Haunting Jasmine by Anjali Banerjee Page A

sigh. “Virginia is insufferable.”
    “Stop this,” I say. I press my hands to my temples.
    The strange smells disappear, and only a faint lemon scent remains. There’s an absence in the room, as if someone has left.
    I take deep breaths, my head spinning.
    I shuffle back to the parlor, holding out my hand to brace myself against the wall as I go. When I step inside, everyone stares at me.
    “You look pale,” Lucia says. “Will you sit down?”
    The women all murmur. “You’re not feeling well?” “Is everything okay?”
    “I have my question. About the book,” I say. My voice sounds distant, as if someone else is speaking. “Consider Mr. Wickham’s function in the novel.”
    “Go on,” Lucia says, staring at me.
    “Think in terms of the geometry of desire. What is the source of Elizabeth’s attraction to Mr. Wickham?” Where am I getting this?
    “She believes he’s good,” a small, round woman says. “He’s everything she wants—handsome, accessible. He’s not proud. She can talk to him.”
    That was my ex-husband, Robert. He had me fooled, too. “What role does he play in her attraction to Mr. Darcy? What is the significance of his love affairs?”
    There’s a silence, then Lucia says, “He represents her preconceived notions—what appears on the surface versus what’s underneath. So it really is about first impressions.”
    “Exactly,” I say.
    “How did you come up with this question?” Virginia asks, her gaze prickly.
    “I have no idea. I didn’t even read the book, at least, not recently.” The knot tightens in the back of my neck. All eyes are on me. The house creaks; the floorboards groan as they settle. The walls breathe dust. Virginia is shaking her head, skeptical. What does she think, that I ran off to read the CliffsNotes on Pride and Prejudice ?
    “I knew it.” Lucia slaps the table. “I knew Jasmine would know just what to say.”
    Toxic black mold must be growing here, making me hear things, smell things. I’m allergic to laundry detergent, or maybe a tumor is growing on my brain. The house will have to throw another tantrum tonight. I’m not staying past dark.
    After I bid the book group good-bye, I run up to the apartment to grab my luggage. My suitcase thumps all the way down the stairs.
    The wind picks up, blasting the house, and to the west, twilight drops a gray blanket across the sky. As I reach to open the heavy front door, a shadow falls across the foyer, and a familiar baritone voice slides across my skin. “Jasmine, wait. You’re leaving us so soon?”

Chapter 18
     
    “Connor, you scared me half to death.” My suitcase tips over, the handle slipping from my fingers. I hastily yank it upright again. “What are you doing here?”
    “I was hoping to catch you. Looks like you’re going away.” He steps in front of me, blocking my path to the door. He has just arrived from somewhere, the smell of the outside air and a hint of wood smoke still clinging to his clothes. He has a fondness for travel jackets, cargo pants, and hiking boots.
    “I’m closing up the store.” I dangle the bookstore keys in the air between us. “I’m staying with my parents down the road.”
    “You’re open until eight, another half hour.”
    “I know, but I have to close early. Will you come back tomorrow? I’m in a hurry.” I try to brush past him, but my suitcase has gained a couple hundred pounds.
    “You’ll return in the morning?” he says, sounding worried. A faint halo surrounds him, the glow from a Tiffany lamp.
    “Before the store opens.” My suitcase wheels are turning now, but the front door seems to be welded shut.
    “I’ll try to stop in before work,” he says. He opens the front door with ease and steps out onto the porch. How did he manage that? His dark hair shines in the pale porch light.
    I drag my suitcase out after him and turn to lock the deadbolts from the outside. “Still can’t get the hang of this.” I jiggle one key this way and