The Someday List (19 page)

She entered through the front door and tiptoed to the powder
room, which was conveniently located just before the living room
entrance. She closed the door behind her, flipped on the light, and
stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot.

I know I did not just lock lips with Troy Hardy.

She wondered whether God was keeping score and if today's
offense equaled three strikes all by itself.

Rachelle splashed cold water on her face and patted her eyes,
hoping to draw less attention to them. When she felt calmer and
able to pretend as if everything were all right, she took a deep
breath and emerged from the bathroom.

Voices floating from the living room caught her attention. She
crossed the hallway and poked her head inside. Aunt Irene was
sitting up on her cot, flanked by Uncle Charles and a well-dressed
man wearing a bow tie. Rachelle waved hello.

Uncle Charles motioned for her to join them. "Rachelle, meet
John Dupree, our lawyer. He's going to represent your aunt on
the misdemeanor stemming from the car accident:"

"Oh;' Rachelle said. This was the first time they had spoken
openly about the charge, although it had been written up in the
newspaper. "Is there going to be a trial?"

Mr. Dupree looked in Aunt Irene's direction. "We're hoping
for a bench trial, which means the judge will briefly hear the case
himself, without us having to select a jury and face a drawn-out
process. As soon as Irene feels up to it, I'd like to get her involved
in a community service project. That will go a long way toward
convincing the judge to be lenient, since this is her first offense.
Something not too strenuous, but valuable, to show that she's
serious about contributing to society and not making the same
mistake."

He waited for Aunt Irene's response.

"I'll go to the AA meetings if you think that will help, John,"
she told him. "But honestly, I have not had a drop of vodka, or
any alcohol, since the accident, and I'm not craving it"

A heavy silence filled the room.

"What?" Aunt Irene asked. She looked from her lawyer to her
husband. "You don't believe me?"

Uncle Charles shrugged. "You've made promises before, Irene:"

Rachelle was stunned enough to sit on the sofa. Just how long
had Aunt Irene been drinking?

"You change for a little while, then you get stressed and run
back to your usual crutch;' Uncle Charles continued. "What makes
this time any different?"

Aunt Irene was fair-skinned enough that Rachelle recognized
her embarrassment when she blushed.

"I've never caused a major accident before, Charles;' she said
softly. "I know how serious this is:'

Mr. Dupree rose from his seat and shook hands with Aunt
Irene, Uncle Charles, and Rachelle.

"Ladies, gentleman, gotta run to my next appointment;' he
said. "Call me, Irene, when you've thought about the community
service piece, and I'll be researching places as well that might be
a good fit."

He left through the front door and closed it behind him. Aunt
Irene leaned forward and looked at Uncle Charles.

"So you think I'm still drinking?" she said again to Uncle
Charles. "You think I'm that crazy?"

He opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated. He was
saved from responding by a light knock at the kitchen door, which
was often unlocked when they were home. It creaked open, and
though Rachelle and the others couldn't see who had entered,
Rachelle knew by the clickety-clack of her stilettos on the kitchen
tile that Aunt Melba had arrived.

"Hey, family!" she said.

When she didn't grace the living room right away, Rachelle
pictured her poking around in the fridge.

"Rachelle, you didn't cook today?"

Rachelle chuckled. "It's time to go home when Aunt Melba
starts showing up, looking for me to prepare a good meal. I don't
cook like this in Houston, you know."

Melba entered with a Diet Coke in her hand. "I know-you've
got a maid and all. Must be nice. But at least you learned well from
your mama. You've got pretty good culinary skills:'

Rachelle laughed again. "You're wrong about that one;' she
said. "I didn't learn how to boil water until I showed up at Everson
and Aunt Irene felt sorry for me. She told me I was `disabled' and
made me come over once a month with my friend Jillian to learn
how to cook a new dish"

The thought of Jillian made her sad. She hadn't heard anything
since her visit to San Diego, but in this case, no news was good.

Aunt Melba slid onto the sofa next to Rachelle. The piece of
furniture had been shoved against a wall in the living room to
better position Aunt Irene's bed.

"What are y'all up to?" she asked.

Uncle Charles quietly left the women to talk.

Irene told her about the lawyer's visit and his suggestion that
she find a place to volunteer. Melba took another swig of soda
and gave a thumbs-up.

"Got the perfect place for you-Cynthia's pediatric practice,"
she said.

"What?" Aunt Irene and Rachelle said in unison.

"What would I do with a bunch of cranky, sick little kids?"
Aunt Irene asked. "I don't want to go anywhere that's going to
leave me blowing my nose or taking my temperature at the end
of the day"

Melba waved off her concern. "Cynthia has college students in
there all the time, reading to kids in the waiting room, or helping
parents understand the various pamphlets she distributes about
asthma and other chronic conditions.

"Like I mentioned before, she serves a lot of young mothers,
who come to her to get the guidance they're lacking at home.
There are a number of things you could do to assist her, Irene. She
would welcome you with open arms, and you'd be rendering the
kind of community service your lawyer is talking about:"

Aunt Irene looked pensive. "But what about my hip? I can get
around alright with my crutches or the wheelchair, but I cant
be chasing around hardheaded children. I taught high school
for thirty years because the younger age groups weren't my cup
of tea."

Aunt Melba laughed. "Those babies in Cynthia's office don't
want you chasing them. Sitting in a wheelchair, or in one of the chairs in the waiting area, should be okay. Think about it and let
me know. I'll call Cynthia if you want to give it a try."

Rachelle touched Aunt Melba's arm. "If she's open to that idea,
ask her if I can come too. I haven't done eye exams in a long time,
but I'd be happy to help with the routine pediatric eye check-ups or
serve as an extra set of hands for whatever else she might need:"

The phone rang and Aunt Irene picked up the cordless receiver
to look at the caller ID. She raised an eyebrow. "It's Troy Hardy.
Wonder what he wants."

