The Someday List

by Stacy Adams

  She had heard him share these plans with his golfing buddies and with his mother, before she died of a stroke. Rachelle had always been struck by the fact that while Gabe’s father had been dead for ten years, Gabe still seemed to make choices based on what his dad expected of him. She often chided him for that habit, but tonight, she realized that whatever measure he was using to make decisions, he was a few steps ahead of her.

  Rachelle returned her focus to the present, and checked the numbers illuminated on the nearby digital clock. She had been sitting with her pen poised to write for nearly half an hour, but the page was still empty.

  She knew what would be good for the kids. She could readily outline Gabe’s goals, even though he hadn’t articulated them to her directly. Yet, what did she want to achieve? What were her heart’s burning desires?

  She had to put something on paper. Anything. The white space beside the first number on the page mocked her.

  “I want to . . .” Rachelle spoke the words aloud, certain that if she persisted, the answers would come. “I want to . . .”

  She sighed. Everything she could dream up, she was already doing.

  She didn’t have to include travel on the list, because she vacationed often with Gabe and the kids or with her girlfriends. She didn’t need to set financial goals, because the ones Gabe had were good enough for them both.

  She was already at the perfect weight for her five-foot-six frame, and Pilates three times a week kept her toned. Her almond skin was healthy and blemish free, and she could shop at just about any store that caught her fancy.

  Surely, though, she was missing something. How had Jillian managed to compile a list of things that mattered to her soul? Rachelle wished she were still tight enough with her friend to call her and ask.

  Since that wasn’t the case, she tried to imagine what Jillian would tell her, or would want to tell her, if they were having one of the candid girlfriend chats that used to be their norm. Jillian, she suspected, would suggest to her that when she had chosen to marry Gabe, she had chosen to put herself on the back burner, in favor of making sure his life reigned supreme.

  Rachelle shook that thought from her mind and began writing.

  1. Keep my optometry license current.

  She sighed. This wasn’t a first-time something to do before turning fifty, but at least it was a goal.

  She had renewed the license every year since Tate’s birth, thinking that someday she might decide to return to the profession she loved. Gabe had dismissed the idea as farfetched and unnecessary so many times that about five years ago, she began sending in her renewal fee to the state licensing board without telling him. She would not be able to officially practice again until she took a certain number of continuing education courses, but for now, just knowing her license was still in good standing helped her feel good about herself.

  Rachelle stalled again. Only one thing on paper? This was ridiculous and frustrating.

  She laid the pen and pad on the table and grabbed her pajamas on the way to the bathroom. She covered her head with a plastic cap, turned on the shower, and let the forceful stream of water warm up so she could step inside.

  As she stood beneath its flow with her eyes closed and arms hugging her body, Rachelle’s heart sank. How had her life come to this? If she couldn’t set more than one personal goal for herself, she didn’t really have a life. Now was the time to decide what, if anything, she was going to do about it.

  6

  The return flight home the next day was grueling.

  A chain reaction of delays and overbooked airline seats kept Rachelle in the San Diego airport six hours past her scheduled arrival in Houston. Rachelle boarded her plane in the wee hours of the morning and slept for the most of the nonstop flight.

  She had to get her bearings when she left the plane and entered the airport terminal just after seven a.m. Usually one of her friends, or Helen, her part-time housekeeper, swooped in to pick her up.

  But Rachelle had given Helen the week off, since Gabe was away at his conference and the kids were in Philadelphia. After the series of unpredictable delays, she was glad she had decided to drive rather than bother Shelley, Trina, or Jade. One of them would have been happy to pick her up late last night, but those divas wouldn’t be up this time of morning unless it was to go to and from one of their many exercise classes.

  Rachelle retrieved her suitcase from baggage claim and rolled it out of the airport to the parking deck. The sun was positioning itself over the city, and she knew that soon, steamy heat would be rising from the pavement.

  She slid her bag onto the backseat, settled behind the wheel, and fastened her seat belt. She turned the ignition and paused when Alicia Keys’ voice permeated the Lexus with the lyrics to “Tell You Something.”

