Chapter 25
CHAPTER 25
Jasmine
B y the end of that day, Eric had sent over my severance of contract papers. At the least, I wasn’t getting smacked with a breach of contract. He was just cutting me off and cutting me out of his life, believing I’d betrayed him.
I was left alone and desolate. Absolutely gutted. I still didn’t know how James had discovered the information about my parents but whatever resources he had, I was certain he’d found out about Eric’s parents the same way. There was no other explanation for how those details could have come to light. James was the only common denominator, and I knew he was vindictive enough to do something so despicable to Eric and make it look like I was involved and betrayed Eric in the process.
In essence, James had set me up for his own sick, twisted revenge. Provide me with the details about my parents’ deaths, then leak Eric’s most sacred secret. Make it look like I gave up Eric’s private life just to have a slice of my own back.
It was all so fucked up. Especially when there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to make Eric believe I had nothing to do with the article. No amount of begging or pleading or trying to explain what I imagined happened would make him change his mind. Not without proof of James’ involvement, of which I had none.
I hadn’t stopped crying since Eric left my apartment, and right now there was only one person I trusted that could help me make sense of my upside-down world. Dominique.
I picked up my cell, hoping and praying that if she was aware of that damned article, she knew I had nothing to do with being the anonymous source. I dialed her number and waited, feeling my anxiety increase as the ringer went on and on until she eventually picked up the call.
“Jasmine, finally. I was wondering when you were going to call me.”
Her voice was calm and steady. Non-judgemental. That was a relief. Judging by her greeting, I had the feeling that she already knew about me and Eric, but I had no idea if she’d seen what had been printed in The Affluent Collective . Or what she knew in general.
Regardless, it all came pouring out of me. “Dominique, something terrible happened.” My voice sounded choked, like the words were fighting against leaving my already scratchy, dry throat from crying. “Someone exposed details about Eric’s parents in the worst possible way, and he thinks I’m the one who provided the information. I don’t know what to do—”
“Taking a nice, deep, calm breath to start would be the first best thing to do, darling.”
As always, Dominque was cool, calm, and collected. It was a trait that I had thought I’d mastered, but obviously I still had a lot to learn. This whole situation had thrown me off kilter and out of sorts.
I did as she said, though. One breath in, one out.
“Good girl,” she said, once I wasn’t quite as frazzled. “Now, I’ve already read the nasty article about Eric’s parents. Unfortunately, it’s a big buzz around the prominent circles in Coral Gables. I haven’t been able to reach him directly by phone. I get the impression he’s not taking any calls at the moment, all things considered, but he did send me a text telling me not to worry about him.”
That wasn’t as reassuring as I wanted it to be. “Did he say anything about me?”
Dominique hesitated for a moment before replying. “Well, he rather politely told me that due to irreconcilable differences, he would be terminating your contract and, through no fault of mine, has decided to cease escort services for the foreseeable future.”
It was so brusque and impersonal that it hurt. To be talked about like I was just a failed business transaction made my heart twist in my chest. But then again, that’s exactly what I had been at the start, hadn’t I? Who knew I’d fall in love Eric over the course of our time together.
“Dominique, I would never do such a thing—”
“Child, I’m not stupid,” she said, cutting me off, and I could easily imagine her stern look aimed directly at me for even implying such a thing. “I’ve known you long enough to know that you weren’t this ‘anonymous source’ that popped up out of nowhere. Now, why does Eric think you are?”
“From what I understand, James and Eric have been going back and forth with each other on some business issues. Whatever happened, I know it’s been stressful and tense for Eric.” I stood from my sofa and walked over to the window in my living room, staring out over the nearby park I lived next to. “So, this last trip to Eric’s parents’ I was sick and didn’t go with him. James came to my apartment, then he…he…”
“Jasmine, what did he do?” Dominque’s voice was direct and alarmed.
I know what she feared and quickly reassured her. “It wasn’t that. He had some private investigator look into my parents’ hit and run. He found the person responsible, and he came by to give me the information, which now, in hindsight, feels like a set up. Eric’s driver saw him in my apartment when he brought me some groceries, and well, a few hours later The Affluent Collective publishes this ‘breaking news’.”
“Oh, I have no doubt that James is behind this,” Dominique said angrily. “Word has it that Eric bought a very lucrative piece of property right out from under James to make it into a co-op for artists, and we both know that James is not a man to be slighted like that without finding a way to be vindictive.”
“I walked right into his trap,” I said, shaking my head at my naiveté. “I know James gave me the information on my parents, which has just left me confused and unsure of what to do when all this feels like petty revenge for what happened between us, and a way to hurt Eric, too, for losing out on the property he wanted.”
