Jasmine pressed END on her phone and wished she could press it again and again so Simon Jackson would get her point. She knew she shouldn’t have answered the phone. She’d ignored all the calls from Simon; once she’d heard that first message he’d left on the day she’d flown back from Alabama, she’d saved his number into her phone just to make sure she never answered him, not even by accident.
So then, why oh why had she answered Rachel’s call? She had deleted that woman’s number, but she recognized it when the phone rang. Still, she’d answered. Why? But Jasmine knew why. Because, while she was ignoring Simon, she wanted to make sure that he knew she was ignoring him. And she wanted him to know that she would never speak to him. When she’d answered Rachel’s call, Jasmine had wanted to send that message to Simon and then tell Rachel that both of them needed to lose her number.
But then, Rachel had betrayed her, the way she always did, and put Simon on the phone. She’d wanted to just hang up in his face, but her real father had raised her too well for her to behave that way.
Hosea’s voice snatched her thoughts away from the call. “Nobody,” she said.
Hosea raised one eyebrow and glanced around his office. Jasmine followed his gaze to the bookshelves that were stuffed with Bibles in every translation to the singular Holy Book that sat on his desk. And it made her remember that she was sitting in the middle of one of the largest churches in the city.
“All right! That was Simon,” she confessed. “But I didn’t lie,” she added as if she needed to explain that to her husband and to God. “He’s nobody to me.”
“He’s your father.”
Jasmine glared at Hosea. “No matter how many times you say that, it’s not going to change the fact that he’s not.”
With a sigh, Hosea rose from his side of the desk and came around. Then he planted himself next to her on the sofa. “Why are you fighting this so much?”
“Because it’s just so ridiculous!” She jumped up and paced in front of him. “I mean, really, Hosea. I’m damn near . . . you know . . . just about . . . in my . . . around forty . . . ish . . . and now I find out that not only is my father not my father, but that the woman I hate . . . well, one of the women I hate . . . is my sister? Come on now.” She folded her arms. “This sounds like a bad novel where the author couldn’t come up with a better plot. This doesn’t sound like my life. This doesn’t feel like my life.”
“I can’t even begin to imagine how you feel, but that’s the reason I really wish you’d at least talk to Simon. Because I know it will make you feel better.”
“And how could it possibly do that?”
“Because it’ll answer your questions.”
“Aunt Virginia answered all my questions.”
Hosea nodded. “I think she answered what a young girl told her, but if you were to talk to Simon, you could find out even more about your mother. And I know you’ve always wanted to know more about her.”
Jasmine tilted her head and examined her husband. She had never really told him that. All she’d ever said was that she felt cheated when she lost her mother back when she was in college. She felt cheated because she’d always looked forward to knowing her mother, woman-to-woman. That’s something that Doris had always promised her.
I can’t wait for my little girl to grow up. Because then I’ll be more than your mommy: we’ll be friends, best friends. Because you’re my special little girl.
Jasmine remembered her mother’s words, and she felt cheated once again, the way she always felt when she thought about those lost years with her mother.
If only her mother had lived . . . would life have been different? Would she, Jasmine, have ended up as one of LA’s most notorious strippers, would she have cheated on Kenny Larson, her first husband, the night before their wedding, and then all those times afterward? Would she have lived a life that had her cheating with every married man she could find?
Maybe she had always cheated because she’d been cheated. Really, if Jasmine thought back, it was her mother’s death that had set her on that path.
And now, with this ridiculous revelation, Jasmine felt like she was on the verge of being cheated once again—this time out of a father.
But she wasn’t going to let Simon or Rachel or Hosea or anyone do that to her. She’d lost her mother when she was twenty; she wasn’t about to lose her father now that she was closer to fifty than forty. No matter what a freakin’ test said.
And it wasn’t just because to her Charles Cox would always be her father. It was that Simon Jackson didn’t deserve to call her daughter. Not after the way he’d treated her mother.
“So, what did Simon say?” Hosea asked.
Hearing his name aloud made her cringe all over. “I don’t want to talk about this, Hosea.”
“Humor me,” he said with a smile, but that was just a ruse. He was pretending this was a lighthearted conversation, but her husband was in pastor mode and she hated when he tried to minister to her.
She glared at him. He smiled back. Silent seconds passed between them. And then, God won.
Jasmine sighed. “He said he wanted to talk and explain stuff to me.”
Hosea nodded.
“And he said,” Jasmine continued, “that he wants me to come to his family reunion.”
“In Houston?”
