The Someday List (23 page)

Stevens stood up and faced Gabe. "Don't go bringing God
into this. You're no scapegoat. We all have to deal with the consequences of our actions, no matter who we are-saved or sinner. You still need to ask him to forgive you, along with asking
Rachelle-and Veronica, for that matter-if you're serious about
fixing things:"

"Veronica?" Gabe said and frowned.

"Yeah, her too," Stevens said. "I don't know how all of this
started, but you chose to participate. You chose to cheat on your
wife, and in the process, you violated Veronica too. If you had resisted, she wouldn't have been able to act on her desires. It took
only one of you to be strong enough to stop."

Gabe put his head in his hands and groaned. When he lifted
his eyes, Stevens was staring at him, this time with compassion.

"I'm disappointed, Gabe, but didn't I tell you about my gambling problem the other night?" he said. "None of us is perfect.
We simply can't be. So I'm upset, but I'm not judging you. I just
want you to think about whether living for nothing but yourself,
by your own rules, is worth all of this."

Stevens slapped Gabe's back gently. He turned and walked toward the orphanage.

"Good night, man;' he said. "I'm praying for you."

Gabe sat there in the dark and in the silence, fully seeing himself
for the first time. His seasons of accomplishment flashed before
his mind's eye: his marriage to Rachelle, the professional accolades and awards, the birth of his children, his complacency with
everything. The arrogance and sense of entitlement. The thrill he
thought an affair would bring. The emptiness that followed. The
joy of helping a Ugandan woman who had been bedridden for
months feel better. The despair over possibly returning home the
same as he had left.

He just couldn't. He sat there and sobbed and replayed those
scenes over and over. And for the first time with pure sincerity,
he called out to God.

"I need you now, Lord. I don't know any other way."

achelle turned on the cell and listened to Gabe's messages with disgust.

He had been calling off and on for two days now, and she hadn't
bothered to respond. He hadn't mentioned Veronica, so she was
curious to know if he was aware that this nurse and girlfriend
had contacted her.

Then again, knowing Gabe, he was playing innocent. He'd take
whatever position served him best. Since the "don't ask, don't tell"
policy had been working, he wasn't going to alter it.

Rachelle still didn't know if she loved him or whether that
should factor into her decisions about the future. Had that mattered when she married him?

She had reached the conclusion that whatever happened to
their relationship long term, they were going to have to develop
better communication and some level of respect, for the sake of
their children. She also realized that whatever doubts she had
about her marriage, something was there, because when she allowed Veronica's news flash to penentrate her defenses, it hurt
deeply to imagine that Gabe had slept with another woman, and
one she knew at that.

How would Mom tell me to handle this?

Rachelle smirked. She could hear her mother now-"What do
you mean, what should you do? He's a heart surgeon. Go shopping and get over it!"

And Alanna?

That one was trickier. Little sis seemed to be mellowing, so
Rachelle wasn't sure what she could expect-advice to forgive and
try to work things out with Gabe, or an itinerary on when and
where the beat-downs for Veronica and Gabe should occur.

Rachelle was leaning toward the latter, but she was pretty sure
that wouldn't make God happy, and she was glad that Aunt Irene,
who sat in the passenger seat perusing a magazine, couldn't read
her mind.

She drove into the parking lot in front of Cynthia Bridgeforth's
medical office while she listened to Gabe's fifth and final message.

" Rachelle;' he paused for a few seconds and sighed. "I'm calling
to say I'm sorry. For everything. We have a lot to work through
when I get home, but I want you to know that I'm ready to try.
No more games"

That was a first. Rachelle pulled the phone away from her ear,
as if it were contagious.

Aunt Irene looked at her. "What?"

Rachelle shook her head. "Gabe left me a thoughtful message.
I'm not sure what's going on, but he sounded different:"

Aunt Irene smiled. "That's a good thing;' she said. "Maybe he'll
come home to a different wife."

Rachelle tucked the phone away without responding.

Maybe he would, and maybe he wouldn't. She had thought
about all that Aunt Irene had advised her a few days ago and all
that Aunt Melba had shared last week.

Aunt Melba was right about Troy-Rachelle was playing with fire. And she was right about the need for Rachelle to stop living
on someone else's coattails. Rachelle couldn't thrive and be the
"daughter of;' "wife of," "mother of," forever.

Still, she was scared. Changing might mean losing the life she
knew. She wasn't sure she was ready to stop being Mrs. Covington,
just for the sake of being more self-aware. She also wasn't sure she
could keep turning a blind eye to her husband's transgressions,
especially when they slapped her in the face.

"What are you so lost in thought about?" Aunt Irene asked.

Rachelle shrugged. "Everything, I guess" She grabbed her purse
and stepped out of the car. "Come on, let's go in.

Rachelle held open the door to Dr. Cynthia's office and leaned
against it, giving Aunt Irene plenty of time to enter with the assistance of her walker.

"This is a shame," Aunt Irene said. "I look like a ninety-yearold woman!"

Cynthia was standing just inside the pediatric office, waiting
to greet her.

"Oh hush! You don't look a day over fifty," she told Aunt Irene
and gave her a hug.

Rachelle thought that was pushing it, but given that Aunt Irene
was actually sixty, it was a compliment.