“Jasmine, you know as well as I do that James would have found a way to get to you, or Eric, if that was his goal,” she assured me in that motherly, soothing voice of hers. “And for now, there’s nothing that can be done to change what has already happened. Eric will be fielding the fallout from this obnoxious invasion of privacy and while I believe that he will survive publicly over time, it will be the fact that it happened at all that will be the hardest for him to handle and compartmentalize.”
“With him believing I was the source.” Throat tight with emotion, I pressed a hand to my chest, hating that Eric was alone and in an agony of his own. That I could do nothing to soothe or ease his pain. “I have no proof that James is the person who leaked the information. Just a gut feeling because everything was too planned out. But I do know that if Eric suspects him, and confronts him, James will tell him that I took the information about my parents in exchange for giving him those details, and awful lies, about his parents. I don’t know what to do.”
“Unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do, Jasmine,” Dominique said, her tone gentle but blunt. “Eric isn’t going to be in the headspace to think rationally for a while, not until things die down and he has some kind of control over the situation. Just remember, that the truth always prevails.”
A humorless laugh escaped me, because the possibility of the truth being exposed seemed highly unlikely. Someone with deep pockets like James would have undoubtedly covered his tracks. In fact, wasn’t he the one that told me that money could cover things up and make them disappear, like the truth behind who had killed my parents?
“In the meantime, what are you going to do with the information James gave you?” Dominique asked, interrupting my thoughts. “About your parents?”
That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? “I honestly don’t know if I should take this to the police, or burn it or…” I couldn’t say the last part, though, because I knew confronting the person who’d killed my parents could have so many repercussions I wasn’t equipped to handle. But I desperately wanted to.
“Or?” she prompted.
I paused, then decided to confide in Dominique. “The information, the reports that James gave, came with an address of where the person is living right now.”
Dominique was silent for a moment. It was rare that she could be rendered speechless. “That’s a dangerous bit of information, Jasmine.”
“I know,” I agreed, feeling so torn. “It’s just…it’s there as an option. Maybe I can get answers that will give me the closure I’ve always wanted. I could learn why my parents had to die but this person, whoever they are, was able to go on with their life without any consequences. I want them to know that they irrevocably changed my entire life, while they’ve been enjoying theirs.”
“I’m not one to tell you what to do. You know that,” Dominique said, compassion in her tone. “But I also realize how important something like this would be for you. Just know if you choose to go down this route, you should be careful. You’ve done a lot of healing over the years and I would hate to see you end up reopening old wounds only to let them fester all over again, just because James handed you the knife to do it.”
There was so much wisdom and truth in that statement. But what I did know is that I wanted this closure. I needed it to move forward and not have those loose ends hanging over me for the rest my life.
Dominique’s warning was always in the back of my mind as I planned my trip over the next four weeks, but mostly it had taken that amount of time to gather the courage I needed to actually do it. And those days in between were filled with me painting, pouring out my grief on canvas with dark, depressing images. Not just for the loss of my parents, but mourning Eric, too, who I missed unbearably and hadn’t heard a word from.
Not that I expected to. The gossip surrounding the article might have died down—and James had conveniently taken a trip abroad to London right after handing me the information on my parents—but I wasn’t under any illusions that Eric was any closer to finding out, or believing, that I had nothing to do with the leak. I’d heard through Dominique that he’d gone to New York and was still there, probably to make sure none of the slanderous gossip touched his parents in any way, which is all he ever cared about. Protecting his mother and father from something exactly like this.
His lack of faith in me hurt the most, that he would ever believe I’d betray him so completely. That everything we’d shared, that allowing him to see the most vulnerable parts of me and my life weren’t enough to convince him that I didn’t have the ability to be so cold and cruel.
But eventually my paintings turned a corner. They lightened, became images of hope and peace and possibilities. And that’s when I knew I was ready. The sorrow wasn’t gone, nor would it probably ever be. But just as I’d come to terms with living my life without my mother and father in it, I had to do the same when it came to Eric. I had to move on, and heal, and I believed closing this chapter in my life with my parents’ death would at least allow me to truly focus on what was important to me. What they would have wanted for me, and my future.
I hadn’t returned to work since Eric ended our contract, and I had no intention of going back to escorting, not when I was still so in love with Eric. I had enough money saved that I could afford to take off the next year and figure out what I truly wanted to do with my future. Right now, I wanted to create art, because that had always been my passion and I’d lost sight of those aspirations after losing my parents. My greatest desire was to share my work with like-minded people, and feel joy again.