Rachelle bit her lip and frowned. Aunt Irene and Aunt Melba
both noticed.

"If he's calling for me, tell him I'm not here;' Rachelle said.

Aunt Melba cocked her head to the side and stared at Rachelle.
"Why would she need to do that? And why would our music
director be calling here for his married ex-wife?"

unt Melba leapt from the sofa and grabbed the phone
from Aunt Irene before it stopped ringing. Even in
her stilettos, she didn't falter.

"Burns residence," she said. "Hello, Troy. It's Melba. How are
you? You're calling for Rachelle? Well, can I take a message for
her?"

Aunt Irene frowned and swatted Melba's arm. She motioned
for Melba to give the phone to Rachelle, but Melba pretended
not to see.

Rachelle wouldn't have been surprised if her heart pounded
right through her shirt. What had she started?

"No message?" Melba asked. "You sure? I mean, you took the
time to call"

She pursed her lips and nodded. "Got it. I will be sure to tell
her. And Troy? Oh, never mind."

Aunt Melba hung up and returned the phone to Irene. She put
a hand on her hip and glared at Rachelle. "What is going on?"

"What did he say?" Rachelle asked. "And what was that last
exchange about? That whole `never mind' thing?"

"He said to tell you he was out of line and that he's sorry," Aunt
Melba said. "He said to tell you he owes you an explanation. I told him `never mind' because instead of handling it with him, I'm
going to deal with you:'

Aunt Irene looked at Rachelle. "Where have you been today?
What is he talking about?"

Rachelle's face grew warm. She started to squirm. This could
not be happening.

"Rachelle?" Aunt Irene said. "Why is Troy calling here for
you?"

Aunt Melba moved toward Rachelle and grabbed her by the
arm.

"Come on;' she said and pulled Rachelle from her chair. "We'll
be back later, Irene. Will you be okay?"

Aunt Irene nodded. "Charles is here for the rest of the afternoon. Go on. Get things straightened out. We can't have Troy
calling here like this"

Aunt Melba kept her grip on Rachelle's arm and led her outside
to her Volvo. She unlocked the car with her keychain device and
walked Rachelle to the passenger side, where Rachelle opened
the door and plopped in the seat.

When Aunt Melba had settled behind the wheel, Rachelle
turned to her. "Why are you treating me like I'm twelve years
old? Why are you even getting involved in this? Was that all that
Troy said?"

Aunt Melba didn't respond. She put the car in reverse and pulled
out of the driveway, steering the two miles to her house in silence.
When they reached the beige brick rancher, she ushered Rachelle
inside, into her family room. She offered Rachelle a seat on the
sofa and returned a few minutes later with a glass of iced tea.

Rachelle sat back and sipped it while Aunt Melba settled on the
floor in front of her and began rifling through the lower shelves
of a wall-length bookcase.

"What are you looking for?" Rachelle finally asked. "And why
did you bring me here to ignore me?"

Aunt Melba finally found what she was searching for-a small
black photo album that had been tucked in the back of the bookshelf, behind a row of hardcover novels. She dusted it off and stood
up, pressing the album to her chest.

Aunt Melba came over and sat next to Rachelle. She waited until
Rachelle set her glass of tea on the table and turned to face her.

"Do you know who you are?"

Rachelle frowned. "What are you talking about, Aunt Melba?
And why did you bring me here? To ask silly psychological
questions?"

Aunt Melba stared at her for the longest time without responding. Then she passed the photo album to Rachelle.

"You want me to look at your pictures?" Rachelle asked, wondering if Aunt Melba was losing it.

"Rachelle, I've never been married and I've never confronted
the regret that must come with being reunited with someone you
once loved dearly." Aunt Melba spoke slowly and thoughtfully. "I
haven't walked in your shoes, so I have no idea what you're thinking or feeling. But I do know what it feels like to be tempted and
to yield to your emotions because it seems right and you think
that makes it okay.

"I know what it feels like to wish you could go back to yesterday
and fix everything you messed up when you were young and stupid
and thought you knew everything. I've been there, and it seems
to me that you're heading down that path for a second time.

"Whatever happened between you and Troy years ago needs to
stay there;' Aunt Melba said. "I'm telling you this because I love
you. I know you're struggling in your relationship with Gabe, and
coming here and seeing Troy has only clouded the issue further. But you know what? What you're really struggling with is yourself.

"You have to figure out who Rachelle Mitchell Covington is,
behind all of the titles-wife, mother, niece, cousin, friend. What
do you want out of life? What is your purpose, independent of
the people who fill your life? I'm not saying you don't need those
people, but until Rachelle comes to know and love Rachelle, how
can she really love anybody else? And until you decide to surrender your heart to God, you might not ever be able to claim
a piece of it for yourself. Maybe that's why you're trying to turn
back time:"

Rachelle lowered her head and closed her eyes. She hadn't yet
opened the photo album that she now clutched to her chest.

Everything Aunt Melba said struck a chord. She didn't know
who she was. She never had.

That was why it had been so easy for her to give up on a life
with Troy when her parents had insisted. She had always been
their perfect little princess and hadn't wanted that to change.

That was why she had so readily latched onto Gabe after taking
him home one weekend and getting her mother's approval. At least
the second time she wed, she got to have a real wedding.

Having the children back to back had been Gabe's idea, as
had her membership in Houston's Junior League, Jack and Jill,
and other elite organizations that would help them both become
movers and shakers in the Houston Metroplex area. Gabe had
even chosen her girlfriends, because he happened to associate
with or like their husbands.