  Rachelle had been listening to the song frequently in the weeks leading up to her visit with Jillian and thinking about how accurate those words were—she did feel sorrow, and she wished she could better articulate to Jillian how much their friendship had meant. She didn’t want it to end this soon, especially since they had just reconnected.

  Rachelle tried to sing along, but her voice faded as the lump in her throat expanded. Why, of all the songs in her CD rotation, did she have to start the morning with this one? She rested her head on the steering wheel and sobbed. Jillian hadn’t succumbed yet, but her frail appearance and the beautiful ceremony over the weekend left Rachelle with little doubt that it wouldn’t be long.

  They were the same age. Had similar hopes and dreams. They were good girls. So why was this happening? Jillian had even taken it a step further by deciding to live a life of full-fledged faith. Why was the God that she loved so much snatching her away so young?

  Rachelle turned down the volume of the music and leaned back into the headrest. She wiped her eyes, reached for her cell phone, and called her mother. Mom wouldn’t have answers to her questions, but because she knew Jillian, maybe she’d understand this distress. Plus, Rachelle couldn’t think of anyone else who would be up this time of morning.

  Rachelle wasn’t surprised when her mother answered on the first ring.

  “What’s up, dear?”

  Rachelle chuckled. “I should be asking you that,” she said.

  “What have you already accomplished this morning? It’s just eight-something in Philly.”

  “Your dad and I are reading the paper and having breakfast,” her mother responded. “The question is, what are you doing up this early?”

  Rita Mitchell never ceased to amaze Rachelle. She was always quick on her feet, with astute questions or ready answers. Her calm demeanor and solid organizational skills seemed effortless. Rachelle routinely questioned why she struggled to accomplish that same level of competency, despite her role model.

  “I just needed to hear your voice,” Rachelle said.

  “Is everything okay?” Rita asked.

  Rachelle heard her children laughing in the background. She couldn’t believe they were up so early. Mom must have enforced an early bedtime.

  “Jillian’s dying, Mom.”

  Her mother gasped.

  “I just returned from a farewell gathering she hosted in San Diego, and I . . . I don’t know. It’s hitting me harder than I expected.”

  Rachelle waited for the comforting words she needed to hear right now. She crossed her fingers that Mom would come through and offer a dose of reassurance that despite Jillian’s circumstances, everything would turn out okay.

  “I haven’t seen Jillian’s mother in a while. I didn’t know,” Rita said. “The family must be devastated. What’s wrong? What’s the diagnosis?”

  Rachelle explained that Jillian had breast cancer and described the life celebration she had hosted.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this? I would have gone with you, Rachelle. At least to pay my respects.”

  Rachelle stiffened. “Mom, this wasn’t a funeral. There aren’t ‘respects’ to pay—not yet. This was a chance to say goodb
ye but also to tell her how much we love her. It was just hard. Besides, you have Tate and Taryn. You couldn’t have accompanied me.”

  Rachelle sighed. Why had she thought her mother would understand?

  “Well, it is indeed sad,” Rita said. “But get yourself together, Rachelle. Sounds like Jillian has accepted this. It’s good that you had a chance to say goodbye. You’ll be fine.

  “What are you doing now, with all of this free time on your hands? Have you heard from Gabe since he left?”

  Rachelle closed her eyes. That was just like her mother, to say her two cents’ worth about an uncomfortable subject, then turn the discussion elsewhere. Rachelle inhaled and exhaled slowly a few times to ease her tense muscles. She had seen Gabe advise many a stressed-out friend or acquaintance to use this technique to lower their blood pressure or reduce the anxiety that contributed to heart problems. Not that she had either of those health issues—she had long ago adopted the strategy to keep her cool in trying situations, and now it was almost a reflex.

  “Mom, let me call you and the kids back later, okay? Tell Dad I said hello.”

  Rachelle tucked the cell phone into her purse and put the car in reverse. Before she backed out of the parking space, she pressed the FM radio control on her steering column.

