Too Little, Too Late (29 page)

H
OSEA’S HEAD WAS POUNDING AS
he gazed into the blue-black of the midnight.

His eyelids drooped, heavy with exhaustion—all he wanted to do was sleep. But God hadn’t granted him one moment of rest. From the time he stepped into this four-hundred-square-foot motel room until he laid on the mangy mattress and scraggy pillows, God was in his head.

Forgive her!
was what the voice said over and over.

And he had talked right back. Told God, “I can’t.”

I forgive you.

He had pushed himself up, turned on the light, and talked as if God was sitting in the room. “But she lied, and she just keeps on lying.”

You’ve never lied?

“Not like this.”

One lie is no better than another.

He folded his arms across his chest. Didn’t want God’s words to get anywhere near his heart. “Well, I can’t get over this lie. I’m getting a divorce,” he shouted.

The gentle, guiding voice became quiet.

Good!
he thought before he laid back down. This time, he wasn’t going to be stopped. He was tired of forgiving her.

I’m not tired of forgiving you.

That was when he’d jumped from the bed, hoping that standing up would turn Him off. He didn’t want to hear God, didn’t want to be talked out of it. His wife was a liar, a cheat, and probably a bigamist. She had brought him to this place of pain once more, and he was not going to be a fool again.

But his decision didn’t erase his heartache. He ached for the loss of the woman that he still loved. And then thoughts of his daughter—that brought the first tears to his eyes. He had no plans of giving her up; Jacqueline was his, legally, and he would hire the best attorneys to make sure his rights were protected.

Divorce is not a punishment.

Hosea sighed. The voice could not be quieted.

You can’t punish Jasmine by ending your marriage.

Grabbing his bag, Hosea searched for his iPod. He stuffed his ears with the plugs, selected his first playlist, and stood once again at the window.

Test her. She will do no wrong,
the voice still came through.

Hosea yanked the plugs from his ears and laughed out loud. Jasmine will do no wrong? What did that mean? He didn’t know what God was looking at, but from where he was standing, Jasmine was the walking definition of wrong.

Well, if God was going to talk while he was standing, he might as well lie down.

He rolled onto the bed, turned off the light, and prayed for sleep. But rest never came. God continued to speak. Even though Hosea was hell-bent on not listening.

H
OSEA CLOSED HIS EYES, MASSAGED
his temples. Wondered if God would ever let him sleep again. He glanced at his watch. The one o’clock production meeting was about to begin. He stood, just as his office door slammed hard against the wall.

Natasia was posed, under the frame, standing stiff, her hands on her hips, her eyes flashing.

He was drowning in her wrath—and he understood it. This was the first time they’d seen each other since he’d walked away from her and the mistake they’d almost made.

Even with makeup, the mark Jasmine had left—a black half-moon shiner under Natasia’s right eye—was very visible. It was hard to look at her and not remember. All that happened. The before and the after.

“I need to speak to you.” Her anger moved from her eyes. Now was in her voice.

“I didn’t think you’d be in today,” he said. He’d been relieved when she’d stayed home yesterday. Relieved that she wouldn’t have to explain her bruise to anyone. Relieved that he wouldn’t be filled with all kinds of shame every time he looked at her.

“I have a lot of work to do,” she said. “And I’m tired of your wife getting in my way.”

“Nat, I’m sorry—”

“Oh, don’t apologize about this.” She pointed to her eye. “Wait until you hear the latest.” Her tone was tight.

He frowned.

“Your wife showed up. At my door. Again. Last night.”

“What?”

“Came looking for you. But assaulted me. Again.”

“Natasia…” was all he could say as he shook his head. He was a minister, a pastor’s son; how did he get himself in the middle of this drama?

She said, “I tried to call you.”

“My cell…it’s off.” It was hard to put words together, hard to believe any of this.

“Well, the only reason she’s not in jail is because of how I feel about you.” Her voice was softer now.

“Are you all right?”

“No. How can I be, Hosea? I’m going to get a restraining order.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes I do, because I can’t handle this.”

“I promise, Jasmine won’t bother you anymore.”

“You can’t stop her! She’s a crazy woman.”

