The Someday List (4 page)

If she left for home now, Gabe would be asleep by the time she
arrived and not realize she was there. When he awoke to prepare
for his trip, he'd see her and believe he had won-she had returned,
just as a submissive, grateful wife should.

She pictured the contempt in his eyes and saw his smug smile. Why wouldn't the wife he owned show up to do her duty and get
him to the airport?

The more Rachelle thought about it, the less she wanted to go.

She wished she had some answers, some direction on what to
do. She wished she could talk to someone about it-her mother,
her sister, or even her friends.

But Mom wouldn't understand-she believed you got married
and you stayed married, whatever it took. Alanna was too manhungry to see straight, let alone to offer levelheaded advice. And
her friends? None of those divas could hold water. If she confided
in any one of them, she might as well be ready to see her woes on
the front page of the Houston Chronicle.

Rachelle reached for her iPod and turned to the songs she had
downloaded in recent weeks-Beyonce's "Listen" and Jennifer
Hudson's "I Am Changing" from the movie Dreamgirls.

She played them over and over as she lay across the bed with
her eyes closed, dressed but unsure of what to do.

Finally, sleep won.

With heavy eyes, she pulled back the covers on the queen-sized
bed and crawled underneath, fully dressed. She was too old to be
this lazy, but oh well.

Rachelle reached over to the bedside nightstand to set the alarm
clock and turn off the light. A blue, hardcover Bible caught her
eye.

For a second, she was tempted to pick it up and open it.

You won't understand it anyway.

That unbidden voice was right. It was probably written in the
King's English, and right now, she doubted she could decipher
Ebonics. Sleep couldn't come fast enough.

Unless she felt differently in a few hours, she would go home and offer to drive Gabe to the airport. For now, she was going
to rest.

Rachelle drifted to sleep with the image of Jillian's party invitation before her, as it had been most of the nights since it had
arrived in the mail:

In her heart of hearts, Rachelle knew this message from a longago friend had triggered her marital and personal angst. Now she
had to figure out what to do about it without causing her world
to implode.

ho would throw a party to celebrate her death?
Only Jillian Parks. Age thirty-six. Stricken with
breast cancer. Given six weeks to live.

Rachelle had marveled over that decision since receiving the
invitation to this evening's gathering at one of San Diego's most elegant ocean-view restaurants. She and Jillian hadn't talked in years,
but Rachelle stood here tonight, awestruck, as she watched her
childhood best friend greet a roomful of friends and relatives.

Rachelle stood near a wall of windows that featured lapping
waves as the backdrop. Her eyes kept pace as Jillian's husband,
Patrick, pushed Jillian's wheelchair wherever she directed.

Dark circles had settled beneath her friend's amber eyes, but
they still lit up when she paused to chat with guests who lingered
over a generous seafood buffet or stood in somber small groups,
chatting softly. Jillian was waiflike, but even cancer hadn't stolen
her beauty, Rachelle decided.

Jillian hadn't lost her flair for fashion, either. Tonight she wore
an ankle-length, soft gold gown that featured one strapless shoulder. The wavy, black hair Rachelle remembered had been replaced
with a Pocahontas-style wig that complimented Jillian's oatmeal
complexion.

Forget that they hadn't spoken in a decade. How could Rachelle
not be here? She surveyed the chandeliered room of seventy-five
or so people who, like her, had come to shower Jillian with love.
They too seemed surprised by her festive mood.

Rachelle's eyes watered when Patrick pushed Jillian up the
wheelchair ramp onto a wooden platform that had been temporarily positioned in the middle of the expansive dining room.

Everyone gathered, and Jillian smiled when she reached the
center of the makeshift stage. The ocean behind her served as a
natural mural.

Had she chosen to speak now, specifically because the sun was
setting over the water? Rachelle wondered. The scene was simply
beautiful, and fitting of such a special occasion.

Jillian picked up the microphone that had been resting on her
lap and held it to her ruby red lips. She scanned the room, seeming to peer into the eyes of everyone present, including Rachelle's.
Finally, she spoke.

"Thank you all for coming tonight. Some of you traveled from
the opposite coast to be here with me. Some of you altered plans
to be here. Some of you had to work financial miracles or request
time off from work to join me, and for all of that, I'm grateful"

She extended her hand toward Patrick and he handed her a
brown leather book that she raised in the air. "This is one of my
first journals. In it, on about the tenth page, is a map for my life
that I laid out eleven years ago. I was still wet behind the ears,
thinking I could do anything. I was full of optimism and pride,
with little reason to doubt myself. I titled this list, `Ten Things to
Do Before I Die.

"The beautiful thing is, I accomplished every single wish on
my list before this terminal diagnosis was confirmed in early
June. Everything.

"I have traveled to Australia and Italy, been on an African safari, and swam with the dolphins. I've served in the Peace Corps,
vacationed in Hawaii and Fiji, and married my soul mate. I was
allowed to co-parent three godchildren who fortunately didn't
have to live under my roof and endure my quirkiness full time:'

Jillian laughed and blew a kiss to the three young girls, who
were standing nearby with their parents. "I landed my dream job,
shooting photos for National Geographic, and met Nelson Mandela
and Oprah while on assignment;' she said. "My favorite trip? To
the Holy Land, where I bathed in God's presence.

