Too Little, Too Late (28 page)

A
LEXIS DIDN’T KNOW IF IT
was the wine or God that kept her up all night. Kept her thinking about Hosea’s words.

Then in the still-dark hours of the early morning, she’d heard a voice. Again, she wasn’t sure if it was the wine or God, but, she was clear on what she’d heard.

You do your part and I’ll do mine.

She hated when God (or wine) talked to her. But she was old enough to know that when God spoke (even through wine), she had to listen.

It’s the disease.

And then, even as God spoke, the telephone rang. She’d known before she answered that it was her daily alarm. At six o’clock. Every day. For the last week. Brian always called. She never answered. Until today.

Now here she was. In front of Pink’s. Doing what was God’s will, because clearly she was not here on her own. But she had to follow God—or else she might never again have a good night’s sleep.

She pressed forward, around the white plastic tables and chairs, still filled to the hilt even though it was past the lunchtime rush hour.

Brian stood when she approached the table, his eyes bright with his smile. He scurried to hold the chair for her.

A gentleman.

“It’s good to see you,” he said.

She tried to smile, but couldn’t. And for a moment, she wondered what God would do if she was to just march right out of that place. But then she thought about all the hours that she hadn’t slept, and she knew she had to stay.

Brian asked, “Are you all right?”

She knew he could see it—all her reluctance and restlessness, maybe even the wine from last night. “I’m fine.” She closed her eyes and willed her headache away. “It’s just been rough.”

He hesitated, then reached across the table and covered her hand with his. When she didn’t pull away, he exhaled. “I’ve missed you.”

She could feel it. His love was like a current, charging through him to her. It was real. She just didn’t know if it was enough.

“Do you want to order?” he asked.

Around her, every seat was taken by Los Angelenos who always filled this famous hot-dog-stand-to-the-stars to capacity. The familiar chatter and clanking played in surround-sound, and the aroma of the chili and fresh buns overwhelmed her nostrils. But today, the sounds and smells of her favorite hang-out joint brought no joy. Only made her sick.

“I’m not hungry.”

His lips turned down as if he knew he was the reason she’d suddenly rather starve.

She said, “I just want to talk.”

He nodded and began, “Alex, I’m so sorry. I—”

She held up her hands. “You said that already. Now I need something new.”

He frowned.

“I had dinner with Hosea Bush last night.”

The light that had been in his eyes dimmed. His lips pursed like he was holding back words he didn’t dare say. Then, “Alex, I don’t think he’s the best person. We need to talk to people who support us. Who—”

She stopped him. “If it wasn’t for Hosea, I wouldn’t be here.” She relished his look of surprise and thought more about Hosea’s advice. “He said that if God put us together, then I had to do everything in my power to make sure we stayed that way.”

Now he nodded, as if he suddenly agreed with anything Hosea Bush had to say.

“The thing about Hosea,” said Alexis, “the thing that really got me to listen, is that he doesn’t just talk. Did you know that he’s known about…” She paused; it was still hard to say. “He’s known that the baby was not his all along.”

“Jasmine told me that.”

Brian didn’t know how much those words hurt. The revelation that he’d been talking to Jasmine. Talking, and doing so much more.

It’s the disease,
the inside of her urged.

Alexis continued, “Hosea loves that little girl anyway. And he still loves his wife too.” She shook her head, still finding that hard to believe. “Even though he felt what I’m feeling, he’s living what he’s saying. Hosea’s the real deal. He’s forgiven Jasmine for the affair.”

“It wasn’t an affair,” Brian said strongly. Then backed down when her eyebrows raised. “It was just a few—”

“It was enough to make a baby.”

He swallowed, sat stiffly. Didn’t confirm or deny.

“Anyway,” she said, like she was annoyed at his interruption, “Hosea impressed me. He left me wanting to do the right thing too.”

Brian leaned forward. “Are you saying that you want to give us a chance?”

No.
“First, there’s something I want to know.” She wondered if he would tell the truth. “Besides, Jasmine’s…baby. Are there…others? Any more baby mamas?”

His answer was swift. “I don’t know, but I don’t think so.”

She exhaled. Those were the first words he’d spoken in a long time that she completely believed.