I loved that Dominique was my biggest supporter. Urging me to follow my dreams and I planned to, whole-heartedly. She’d even set me up with my first showing at a gallery that showcased up and coming artists, but first, I needed to put the past to rest, and that meant facing the person who’d killed my parents.
So, after a three-hour drive, and a stop at a Starbucks for comfort food, I found myself at the address listed as the last known residence of Henry P. Smith. The seventeen-year-old who’d run my parents into a ravine and fled the scene. Whose own parents, who had money and connections, made the whole thing disappear before it could actually come to light.
The thing was, though, is that the address didn’t bring me to a residence. It brought me to a funeral home with a cemetery adjacent to the building.
Confused, I double checked the address, only to find it was correct.
Frowning, I parked off to the side, not sure what to do. I’d never been to a cemetery before. My parents had been cremated because it’d been cheaper than buying them two plots. Even then, it felt oddly uncomfortable being here.
Why was I here? I figured there were two possible options. One, this was James’ morbid way of getting the last laugh by giving me the address of a graveyard. Or two, since this was Henry’s last known address, maybe he now worked at the funeral home or cemetery as a caretaker and James thought it safer to confront him at his place of work rather than his own home. Not that I really thought that James would be that concerned, but I had no other explanation.
So, exhaling a deep breath, I stepped out of my car. I had the file of information with me and what I hoped was courage stirring in my chest and not fear as I walked into the building just before the gated entrance to the cemetery. It was eerily silent, and smelled of roses inside, though I couldn’t see any in sight. To say it was as quiet as the dead would be an understatement.
“Can I help you, dear?”
An older woman approached me. She wore a green skirt suit combo, and comfortable short-heeled shoes. She looked friendly, and warm. Like I would imagine a grandmother to be.
“Oh, uhm. Maybe?” I stumbled over my words, my face taking on an embarrassed heat. “I’m actually looking for a Henry Smith. I was told I would find him here?”
She looked at me quizzically. “Are you a friend of the family?” she asked. “I’ve never seen you here before.”
Now, I was confused. Again. “Oh, no, I assumed he, uhm…worked here?”
The woman blinked at me one more time, and then shook her head. “I’m sure there must be some confusion, dear. Henry has been dead for quite some time. His mother recently passed; her plot is near his.”
I stood there, shell-shocked for a moment, trying to process what she’d just told me. That someone as young as Henry—close to the same age as me going by the investigative report—was dead. “I, uhm…I’m so sorry, I must have been mistaken.”
Before the woman could say another word, I rushed out of the building, furious that James would play on my emotions so cruelly. His investigator had to have known that Henry was no longer alive, yet James had given me this address as his last known place of residence. It was such a spiteful thing for James to do, but I shouldn’t have been surprised considering what a prick he was.
I should have gone to my car and hightailed it out of there. Instead, I went through the gated archway in search of Henry’s plot, just to confirm for myself what the other woman said was true. Headstones upon headstones were everywhere. And unlike a library, with everything filed in neat, alphabetical rows, the cemetery was unalphabetized chaos, no rhyme or reason to where a person was buried.
I kept looking, reading every single headstone. And then I found it. A large, elaborate memorial made of marble, the grassy area around it kept clean with a small bundle of sunflowers set right in front of it, as if someone had recently visited.
The engraved words were simple. Henry’s full name, the date of his birth, the date of his death—just two years after the deaths of my parents—and the following line of script: Loving son. Rest in peace. You are forgiven.
My chest grew tight as I stood there. I’d expected to meet Henry with the anger I’d carried with me for years, so the unexpected sadness and sorrow that coursed through me took me off guard because that was the last thing I wanted to feel for the person who’d killed my parents.
You are forgiven . The words were so distinct. Had he felt guilty then? Had Henry also spent his waking moments thinking about my parents and the lives he’d stolen because of his actions? And beside him, there was his mother’s plot, the date of her death just barely a year ago.
“I figured you’d find your way here, eventually.”
A clear male voice startled me out of my angst and I turned around, seeing a middle-aged man in a fitted, tailored suit, standing not too far from me. The expression on his face was pensive, but calm. He looked at me like he knew me.
And I recognized his face, because it was an older version of the one attached to the reports in my file. The father.
When I set out on this journey, I had pictured every possible scenario. Yelling. Demanding answers. Demanding that they take themselves to the police. Demanding that they let me take my pound of flesh in whatever way I saw fit.