"When I received the news that this cancer had gone undetected
for so long that it was in the advanced stages, I pulled out this
journal and re-read this list, which I drafted on my twenty-fifth
birthday. I couldn't believe it when I checked off everything on
it.

"Isn't that amazing, you guys? How many of us can say we've
actually achieved some of our dreams, let alone all of them?"

Jillian paused to let the power of that reality sink in. She waved
her finger. "I am human though," she said. `After I thanked God
for granting me these blessings, I asked a huge favor. Couldn't I
just change the title of the list from the `Ten Things to Do Before
I Die' to something else? Like, `Ten Things to Do Before I Reach
40'? or `Ten Things to Do Before My Hair Turns Gray'? I mean,
come on, he didn't have to take it so literal!"

She chuckled, freeing everyone else to embrace the joke. The
room erupted in laughter.

"I invited you here this evening to thank you for giving me the
gift of you. Of your friendship. And your love."

Jillian searched the group and spoke to several people specifically. "Rachelle-we made mud pies and played jump rope and,
before there was such a thing as AIDS, pricked our fingers and pressed them together so that we could be blood sisters. You
kept my first secrets, helped me through my first broken heart,
and even suffered punishment on my behalf rather than tell your
mother that I was the one who ran through the living room and
broke her favorite lamp:'

Rachelle nodded and smiled, despite the tears spilling down
her cheeks. How had she forgotten all of that? How had they let
time, and other people, separate them?

"Amina, you guided me through college when I was this sheltered little girl who didn't realize there was a world outside of
Philadelphia. Yolanda, just how did you snag our high school
football star before I could?"

Another round of laughter filled the room, mingling with the
flow of tears.

"Okay, okay, I guess I did pretty well myself. I'm keeping my
man.

Jillian turned toward Patrick, who stood off to the side of the
stage, watching her bask in the love radiating from the crowd.
"Patrick, you have been the earth and wind to my fire; the ebony
to my ivory; the true definition of a helpmate and soul mate. I
love you"

She turned back to her friends. "I do have one request of each
of you: Develop your own lists. Look at your lives and consider
where you need to make adjustments. Life is way too short to take
for granted or live halfheartedly. Do what you dream. God put
the dream there. Promise me that as I move on to another phase,
you'll give this part of your journey your best shot. That will be
the best way to remember me, to honor our bond.

"To be honest with you, I am not ready to die. I'm just not
ready. But I'm thankful that I am connected to God and I know
where I'm going" Jillian paused and allowed a slow smile to spread across her face. "I'm thankful that I got to meet each of you and
love you. I will leave here a happy woman, especially after the gift
you have given me by showing up tonight.

"I am drinking in your presence;' she said in a voice that had
begun to tremble with emotion. "I'm going to tuck away this
night in my memory and ask God to let me keep it, when I get
to heaven"

Jillian's efforts to remain upbeat had been for naught. Rachelle
took a tissue from a travel-size package that was circulating from
hand to hand. Jillian's goddaughters ran to the stage and hugged
her neck.

The youngest girl, who appeared to be five or six, flung her
body across Jillian's lap and sobbed. Rachelle winced at the child's
obvious fear and pain. Her mother came quickly and took the
girl to a side room.

Jillian, who was visibly spent, raised the microphone to her
lips a second time. She sighed. "This isn't easy-for the babies or
any of us. But I really do want to celebrate the good and positive
journey I've had. Will each of you come and give me a hug? Show
me some love?"

Patrick rolled Jillian off the stage, over to a long table covered
with a sea green tablecloth. She sat at the end of it, so that her
friends could review the pictures of her life, from childhood in
Philadelphia to her young adult years at Everson College in Jubilant, Texas, to the decade she traveled the world as a professional
photographer.

Everyone except for Jillian's mother, brother, and sister, and
several other relatives, formed a line so they could talk with her.
As they waited their turn, they had time to peruse the informal
photo gallery.

Rachelle, who grew up next door to Jillian and shared a dorm room with her when they went off to college, took in each of the
images and felt the layers of time peeling away.

She remembered the backyard swing set captured in one of
the photos and the teacup wallpaper that had graced the walls in
Jillian's room until her sixteenth birthday.

She recalled their hangout spot on The Yard, the campus square
at Everson College where freshmen and sophomores who didn't
have transportation gathered most nights to socialize and flirt.
There were graduation day photos and images of a party that followed later that evening, at the home of Rachelle's aunt and uncle,
Charles and Irene, who lived near the campus.

Rachelle felt another wave of waterworks coming. What had
happened to the youthful fervor her eyes possessed in those photos? It had never dimmed for Jillian, but somehow she had gotten
off track.

Before she could formulate answers, it was her turn. Rachelle
knelt before Jillian and hugged her gingerly.

Jillian grasped her tightly, cuing Rachelle that she wasn't fragile.
She pulled back and stroked Rachelle's face. "Thanks for being
here, Rae," she said softly, using the nickname she had given Rachelle when they were sixth graders and thought it was no longer
cool to use their parent-given names. "It's so good to see you. The
last time we talked we didn't agree on something really big. I don't
know how that has worked out for you, but I heard through your
mom that you were doing well and that your kids are beautiful.
I hope you are happy."