He sat up straight. Spoke stronger now. “No she’s not.” He defended the woman who was still his wife. “She’s just upset.”

“Whatever she is, I don’t want to be part of this soap opera anymore. Not unless—” She stopped, then took slow steps toward him.

It amazed him. Even with the blot on her face, even with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, her beauty, her class, still made his heart stop.

“I left you messages all day yesterday,” she said, her tone so different now. “Why didn’t you call me back?”

He swallowed before he said, “Because.” That was enough. She understood what he meant.

She said, “You owed me a phone call. You just walked out of my hotel room—”

“My wife showed up.” That was his explanation and his apology.

“If Jasmine hadn’t shown up, what would have happened? Where would we be now?” she whispered.

He stared at her, standing above him. But even though her questions had been his thoughts, he said nothing.

“Are you just using me?”

“No!”

“So, you’re saying there
is
something between us.”

“No!” he exclaimed again, thinking that lust wasn’t an emotion.

She folded her arms and backed away a bit. “You can’t have it both ways, Hosea. Either you’re using me or—”

“I’m not, but I can understand how you might see it that way. I shouldn’t have come to your hotel. I needed a friend, but I’m—”

“Don’t bother to say it. Don’t apologize anymore.” She leaned close to him. “I just want one thing, I just want you to get this straight.”

“I’ve told you—”

“I know what you’ve said. But what I know more is what you do.” She moved so close now, there was barely air between them. He felt her breath as she spoke. “Why are you fighting us?”

He looked straight into her eyes and told her the truth. “There is no us,” he said, sitting up. Defiant. But that didn’t stop the stirring inside of him. It was their chemistry, their history that he just could not deny.

“You want me. I know you do,” she whispered.

He shook his head, but didn’t address her claim out loud. All he said was, “I’ll take care of my wife. She won’t bother you again.”

She waited a few seconds. “That’s it?”

He nodded.

She stayed in place as if she was sure there was more. Then she backed away. “Take care of your wife. And while you’re doing that, be sure she’s the one you really want.”

She let her words settle and then turned and walked out the door.

Jasmine answered on the first ring. “Hosea, where are you?”

“At the studio.” His voice was flat and tired.

She said, “I need to see you,” doing nothing to hide her tears. “I’ll be there—”

“No, I don’t want what’s private to be public.”

“Then come here,” she pleaded. “We have to talk.”

He paused. He didn’t call for this. But it was because of his dreams that he had to know. The dreams that he’d had last night during his intermittent bouts of sleep, where Brian had strolled through his mind like he belonged there.

“Brian—” was all he said before Jasmine jumped in.

“Hosea, I’m not sleeping with him. What do I have to do to get you to believe me?”

“So,” he took a deep breath, “
nothing’s
going on between the two of you?”

A long moment. Then, “He kissed me.” The rest of her words spilled from her quickly. “The other day. I went to his office to tell him to keep Alexis away from you. But
he
kissed
me
. I pushed him away. And ran out of there.” She sobbed. “That’s all there was, Hosea. That’s the truth.”

The truth was what he wanted. But this truth slashed his heart.

“Please, Hosea, you’ve got to believe me.”

He wanted to. But only said, “I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” she cried.

“Stay away from Natasia.”

Silence. “Hosea, I’m talking about us, and you’re talking about Natasia?”

“We’ll talk…about us. Later. But I need some time.”

“Because of what I just told you about Brian?”

“No. Because of—” He thought about their pasts. His, with Natasia. Hers, with Kenny. And Brian. “A lot has happened and I need time…just leave Natasia alone. She doesn’t have anything to do with us.”

“Are you…staying with her?”

“No.”

“Then come home, please. What about Jacquie? She misses you, too.”

He closed his eyes. “I want to see Jacquie.”

She breathed. “Okay, I’ll bring her—”

“I’ll call Mae Frances,” he interrupted. “
She
can bring Jacquie.”

“Hosea, this is not the way—”

“I want to see Jacquie tomorrow. But only Jacquie and Mae Frances. Not you.”

He could still hear her protests, even as he hung up. He sat and waited. Expected her to call right back. But after minutes passed, he was grateful that she’d left him alone.

“He kissed me.”

