The Someday List

by Stacy Adams

  “What makes this young man even more special is that he and I have a special bond,” Pastor Taylor said. “As I’ve previously mentioned, I met him about ten years ago, when I was pastor of a church in Milwaukee. He and his family became members, and he soon was blessing us with his gifted voice.

  “The fact that he and I have reconnected, in the city where he attended college, shows you how incredible God is at bringing people together in his own timing,” Pastor Taylor said. “We’ll have him here part time to help our music department flourish, but the real reason he has come back to Jubilant is to work at his alma mater. Everson College recruited him as a fellow for the engineering department, where he’ll serve on the faculty.

  “This young man is smart, he has integrity, and he loves the Lord. Everybody stand to your feet and welcome St. Peter’s new director of music, Troy Hardy!”

  Rachelle’s hands froze in mid-clap. Breath flew from her body. Troy Hardy. Her Troy Hardy?

  She plopped down, onto the cushioned pew, while the new church staff member received an enthusiastic welcome. Aunt Irene sat down too and leaned over to her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said into Rachelle’s ear as the thunderous applause and cheers surrounded them. “I didn’t know you were coming. I was planning to tell you. You okay?”

  Rachelle’s eyes were fixed on Aunt Irene, but her mind was replaying images of fourteen years earlier: that wilting bouquet of yellow roses. The thin gold band she had used her meager savings to buy. The love that overflowed from her heart to her handsome young husband—Troy Antonio Hardy.

  All these years later, her long-ago choices still had the power to sting. As the men and women around her settled down, she had a clear view of him.

  He was still movie-star gorgeous. Same broad smile and quiet strength. Lifting weights was clearly still a hobby, because his muscles strained to fit comfortably inside the arms of his collared shirt and blue suit jacket. His golden complexion seemed unmarred by time or life’s woes. The shaved head suited him.

  Rachelle’s heart double dutched. She inhaled deeply to stifle the tears that threatened to surface. The emotion surprised her, given that she had been married to someone else for more than a decade.

  But Troy would always be the first man she loved, no matter how badly Gabe, or her parents, wanted to erase him from her past. She would always be linked to him because of a series of first experiences that only he had shared with her.

  Rachelle shook her head to clear her thoughts. Here she was in Jubilant, trying to get away from all that had been troubling her recently, trying to figure out what kind of life she wanted in the years to come, and she had run smack-dab into one of her lifetime regrets.

  She sat facing the man who might hold the key to her happiness. He was the one person with whom she had experienced an inexplicable joy and sense of purpose. Why had she let him go?

  Rachelle lowered her eyes and gazed at her left hand, at her ring finger. The four-carat diamond Gabe had given her last year for their tenth wedding anniversary sparkled. It left no room for misunderstandings. She was very married.

  She looked up at Troy and sighed. People took God too seriously sometimes. The Man upstairs obviously had a sense of humor. Right now, though, laughter didn’t seem fitting.

  Since traveling back in time wasn’t an option, Rachelle needed an escape plan. She had left Troy once before, against her wishes. Today, she pondered how quickly she could manage if it were her mission.

  8

  Regardless of the history between them, Rachelle had to give Troy his propers. The boy was on fire.

  He thanked the congregation for the warm welcome and assured them he was not only joining the staff but would soon become a member of the church.

  “I’m looking forward to being a part of St. Peter’s ministry and mission,” Troy said, to a swell of applause from members. “The Bible contains numerous references to music and its significance in ministering to God’s leaders and his people. We can’t underestimate the power of a God-inspired hymn or gospel song to lift someone’s spirit, help him or her connect with the heavenly Father, or give him or her answers to questions they’ve been wrestling with.

  “I’m praying that we can take St. Peter’s awesome choirs to a new level of excellence, to the glory of God,” Troy said. “Let’s work together to make it happen.”

  Troy turned toward the church’s pianist, drummer, and saxophonist, and they began playing the opening strains of an upbeat song. He raised the microphone to his lips, reared back his head, and uttered, “The presence of the Lord is here . . .”

