Temptation: The Aftermath Read online

  I folded my arms, getting a bit concerned that she had a good answer for every one of my questions.“And so you also want me to believe that he came to New York to see you?”

  “I keep telling you, what you believe is a non-factor.”

  I shook my head. “No. This doesn’t make sense. Jefferson wouldn’t cheat on Kyla.”

  I had to push back the flash in my mind — of Jefferson … in bed … with me.

  I said, “And if he were that man, there are thousands of women in California who would do his bidding. Why would he travel all the way to New York to see you?”

  Slowly, her eyes left mine and she looked down at her body before she returned her gaze to me. “You want to ask me that question again?”

  She. Was. Good. But not good enough to convert me to a complete believer. “You’re lying. So why don’t you tell me what you’re really up to.”

  She gave me a one-shoulder shrug. “I keep telling you, what you believe doesn’t matter.” She paused and held up her forefinger. “But his wife … that’s another story. Or at least, Doctor Blake thought so.”

  I frowned and she lifted her glass to her lips once again. “That’s right. I decided that it was time for his wife to know about us.”

  “You told Jefferson that?”

  She nodded. “Yup. And of course, he was just like any other man. He wanted his wife and my cake, too.” She sighed. “But I didn’t want to share him anymore.”

  “Share him?” I was trying my best to play this game of poker, but her words made me indignant. “You weren’t his wife.”

  “He promised me that I would be his next wife and then when he reneged,” she one-shoulder shrugged again, “I decided he had to pay.”

  Now, I really didn’t believe her. Jefferson wouldn’t leave Kyla.

  Not for her. Still, I asked, “Pay?”

  She tilted her head and looked at me as if she wondered if I had any kind of sense at all.

  I said, “Were you blackmailing him?” “Are you recording me?”

  I had to blink a couple of times. “What?” Where did that question come from?

  “In today’s times, you can’t be too careful.” She wagged her finger. “So answer my question if you want me to continue with the truth.”

  I paused. Dang! That would have been a good idea. To record her on my cell. But since I hadn’t thought of that, I grabbed my phone from my purse and placed it on the counter. “I’m not recording anything.”

  “You could have another device, but it won’t matter. Now that I’ve asked the question, if you lied, you won’t be able to use this in court.”

  Dang! Who was this woman? Mae Frances’s child?

  She took another sip of wine. “Anyway, where were we? Ah! Yes, you accused me of blackmailing Doctor Blake.” She shuddered as if she were cold, but I knew it was all a performance. “Blackmailing is such a dirty word. Let’s just say I gave him a bill for services rendered.”

  “You were blackmailing him.”

  “And the fee for my services — twenty-five thousand dollars.” That was it. Game over. No more poker. Because my body language gave it all away. I gasped, my eyes widened, I pressed my hand over my mouth. When I finally gathered my non-pokerplaying self together, I said, “I know he wasn’t going to pay you twenty-five thousand dollars.”

  “Oh, you are so wrong. We were on our way to get the money when he got shot.”

  “Why would he pay you?”

  She sighed. “Haven’t you been listening? You may want to use your ObamaCare and get that checked out.” Then, she slowed her cadence as if she were breaking it down for me. “I was having an affair with a married man. He didn’t want his wife to know.”

  That was such a simple explanation that sounded like the truth, but could easily be a lie.

  She continued, “And, I’m sure you don’t want his wife to know either, right? At least, that’s what you said.”

  I stepped closer to where she sat. “Stay away from Kyla.”

  She did that eye roaming thing over my body again. “And how are you going to make me do that?”

  “There’s no way she’s going to believe you.”

  “Really?” She shrugged. “You may be right, but I say you’re wrong. We can do a test, go there together and see who she believes.”

  All I wanted to do at this moment was beat this woman down. And then, I had another flash: Of Alexis saying almost the same thing to me when she found out what I’d done with Jefferson.

  Lola interrupted my memory. “Or, since Doctor Blake and I were never able to close the deal, you can close it for him and we can save his wife this grief.”

