by Stacy Adams
Aunt Irene clutched her chest. “Jillian?”
Rachelle nodded. “She has been given only a few weeks to live. I don’t know what process she went through, but she seems to be at peace.”
Rachelle told Aunt Irene about the party Jillian hosted. Aunt Irene hugged her and held her. Rachelle’s defenses crumbled. She wept into her aunt’s shoulder.
When she finally lifted her head, Rachelle was embarrassed. “Guess you got more than you bargained for when you came in here, huh?”
Aunt Irene shook her head. “You’re fine,” she said. “And trust me, there will be more days when the tears overwhelm you. Losing someone who was special to you is hard; it’s just plain hard. I understand now why you’re feeling confused about everything.”
“A lot is happening,” Rachelle said.
“That is a lot,” Aunt Irene said. “And then you show up here, hoping to get away from it all, and discover that Troy has returned.”
Rachelle nodded as a fresh round of tears filled her eyes. “I can’t believe I still get upset about what happened back then. My parents altered my entire future. I could have been up there today with Troy, being welcomed back to Jubilant.”
Aunt Irene frowned. “Now don’t go getting ahead of yourself. You don’t know how life would have unfolded if the two of you had stayed together. It’s easy to speculate the best of circumstances when you don’t know what the day-to-day reality would have been like.”
Rachelle looked into Aunt Irene’s eyes. “Yes, but Troy loved me. I made a mistake. I should have chosen to honor my marriage vows and refused to leave him. Instead, I listened to Mom and Dad’s threats and chose a career over my husband. I practiced optometry all of two years before Gabe insisted that I quit and be more available to him and little Tate, so what was the point?”
“There’s always a point, Rachelle,” Aunt Irene said. “Always. The key is to figure out how God can effectively use you where you’re planted now, regardless of how you got there.”
Rachelle averted her eyes. Since she was being honest, she might as well tell it all. “That’s just it, Aunt Irene,” she said. “This God thing? It isn’t working for me. He hasn’t found me, he doesn’t speak to me, and I don’t anticipate him dropping a note about my purpose in my email inbox anytime soon. I hear what you’re saying, and it all sounds wonderful—Jillian mentioned some of the same things during her party. But how can what you’re saying help me? I don’t know the last time I had a connection with ‘the Man upstairs.’”
Aunt Irene smiled and slowly lifted herself off the bed. “You need to find your way to him, Rachelle. He’s there, in the circumstances already around you, waiting to embrace you and guide you.”
She crept toward the door, but kept talking. “The question is, do you want to be ‘found’? Do you want answers to all of these questions you have? Sometimes people think they do, but they’d rather stay in the dark.”
Aunt Irene grabbed the doorknob. Before she departed, she turned and looked at Rachelle. “Trust me, that’s way more comfortable. I haven’t always known the Lord like I do now. And even now, I mess up. But think about Jillian: Everything isn’t perfect, yet she knows where she’s headed. That’s a beautiful thing. Look at Troy. Isn’t it amazing how God has brought him full circle and sent him back to the place he once called home?”
Rachelle attempted to smile. She didn’t want to be rude, but in some ways, Aunt Irene’s faith sounded like mindless devotion. Her scientific-minded friends in Houston often watched the Bible-belt televangelists and ridiculed viewers who sent in love offerings to support the ministers’ lavish churches and lifestyles. Rachelle had also found them amusing.
Tonight, however, Aunt Irene had given her a glimpse of how faith could be relevant. Still, Rachelle wanted to know why, if God was so good, Aunt Irene had needed whatever she was drinking earlier today.
14
The timid knock at the door startled Rachelle. She sat up in bed and tried to get her bearings.
It took her a few seconds to realize that she didn’t recognize her surroundings because they weren’t hers. Reuben’s bed was comfortable. She had been in a deep sleep.
The light tapping at the door continued.
“Good morning! Yes?” she said.
“Cousin Rachelle, I have a hair appointment but Mama doesn’t feel well this morning and she’s still in bed. Can you please take me to Aunt Melba’s salon?”
Indigo sounded desperate.