  By the time the song wound to an end, after several encores, there wasn’t a dry eye in the church. Troy gave the microphone back to Pastor Taylor and left the pulpit to sit on one of the front pews. He bowed his head, as if in prayer, while the men and women who sat nearby reached over to pat his shoulder.

  The song touched Rachelle, not only because she was hearing Troy’s moving tenor again, but also because she still had Jillian’s counsel on her mind. Be happy. Live fully. Love God. The lyrics expressed joy over God’s willingness to dwell among and bless people who love him. This song was the musical equivalent of Jillian’s message.

  With the way she had been feeling—and behaving—over the past month, the song left her out of sorts. Going through the motions at home had been frustrating. Searching for answers this past weekend had been unsettling. And now, sitting here in church, she felt hollow.

  The blank Ten Things to Do list in her purse served as a searing reminder of how little she knew about herself when, by all appearances, she led a picture-perfect life.

  As Pastor Taylor encouraged adults and children in the congregation to give God a try, Rachelle contemplated how to ease out of the sanctuary without Troy seeing her.

  “It’s not about coming here and sitting in the pews on Sunday, really it’s not,” Pastor Taylor said. “It’s about using this place as a vehicle to form a relationship with the one who gives you life and breath, the one who gives you new chances every day.”

  After his plea, ushers approached each pew with offering plates and Rachelle gave up on slipping out of the service. She didn’t want to embarrass her aunt and uncle by leaving at an inappropriate juncture or by appearing stingy.

  Pastor Taylor prayed over the offering, then invited Troy to share a few more words before the service ended.

  Rachelle hadn’t noticed a young girl sitting next to him until she stood and went forward with him. He clutched her hand and the two of them faced the congregation.

  “Everyone, this is Chaundra,” he said.

  “Hi, Chaundra!” the congregation bellowed.

  The girl, who appeared to be about thirteen, looked at Troy and smiled before waving and tucking her head down. With a short bob, wire-rimmed glasses, thin legs, and a dusting of freckles across her fair skin, she didn’t resemble him, but she was cute.

  Rachelle held her breath, waiting for him to introduce a wife. I can handle it, I can handle it.

  Instead, he hugged the girl and blessed everyone with a megawatt smile. “The two of us are thankful to be embraced by this church family. We don’t take your cheers of support or the graciousness you’ve shown since we arrived here last week from Milwaukee for granted. As we settle in, please keep us in your prayers. And for you other little ladies out there, feel free to help Chaundra out. She’ll have a better time learning about her new city and new school if you girls teach her, instead of her having to rely on me.”

  Pastor Taylor walked to the lectern and motioned for the congregation to rise for the benediction. Before he could speak, his wife waved at him and mouthed instructions. Rachelle’s heart sank. She knew what was coming.

  “Oh, yes,” Pastor Taylor said, acknowledging his forgetfulness. “In all of our excitement over Troy, we didn’t welcome our visitors! Does anyone have a special guest today?”

  Aunt Irene looked at Rachelle. When Rachelle shook her head, Aunt Irene sat back in the
pew. But Yasmin tugged at her arm.

  “You haven’t visited in a long time, Cousin Rachelle,” Yasmin said. “You’re a friend. Stand up. Say something.”

  “Not today.” Rachelle spoke softly because a couple behind her were introducing themselves.

  She thought she was safe when several other churchgoers made comments and took their seats, but Pastor Taylor clearly didn’t miss a thing.

  “Sister Irene, I see you’ve got someone with you. Care to introduce her?”

  Aunt Irene coughed and stood. “Well, Pastor, just a relative visiting from Houston. She went to college here in Everson and has come to service before with our family, so she’s more of a friend than a visitor . . . and she’s shy.”

  I love you, Aunt Irene.

  Rachelle hoped the message reached her aunt telepathically and that Pastor Taylor could read through the lines—she didn’t want to get up and speak.

  It didn’t work.

  “We won’t bite,” he said to Rachelle. “Stand up, ma’am!”

