The Someday List

by Stacy Adams

  Rachelle sighed with relief.

  “Is this you, Rae? I must have ‘prayed you up,’” Jillian said. Despite her weak voice, Rachelle heard the same Jillian she’d always known.

  “Yep, my friend, that’s exactly what you did,” Rachelle said. “When I woke up this morning, you were the first thing on my mind, so I climbed out of bed and talked to God about you.”

  She knew Jillian was smiling.

  “I’m really glad to hear that, Rae. Thank you.”

  “I’m glad to have a chance to talk to you,” Rachelle said. “I’ve wanted to touch base since the party, but I wasn’t sure if you were up to taking calls.

  “I’ve been thinking about you a lot, Jill. People say stuff like this all the time, but I want you to know that your strength and faith during this time have shown me what it means to really live.”

  There. Rachelle had said what she’d been feeling all this time since Jillian’s invitation had arrived in the mail. She was in a challenging place right now, trying to figure it all out, but it was a good place, because after her experience this morning, she knew God cared about her too.

  “You don’t know how much that means to me, Rae,” Jillian said. Her voice was growing weaker. “Others who came to the party have said the same thing. But you and I have been estranged for a long time. I should have never told you not to marry Gabe. I was out of line. It was your choice.”

  Rachelle gazed out of the window and shook her head, as if Jillian could see her through the phone. “Don’t apologize, especially since you were right,” she finally said. “He was and is arrogant, he was and is controlling, and he was and is in need of a trophy wife rather than an equal partner. Up until now, I could live with all of that. Now, I just don’t know.”

  “What does that mean? Are you and Gabe still together?” Jillian asked.

  “Yes, we are,” Rachelle said. “But I’ve been struggling with whether to stay. I know I married him for security, although I hadn’t gotten over Troy. I loved Troy, Jillian, and I’m not so sure that I still don’t. Do you believe in second chances?”

  The silence extended for so long that Rachelle feared they had either been disconnected or her friend had fallen asleep. But Jillian finally responded.

  “Second, and even third chances can and do happen, Rachelle,” Jillian said, “but not at the expense of something God has already ordained and blessed. When you married Gabe, that became the man you should honor. Unless he has been abusive or in some other way broken your marriage vows, you can’t just decide to rewind life and try to start over again—fifteen years later—with the man you first loved. Life doesn’t work that way. God wants you to be happy, but he also wants you to keep your commitments.”

  Rachelle’s heart sank with the realization that her friend wasn’t giving her an easy way out. It appeared that Gabe had committed adultery, but had she been an accomplice by not calling him on it? She had more questions, if Jillian had enough strength to keep talking.

  “Can I ask you something else?”

  “Anything,” Jillian said. “I don’t know how much more time I have left, Rae, so let’s talk. I want this conversation to matter, forever. What do you want to know?”

  “How did you connect with God?” Rachelle asked, almost afraid that the answer would be so amazing that she couldn’t possibly accomplish a similar feat.

  She rose from her seat to check the pots on the stove. She was making spaghetti sauce for lunch and wanted to make sure nothing was in danger of burning. After a quick perusal, she repositioned herself at the table, thankful that she hadn’t been interrupted by one of the girls or Aunt Irene. She wanted to hear Jillian’s response without distractions.

  “I traveled all over the world taking pictures and saw some of the most amazing sights and some of the most horrific,” Jillian said. “Witnessing both ends of life’s spectrum led me to question how this world was really fashioned and what purpose all of us play in it.

  “When I went to Jerusalem about eight years ago, seeing the historic places mentioned in the Bible and seeing the people who live in that region fervently praying several times a day, despite whatever else was going on, just changed me.” Jillian paused and coughed. “I realized that for them, everything began and ended with a reverence for God. I wanted to be connected to something more meaningful and lasting than my pictures.