Rachelle glanced at the clock again. Of course she couldn’t tell the child no. She rose from the bed and pulled her robe from her suitcase.
She opened the door and smiled at the ninth grader, who had inherited her father’s lanky frame and broad smile. Indigo’s hair had been combed into a frizzy ponytail, the remnants of the water balloon fight she and her friends had at yesterday’s birthday barbecue.
“Sure. What time do you have to be there?” Rachelle asked.
They agreed to get dressed and meet in the kitchen in thirty minutes. Rachelle rummaged through her bag, still filled with her clothing from San Diego, and found the pair of jeans she had packed. She pulled out a gold camisole and the honey brown ballet flats she had worn for her trek through the airport.
After a quick shower, she strolled into the kitchen fully dressed and ready to go. Uncle Charles was flipping pancakes while Indigo and Yasmin sat at the table, waiting to be served. Indigo was listening to her purple iPod and reading a novel while Yasmin played with her pink handheld electronic game. Rachelle stifled a laugh. These could be her children, who also had traded in their Game Boys a couple of years ago for the next new gadgets.
Rachelle waved at them and Indigo set aside her distractions. “Good morning, family,” Rachelle said. She remembered waking up to Uncle Charles’s feasts during her days at Everson College, whenever she visited during the weekend. He always had breakfast duty and Aunt Irene prepared the rest of the meals.
“I see you’re still a pro in the kitchen,” Rachelle told him. She pulled out a chair and joined the girls at the rectangular oak table.
“He just does this to impress our guests,” Indigo said. “We don’t get this kind of service on a regular basis. So please, come more often.”
Uncle Charles placed dishes filled with warm scrambled eggs and slices of bacon in the center of the table. He slid plates stacked with pancakes in front of Rachelle and his daughters.
On his way back to the stove, he thumped the side of Indigo’s head with his thumb and forefinger.
“Hey!” she protested.
Rachelle laughed at their playful exchange. Sadness flickered in her heart for a second when she considered how Gabe never interacted like that with Taryn, and neither had her dad with her.
Uncle Charles flipped another set of pancakes. They were perfectly round and golden. He gave himself a thumbs-up.
“Thanks for taking Indigo to Melba’s,” he said as he moved about. “I took the day off from the car dealership since not too many people buy on Mondays during the summer. I’m going to remove those tents from yesterday’s barbecue and catch up on some projects around the house. Your Aunt Irene went to bed last night with a splitting headache. She’s still sleeping.”
Rachelle remembered the cup Aunt Irene had clutched most of yesterday, even while they sang “Happy Birthday” to Indigo. She wondered if Uncle Charles knew the likely cause of Aunt Irene’s ailment.
She was puzzled by the contrast between the thoughtful conversation she and Aunt Irene had just last night and what she was hearing now. Other than her sore hips, Aunt Irene had seemed coherent.
Uncle Charles placed the last pancake onto a clean plate and held it out to Indigo. “Take this to your Mama.”
Indigo focused her attention on the last bite of her eggs and bacon, without responding. Uncle Charles set the plate on the table, in front of her.
“Did you hear me?” he asked.
Rachelle couldn’t ever recall seeing him angry. If Indigo was like
every other teenager Rachelle knew, the girl would be mortified that her father was yelling at her in front of company. Rachelle rose from the table and headed down the hall to give them some privacy.
“I’ll get my purse and meet you at the car, Indigo,” she said.
Rachelle entered Reuben’s bedroom and leaned against the back of the door. What was going on with the Burns family? Maybe having an adolescent girl was testing Uncle Charles’s mettle.
Rachelle grabbed her bag and trotted back down the hallway. She peered into the kitchen and saw Uncle Charles was standing near Indigo, whispering heatedly. The girl’s face was expressionless.
If she’s anything like I was at that age, she is furious, Rachelle thought.
She trusted Uncle Charles’s child rearing judgment, but she empathized with Indigo. Sometimes parents didn’t get it; they put you in a box with a label affixed and tried to keep you there forever.
Rather than interrupt them, Rachelle decided to leave through the front door. Her car was parked out front anyway. She had moved it to the street before yesterday’s cookout so that Aunt Irene and Uncle Charles’s older guests wouldn’t have to walk far.