  That brought my focus all the way back to her. “What?”

  “You seem to have difficulty understanding me. So, I’ll spell out all the specifics. You pay me … twenty-five thousand dollars … and I’ll walk away. From Doctor Blake, from his wife, from everything. None of you will ever hear from me again.”

  “I’m not paying you a cent.”

  “Well, that’s good because I asked for dollars. Cash.” Then, she stood and sauntered over to the counter near her phone. She jotted down something on a pad, tore the paper off and handed it to me. It was only reflex that made me take the paper from her.

  She said, “You probably already have it, but just in case your private investigator didn’t get everything, here’s my cell. I need to hear from you within twenty-four hours. Call me and we’ll set up a time to meet.”

  Looking straight into her eyes, I tore that paper into the tiniest pieces possible, then let them flutter onto her sparkling kitchen floor.

  Her gaze followed the floating pieces, then, her eyes returned to me.“Twenty four hours, twenty-five thousand dollars,” she said. “Or I’m going to his wife.” There were long moments of silence as we stood there in a battle of glares. She spoke first, “I’m sure you don’t need me to show you out.” She swiveled, grabbed the bottle of wine and poured herself another glass.

  I stood still for only a moment longer before I snatched my cell from the counter. Inside, I growled, but I didn’t want Lola to think that I was fazed in any kind of way. So, I did my own spinning and marched from her kitchen.

  “Remember, twenty-four hours,” she called out. “Or it won’t be good. Not at all.” And then, after a pause, she said, “Jasmine.”

  Though I was a little surprised that she knew my name, I didn’t turn around. I didn’t stop moving (though I was tempted to break every piece of expensive china on her dining room table) until I stomped out her front door.

  It was only then that I breathed. Lola Lewis had really shaken me and now, I wondered … what the hell was I going to do?

  chapter 24

  Kyla

  Thank God for Tuesday night Bible study. Because I needed church tonight.

  It was hard to believe that a week had passed and really, today should have been the most hopeful of days. Jefferson was waking up. But in a way, it was even harder than before because more than forty-eight hours had passed and Jefferson still had not opened his eyes. Color me naive, but I thought that by now, he’d be sitting up, chatting just a little. Maybe not quite ready to go home, but I could at least begin packing our bags.

  But no, so far, all we had were a few squeezes of our hands. Dr. Reid said that it was all good because Jefferson responded to commands. That meant that he could hear us. I wouldn’t be dancing, though, until he could see us. That was my prayer.

  So when Hosea called this morning and told me and Nicole to come to church tonight, I was so grateful.

  “You won’t be away long,” he’d said. “But there are so many people at City of Lights who want to pray with you, who want to encourage you.”

  That was what I needed — a whole bunch of encouraging prayer.

  When the car slowed to a stop, Nicole and I said together, “Thank you, Maurice,” before we slid out.

  “Just text me when you’re ready,” he said.

  Our driver was
becoming our friend. We’d spent as much time with him as anyone in this last week and every evening, before he dropped us off, he prayed with us — one of the highlights of each day.

  I held my daughter’s hand as we walked up the path to the front doors of City of Lights. This was only my second time here, but it felt so familiar. Maybe it was because like on Saturday, this church felt so welcoming. Even in the dusk of this September evening, I could see the building bowing its greeting.

  Nicole pulled open the heavy doors and the moment we stepped inside, she gasped. I hadn’t warned her of the majesty of City of Lights. Even from where we stood at the expansive entryway, she got a glimpse into the sanctuary and the stain-glassed domed ceiling that rained a rainbow of color streaks onto the seats below. This really was a spectacular place.

  “Kyla,” Jasmine called out. “I’m so sorry.” She moved toward us with such grace, almost as if she’d gone to a First Lady’s school that taught her everything from how to walk, how to stand, how to speak and certainly, how to dress.

  Nicole and I’d worn jeans — Hosea had told us to come as we were, that it was that kind of church.