  She didn’t listen to the radio often, but today, she felt restless. She wanted something other than the dozens of songs on her CDs and iPod that she played so often she could sing them in her sleep. She surfed stations until the strains of a melody caught her ear:

  “Grateful, grateful, grateful; Gratefulness . . . is flowing from my heart . . .”

  When the song wound to a close, the DJ piped up. “Good Sunday morning, Houstonians! That was Hezekiah Walker and the Love Fellowship Choir with the beautiful song, ‘Grateful.’ What are you grateful for this morning?”

  Rachelle focused on the digital radio panel as if the DJ were speaking specifically to her.

  “Let me ask you another question based on a Hezekiah-inspired song,” he said. “Who do you need to survive? Yes family, yes friends, but have you tried God?”

  Normally, this would be the point at which she tuned out or turned the dial. This morning, however, her heart was tender.

  Rachelle pulled out of the parking deck and sat at a traffic light a block away from the Sam Houston Tollway. She could take the freeway to her cushy suburb, but why go home? No one was there.

  Her friends would be spending time with their husbands and kids today. Since she had neither of those to make it a family affair, she’d be a tagalong.

  Rachelle glanced at the dashboard clock and noted that it was just eight a.m. The red-eye flight and multiple cups of coffee over the last hour had left her wired. Why not hit the road?

  She could be at Alanna’s place in Dallas before her sister climbed out of bed, around noon . . . or maybe she should drive just over two hours to Jubilant and spend a few days with Aunt Irene and Uncle Charles. The surprise would make their day, and she realized in answer to the radio announcer’s question, they were among the people she needed and cherished most, even though she hadn’t regularly expressed her affection over the last dozen years.

  Gabe felt threatened by her visits to her college town and to Aunt Irene and Uncle Charles’s home for reasons he had never fully articulated. The few times he had accompanied her before and after they wed, he hadn’t relaxed enough to enjoy himself. Rachelle soon realized that unless they were unwinding or having fun in a formal or structured activity that in the long run furthered Gabe’s career goals, her husband didn’t care to participate.

  This morning she thought about her anorexic list of things she wanted to accomplish in the coming years. She had dated the paper, folded it up, and tucked it in her wallet, so that when ideas came to her, she could readily fill the nine blank slots.

  Visiting her extended family didn’t necessarily belong on the list of long-term goals, but it was something she wanted to do, and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel the need to justify her desire. Gabe wasn’t here to shift the excitement she was feeling about her Sunday morning excursion into doubt about whether her relatives cared to be bothered with her. She knew differently.

  Fresh from her visit with Jillian, now was the perfect time to immerse herself in Aunt Irene and Uncle Charles’s world. They would accept her as is, even if, in her quest to create a list of tangible goals, she stopped being the Rachelle who lived to please everybody but herself.

  7

  The redbrick church looked smaller each time Rachelle returned.

  Maybe it was because of the volume of megachurches sprouting up around Houston. Everything looked miniature in comparison to some of those structures.

  The rich harmonies that floated across the summer wind from the choir loft more than compensated for the building’s modest appearance. Music filled Rachelle’s ears as soon as she stepped out of her sedan. These folks weren’t having church, they were having chuch.

  She locked the car door with her key chain control and crossed the gravel parking lot. The enthusiastic welcome from the salt-and-pepper afroed usher who greeted her made the steep climb up the steps to the St. Peter’s Baptist Church sanctuary worthwhile.

  Aunt Irene and Uncle Charles must be inside somewhere. She had stopped by their house when she arrived in Jubilant, but realized when no one answered the door that they were already at church.

  Rachelle glanced at a clock in the foyer while she waited to be admitted into the worship service. 11:05 a.m. She hadn’t missed much.

  She gave herself a once-over. Changing clothes in the bathroom at the local McDonald’s hadn’t been ideal, but the lightly wrinkled black slacks and silver satin top would have to do. In Houston, dressy casual had become the norm for churchgoers. Smaller cities didn’t always catch on as fast, but she hoped she wouldn’t embarrass her aunt and uncle.