“No, in Smackover.” She’d told Hosea about the conversation with Aunt Virginia and had told him how that town had held a special place in her mother’s heart. But what she’d left out, what she hadn’t told anyone was that now she felt a tug on her heart whenever she heard of or thought about Smackover. She thought about that place where her mother had first fallen in love. And she couldn’t help but think about it as the place where her life began. It was the city where she was conceived.
The truth of it was that Jasmine Cox Larson Bush was from Smackover, Arkansas!
But that didn’t have anything to do with her and this family reunion. Those people weren’t her family.
It was the way Hosea looked at her that made her grab her purse, sling it over her shoulder, and fold her arms. “I swear if you say one word to me about going to Smackover, I’m out of here.”
“I thought we were going out to dinner.”
“We won’t be going anywhere if you say that . . .”
“Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you’re not curious. I mean, Smackover.” He stood and wrapped his arms around her. “Who could pass up an invitation like that?” he asked in a tone that was supposed to make her laugh, but all she wanted to do was cry.
“Me! I can pass it up.”
“So, you’re not even a little bit curious about that place and those people . . . your people?”
“No!” she said, though that was a lie. Her curiosity kept rising and the truth was, she did plan to go down there. She wanted to walk through the town, see what her mother saw, see if it would bring her any kind of connection, bring her any closer to the mother she loved even more now knowing what she had been through for her. Knowing how her mother had kept her against everyone else’s wishes.
But she didn’t want to visit Smackover with anyone around. Especially not Simon, Rachel, and their family. She wasn’t even sure if she was going to tell Mae Frances or Hosea when she finally made that trip. She was thinking that her journey to Smackover would be best done alone.
“I want you to do me a favor,” Hosea said as he slid the purse from Jasmine’s shoulder. “I want you to pray.”
“I pray every morning.”
Hosea chuckled. “Well, there’s no law against praying all day, any day, all the time. I want you to go into the sanctuary and pray.”
“Hosea,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“No, seriously. I’m not saying to pray so that God will tell you to go to Smackover, because even if He did, I don’t think you’re going to listen to Him. You’re not going to listen to anyone right now because your heart is so hard.”
“No, it’s not.”
“And I’m always concerned about anyone who walks around with a hardened heart,” he said as if he didn’t hear her objection. He stepped away, but even as he walked back to his desk, she stood like a planted tree. He sat down in his chair and picked up his Bible. “I can give you the scriptures about what happens to folks with hard hearts. Check out Romans, chapter two, verse five.” And then without even opening the Bible, Hosea quoted, “But because of your hard and impenitent heart you are storing up wrath for yourself on the day of wrath when God’s righteous judgment—”
“All right!” Jasmine said, not even letting her husband finish. She marched out of the office and into the hallway that led to the sanctuary. She couldn’t say that she’d ever heard that verse before, but it didn’t matter. Hosea had said enough to make her think maybe she should pray.
Jasmine stepped through the door that Hosea and his father used to enter the sanctuary during services. And she paused for a moment. City of Lights at Riverside Church always seemed so grand to her, but never more than when it was like this. The rows and rows that held three thousand in both of their Sunday services were empty, and even though dusk was fast approaching, there was no artificial light. The sun that still shone outside streamed through the huge stained-glass windows, creating beams of light throughout.
With reverence, Jasmine moved toward the altar, her slow steps silent on the thick carpet. And as she got closer, she smiled a little. This had been Hosea’s idea, but now she was glad that she was here. Because for the first time since she’d heard this news, she felt serene. There was no one in her ear telling her what to do. No one trying to make her feel bad when Simon Jackson should be the one to carry all the shame.
At the front, she stood for a moment, staring at the gold cross that hung high on the wall behind the pulpit. She thought of the times when she’d come here by herself to pray. It still amazed her that she knew God this way. And yes, she did know Him. And He knew her, which was even more of a shock to Jasmine. But she knew she had this relationship with God because when she prayed, she felt Him.
But when she prayed here at the altar, she heard Him.
Using the rail for balance, she lowered herself onto the cushions. Then she bowed her head and her heart and she talked to God. She prayed for peace—that was what she wanted most. And she prayed for God to loosen her heart. Not enough for her to go to Smackover, because Hosea was right—God Himself would have to send Jesus Himself down from Heaven itself to convince her that she should go. And even then, she was sure she’d be able to convince God and His Son that she didn’t need to be near Arkansas right now.
But she wanted her heart loose enough so she could feel peace. And she knew that here, at the altar, God would give it to her.