Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

J asmine had always been compliant and obedient. She was the good daughter, not that it had made any difference. Not that it had made her parents love her.

But because she'd been good, she'd avoided the physical abuse many women endured. Even her sister had been hit more than once during their childhood, but not Jasmine.

The only exception came on the day her father told her she was to marry Khalid.

Even though Baba had promised both her and her mother that he would never force her to marry.

Even though he had sworn he'd never allow her to be any man's second wife.

Even though he'd vowed not to give her to a man who was so old that he would leave her a young widow.

Jasmine had trusted her father. She'd trusted him enough that her words came out before she gave them thought.

"But Baba, you promised…"

When his palm struck her cheek, she'd stumbled, slammed her head against the wall, and crumpled to the cold stone floor.

The sting had been shocking, but her father's betrayal had been far, far worse.

Seeing the hurt in Derrick's expression now, Jasmine longed for the sting she'd felt that day. She deserved no better than to be crumpled in the corner. She was a betrayer and a manipulator. That she hadn't understood his feelings before was irrelevant. She should have. She should never have asked him to help her.

Not that she'd had any choice. That was the life of a slave, wasn't it? All unmet needs, no choices. All pain, no relief. All suffering, no love.

But she had Christ. Her hope was in Him.

Jesus hadn't come down and offered a divine jet to fly her to DC. He hadn't gone into the hotel to get Basma and Rabie away. Jasmine had needed Derrick.

She'd used Derrick.

The only way forward now was to tell Derrick the truth—or enough of it to put an end to whatever misguided feelings he held for her.

Even if the thought made her eyes sting, made her want to shrivel up and disappear.

Because she could love him. She could love Derrick, if only Baba had kept his word. If only Khalid hadn't chosen her. If only…if only she were not who she was.

Derrick turned his attention to the blank TV screen.

She slid back into the chair and prayed God would help her show him the truth. And protect his heart.

"It makes sense, of course," she said.

He faced her. "What does?"

"The fact that I've had so few friends."

He broke their eye contact again. "You're shy. I'm guessing your sister took the lead when you were kids. It's probably hard for you to make friends. "

"She is the…worthy sister."

"What are you talking about?" He barked the words, then shook his head. "Sorry."

Even in anger, he was kind.

"After Leila escaped when she was eighteen, Mama got sick. I was busy taking care of her. I think that if Leila had been there…" No, she should not say that. "It was good Leila left."

Derrick's anger seemed to seep away. He faced her, his head tilting to the side. "If Leila had been there, what?"

Jasmine shrugged. "You know how you know something here"—she tapped her head—"but not here?" She tapped her chest.

"Yeah."

"It is like that. I know that Mama had cancer, and I know the cancer took her, but even so, I feel like she would have survived if Leila had been there."

"Your sister broke her heart, and that led to her death? Is that what you're saying?"

"No, no. It is that Leila is full of life and joy and energy. Mama loved her so much, and when she was gone, Mama was only left with me. And Baba, of course, but…" She wasn't sure how to say what she meant. "I do not believe she was very much in love with Baba. I believe he had let her down. And I was not worth fighting for."

Derrick's back straightened. "You were her daughter. Why would you say that?"

"It is only that I was always just ‘the other one.' You know?"

"No. I have no idea what you mean."

She sighed. How could he not understand? He knew Leila. He knew her. How did he not see what was so obvious? "Once, when we were little, Leila lost her temper and broke a vase. Baba was furious. He slapped her and locked her in her room. "

Derrick's mouth opened, then pressed closed. Finally, he said, "Okay."

"I was cleaning up the mess, and I was thinking that she was a troublemaker, but I was the good daughter. I was feeling proud of myself for this, you see? And then, in the other room, I heard my parents talking. Baba said, ‘Nawra'—that is Leila. You know this?"

He nodded.

"‘Nawra is a holy terror,' Baba said, ‘and the other one is barely a shadow.'"

"‘The other one.'" Derrick repeated her words in a whisper.

"You see?" Jasmine waved her hand toward him to make her point. "I am only ‘the other one…a shadow.' Irrelevant."

The confusion on his face gave way to kindness. Tenderness.

He reached for her, but she popped up from the chair. "You do not understand."

"I understand your father was an idiot. I think we've established that. But your mother?—"

"My mother said, ‘At least she can clean up the mess.' This is me—I am the one who cleans up the mess. I am the servant."

"I stand corrected." As if to punctuate his point, Derrick pushed to his feet and faced her, so close that if it were any other man, she would have shrunken away in fear.

"Apparently," he said, "your mom was also an idiot. Sorry to speak ill of the dead, but…." He shoved his fingers through his hair and took a breath. "Sorry. I don't mean…" He took a step back, giving her space. "Your mother should have defended you, but would she have, really? Your dad doesn't sound like the nicest guy in the world. Would she have disagreed with him? Or are you saying… Do you really think your mother didn't love you? "

Jasmine went into the kitchen and filled their glasses with water. Her hands were shaking, not with fear but with the terrible truth she didn't want to discuss. Or face.

Had her mother loved her? Perhaps. But not like she'd loved Leila. Leila had brought her joy. Jasmine had brought her tea.

Leila represented freedom.

Jasmine represented slavery.

Leila was Isaac, the child of promise.

Jasmine had always been Ishmael, the child of sin and slavery.

Ironic, considering Jasmine had become Khalid's Hagar.