He’d asked for it. And she gave it to him. The truth. At least, he thought this was the truth. Jasmine would never have admitted that Brian kissed her unless it was the truth.

Maybe she’s trying to change.

No! With everything within him, he shook that thought away. There were so many more lies out there, the complete truth had still not been told. And anyway, she shouldn’t have been near Brian, shouldn’t have been kissing another man.

Hypocrite!

No matter how it happened. And how did he really know that’s all there was between them?

You kissed another woman. Is that all there is between you and Natasia?

His own conscience ridiculed him. Made him pause and wonder if he were doing the right thing.

He grabbed the telephone. Before he did anything else, there was more that he had to know.

When the voice mail came on, he left a simple message. “Pops, call me. Important.”

B
RIAN STOOD AGAINST THE
wall, silently watching. Alexis leaned over the sink, rinsed the plates, then loaded each into the dishwasher. He could stand for hours watching his wife do this—or anything. That’s how much he loved her.

From the beginning, it had been this way. He loved her intelligence, her strength, her independence, her feistiness. He loved all of those things that were keeping her away from him now.

A week. That’s how long he’d been home. But he didn’t feel as if he was back. Felt more like he was just one of the accessories in their apartment—a piece of furniture, not her husband.

How was he going to earn her forgiveness?

“Oh!” Alexis exclaimed, facing him. “I didn’t know you were standing there.”

He grinned.

She turned away. “Do you want anything?” She lifted two plates from the sink.

He edged toward her. All he could think about was feeling her, holding her. Making her want him again.

He reached out. Touched her shoulder.

She gasped. The plates she held crashed to the floor.

“I’m sorry!” he said.

“That’s okay,” she said.

Together they bent down, gathered the pieces. He touched her fingers and she cringed, snatched her hand away. As if the feel of him disgusted her.

“I’ll get the rest of this.” He grabbed the broom, swept the pieces toward the electronic dustpan. Then he stood to the side as she closed the dishwasher.

“Sweetheart—”

“Brian.” She kept her eyes down. “I’m not ready.”

“Ready for what? For me to touch you? That’s all I want.” He paused. “You can’t even look at me.”

“No, because,” she turned to him now, her eyes misty with misery, “every time I look at you, I see Jasmine. And her baby. Your baby.”

“I’m. Sorry. Alexis. But that’s not what you should see when you look at me. You should see how much I love you.”

“But…you…were…with her.”

Brian wanted to comfort her. But he didn’t move. Folded his arms to make sure he held back. “I wasn’t with her, Alex. I wasn’t with any of them—”

She took a deep breath when he reminded her that Jasmine wasn’t the only one.

“Not the way I want to be with you.”

She shook her head, as if she didn’t believe him.

He said, “If this was about sex, Alexis, I would have been long gone. That’s why I know being with you is different than being with anyone else.”

She breathed deeply. Over and over. Eyes still glazed, she said, “You need to give me time.”

He said nothing, did nothing, as she staggered away. Into the bedroom. She closed the door. And then he heard the sound that twisted everything within him—the lock turning.

Message sent. Message received.

In the years they’d been married, she’d never locked him out of their bedroom. Not even when she found out about his addiction. It was only after Jasmine. Jasmine and the baby.

Brian released a deep breath. His stress was rising, and Dr. Perkins’s warning rewound in his mind.

It’s not about sex, Brian. It’s about stress. And with the tension of your marriage, this could be a challenging time. Be aware.

He’d told Dr. Perkins that he’d be fine. That there was no test that he couldn’t pass. That was true—even with what happened with Jasmine, he knew he was fine. It wasn’t like he’d gone after her. Jasmine had clearly been the aggressor. And he had fought it. Turned her down and walked away.

But how much longer was he supposed to be denied by his wife?

He opened the drawer where he kept the candy bars, his substitute addiction.

There was only one left.

He unwrapped the bar and broke off an end. Leaned against the kitchen counter, sucked on the chocolate, and stared at his bedroom door.

Locked.

This had been a long week. Three surgeries. And he still couldn’t touch his wife.

Stressed.

He stared and chewed.

He needed to be understanding and give Alexis time. But how much more could he take? He was a sex addict. Not an excuse, just a fact. A fact of his life.