Free The Last Sunday by Terry E. Hill Page B

home, honey. I missed you,” she said while hugging her rigid daughter. “How was it? Are you feeling any better?”
    â€œIt was horrible. Why did you send me there?”
    Samantha released her from the embrace. “Because you almost died. I had just lost your father, and I didn’t want to lose you too.”
    â€œWould you have even noticed?” she asked coldly.
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous. Of course I would notice. What are you talking about?”
    â€œYou know exactly what I’m talking about.”
    Jasmine busied herself with emptying the contents of a Louis Vuitton overnight bag onto the bed.
    â€œNo, I don’t. Please explain yourself, young lady.”
    Jasmine turned sharply to Samantha. “Daddy and I were just props to you. Pieces you trot out when the cameras are rolling or you need to impress some large donor. The perfect Cleaveland family. Well, look at us now. Not so perfect, are we? My daddy is dead, and I wish I was too. But you look great. You must be very happy now. Daddy is out of the way, and now everything belongs to you.”
    Jasmine’s last words were greeted with a stinging slap across her cheek from Samantha.
    â€œJust because your father is no longer with us does not mean you can speak to me like that,” Samantha said, causing the stinging on Jasmine’s cheek to intensify. “I will not be spoken to in that tone. Do you understand me?”
    A look of terror crept across Jasmine’s face as her mother loomed, ready to strike again. For the first time she saw evil on her mother’s hardened face. She saw a gleam in her eye that was unfamiliar. Menacing, almost dangerous. Her beloved father was no longer there to serve as a buffer between the two of them. She was suddenly afraid to be alone in a room with her mother.
    â€œYou hated him, didn’t you?” Jasmine finally said, holding her burning cheek. “And you hate me too.”
    Samantha softened her stance and smiled warmly. “You know that’s not true, don’t you, honey? I love you. You are all I have in the world.” As she spoke, she took a step closer to Jasmine.
    Jasmine moved quickly backward. “Stay away from me,” she said with a slight tremble in her voice. “Don’t come near me. I hate you.”
    â€œI know you don’t mean that, darling,” Samantha said with a smile. “You’re just tired. I’ll let you rest now. We can talk more later.”
    Samantha turned toward the door and walked the expanse of lush rose carpet. She then spun around on her heels and said, “Your father is gone now, Jasmine. I won’t tolerate any more of your nonsense. It’s just you and me now. Understand?”
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    Tour buses rolled through the grounds of New Testament Cathedral, filled with tourists who gawked at fountains at every turn, crosses hewn from Italian marble, amphitheaters, and at the center, the glass cathedral. It was an ecclesiastical Disneyland. The eyes of the world were focused on the ten-acre plot of heaven in downtown Los Angeles. News vans dotted the compound, chronicling for the world the week of activities before the grand opening of what was now the most famous building in the world.
    The week’s agenda included dinners at the Cleaveland Estate with the mayor, governor, and other assorted dignitaries and a prayer breakfast with clergy from every faith. Samantha was center stage every second of the week. She had outfits laid out for every event and a cadre of staff to assure that each went off without a hitch.
    Samantha sat at the head of the table in a glass conference room with twenty religious leaders from around the world, who had assembled for the highly publicized prayer breakfast. They each had been flown in on private jets, courtesy of New Testament Cathedral, and accommodated in hotel suites around the city. The conference room had been transformed into a formal dining room,