The heat engulfed Rachelle when she stepped outside onto the porch. Yasmin sat on the stoop, waiting for her. She looked up and offered Rachelle a puppy dog smile.
“Cousin Rachelle, will you please take me over to my friend Carmen’s house to play? Daddy called her mama, and she said it was okay. There’s nothing going on around this boring house.”
Indigo, who had followed Rachelle outside, smirked. “You’re seven,” she told Yasmin. “Play with your dolls and be happy.”
Yasmin clearly was used to her older sister’s disdain. She waited for Rachelle’s response, and when Rachelle nodded, she trotted off to find a few treasures to take with her. “Gimme just a minute, okay?”
Yasmin returned with a pink backpack stuffed with who knows what. Rachelle recognized one of the lumps as a doll, but didn’t ask what else was enclosed.
Indigo rolled her eyes. “You spend more time over there with your little friend than you do at home.”
Rachelle glanced at Indigo to gauge if the girl was serious, but couldn’t decide. That didn’t sound like something Aunt Irene would approve of, but then again, quite a few things seemed out of sorts. Whether they were worthy of concern was up for debate. Rachelle hoped she was reading more into things than she should.
15
Rachelle pulled away from the curb and followed Yasmin’s directions to Carmen’s house, two blocks away.
Twenty minutes later, she and Indigo turned into the parking lot adjacent to Hair Pizzazz, Aunt Melba’s salon. The squat, redbrick building that housed the business didn’t fit Aunt Melba’s stylish image. When clients entered, however, they often referred to the atmosphere as a chic or elegant haven.
Rachelle noticed that Aunt Melba had changed the décor since she had last ventured to the salon several years ago. The jewel-tone color scheme had been replaced by faux-finished, muted gold walls. Two sofas in the waiting area had been reupholstered in a Tuscany red, and an Oriental rug that covered most of the open floor emphasized both colors.
Live ferns were strategically placed on pedestals near each window and eclectic paintings graced the walls. It appeared that Aunt Melba still offered art majors from Everson College opportunities to display their work.
The soft jazz pouring through the speakers soothed Rachelle’s ears. She wasn’t getting her hair done today, but she had a feeling she’d leave here relaxed, just the same.
Other than Indigo, Aunt Melba had only two clients this morning, and one of them was Dr. Cynthia Bridgeforth. She waved to Rachelle and Indigo from under the dryer.
Aunt Melba motioned for Indigo to sit in her chair. She draped a black cape over the girl and fastened it at the neck while Rachelle stood with her and watched.
“I love the new décor, Aunt Melba.” Rachelle glanced around, admiring the makeover again. “When did you do all of this?”
“About six months ago,” Melba said. “It’s good to change things up every so often, you know? If I’ve got to be in here ten or twelve hours a day for most of the week, it’s like a second home, and I need to love it.”
Rachelle smiled. “Well, I love it too. Jubilant, Texas, isn’t going to be able to handle you in a minute. This is classy.”
Aunt Melba paused and put her hand on her hip. “Watch it now. Don’t be talking about my town. Jubilant isn’t Houston, but we aren’t all hicks, Miss Thang. You fit in right nicely before you became ‘Mrs. Cardiac Surgeon America.’”
They both laughed.
“Do you always come in on Mondays?” Rachelle asked, purposely changing the subject. She would rather focus on her independent, feisty aunt this morning than on her own trophy-wife woes. “I thought most hairstylists took this day off.”
Aunt Melba nodded. “I’m usually closed, but I couldn’t fit Cynthia in on Saturday, and she has an important function tonight. Then Indigo had so much fun at her party yesterday that she got her hair all wet and jacked it up.”
The three of them laughed. Melba motioned toward an older woman sitting under a dryer next to Cynthia.
“And Lela Cooley over there? She’s recovering from cancer and her hair is finally growing back. She called me on Saturday and told me she thought that enough had returned for her to throw away her wig and start getting it styled again. Since I was booked up and couldn’t squeeze her in, I told her to come today.
