Page 49 of Wishes on Wildflowers
She tapped the icon and fumbled with the phone. “Hello?”
“Sweetheart, I hate to call at this time of night. Your brother…” Dad let out a frustrated growl. “Basil’s at the police station. He was driving under the influence.”
All vestiges of sleep blasted into the distance. “Was he in an accident?”Please, Lord, don’t let Basil have killed anyone.
“No, thank God. But he tried to run a checkpoint by the bridge then refused to cooperate for the breathalyzer.”
“Not good.” Jasmine scrubbed her hand through her hair. Yeah, her family had a glass of wine with dinner, but moderation had always been advised and demonstrated. How could this have happened? It wasn’t because her parents hadn’t instilled a healthy respect for its effects in all of them. No one abused alcohol. Except, apparently, Basil.
“Your mother and I are packing up and heading home in a few minutes. I don’t know why Basil used his one call on us when he knew we were out of state.”
Jasmine let out a sardonic chuckle. “I think it’s well-proven he isn’t thinking straight.”
“There’s that. But, well, we’re a solid five hours from Spokane, and I didn’t know whom to call besides you.”
“Me?” Words failed her. Surely Dad realized she and Basil hadn’t agreed on anything since childhood.
“You’re the steady one, Jasmine. The dependable one. I’m not sure how Alex or Evan would handle Basil, and Marco and Daria are still in Helena, too.”
“Is this where I tell you I’m likely to handle Basil by punching his face? I’m not sure I can look him in the eye without giving him a piece of my mind.”
Dad snorted. “Maybe you shouldn’t do that in the police station. Not sure I can handle having two of my kids arrested in one night.”
Basil. Driving drunk.Arrested.
Jasmine shook her head, willing the words to seep into her mind. This wasn’t a nightmare. It was real. “What do you want me to do?”
“Thanks, sweetheart. I don’t know that they’ll release him until he’s sobered up, but I feel like he needs family. He needs to know we’ll support him.”
“Supporthim?” She choked the words out.
“I don’t mean enable him or cover it up. Your mother and I are praying this will be a wakeup call for him. God has allowed this for a reason, and I choose to believe it’s grace. He’s not done with Basil.”
Obviously God was bigger than Jasmine because, she, personally, wassodone. She’d known her brother’s life choices had degenerated over the past couple of years, but going out with Dixie Wayling and then being arrested for a DUI brought him to a new low. What on earth had he been thinking? In either case?
With a start, she realized Dad was still talking.
“—needs to know he’s loved unconditionally, the way God loves us.”
“But he’s an idiot.”
“God doesn’t love saints any more than He loves serial killers, Jasmine. It’s not because He made us and is required to love us, so He divvies up a pre-wrapped piece of love to every human. No, He floods us all with vastly more love than we can absorb, more than we deserve no matter what we’ve done. God already loves Basil with everything in Him. He couldn’t possibly love him more.”
Well, when Dad put itthatway. But she wasn’t God. She wasn’t that big, that magnanimous. Basil bugged her, taunted her, belittled her.
I created him and died for him, and he rejected Me.
Jasmine closed her eyes. It wasn’t all about her. She knew that. But still, Basil got under her skin like no one else could. He always had. Big brothers were supposed to be there for their little sisters. Protect them on the playground, not tease them along with the other kids then run away laughing.
Forgive him.
He’d be a whole lot easier to forgive if he were sorry. If he came to her asking for it. Even now, she could see the raised eyebrows and sardonic sneer. He’d see her as weak. Allowing him a glimpse of her vulnerability had only ever resulted in giving him more power over her.
“Jasmine?”
She sighed. “Which station is he at?”
Heavy footfalls,followed by angry raised voices, woke Nathan from the light sleep he’d fallen into, a rude awakening from the dreams of kissing Jasmine in the moonlight. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to make out individual words.