“I think if there were…others,” he kept going, “I would know by now…but even if there are, it shouldn’t affect us.”

They both knew that was a lie.

He said, “All I can do right now is deal with what we know. And that’s Jasmine and Jacqueline.”

The sound of those names from his lips made her ache.

“What are your plans with Jasmine and her…your baby?”

He sat back, surprised by that question. “I don’t have any plans. She and Hosea have made it clear that they will raise Jacqueline as their own.”

“You’re fine with that?”

Alexis didn’t like the way he hesitated before he said, “I told you a long time ago I didn’t want any more children.”

“Seems like you forgot to tell Jasmine.”

He swallowed. “Hosea is Jacqueline’s father. That’s what he wants. That’s how it is.”

She nodded. “He’ll be a great father. But Jasmine…” She shook her head. “This situation is still impossible to believe.”

“I’m sorry.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “I think you are. But I wish to God that you had told me rather than have me walk into that…” She stopped, shuddered as she remembered.

He took her hand again. “I should have told you, and from the moment I found out, I wanted to. But I was scared that it would end up just like this. That you would be hurt. That you would have a hard time forgiving me.”

“I don’t want to forgive you.”

He flinched as if he’d just been struck.

“I am,” she continued, “smart enough to know that’s my flesh talking. And if I really want to walk this walk, I have to be fully into this forgiveness thing.” She stared at him, her eyes piercing. “Even if I don’t want to.”

He frowned a bit, as if he didn’t understand her double talk.

With a deep breath, she said, “I really want to do the right thing. I’m going to step out on faith. I’m going to go against everything that I’m feeling.” She paused. “You can come home.”

It didn’t sound like much of an invitation, but that didn’t matter to Brian. He grinned like he had his victory.

“There’s more,” she said, stopping him before he stood up and danced. “I don’t want your disease to become mine. If you don’t think you can beat this, if you think your addiction will…flare up again, you’ve got to let me know and let me go. Because I can’t do this anymore. I can’t take another secret.”

He inhaled. “There’s nothing more. The whole truth is out.”

She squinted, wondered why his words sounded so stiff.
Could there possibly be more?

He said, “I’m going to continue therapy to make sure that none of this…stuff happens again.” He edged his chair closer to hers. “Alexis, I will do anything, because being married to you is what’s important to me.”

She took her breath. Wanted to believe. Really wanted to believe.

“I love you,” he said.

That she believed. But she couldn’t return his declaration of love. Wasn’t sure how much of that she had left. She looked down at the red-and-white plaid tablecloth. Kept her eyes on the squares. “When you come back—”

“Tonight. I don’t want to waste any more time.”

She wondered if he’d think her next words were a waste. “I want to sleep alone. Until.”

It took a moment for him to say, “I understand.”

Now she looked up.

He caressed her fingers. “That’s fine. I’m willing to do whatever it takes, for however long it takes.”

She nodded, released a long sigh inside. She’d done what the voice had told her to do. Her part. Now it was up to God to do His.

M
AE
F
RANCES LEANED OVER THE
railing of the bed, her eyes staying on Jacqueline. She whispered, “So what are you going to do?”

Jasmine slapped the tears that soaked her cheek. She was so tired of crying—she hadn’t stopped since Hosea had stomped out of their suite this morning. “I don’t know. But we have to do something. What about all your connections?”

Mae Frances stared at her granddaughter before she motioned toward the door.

With her arms folded, Jasmine followed her friend. “So,” she began the moment they were alone. “Do you have any ideas?”

“I did make a few calls.” Mae Frances sat on the sofa and let moments pass. “But I was thinking…what do you think about praying?”

Jasmine was so shocked it took her a moment to say, “Are you talking about that pray-three-times thing you told me to do?”

Mae Frances’s face was long and solemn as she nodded. “That and a whole lot more. I think we really need to just get on our knees and pray this through. Maybe pray three times every hour! I mean, Jasmine Larson, we’ve tried everything else. I’m willing to try some serious prayer.”

Jasmine shook her head. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

“You used to always tell me to pray.”

“That was different.”

“Why? It worked for you. You prayed me back to God. And I’m just sayin’, we’ve tried
everything
, and that woman is still here. Maybe it’s time to see what kind of plan God has.”

