasmine suspected that he was also there because of their baby, but it didn’t matter why he was back—only that he had returned.

Now, as she took the flowers from his hands, Jasmine’s eyes flooded with those memories.

“What’s wrong?” Hosea searched her face, concerned.

Wiping away her tears, she sniffed. “You know how it is. I cry at everything these days.”

He kissed her cheek, where tears still dampened her skin. Then he leaned back and smiled.

Jasmine had hope. Her greatest fear when she told Hosea the truth was that he wouldn’t look at her the same way. And she’d been right.

The memory of her past was always in his eyes. But with each day and every new glance, her past dimmed. And her prayer was that by the time their child was born, there would be no sordid memories at all—for either of them.

“So, Doctor McKnight hasn’t come in yet?” he asked, as he took the flowers from her and placed them on the counter.

She shook her head. “I told her that I’d be in a hurry today; maybe I should have canceled because of the funeral.”

His eyes darkened a bit with his sadness, but he shook his head. “We’ve got to keep your blood pressure under control; don’t worry, we’ll get to the church on time.”

“I just hate for you to be distracted.”

He said, “This is our baby,” as if that was explanation enough. Gently, he placed his hand on her stomach. “I’m glad that I’m here, glad to have this reminder that as life ends, a new one begins.”

She nodded, then covered his hand with hers. And they held each other and waited in silence and in peace until Dr. McKnight came to assure them that everything with Baby Bush was absolutely fine.

The people were already beginning to gather when Hosea rolled their car past the black hearse parked in front of the church. He pulled into the parking lot and edged into the space reserved for the senior pastor.

Hosea helped Jasmine ease from the car, then held her hand as she stepped cautiously across the gravel. By the time they opened the door, Jasmine was winded, but her smile was instant as soon as the two entered the back offices.

“Hey, Pops!” Hosea stepped to Reverend Bush first and hugged his father.

Reverend Bush beamed at Jasmine. “What did the doctor say?” His words, even months after waking up were still a bit garbled.

“I’m fine.”

Jasmine bent toward him, but he held up his hands, trying to stop her. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

She leaned against the arm of his wheelchair anyway. “You’d better let me give you a kiss.”

“Would you stop smothering that man!”

“Nama,” Jasmine looked up and shook her head at her friend, “I’m not about to hurt my children’s grandfather.”

Mae Frances twisted her lips. “All I’m sayin’ is give him room to breathe,” she grumbled, as she straightened the blanket that
rested across Reverend Bush’s lap.

Rolling her eyes, Jasmine resisted asking her friend when she had become a nurse. At least, that’s the way Mae Frances had been acting since she’d returned home the day after she found out that Jasmine was pregnant.

“What took you guys so long to get here?” Mae Frances barked. “I thought I was gonna have to roll the good reverend out to the altar so he could begin without you.”

“And I would’ve done it, too,” Reverend Bush chuckled, before spinning his wheelchair around and following Hosea into his office.

He’d turned over the leadership of the church to his son, but Reverend Bush was as involved in City of Lights as his daily physical and speech therapy allowed. And Hosea welcomed every bit of input from his father, just waiting for the day when they would stand together behind the pulpit as copastors.

“Hosea.”

Jasmine turned to see Mrs. Whittingham walking in from the sanctuary.

“They’re ready.” She wore a slight smile, until she pivoted and faced Jasmine. “Hello,” she said coolly. Her tone lacked the warmth of a friend, but it was without the contempt that had always accompanied her words over the years.

As the two women shared an embrace of strangers, Jasmine recalled the conversation she’d finally had with Mrs. Whittingham. And as she’d expected, the woman didn’t believe her. But she’d kept her promise—she’d never told Ivy.

The problem was, neither had Mrs. Whittingham. Jasmine’s fainting spell in church that Sunday had scared Mrs. Whittingham straight. Made her rethink, restrategize. Made her decide to take the secret that she shared only with Jasmine to her grave.

Since she’d made that decision, Mrs. Whittingham had aged years in just months. And Jasmine truly felt sorry for her, knowing the burden of secrets.

Hosea trudged from his office, donned in that special-occasions burgundy robe. Jasmine kissed his cheek, then she and Mae Frances followed Reverend Bush down the hallway.

“Now you be careful, Reverend Bush,” the words dripped from Mae Frances’s mouth like syrup.

Jasmine wanted to laugh. Could her friend be any more obvious? She didn’t care how many times Mae Frances denied it, she was sweet on Reverend Bush. Maybe now that the wheelchair had slowed him down a bit, she’d be able to catch him.

But all thoughts of teasing her friend went away when Mrs. Whittingham opened the door to the sanctuary and the sorrow that hung heavy in the air wrapped around them.

The City of Lights choir was rocking “Going up Yonder,” and as they sang, some in the congregation cried. Many were standing and swaying. And a few still sat, as if grief had them fastened to their seats.

Slowly, Jasmine followed Reverend Bush and Mae Frances. As her father-in-law and friend stopped to give condolences to the family, Jasmine paused in front of the coffin and looked down at Sister Pearline.