“This is the Admissions Desk at Conners Memorial Hospital. Is this Timothy Hardaway?”
“Yes.”
“And are you married to Jasmine Hardaway?”
“Not now. We were married but we divorced almost 15 years ago.”
“Well, you’re still listed as her emergency contact and POA. She was brought to the Emergency Room unconscious. We really need someone here to give us information on her and permission to treat. Can you come?”
“How bad is she?”
“We can go over that when you come. She might regain consciousness before you get here, but we don’t want to take the chance. Please, can you come?”
“Of course, I’ll be there as soon as possible.” He hung up and went into the living room to put his jacket on.
“Tim, who was that on the phone? Are you going somewhere?”
“It was the hospital. My ex-wife Jasmine was brought into the Emergency Room unconscious. They need someone who can provide medical information on her. I’m going to the hospital now.”
Abby got up and ran towards her husband, “Hold on! Tim, you have no obligation to that woman anymore. You said you wouldn’t have anything else to do with her. I don’t think you should go. Your obligation is to me and Jessie now.”
“Abby, I have to go. She is hurt, and my information may be able to help her get the right treatment. I know you don’t care for her but think of it this way: If she hadn’t cheated on me, we might never have gotten married and together had the most precious girl in the world. All I plan to do is to give them some medical information.”
“That better be all.”
“Of course, dear.”
Tim exceeded the speed limit to get to the hospital. He had time though to remember Jasmine: their dating, their wedding, and six years of mostly married bliss. But there had also been the intense sorrow over two miscarriages and finally, her affair with her boss that turned into her becoming the company whore. He tried begging her to repent, but she was hooked on the lifestyle of multiple partners and the financial perks that came her way. He finally gave in and divorced her. Tim had heard that Jasmine had eventually gotten fired from the company and turned to escorting and prostitution to support herself. He felt sorry for her and even felt some guilt for not being able to be enough husband that would have prevented her from seeking other men.
Tim entered the Emergency Room and went to the admission window. He was escorted back the room where she was being treated. Jasmine was awake now and they didn’t need him to give any information or permission. As it turned out, her head injuries were not as serious as first feared. When she saw Tim, she started crying. Given her bloody and battered appearance, Tim’s bad memories of her betrayal were minimalized. He couldn’t help but cry too at the sight of her. Tim went over and hugged her as she sat up in the bed. She grabbed him tight saying over and over again, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He wasn’t sure what all she was sorry about, but his heart was wounded by seeing her current emaciated body decorated with a variety of tattoos, bruises, cuts and one visible cigarette burn. Jasmine’s right ankle and wrist were also bandaged but not in casts. Dried blood was on her clothes and the part of her head uncovered by bandages. In addition, there was a nasty cut to her head that had been stitched with those super band-aids.
“I can’t believe you came, Tim. I didn’t ask them to call you. I swear.”
“Is there someone else I can call for you — husband, boyfriend, family?”
“No. I don’t have anyone. My family disowned me years ago. Tim, I don’t have any money and I don’t have a place to stay now. My damned pimp kicked me out of the apartment he was keeping me in. I don’t know where to go or what to do.” More tears came flowing out.
“Is your pimp the one who did this to you?”
“Yes and no. He didn’t touch me himself, but he had two of his goons do it.”
“Have you talked to the police yet?”
“No. He would kill me for sure if I did that. I just need a safe place to rest up while I recover.”
“Do you think he is looking for you now?”
“Probably not, he said he never wanted to see me again and warned what would happen to me if I tried to hook independently in his territory.”
Tim quickly realized that he had a dilemma. His natural reaction to anyone in need was to offer help. It was stronger in this case because he knew the person who needed help, intimately at one time. He knew, however his wife would probably disagree with helping his ex-wife, maybe even to the point of threatening divorce if he brought her home. Scanning Jasmine’s battered body once again with his eyes, his need to help won out. “You can stay with us for a while, until you get better.”
“Us? Does that mean you’re still re-married?”
“Yes, my wife’s name is Abby, and we have an adorable but precocious 13-year- old daughter, Jessie.” He smiled at the thought of his daughter.
“I was so glad to hear that you are still remarried. You deserved a good wife and family after what I did to you. But Tim, that’s the reason I can’t accept your kind offer. I don’t want to cause any trouble for you with your family. I doubt your wife wants your ex living in the same house, especially one who sells her body as her occupation.”
“Your acceptance of our assistance shouldn’t cause any trouble in our home. My wife is a kind, caring Christian person at heart. You and I may no longer be married, but you are still someone I care about. Jasmine, you need help, so you are coming with me, at least for a few days. I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer so you might as well give in.”
Jasmine reviewed her options in her mind. It didn’t take long. There weren’t much to choose from. “I guess I don’t have much choice. Okay, I’ll go with you, but I promise I’ll only stay long enough to get on my feet. Speaking of which, they are bringing some crutches for me and then we can go.”
*****
RETURN HOME
Abby was anxiously alert as Tim opened the door to their house. Abby saw him coming in and wondered why he stayed in the doorway so long, then she saw him holding the storm door open behind him. A woman on crutches came vaulting into the living room. Abby stood in shock at the scene. Here was a painfully skinny woman in a torn outfit that barely covered any of her multi-tattooed skin. She wore industrial-strength makeup and had black streaks coming down from both eyes. The hair that was not covered by a bandage was matted with what she assumed was dried blood. The woman looked every bit the used up old whore she probably was.
“Abby, I imagine you’ve figured out that this is my ex-wife, Jasmine. She needs a place to stay for a few days and I offered to let her stay here until she is able to take care of herself.”
The look of shock on Abby’s face was evident to Tim and Jasmine. That look was followed by an angry stare. “Tim, can I talk to you a minute — alone?”
“Okay. Jasmine needs time to take a shower and get cleaned up anyway. Can you get her some of your clothes to wear when she finishes while I show her to the downstairs bathroom?”
A perturbed Abby huffed, “There’s a bag of my old clothes in the kitchen I was planning to take to Goodwill tomorrow. She can use them. I know I certainly don’t plan on wearing them again.”