  But while Jasmine wore pants, it was far from jeans. Like when I saw her on Sunday, she was straight designer in her navy pinstriped suit and a magnificent white blouse with a huge bow tied at her neck. The outfit was perfect for the bun she wore atop her head. This was the first time I saw her with her hair tied back. So refined.

  She said, “I’d wanted to greet you at the door.”

  “Uh … this is good enough, Auntie Jasmine,” Nicole said as she hugged Jasmine. “You look fabulous. And this place.” She stopped and did one of those Dorothy-in-the-land-of-Oz spin-and-stares. “My goodness. This place … no words.”

  I was in awe of my daughter and I checked out the way she interacted with Jasmine. I hadn’t been sure how my daughter would react to Jasmine once she knew the whole truth (and not her conjecture) about Jasmine and Jefferson.

  But just like when Jasmine had stayed with us practically all day yesterday this little girl that I’d had the blessing to raise and love showed no signs of any trauma. She didn’t show a bit of difference from knowing what Jasmine had done. I guessed she felt that I carried enough unforgiveness for both of us.

  When Jasmine turned to me, I saw her hesitation. “How are you?”That was the question she asked, but I could tell that she had an unspoken one — is it all right to hug you?

  I answered her by pulling her into my arms. She said, “It’s good to have you here.”

  “And, I’m glad to be here,” I said when I stepped back.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw my daughter beaming as bright as this afternoon’s sun. But I didn’t look at her. Because I didn’t want her to think that I was totally there. I was on my way — but I hadn’t reached the destination.

  Jasmine asked me, “How’s Jefferson?” “It’s a slow process, but he’s waking up.”

  “Yeah,” Nicole jumped in. “No one is concerned except for us.

  The doctors keep saying that he’s doing well.”

  “Well, let me get you inside.” Jasmine took my hand, but it had to be a reflex because a second later, she dropped it as if she remembered that we weren’t friends and at any moment, I might scream out and remind her of that.

  At the entry to the sanctuary, a woman greeted us. “Sister Patterson,” Jasmine said to woman whose silver locks looked like beautiful icicles that fell to her shoulders.

  I could tell Jasmine was getting ready to introduce me, but before she could say a word, the woman said, “Oh, I know who you are. You’re the Bush’s friend.” She pulled me into a hug.“We are all praying for you and your husband.”

  “Thank you so much.” I had to choke out the words because she had me in one of those death-grip-bear-hugs where I gasped for air when I was finally released. Then, I introduced her to Nicole and she greeted her the same way.

  Sister Patterson said, “What’s your name, baby?”

  “Nicole.”

  And then, she turned to me. I told her, “My name is Kyla.”

  My name seemed to shock her, but then a smile filled her whole face. “So, that’s where it came from, Lady Jasmine.”

  My brow furrowed.

  Then, as if she knew that I needed some kind of explanation, Sister Patterson said to me, “My great-grandbaby.” Her smile faded in an instant. “My granddaughter was lost to the world ten years ago, only eighteen years old and working at one of those,” she lowered her voice, “gentlemen’s clubs, though they are no gentlemen.” She shook her head. “But Lady Jasmine,” she grabbed Jasmine’s hand and her voice was back with the light in her eyes, “she helped our baby find her way back home. Got her out of that business, even though she came home pregnant.” Another shake of her head and now her smile burst back like the sun busting through rain clouds. “But that little baby is what makes our hearts beat every single day. When she was born, we gave Lady Jasmine the honor of naming her.”

  “Wow,” I said to Sister Patterson and Jasmine. “So, what’s the baby’s name?” Before they answered, I added, “Let me guess – Jasmine.”

  Jasmine shook her head and chuckled, while Sister Patterson shook her head and frowned.“Her name is the same as yours, baby. Her name is Kyla.”

  I felt a jab in my heart. Or maybe that was just the stab from the stare that I felt in my side coming from Nicole. Why had I said that? I remembered the way this story began, but I guess I’d forgotten because I was thinking — this was Jasmine. At least the Jasmine I used to know.