This was not the time for the tables to be turned. Not the time for Mae Frances to get all Christian when what Jasmine needed was the pre-God Mae Frances, the woman who would have drugged Hosea and then dragged him home.

Jasmine said, “I have been praying. But we still need a plan.”

“We’re out of plans!” Mae Frances exclaimed, waving her hands in the air as if that might make Jasmine hear better. “We tried to get the woman to Africa, then you tried to find her a job in Russia. And those calls I made this afternoon—I was thinking about hiring a gigolo and—”

Jasmine sat up straight. “A gigolo? For Natasia? That might not be a bad idea.”

“No! It
is
a bad idea. It was going to cost thousands.”

“How many thousands?”

Mae Frances sighed, exasperated. “Are you listening to yourself? Why would you want to spend thousands of dollars on something that might not work? It’s time for us to just take this to the Holy Ghost corner.”

Jasmine rolled her eyes. It was hard to listen to this woman who had been crying so hard that Sunday over a year ago that she had to be carried up to the altar for prayer.

But that didn’t stop Mae Frances right now. She kept on talking like she was a preacher’s wife. “I’ve told you before, you are who I used to be, Jasmine Larson. So don’t think I don’t know what you’re going through. Remember, Elijah Van Dorn left me, and we’d been married for only a couple of years.”

“
You
were having an affair.” Jasmine snickered. Maybe that would make her friend shut up.

Mae Frances raised her penciled eyebrows. “So? Doesn’t matter the reason. When Preacher Man leaves you, the results will be the same. You will be by…your…self.”

Jasmine glared at her.

Mae Frances returned Jasmine’s stare, but she softened her voice. “I’m just telling it the way it is. I don’t want to see you and Preacher Man break up. I don’t want my grandbaby growing up with just her mama. That’s how I was raised, and it’s no way for a child. So that’s why I wanna give this prayer thing a chance. I wanna see if it’ll work.”

With a sigh, Jasmine released the little bit of hope she’d had. Not that she didn’t believe in prayer—God had answered so many of hers, she was sure she’d used up her lifetime quotient. But still, wasn’t there something in the Bible about faith without works? She had a lot of faith. All she needed was a plan to work.

“So are we gonna do this prayer thing?” Mae Frances asked.

She wondered if smacking Mae Frances would bring her old friend back. But the problem with slapping Mae Frances was that she’d slap back. And even though she had more than twenty years of youth on the woman, Jasmine was sure Mae Frances could still do some major damage.

Jasmine nodded, although in her mind the wheels had already begun spinning. Another plan was forming. “If prayer is all you’ve got, I’ll do it.”

“Good, ’cause prayer changes things.”

No she didn’t.
Mae Frances, the woman who hadn’t entered a church for thirty years until Jasmine had forced her to, was wasting her time with Christian clichés.

“I think you should spend some real time on your knees tonight,” Mae Frances continued her religious rant. “If you want, I’ll take Jacquie with me so you can focus.”

At least her friend was coming through for her with that. “Thanks, Mae Frances. That’ll give me all the time I need…to pray.”

“Okay, I’ll go get my grandbaby.”

Jasmine watched her friend strut toward Jacqueline’s bedroom. As if she’d just given Jasmine a good word. As if Christ had always been part of her life. As if.

It was a good thing that Jasmine still remembered some of those tricks the old Mae Frances had taught her. Because before Mae Frances was fully out of her sight, Jasmine already had another plan.

It was simple. It was easy. It was basic.

Just three minutes had passed since the last time Jasmine looked at the clock. It was exactly midnight now.

She’d given Hosea enough time to come home.

She jumped from the bed, fully dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Then slipped into her Keds and covered her head with a baseball cap. With her hair tucked under, she wasn’t easily recognized.

Part of the plan.

She called down for her car, then walked out of the suite as if she was running a quick errand. Inside the hotel’s lobby, the Fairmont was middle-of-the-night quiet, and when the doorman signaled that her car was out front, she stepped into the dark.

Outside, she paused. A déjà vu moment. This used to be her life. Back in the day. She’d spent all kinds of nighttime hours creeping through Los Angeles, lurking in the shadows for some man she wanted.