  All eyes were on Rachelle as she peeled herself from the pew and smoothed her slacks. She took a deep breath and focused on Pastor Taylor, since he was the one intent on unwittingly humiliating her.

  “Good afternoon, church. My name is Rachelle Covington. I bring you greetings from Houston, Texas . . .” Her voice trailed off. One usually inserted the name of his or her church and pastor at this point. Since she had an affiliation with neither, she was at a loss. “Ah . . . it’s always a pleasure to worship here with my Aunt Irene and Uncle Charles, and I pray that the rest of this week will be blessed for each of you.”

  Rachelle sat down quickly, but couldn’t help glancing at Troy. He had turned around in his seat, and his mouth was hanging open.

  While Pastor Taylor closed the service, Troy’s eyes remained fixed on Rachelle. Rather than animosity or longing, she detected an emotion she couldn’t decipher.

  Years ago, she knew what his every twitch or facial tic meant. Now, although the face and voice hadn’t changed much, she didn’t know him at all.

  She wondered why his wife wasn’t with him today. He hadn’t even mentioned her, and there wasn’t a band on his ring finger. Maybe he was a single father. The more she mused, the more her curiosity mushroomed.

  Before he decided to move in her direction and ask her similar questions about her personal life, Rachelle grabbed her purse. She turned to Aunt Irene and hugged her.

  “Mind if I leave now and head over to your place?”

  Aunt Irene pulled her key ring from her purse, twisted off a key, and handed it over. “I understand,” she said and looked toward Troy, who had been swamped by well-wishers. “You’re staying over, aren’t you? Take Reuben’s bedroom. He was supposed to come home this weekend, but with him, there’s no telling. College has driven him temporarily insane. He calls when he needs money and comes home when every stitch of clothing needs to be washed.”

  Aunt Irene and Rachelle laughed.

  Rachelle didn’t think her cousin Reuben had the same issues, but when she had left Philadelphia for Jubilant, she remembered being grateful to have some freedom for the first time. Mom had still called several times a week to make sure she was studying and staying out of trouble at Everson, but at least she hadn’t been able to hover and tell her what to wear or whom to hang out with.

  “Yasmin, coming with me?”

  The girl looked at Rachelle, and then over her shoulder, toward a group of girls her age. They waved her over.

  Rachelle laughed. “I see—I’m not going to win the popularity contest today,” she told Yasmin. “Go on—be with your friends. I’ll see you at the house.”

  Yasmin dashed off and Aunt Irene shook her head.

  “That girl is something else,” she said. “Busy as a bee, but a sweetheart. You can tell me later how your babies are doing.”

  Rachelle promised to give her an update on Tate and Taryn just as one of Aunt Irene’s friends approached and hugged her from behind.

  “We missed you the other night at the women’s tea! Where were you, Irene?”

  Rachelle seized the opportunity to escape and waved goodbye to Aunt Irene. She scanned the crowd on her way out of the sanctuary. Uncle Charles had disappeared. He must be in the church office with the other deacons, counting the offering. She snaked her way through the socializing parishioners and paused once she reached the foyer. Before she stepped outside the church, she looked back and caught a glimpse of Troy approaching Aunt Irene with open arms so he could envelop her in a hug.

  Rachelle rummaged through her purse for her car keys and fought the surging anger. Aunt Irene and Uncle Charles were church leaders; they had to have known for a while that Troy was under consideration for the position at St. Peter’s. Why hadn’t one of them said something?

  She felt like she was in college again, when everyone was deciding what was best for her, without including her in the process. This time around, she wasn’t going to be so easy to manipulate. She had an agenda of her own.

  9

  R achelle had driven full speed into a personal storm with no warning.

  “Maybe I should leave,” she said to Alanna. She sat on Reuben’s bed, talking softly into her cell phone in case Aunt Irene or Uncle Charles ventured past the closed door.

  “You gonna let a man run you out of town? You’re better than that, Chelle,” Alanna said. “Just calm down. I know it’s unsettling for Troy to be there, but it’s been fifteen years. You can’t still have feelings for him, can you?”

  Rachelle didn’t respond. Alanna knew better.