"Come on in and get comfortable," Cynthia said.

They had agreed that Aunt Irene would spend two hours in the
waiting room, greeting children and their parents when they arrived and offering to read books to the younger ones, if they were
interested. Cynthia had positioned a straight-back chair for Aunt
Irene near a small table that was stacked with a variety of books.

"The kids will probably come over to the table and tell you
what they'd like to read;" Cynthia said. "Just play it by ear, and
have fun, Irene:"

Aunt Irene smiled. Rachelle could tell she was nervous but
determined to give it a try.

The cozy waiting room bustled with busy toddlers and tired
mothers. Some were yelling at babies who could walk but weren't
yet able to articulate their thoughts. Some mothers seemed overwhelmed by several children they were trying to keep in line.

After observing for a few minutes, Rachelle asked the receptionist for the other volunteer smock and began rounding up the
kids to steer them in Aunt Irene's direction.

"Come on, sweetie;' she said with a smile to one busy little
girl who was sucking her thumb and a lollipop at the same time.
"Let's read a book:"

The girl's mother seemed baffled by the invitation.

"I'm going to take her over to the table so that nice lady sitting
over there can read a story to her," Rachelle told the woman. "Is
that okay?"

The mother nodded cautiously and watched to see what her
daughter would do. The girl, who was about three, took a seat
at the table and squirmed until Aunt Irene began reading and
pointing to the book's colorful pictures.

"Where is the red ball?" she asked.

Before the girl could answer, a boy who was sitting nearby
with his mother piped up. "Right there!" he yelled. "The dog has
the ball in his mouth!"

The boy's mother laughed. "I didn't know you were even listening;' she told him. "Go to the table so she can read to you."

Rachelle marveled at how quickly most of the kids became
engaged as Aunt Irene raised and lowered her voice and made
animal and car engine sounds to match the action and dialogue
on each page.

About an hour into the session, Aunt Irene had read four books and was now sitting in a chair near the waiting room bookshelf,
organizing the titles. She pulled out books that were torn or covered with teeth marks and put the others in alphabetical order.

"I know it won't look like this for long, once the kids start
searching for what they want;' she told Rachelle, "but for now, it
makes me feel better:"

When a fresh round of youngsters filled the waiting room,
Aunt Irene started the process over.

The door leading to the exam room opened and instead of a
nurse emerging to call for the next patient, Cynthia stuck her
head out and motioned for Rachelle to join her.

"Melba told me you want to volunteer too;' she said. "Come
back here with me"

Rachelle tried to appear unfazed, but she was thrilled. "I'll be
back, Auntie," she told Irene.

She followed Cynthia down a short, brightly colored hallway,
into a mid-sized room. Rachelle grinned when she saw the chart
with letters on the wall, diminishing in size from top to bottom.

"I get to help administer eye exams?"

Cynthia nodded. "If you don't mind. You're still licensed, right?
The nurse will bring the patients who need one back to you.

"Sure," Rachelle said. "I haven't done this in forever, but I'll
give it a try."

Cynthia smiled. "It'll come back to you;' she said and stepped
out of the room. She returned seconds later with a white lab coat
and held out her hand to Rachelle. "Give me that volunteer smock,
and you take this:"

Rachelle chuckled and complied. She positioned herself on the
stool behind the piece of equipment she would look through to
peer into a child's pupils and waited for a nurse to bring a young
patient her way.

She looked around the room-at the seaside mural that featured
dolphins flying through the air, catching letters of the alphabetand smiled. An excitement she hadn't felt for a long time swelled
inside of her. She was about to contribute something, and it felt
really, really good.

achelle had downplayed the encounter with Troy for
as long as she could, but today, she realized she had
to stop running.

Troy had called her again a few times at Aunt Irene's and tried
to apologize, but she had rushed him off the phone.

"It's no big deal, Troy. Forget about it, okay?" The last time he
had called, Rachelle hung up before he could respond.

He followed up by mailing a card and writing a brief note.

It is a big deal. We need to talk. Until we do, this won't ever be
resolved, for either of us.

He included his email address and cell phone number and
asked her to give him a date and time when they could sit down
together, with Pastor Taylor or someone of her choosing. Rachelle
responded by putting the information in File 13.

Today he was trying a new tactic. How had he gotten her cell
phone number?

"I hope you don't feel like you're being stalked, Rachelle;' he
said. "We just really need to talk. I need to apologize for my recent behavior and see where we stand. I'll be at the church all day
today. If you stop by, Pastor Taylor has agreed to sit and listen, or
sit and talk with us. Whatever we need. He's my mentor as well as my boss, and I trust him. You can bring someone with you if you
feel like you need some support. Just come, Rachelle. Please:'

She sighed. This sounded too much like marriage counseling,
and she was no longer his wife.

Yet even Alanna was taking his side. "Talk to the man, Chelle!
You've got to clear up whatever there is between you two:"

Rachelle pulled in front of Hair Pizzazz and tucked the phone
in her purse. She was Aunt Melba's first client of the day.

"Why you needed to come in at seven a.m. when all you're
doing is driving `Miss Daisy' to volunteer at Cynthia's clinic is
beyond me;' Aunt Melba teased. "My next client doesn't come in
until ten thirty today, so I got out of bed early for you."