  “That’s a beautiful story,” I said to Sister Patterson, though I spoke to Jasmine, too.

  “Well, you have a beautiful name and now, my great grandbaby has a beautiful name, too.”

  Before the floor swallowed me whole, Jasmine said, “We’re going to take our seats, Sister Patterson.” And then, she sauntered down the aisle, greeting people along the way.

  It was amazing to watch Jasmine in this role, totally open, seemingly honest, apparently loved, definitely respected. When we got to the first row, she stood in front of the first seat, then directed me and Nicole to sit on the other side of her.

  It was perfect timing. A group of men and women walked in — the praise team, I was sure.

  Jasmine leaned over to me. “Don’t worry. They only sing one song at Bible Study. Like Hosea promised, we’ll get you in and out.”

  The music had already started and I closed my eyes, clapped my hands, swayed and sang along:

  Perpetual praise and continual prayer

  Take the joy of the Lord with you everywhere

  Perpetual prayer and continual praise

  Acknowledge Him in all of your ways …

  It wasn’t until I started singing that I realized just how much I needed to be here. Though I did pray continually and tried to praise perpetually, I needed to be in this midst. I needed to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with God’s people in agreement this way.

  That thought made me open my eyes. I was standing shoulder to-shoulder with Nicole on one side … and Jasmine on the other.

  Jasmine. God’s people.

  That was the thought that remained in my mind until Hosea came through a side door and walked to the altar. He smiled down at me and Nicole, but then, blew a kiss to his wife and again, I paused, thinking how different this Jasmine was from the one I knew. Maybe I didn’t have hate, but I had a very strong dislike for a person who didn’t seem to exist anymore.

  “Let the church say Amen.”

  “Amen,” rang throughout the sanctuary.

  “How is everyone on this blessed Tuesday evening?” All kinds of responses poured out from the people.

  “Well, I am blessed, too. And the beauty of life is that we get to experience new blessings every day.”

  “Amen!”

  “You know, we’ve been studying the book of Genesis and I don’t know about you, but I really enjoyed last week’s lesson.”

  I was a litt
le surprised when the congregation broke out into applause.

  “Yes, cheer for the Lord.”

  And that’s what the people did. They roared like the crowd in a stadium that’d just watched their team score the winning touchdown in the Super Bowl.

  When the people settled down, Hosea said, “I know how you feel ‘cause when we talk about Joseph, we can see how the devil is defeated.”

  “Yes!”

  “How God flipped the devil’s script. Because all bad became good, all negative became positive, all weeping became joy.”

  “Amen,” so many said through the cheers that rose up once again.

  “Well that’s what I want to talk about tonight. Usually, Bible study is just that — we study from the Bible because you see, if you go to a church where they don’t open up the Word of God, then what you need to do is put on a pair of Nike’s and run.”

  Now there was laughter.

  “You don’t never need to be interested in the preacher’s words alone — the only words that matter are the ones that are coming from Him,” Hosea pointed to the ceiling, then added, “through him.” He pressed his forefinger against his chest.

  “Amen!”

  “However, tonight, I don’t want to talk about a particular scripture. I want to talk about a question that many of us ask — and the answer is on every page in the Bible.”

  I pulled my phone from my purse, ready to open my Bible app, ready to read along.

  Then, Hosea said, “Why does God allow bad things to happen to good people?”

  Oh, my God! How many times had I asked myself that question over this last week? And my question wasn’t about Jefferson alone. It was about all that I was going through — from the fear of losing my husband, from the pain that rose from seeing and having to deal with Jasmine, to the new doubt that came from the question of whether Jefferson had been unfaithful once again.

  He said, “That is the universal question and … I sure wish I had an answer.”

  It took everything not to throw my hands up in the air and shout out, ‘Really?’

  He continued, “But I do know a few things about this question. A few things that I can say about why bad things happen to good people. First, our faith never guarantees a perfect life, only a perfect eternity.”