No!
That was the only word that filled Jasmine’s mind.
No!
It reverberated straight through to her soul.
No!
That’s what she’d told Rachel when she’d kept talking about some stupid paternity test to prove some ridiculous theory about the two of them being sisters.
No was what she’d kept saying to Rachel, right before she told her to get out of her apartment and never come back.
And then no was what she’d just told Hosea after he’d come home and she’d blurted out Rachel’s absurd story.
“Sisters!” Hosea said. He laughed . . . at first. But then he watched her pacing back and forth in front of him, her heavy steps leaving imprints in the plush carpet.
It was her glare that made his smile fade fast. “Sisters?” he repeated.
“No!” And then she repeated the word again when Hosea just sat on the sofa, pensive, his hands folded beneath his chin as if he were giving credence to such a thing.
“No! She’s not my sister! Stop thinking that!”
“It sounds insane,” Hosea said. “But why would Rachel come here and say that?”
“Because she’s batshit crazy. And she takes jokes too far.”
Hosea shook his head and then he was the one who said no. “She wouldn’t come all the way to New York to tell a joke. There’s got to be more to this.”
Jasmine whipped her head from side to side. And with every part of her body, she was still saying no when Hosea stood from the sofa and wrapped his arms around her.
“It’s going to be all right,” he said as if she needed comfort.
But she didn’t need him to tell her it was going to be all right, because there was nothing wrong. The only wrong thing in her life was Rachel—and the fact that she’d let that woman inside her apartment. She should’ve just left her standing in the hall when Mae Frances slammed the door in her face.
“So what are you going to do about this?” Hosea asked.
“About what?”
“About what Rachel said.”
“What do you want me to do? Have her committed to some mental hospital?” She plopped down onto the couch. “Her sanity is her husband’s problem, not mine.”
“You know that’s not what I mean. I’m just asking, are you going to check out what she said? Are you going to talk to Rachel some more? Maybe talk to her father?”
Jasmine stared at her husband as if he’d just sprouted two heads. Then she moved to the edge of the sofa, and with hard eyes she glared at Hosea. “Listen to what you’re saying.” She paused. “Are you really saying that my father is not my father?” And with just her stance, she gave him a warning.
“Of course I’m not saying that . . .”
“Well then, there’s no need for me to talk to Rachel, or her father. There’s no need for me to talk to anyone.”
Doubt was etched all over Hosea’s face. “I don’t think Rachel would lie about this.”
“She was born a liar. She’d lie about the day of the week if there was something in it for her.”
“Maybe she has some of the facts wrong, maybe something is confused, but lying about being your sister? Why would she do that?”
“It’s either a lie or she’s trying to punk me. Either way, I’m not playing along.”
“But suppose . . .”
Jasmine jumped up and blew out an exasperated breath. “Don’t you get it? She made this up to get to me.” She held up her hand, stopping him from interrupting her. “Think about all the things she’s done to me in the past.” Jasmine counted on her fingers. “She hired that stripper to embarrass us at the American Baptist Coalition Conference when you were running for president, then she kidnapped Jacquie . . .”
“She didn’t . . .”
Jasmine spoke over his words. “She showed up to Oprah’s show and locked me in that room.” She shook her head. “This is just another middle school trick from a woman who never progressed mentally out of the sixth grade. And I’m not going to play into it. I’m going to ignore her and if she ever has the audacity to come around me again, I’m going to give her such a beating that . . .”
“What?”
“If you don’t believe Rachel, fine. Ignore her. But all this other talk . . .”
She waved her hand. “Okay, maybe I won’t beat her down.”
Hosea gave her a half smile. “That’s my darlin’.”
“But I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“All right.”
“And I don’t want you to ever mention it again,” she said, pointing her finger at him.
“Okay.”
“I just want to pretend that Rachel Jackson Adams never came here today. In fact, I want to pretend that we never met; really, let’s act like she was never born. She no longer exists to me. In fact . . .” Jasmine grabbed her cell, scrolled down to where she had Rachel’s name, then pressed DELETE. “Now she’s gone forever,” she said, holding up the phone for Hosea to see.
Hosea pressed his lips together and Jasmine could tell her husband had something he wanted to say. She didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want him to say another word about how there was more to this. But curiosity made her ask, “What?”
“I’m just thinking, if you think this isn’t true, why are you protesting so much?”
Her glare made him hold up his hands. “Okay, I got it. No more talk about Rachel . . . or this. So . . . let’s go pick up the kids,” he said, making a quick change of subject. “Remember, we’re taking them to Shake Shack tonight.”
“I forgot, but that’s good. That’ll be fun,” Jasmine said, though there was not a bit of cheer in her voice.
She’d banned Rachel from existence, but as the hours passed, she couldn’t get thoughts of her or her words out of her mind. Not even her children with their chatter and their laughter could take Jasmine’s thoughts away from Rachel.
She kept going back to the scene in her apartment, to the picture, to the words Rachel had spoken. And it was as if she were trying to interpret another language.
Through the hamburgers and shakes they had for dinner, through returning home, through getting her children ready for bed, Rachel and her cockamamie story remained with her.
Even when Jasmine kissed Hosea good night and closed her eyes as he held her, Rachel wouldn’t go away. She was waiting for Jasmine, right there in her dreams.
I think you may be my sister. My half sister.
Over and over, Rachel taunted her.
I think you may be my sister. My half sister.
She kept saying it, at first serious. Then her tone filled with laughter.
I think . . . ha ha ha . . . you may be . . . ha ha ha . . . my sister!
“No!” Jasmine sprang up in bed, her arms flailing as she reached for Rachel’s throat. She pressed her thumbs as hard as she could against her skin. If she could just kill her, that would shut her up!
“Jasmine!” Hosea shouted, grabbing her hands.
Jasmine blinked, then blinked again. In the darkness her eyes adjusted. And she saw her hands, around her husband’s neck.
“Oh my God!” Jasmine exclaimed, pulling back. “Babe, I’m sorry.”
Hosea clicked on the light, then massaged his neck.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” He coughed. “I might never be the same.”
“I’m so sorry!” she cried.
“Darlin’, I was just playing with you. I’m okay, don’t worry about it.” It was the distress on her face that made Hosea pull her into his arms. “It was only a dream,” he said. Then he held her as they lay down together. And in her ear he whispered, “It was only a dream,” over and over again.
But even as she settled down, and even as she heard the soft snore of her husband returning to sleep, Jasmine wouldn’t close her eyes. Because what Hosea said wasn’t true. That hadn’t been a dream. It was a nightmare. The worst nightmare she’d ever had. And if she closed her eyes, she might have that nightmare again.
No, she couldn’t let that happen. Even if she had to stay awake for the rest of her life, she was never going to let Rachel Jackson Adams invade her sleep again.