  “Well, you haven’t talked about him in a long, long time, so I thought you had moved on. I thought you were happy with Gabe—until the stunt you pulled last week before he left town,” Alanna said. “You can’t leave Jubilant, though. You know how much Aunt Irene and Uncle Charles love you. They would be hurt.”

  Maybe they would understand, since they were concerned enough to keep the news of Troy’s arrival from me, Rachelle thought. “If this were you, what would you do?”

  Alanna sighed. “Why are you always asking me how I would handle something? I’m supposed to look to you for advice. You know me—I would have split the second church was over, girl.”

  The sisters laughed, but Rachelle’s spirits sagged. Why had she never had that kind of courage?

  “You could do it and get away with it too,” Rachelle said. “Me? I’d be accused of causing family trauma, drama, and a whole range of other issues if I had done that today.”

  “If you need to leave to be okay, Rachelle, I say do it,” Alanna said. “You gotta take care of you, whether others understand or not.”

  Rachelle bit her tongue. The rules aren’t the same.

  Alanna had always made her needs a priority and had spoken her mind without hesitation, and no one batted an eye. Her breathtaking beauty and engaging personality bought her breaks others couldn’t pay cash for.

  “Let me get off this phone and go outside,” Rachelle said. “Guests are arriving for the barbecue, and I better help.”

  “See, there you go,” Alanna said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did anybody ask you to help? If not, why are you feeling obligated? You’re a guest too. Go on out there and chill! I’ll call you back in a couple of hours to see if you’re feeling better.”

  Rachelle smiled. Alanna kept her in line.

  Her baby sister couldn’t get her love life straight or figure out what career she wanted to pursue long term, but the bachelor’s degree in French and master’s in marketing allowed her to keep landing great jobs throughout metro Dallas. If she’d only stay somewhere longer than a year and a half and stop searching for Mr. Right in all the wrong places, she just might be all right.

  “Thanks, sis,” Rachelle said. She still hadn’t told Alanna about Jillian. This Troy thing had thrown her for a loop. “I’ll catch you up on some other things soon. Love ya.”

  Rachelle placed the cell phone on
the maple dresser and left the bedroom. She sauntered down the hallway leading from the bedroom to the kitchen, taking in the numerous framed photos that lined the wall. There were images of her and Alanna when they were young girls, visiting Aunt Irene and Uncle Charles one summer.

  Pictures of Aunt Irene and Uncle Charles that had been taken before they became parents were interspersed with images of extended family members and close friends. Rachelle giggled at some of the photos, especially the ones of Uncle Charles leaning against a teal car that Rachelle thought resembled an iron submarine.

  He really thought he was fine.

  She strolled into the kitchen, where Aunt Irene was making potato salad. Aunt Irene had come home from church and launched right into preparing food for the cookout. She paused and smiled at Rachelle.

  “I’m so glad you surprised us today. It does my heart good to see you. You look as pretty as always. Are you eating anything?” Rachelle laughed. “Yes, Auntie, I’m eating. I also exercise just about every day—jogging and Pilates. Keeps me looking my best.”

  Aunt Irene shook her head. “I tell you, you young women come up with some stuff. I never pretended that I was going to be a cover girl when I was your age, so I ate what I wanted.” She patted her hips. “Now I’ve got some regrets, but hey, I wasn’t denying myself something I wanted to enjoy. I’ll be sixty this year, and you can bet that I’m not worried about my figure.”

  Rachelle smiled. Aunt Irene had full cheeks and wide hips, but Uncle Charles didn’t seem to be complaining. She was still a pretty woman, and Rachelle was sure that men her age still considered her someone to talk about.

  “Fried food is my big no-no,” Rachelle said. “I’m married to a cardiothoracic surgeon, after all. Other than that, I just try to eat in moderation. The exercise gives me energy and just helps me feel better.”

  Aunt Irene stuck a tablespoon in the potato salad and took a bite. “Hmm, this is so good,” she said. “I’m glad you’ve got a system for staying healthy, baby. Want some potato salad?”