  Rachelle peered through the small, rectangular windowpanes of the doors that led into the sanctuary. An usher stood on each side, preventing anyone from entering until instructed to do so. The youth choir sang and swayed to an upbeat version of the hymn, “Down at the Cross.” Most of the congregation was on its feet, accompanying them.

  Rachelle scanned each row, trying to determine where Aunt Irene might be sitting. It was hard to pinpoint her in the sea of bobbing heads and waving hands.

  The scene brought back memories from Rachelle’s days as a student at Everson College. Though she had sporadically attended church growing up, her participation in the Baptist Student Union Choir at Everson came with mandatory weekly Bible studies and with numerous engagements in churches throughout Jubilant and surrounding cities. Soon, she and some of her friends from the choir had begun attending a small church close to campus, whose members’ expressions of faith mirrored these parishioners, from the closed eyes and movement to the music, to the arms reaching toward heaven and outbursts of gratitude.

  When Pastor Taylor motioned for the congregation to be seated, an usher allowed her to enter and another beckoned her forward.

  “I’m looking for Irene and Charles Burns,” Rachelle whispered.

  The older woman searched faces in each aisle and led Rachelle to a seat in the third row. Everyone in the pew turned toward her, including Aunt Irene and her youngest daughter, Yasmin. Aunt Irene’s eyes widened.

  She almost looks startled, Rachelle thought.

  Aunt Irene and Yasmin moved closer together to make room for Rachelle on the cushioned pew. When she took her seat, she noticed that Irene’s older daughter, Indigo, wasn’t with them, and she didn’t see the girl in the choir loft filled with teenagers.

  Yasmin hugged Rachelle’s waist when Rachelle settled next to her.

  “Where are Taryn and Tate?” the girl whispered.

  “In Philadelphia, with their Gram and Poppa,” Rachelle said. She patted Yasmin’s hand when the girl’s face fell. At seven she was a year younger than Taryn, but the girls loved each other dearly. Though they were cou
sins, the resemblance between them was striking. Both had flowing hair like their mothers, brown sugar complexions, and prominent jaw lines. People who saw the girls together often mistook them for sisters, an error that delighted them.

  They saw little of each other because of Rachelle’s infrequent visits to Jubilant, but the few times the girls had been together, they spent every waking moment bonding.

  Can we call Taryn later so I can say hi? Yasmin scribbled the message on the back of her church bulletin in pink gel ink.

  Rachelle smiled and nodded. She looked past Yasmin at Aunt Irene, whose lips were pursed.

  Aunt Irene’s eyes darted to and fro as she scanned the pulpit. She made eye contact with Uncle Charles, who sat near the front on a pew reserved for church trustees that offered a full view of the congregation. She motioned in Rachelle’s direction with a jerk of her head.

  Rachelle took it all in and frowned. Aunt Irene noticed her attentiveness and turned on a smile.

  “Good to see you,” she mouthed silently to Rachelle.

  The choir finished the hymn with a flourish and Rev. Taylor approached the podium. “Please bow your heads and join me in prayer,” he said.

  When Rachelle opened her eyes after the “Amen,” she caught Aunt Irene peering at her again. Rachelle leaned past Yasmin so she could whisper in her aunt’s ear. “Is everything okay?”

  Before Aunt Irene could respond, Pastor Taylor cleared his throat and asked for everyone’s attention.

  “As St. Peter’s members know, we’ve been without a music director for some time, since Sister Hightower and her family moved to Delaware. God has blessed us with some stellar candidates for the position, and during last month’s church meeting, we voted to hire the young man who joins us today. This gentleman not only knows music inside and out and plays piano and drums, the brother can also sing, y’all!”

  Rachelle chuckled along with the rest of the congregation. There was nothing like a man who could hold a tune. During her years with the Baptist Student Union Choir, she had seen many a church sister swoon over the brothers who sang solos with passion and fervor. From Pastor Taylor’s description, it appeared that might happen today.