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Authors: Victoria Christopher Murray
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chance.”
“Ah!” Slowly, Mae Frances began to nod.
Jasmine said, “She’ll buy a ticket, take a long, long flight, and while she’s in Africa, we’ll be in L.A.” She fell back onto the couch and laughed. “Won’t that be great?”
Mae Frances didn’t yet share her joy. “What’s going to happen when Natasia Redding gets off that plane in Zimbabwe or Kenya or wherever, and she realizes there’s no baby?”
“Not our problem. By the time she figures it out, the show would’ve hired another producer and Natasia will be stone-cold out of a job.” She kicked her feet in the air. “I am brilliant.”
Finally, Mae Frances smiled. “Yes, you are, Jasmine Larson.” She patted her hand. “I’ve taught you well.” She moved toward her desk. “Let me get working.” Pulling a black book from the drawer, she said, “While I would love to call Natasia Redding myself, this call has to come from Africa or else she won’t believe it.” She flipped through the pages.
“You have a connection in Africa?” Jasmine’s eyes were wide with admiration.
“No, but I know someone who can make the call look like it’s coming from Africa.” She waved her hand toward the door. “Get out of here. I don’t need no eyes watching while I’m taking care of business.”
Jasmine was almost skipping by the time she got to the lobby. She strolled down the street and then stopped in front of the shop where she used to pick up her morning coffee when she lived in this Upper East Side neighborhood. She glanced at the Lotto poster in the window: $325 million.
Why not? she thought as she pushed open the door. Maybe she was more than brilliant. Maybe she was lucky, too.
TWELVE
H OSEA STOOD AT THE WINDOW in his father’s office and watched the water pour from the sky. He loved the rain, had for many years. It had started that night with Natasia…
On that day, he had peeked into Pastor Case’s office. “See you tomorrow,” he said to his boss, the head pastor of Crystal Lake Cathedral.
“Wait!” Pastor Case called before Hosea could take a step. “I’m doing a counseling session; can you sit in?”
Hosea glanced at his watch. Although he hadn’t taken time in the year that he’d been at this church to socialize, tonight he had a big date. In front of his television. Monday Night Football. The Bears versus the Giants. It didn’t get any better than that for a New Yorker living in Chicago.
Pastor Case asked, “Can you stay?”
“Sure.” He’d be home by the second quarter.
“Great.” The pastor motioned toward the sofa. “You know, my goal is to turn over these counseling responsibilities to you.”
“I’m ready,” Hosea said. “Who are you seeing tonight?”
The soft knock on the door stopped the pastor’s response. “Pastor Case?” Natasia peeked into the office. “Oh, I’m sorry. You’re in a meeting.”
“No, come on in, Natasia. We’re ready.”
She moved with tentative steps, her umbrella dripping with rainwater. As she shook off her coat, she eyed Hosea and passed him a smile. “Hi, Minister Bush.”
Hosea nodded, his lips frozen with the rest of his face into a stiff smile.
In the weeks following their brunch over a year ago, the two had only exchanged a few pleasantries. And then shortly after, Hosea had heard the news—Natasia’s fiancé had died in a bungee-jumping accident. Time after time, he’d pulled out her card, wanting to offer his condolences, but it didn’t seem like their one encounter was enough to reach out that way.
Pastor Case said, “I hope you don’t mind, I asked Minister Bush to join us.”
“I guess it’s okay.” She looked from one man to the other.
“Just as an observer,” he added. “Minister Bush is going to be in charge of our counseling ministry.”
The look on her face made Hosea say, “Natasia, if you’d feel more comfortable with just Pastor Case…”
She held up her hand. “No, I’m fine.” She lowered herself onto the
“Ah!” Slowly, Mae Frances began to nod.
Jasmine said, “She’ll buy a ticket, take a long, long flight, and while she’s in Africa, we’ll be in L.A.” She fell back onto the couch and laughed. “Won’t that be great?”
Mae Frances didn’t yet share her joy. “What’s going to happen when Natasia Redding gets off that plane in Zimbabwe or Kenya or wherever, and she realizes there’s no baby?”
“Not our problem. By the time she figures it out, the show would’ve hired another producer and Natasia will be stone-cold out of a job.” She kicked her feet in the air. “I am brilliant.”
Finally, Mae Frances smiled. “Yes, you are, Jasmine Larson.” She patted her hand. “I’ve taught you well.” She moved toward her desk. “Let me get working.” Pulling a black book from the drawer, she said, “While I would love to call Natasia Redding myself, this call has to come from Africa or else she won’t believe it.” She flipped through the pages.
“You have a connection in Africa?” Jasmine’s eyes were wide with admiration.
“No, but I know someone who can make the call look like it’s coming from Africa.” She waved her hand toward the door. “Get out of here. I don’t need no eyes watching while I’m taking care of business.”
Jasmine was almost skipping by the time she got to the lobby. She strolled down the street and then stopped in front of the shop where she used to pick up her morning coffee when she lived in this Upper East Side neighborhood. She glanced at the Lotto poster in the window: $325 million.
Why not? she thought as she pushed open the door. Maybe she was more than brilliant. Maybe she was lucky, too.
TWELVE
H OSEA STOOD AT THE WINDOW in his father’s office and watched the water pour from the sky. He loved the rain, had for many years. It had started that night with Natasia…
On that day, he had peeked into Pastor Case’s office. “See you tomorrow,” he said to his boss, the head pastor of Crystal Lake Cathedral.
“Wait!” Pastor Case called before Hosea could take a step. “I’m doing a counseling session; can you sit in?”
Hosea glanced at his watch. Although he hadn’t taken time in the year that he’d been at this church to socialize, tonight he had a big date. In front of his television. Monday Night Football. The Bears versus the Giants. It didn’t get any better than that for a New Yorker living in Chicago.
Pastor Case asked, “Can you stay?”
“Sure.” He’d be home by the second quarter.
“Great.” The pastor motioned toward the sofa. “You know, my goal is to turn over these counseling responsibilities to you.”
“I’m ready,” Hosea said. “Who are you seeing tonight?”
The soft knock on the door stopped the pastor’s response. “Pastor Case?” Natasia peeked into the office. “Oh, I’m sorry. You’re in a meeting.”
“No, come on in, Natasia. We’re ready.”
She moved with tentative steps, her umbrella dripping with rainwater. As she shook off her coat, she eyed Hosea and passed him a smile. “Hi, Minister Bush.”
Hosea nodded, his lips frozen with the rest of his face into a stiff smile.
In the weeks following their brunch over a year ago, the two had only exchanged a few pleasantries. And then shortly after, Hosea had heard the news—Natasia’s fiancé had died in a bungee-jumping accident. Time after time, he’d pulled out her card, wanting to offer his condolences, but it didn’t seem like their one encounter was enough to reach out that way.
Pastor Case said, “I hope you don’t mind, I asked Minister Bush to join us.”
“I guess it’s okay.” She looked from one man to the other.
“Just as an observer,” he added. “Minister Bush is going to be in charge of our counseling ministry.”
The look on her face made Hosea say, “Natasia, if you’d feel more comfortable with just Pastor Case…”
She held up her hand. “No, I’m fine.” She lowered herself onto the
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