But now that I was there, faced with this man and his dead wife and son, I was rooted to the spot. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t move. I had tunnel vison leading right to the man who was, in part, responsible for the death of my parents going unpunished.
“It must be very hard,” the man continued. “I just…had a feeling today so I came here, and here you are.” He paused a moment, the look in his eyes somber. “I wonder if this is my punishment.”
I swallowed, finally finding my voice, even though it was raspy when I spoke. “You know me?” It was the first thing that came to my mind. Had this man hired someone to watch me all this time? Just to make sure I didn’t find out who was responsible?
“Not in the way you’re probably thinking,” he said. “But there’s a look in your eyes that tells me you have very specific feelings about the people that are here, in front of you. Feelings that run very deep.”
I scoffed. “Deep feelings…right.” That rage finally made an appearance, and I unleashed it on the man in front of me. “What are you going to say to me, huh? Are you going to ask me to forgive him? To forgive you and your wife?” I held up the file in my hand, even as hot, angry tears filled my eyes. “Everything’s in here. The payoffs. The deals. Making the whole thing disappear so that it was just a forever unsolved hit and run. Just so he could go off and live the rest of his life in peace!”
The man tilted his head, a pained look in his eyes as he watched me dash away my tears. “Do you really think my son would be dead right now if he was allowed to peacefully live his life after that incident? Moreover, that I would expect you of all people to forgive him? Forgive us?”
The man slowly came closer, until he was standing in front of the headstones with me. He kept his hands in his pockets, staring at the graves of his son and his wife.
“What we did was to protect him,” he said, and there was no arrogance in his tone, just regrets. “He was just a kid. He’d made a mistake. At least, that’s what we told ourselves. We didn’t want him to end up in prison for a good portion of his life.”
He finally looked to me, the anguish on his face genuine. “But we were wrong. Henry wanted to confess. He came to us after what he did, tears down his face, panicked, afraid even, but ready to own up to what he did. But…when you’re a parent, you don’t think of anything other than saving your child. We wanted to save him from those consequences.”
My mind was only focused on one thing. “He…he wanted to confess?”
The father nodded. “Yes. Gilda and I wouldn’t let him. So, we did what people with money often do. We made the ugliness disappear. It was the greatest mistake we ever made. Henry fell into a deep depression. He turned to hard drugs because the emotional impact of what he’d done became too great for him to bear. We didn’t know if it was intentional or an accident but the heroin in his system was enough to kill him, and it did. I just don’t think he could handle the shame and guilt any longer.”
“He died of an overdose?”
“Yes. In our family home,” he replied, glancing back down at the marbled stone. “He’d dropped out of college and we were trying to give him some space, but living with what he did was…too much, I suppose. Losing him devastated us, and my wife ended up going down that same path. Sometimes I think she started doing heroin just to try and understand why he did what he did. Or maybe she felt like she needed an out, too. So, here I am. The only one left.”
I didn’t know what to say to any of that. Henry had wanted to go to the police and confess, and this man and his wife had stopped him, ultimately leading to Henry’s death. And then his wife’s.
“Ironic,” I finally said softly, sadly.
“Hmm?” he questioned.
I glanced at him, truly meeting his gaze for the first time. “The two lives I lost, and two lives you lost,” I elaborated. “It’s ironic. In a morbid way.”
He stared down at me. “Yet I imagine it doesn’t bring you much comfort.”
I shook my head and answered truthfully. “No. It doesn’t.”
We stood there in silence together. This man had explained things, yet I had no idea what to do with the information. Was this closure? How could it be when I didn’t even get the chance to…to… to what?
What would yelling do? Or issuing ultimatums? If his wife and his son were still alive, it wouldn’t change the fact that my parents weren’t. Nothing would, and I would never have them back.
“I see why you put that on his headstone,” I said after a moment. “Hoping that he forgives himself, wherever he is. He never did when he was alive, did he?”
Slowly, the man shook his head. “No, he didn’t.” He was quiet for a moment, before speaking again. “And you? Do you forgive him?”
I couldn’t lie to placate this man’s conscience. “No. I don’t think I can forgive any of you. But I can move on. There’s no point in holding on to this anymore. I should have let it go a long time ago.” There was a lot that I needed to let go of now, but at least I felt as though I could release myself from this anguish before I truly dealt with the misery of losing Eric.
“For what it’s worth…I am sorry,” he said. “And whatever you do from here, with your information, I respect your choice. Even if it damns me.”
I knew right then that there wasn’t anything more I needed from this visit, because there wasn’t any greater pain I could inflict upon this man. “I can’t damn you anymore than you’ve already damned yourself.”