“I’ll have all of these folks in and out of my chair by one p.m.,” Aunt Melba said. “Got one more young lady coming in after Indigo, and the rest of the day will be mine.”
Aunt Melba walked Indigo to the shampoo bowl and wet and lathered the girl’s hair. Rachelle took a seat in the chair Indigo had vacated and watched.
When Aunt Melba had washed and rinsed twice, she slathered on conditioner and slid on a plastic cap. She instructed Indigo to close her eyes and relax for a few minutes.
Melba dried her hands with the white towel she kept on the rack behind the sink, then motioned for Rachelle to follow her through a door, into the salon’s supply room.
“What’s up, Aunt Melba?” Rachelle asked.
In her camel halter top, matching jeans, and wedge sandals, Melba looked ready for a casual chic photo shoot. She folded her arms and pursed her lips.
“You tell me,” she said. “What are you doing down here, hanging around town just when your ex-husband happens to move back and your current husband is nowhere to be found? You’re playing with fire, Rachelle.”
Rachelle frowned. “Aunt Melba,” she said slowly, grasping for a response she wouldn’t later regret. “I’m not sure what you’re thinking, but I’m not up to anything. I came to visit yesterday and didn’t realize that Troy was here, or that St. Peter’s Baptist had hired him. No idea. I wouldn’t have shown up if that were the case. And when I saw him at the barbecue yesterday, I almost grabbed my suitcase and drove home.
“I’m not playing games,” Rachelle continued. “I’m a grown woman and I’m married to someone else.”
Melba stared at her. “So you didn’t know he would be bringing Chaundra in this morning to get her hair done?”
Rachelle caught her breath. Another encounter? “Troy is coming here? I’ll leave and come back to pick up Indigo when you’re done.”
Melba wasn’t fazed by Rachelle’s frustration. “If it’s no big deal, why do you need to disappear every time he’s around?” she asked. “I don’t go to church often, but I was there yesterday, sitting on one of the last rows, and I saw you flee after service. I also saw you dash inside with your cell phone when he arrived at the barbecue.”
Rachelle was busted. She had been running, as if not sharing the same space with Troy would limit her exposure to her previous heartbreak. Then, when she had finally talked with him, she was the one who hadn’t wanted the conversation to end.
Even so, Rachelle wasn’t sure why Aunt Melba was
pushing her so hard.
“It’s not so cut-and-dried,” Rachelle said. “We were more than just college sweethearts, Aunt Melba. I eloped with him. It’s an awkward situation. But why are you so up in arms about this?”
Aunt Melba paused for the longest time, clearly debating whether to answer. “I’m just looking out for you, Rachelle. I don’t know what’s going on with you and Gabe, but I don’t think you should let this encounter with Troy blur your reason. God has a purpose for everything and everyone, including you.”
Rachelle’s eyes widened. Aunt Melba was the life of the party, not the spiritual sage. Where was this coming from?
“Don’t look so surprised!” Aunt Melba said. “God can work through anybody!”
They both chuckled.
“Look,” Aunt Melba said. “If you need to talk anything through, I’m here. I just see the potential for problems and I want you to make sure you keep your guard up.”
Rachelle gave her a light hug. “Thanks for caring, Auntie, but no need to worry,” she said. “Besides, Troy didn’t have two cents’ worth of time or words for me yesterday. He has moved on.”
The women returned to the salon’s studio. Indigo still rested at the sink with her eyes closed while Cynthia sat at a dryer with the hood up, waiting to have her hair combed and styled. Melba’s other client, Lela, had dozed off under the dryer.
Rachelle sauntered over to Cynthia and greeted her with a hug. Before long, Rachelle was quizzing the pediatrician about her work.
“It can be grueling, but I enjoy what I do,” Cynthia said. “I easily see fifteen to twenty patients a day, and they usually have a long wait, because I take the time to talk with the mothers about everything that’s going on in their families, not just about their child’s growth and development.
“A lot of my parents are just teenagers themselves, so their lives are challenging,” Cynthia said. “I realized a long time ago that God didn’t allow me to become a doctor just to administer medical advice. This is my social ministry.”