Years had passed and here she was. Again. Still the middle of the night. Still searching for a man. But this time, it was her man she was chasing.

It didn’t take ten minutes to get to her destination, but she didn’t give her car to the valet. She parked on the street.

Part of the plan.

She strolled up to the Rendezvous as if she belonged there. In these early hours of the next day, there was no doorman. But inside, the lone security guard hovered over the space as if it was his kingdom. He peered at Jasmine, suspicion in his eyes.

Still, Jasmine strutted past, into the elevator, pressed the “14” button, and then breathed once the door closed.

At room 1411, she knocked, then stepped to the side, away from the view of the peephole. Natasia would be more cautious this time.

She was working this plan.

But after a minute, there was no answer.

Jasmine knocked again. Stepped back. Waited some more. Wondered if she’d have to do this every night. She would—if she had to. She’d come here, knock on this door until the prayers that Mae Frances was talking about kicked in.

Jasmine heard movement, and she jumped from the peephole’s view.

“Who is it?” Caution was in Natasia’s tone.

Jasmine took a breath, became a Jamaican. “I’m in charge of housekeeping, ma’am,” she began in her best Caribbean brogue. “We’re so sorry to bother you this late, but the people above you have reported rats. They’re in the pipes and now they’re in your bedroom.”

A scream. “What?” The sound of the locks unbolting. “Rats? In my room?” Natasia jumped into the hallway. “Rats?” she screamed.

Jasmine pushed past her. “Just one. Just you.” She marched into the suite. “Where’s my husband?”

“Jasmine, get out of my room!” Natasia yelled from the hallway, as if she was still a bit unsure about the rats.

“Where is he?”

Now Natasia followed her inside. Turned on the light and tightened her bathrobe. “It’s not my job to keep track of him.” She folded her arms. “At least not yet.”

Jasmine raised her eyebrows. Looked at the woman wearing the mark she’d left on her. Couldn’t believe she was talking to her with so much attitude. Her eyes were narrow as she strode toward her enemy.

Natasia backed away and edged toward the bedroom. Disappointed Jasmine, just a little. Surely a woman with this much nerve would be willing to fight for the man.

Then Jasmine eyed the bedroom door. Closed.

“Don’t even think about going in there,” Natasia warned. “I’ll call—”

Before she could say, “Security,” Jasmine shoved Natasia against the wall. Heard her head hit hard. But she didn’t look back. Just charged into the bedroom.

Natasia screamed, “Get out!”

Jasmine ignored her cries. Instead her glance settled on the bed. Sheets tousled, comforter sprawled on the floor.

But the bed was empty.

Behind her, Natasia shouted, “I’m calling security!”

Jasmine stomped into the bathroom, ripped the shower curtain from the rod, leaving the tub bare.

Nothing.

Now she headed to the closet. Slid the glass mirrors back and forth, searching for her hiding husband.

Nothing.

“There’s an intruder in my room!” she heard Natasia scream.

Jasmine wondered if the police would come with guns drawn. But she wasn’t worried. Hosea would explain it all—as soon as she found him.

She eyed the bed again and paused. That’s where he was! She couldn’t believe he would hide from her that way.

Jasmine dropped to her knees. Threw aside the comforter. Stared under the bed. Stared at the big empty space.

You’re still Jasmine Larson.

Those words, Hosea’s voice, overcame her like a fifty-foot wave.

No, she wasn’t that same woman. she’d left this kind of lunacy behind. But here she was, on her knees. Searching under a bed. With a hysterical woman screaming in the next room.

This was some ghetto drama!

Jasmine pushed herself up and staggered from the bedroom. Past Natasia, still ranting. She swung open the front door, stumbled into the hallway. Natasia’s shouts rang in her ears as she leaned against the wall, catching her breath and her sanity. But she paused for no more than a moment.

She dashed to the staircase, just as she heard the elevator doors open. She raced down fourteen flights, peeked into the lobby, composed herself, then snuck out the back door. Outside, she ran around the corner, to her car, and then slipped inside.

At any moment, her heart was going to explode through her chest—she was sure of that.

You’re still Jasmine Larson.

She thought about her husband’s words. Thought about how she’d torn through Natasia’s suite. Thought about how the police were probably looking for her right now.

And she bowed her head and cried.