When she returned to the living room, Derrick had settled on the sofa again. She handed him a glass.

"Thanks." He didn't sip it, just turned it between his hands.

"She did not love me like she loved Leila." Jasmine perched on the chair and sipped the water. "This is all I'm saying. I am a different kind of person."

Derrick stared at the wall, and though his head moved up and down, she didn't take that for agreement.

He set the glass on the coffee table and shifted toward her. He took her hand, enveloping it with warmth and gentleness. "I know you don't want to hear this, but since I'm pretty sure you already know, I'm going to say it anyway."

"Please, do not."

"How your father felt about you is irrelevant." Derrick continued as if she hadn't spoken. "How your mother felt about you doesn't matter. I wasn't there, and I can't… I don't know anything about that. I know this, though. I care about you very much, and not just because you're my friend. I have strong feelings for you."

"You must not." She tried to pull away, but he held on.

"Just let me say this. "

"You must not!" She tugged again, and he released his hold. "You do not understand."

"Apparently." His expression blanked. She didn't see hurt. Or pain. Or rejection. She saw…nothing.

A mask.

It broke her heart.

"You do not understand." Her voice cracked.

He faced the blank TV again. "So you said."

She stood and walked toward the kitchen, needing distance. Because everything inside her wanted to move closer to him. "You are confused." She was nearly to the table when she turned to face him. "You are here." She lifted one hand high in the air. "You are this kind of person."

He squinted. "Tall?"

"No, no." She shook her head. "Inside, I mean. Your character. Your family. Your…everything. You are this kind." She jabbed the hand she still held above her head. "You see?"

"No."

She lowered the hand to her knee. "I am this person. Low, you see?"

"Short, yeah. I noticed."

She stomped her foot and jabbed her hand again at knee level. "Listen. I am here." She lifted the hand. "You are here." She punctuated each statement with a jab of her hand. Keeping it high, she said, "Leila is here. Michael is here. All of you are here. I am"—she lowered the hand again—"here."

"Jazz, that doesn't even?—"

"You be quiet now. You listen."

His eyebrows hiked. For a moment, he seemed amused, but it didn't last. He sat back and crossed his arms. "Go on, then. Explain."

"You are college. I am not college." With each explanation, she moved her hand, up and down, hoping he would finally see what she meant. "You are business owner, pilot, professional. I am cleaner. You are from good family. I am from bad family."

"Leila's from the same family you are. Why isn't she?—?"

"She is different. She has always been different. Better. She escaped bad family. I only escaped because of her, you see?"

"No."

Jasmine wanted to scream in frustration. Was he being deliberately dense?

"You do not…what is word!" Her English was getting all jumbled. She was angry and frustrated, and she couldn't think. She swiped at tears, telling herself to stop her foolish crying. But how could she make herself reject this man?

And how could she not? She had no choice.

"I was with terrorists. I served terrorists. They were evil, and while they planned evil, I cooked, you see?"

She sounded ridiculous. By the time she was done, Derrick was sure to reject her. Which was what she wanted. Exactly what she wanted.

He stood, grabbed a box of tissues off an end table, and held it out to her, his expression filled with tenderness—and confusion.

She grabbed two and wiped her eyes.

"Did you choose to be there?" He perched on the arm of the sofa, giving her plenty of space. "With those terrorists?"

"It does not matter."

"It does matter, Jazz. Your choices matter very much."

Somehow, his kindness calmed her. She took a breath and leaned against the kitchen table. "There is a story in the Bible. A Canaanite woman came to Jesus and asked Him to heal her daughter. He came not for her but for the lost sheep of Israel. She appealed to Him, saying that even the dogs get the scraps. You know this story? "

Again, his eyes narrowed, only this time she wondered if he guessed where she was going. "What about it?"

"There are dogs, you see? There are people who belong and people who do not. You belong, Derrick. You and your family, you are good people. You are…chosen. I am grateful that Jesus loves even the dogs who don't belong. I know who I am."

He stared at her for a long time, and there was a moment when she thought she saw a flicker of understanding in his eyes. That tiny flicker nearly cracked her heart into a million pieces.

But then he shook his head. "I'm trying to understand, I really am. But you're not a Canaanite, and neither am I. And neither one of us is Jewish, either. We were not born as children of Abraham, but if God chose us, then we're chosen. That's how it works." Derrick walked toward her, slowly, deliberately. "God doesn't have a caste system, sweetheart."

The closer he got, the faster her heart raced. "Do not. You do not understand. Even my twin would not have come back for me. Even for her, I was not worthy."

"Leila doesn't define your worth, Jasmine."

"Mama loved Leila and died when she left. Baba loved Mama and fell apart when she died. Nobody loved me."

"God loves you. Doesn't He count?"

What she couldn't say, what she never wanted to have to say to Derrick, was the ugliest truth of all. That her father had seen her as a slave, never a daughter. And then a liability. He'd sold her to the first person willing to take her off his hands. To a man who saw her not as a beloved wife but as a concubine, a means to an end.

"I am not somebody who people love," she said. "I am not what you think. And it will not work."

He stopped a foot away from her. "You are precious and beautiful, Jasmine, and no matter how hard you try to talk me out of it, I love you. "

No.

He couldn't. He couldn't possibly.

"I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, but…" He shrugged. "It is what it is."

Emotion clogged her throat, but she forced words past it. "Then you are a fool." Before he could say anything else, she escaped to her bedroom.