Free Sins of the Mother by Victoria Christopher Murray Page A

the back of the couch to steady herself. “I . . . I had to talk to you.”
    Jasmine folded her arms. “There’s nothing I want to hear,” she began, her voice rising with each word, “and nothing I want to say.” She paused. “Well, actually, there is.”
    Mae Frances’s eyes brightened with a bit of hope.
    Jasmine stepped forward. “I told you before,” she began calmly, “but you obviously didn’t understand. So let me break this down for you. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from my family.”
    Mae Frances shook her head. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Your family is my family. And I’ve been praying that you wouldn’t still be this angry.”
    “Angry? Is that what you think I am?” She pointed her finger in Mae Frances’s face. “Angry would be if you forgot to give me an important message. Or if you lost my keys. But this . . . this is not anger,” Jasmine said, yelling now. “This is rage. This is hatred.”
    “But I never meant for this to happen.”
    Jasmine stomped to the door and pulled it open so hard that it slammed against the wall.
    “Listen to me,” Mae Frances pleaded. “Please, Jasmine.”
    Jasmine said nothing more. Just stared at Mae Frances with a look that told her to get out now.
    But Mae Frances didn’t move. “You have to know how much I love you. How much I love Jacquie.”
    Her daughter’s name passing through Mae Frances’s lips made Jasmine snap. She marched across the room until she was within an inch of the woman’s face.
    “Get out of my house,” she screamed, spittle flying from her mouth. “Get out now if you value your life. Get out now, or I won’t be responsible for what happens to you.”
    “Mrs. Bush?”
    Jasmine turned and stared into the faces of Detective Cohen, Dale Brody, and another man she’d never seen. But it was Detective Cohen who had called her name, who stood in front of the others, looking at her most intently.
    He stepped forward. His glance moved between Mae Frances and Jasmine. “Is everything all right in here?”
    It took a moment for her to stop shaking. Then Jasmine said, “This woman was just leaving.” If the man who’d asked her if she had a temper wasn’t standing right there, Jasmine would have pushed Mae Frances to the door, then, with the tip of her boot, kicked her out. But she kept her hands and her feet to herself, and just watched as Mae Frances staggered away. The woman had barely stepped over the threshold before Jasmine slammed the door behind her.
    When she turned around, Jasmine tried to face the men with some kind of smile. The three stared back, still shocked by her explosion.
    As if nothing happened, Jasmine said, “I’m going to see if my husband is ready. Please have a seat.” She walked away without looking back, and so she never saw the glance that passed between the men.
    • • •
    “Are you sure you’re going to be able to do this?” Dale questioned as he huddled in the kitchen with Jasmine and Hosea.
    Jasmine nodded. “I told you, I’m fine.”
    Hosea whispered, “What just happened . . . with Jasmine and Mae Frances. It won’t affect the test, will it?”
    Dale shook his head. “No, they ask baseline questions to get a steady read, but I always prefer if my clients are calm.”
    “I said I’m fine!” It came out louder than she wanted, but she didn’t care. This was all too much: Mae Frances, a polygraph, a detective who looked at her now as if she really were guilty. Detective Cohen couldn’t seem to keep his eyes away from her, staring as if he were about to take the handcuffs out and cart her away.
    But she didn’t care what the detective thought; this polygraph would prove that he was a fool and that she was innocent. Then, finally, they’d get back to the real business.
    “Okay then, if you’re ready, just remember,” Dale spoke softly, a sign to Jasmine to do the same. “Be yourself. Answer all of the questions