  “When I began exploring Christianity and found a church here in San Diego that taught me how to read the Bible and relate it to my own experience, I finally got a sense of who God is and how we all fit into the world’s vast landscape.”

  Rachelle couldn’t help but interrupt. She needed to know too. “Where do we fit?”

  “In the palm of God’s hand, Rae. It sounds simplistic, but it serves as the foundation of everything—particularly how we live and how we love,” Jillian said. “You know how much I struggled at one point with being part Asian and part black; but when I began to rest in God, I understood that he loves all of us, despite our cultural, racial, or personality differences. That meant I could love myself unconditionally because I was one of his children. He wants every one of us to love each other the same way.”

  Rachelle frowned. All it boiled down to was love?

  The strain that had permeated Jillian’s voice had disappeared. “It’s hard to articulate, Rae, but it’s like I was a deflated balloon until God blew his breath into me. I’ve never been the same since. He sustains me, he makes me laugh, he loves me—good, bad, ugly; even when I’m passing gas from this medicine.”

  “What?!” Rachelle laughed out loud.

  Leave it to Jillian to lighten the mood, even while discussing something as serious as her faith.

  “Studying the Bible and connecting with others who understand and appreciate God’s love has helped me deepen my relationship with him,” Jillian said. “When I got the news about how much time I supposedly have left, I was devastated.

  “Patrick and I had begun trying to have a baby. I had a lot more living to do! But if God wants me to come home, overstaying my welcome here on earth would lead to more heartache than I probably could handle on my own.”

  Jillian sighed, and Rachelle could tell that she was weeping.

  “I don’t know the reason he’s shortening my stay—I can only speculate. But I do know that I love him and trust him, no matter what he decides. And I’m grateful for the ride I’ve had.”

  “How do I get to that place with him?” Rachelle wiped her wet eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m embarrassed to tell you that I can’t even figure out who I am or what I want out of life. That Top Ten List you asked all of us to create? I have one thing on my list, Jill, and it’s not even a real goal. I am pitiful. How do I get happy?”

  Rachelle felt ashamed for seeking her dying friend’s advice on how to live.

  “Accept how much God loves you, honey, and run toward him instead of in the opposite direction,” Jillian said. “When you anchor your heart in his love, it can’t help but flow outward. God will begin showing you your purpose, when you’re ready to walk in it.”

  Rachelle finally believed she was.

  38

  The courtroom was nearly empty, and for that, Rachelle was thankful.

  A blond man carrying a slim notepad entered and slid into a seat on the second row to the right. The Jubilant Herald had remembered to send a reporter. Great.

  She sat across the aisle from him and tried to shield the girls from his view. Yasmin was next to her, followed by Indigo, then Uncle Charles. Her dad, who had flown in from Philadelphia last night to support his sister, sat next to Uncle Charles. Aunt Melba, Cynthia, and Pastor Taylor sat on the row behind them.

  Rachelle couldn’t recall ever praying for anything or anyone as fervently as she had prayed for Aunt Irene over the past twenty-four hours. Her aunt was a good and loving person who needed help, not a devastating punishment. Rachelle’s conversations with God were too new for her to know exactly what to say, but she trusted th
at the Psalms she had been reading with Aunt Irene were an accurate barometer of what he found acceptable. She felt hopeful that her pleas of God, grant her mercy, had been heard. Between the family’s collective and personal prayers, Rachelle had to trust that everything would turn out okay.

  Everyone stood when Judge Candice Carmichael entered the courtroom. She took Aunt Irene’s case file from the court clerk and skimmed its contents.

  “Mrs. Burns, I was prepared to simply record the charges against you today and schedule a trial date, but am I correct in understanding that you are ready to enter a plea this morning?”

  Aunt Irene glanced at her lawyer and nodded.

  “I need you to speak, rather than use head motions, for the benefit of the clerk transcribing these proceedings,” Judge Carmichael told her.

  “I’m sorry, Your Honor,” Aunt Irene said softly. “Yes, I am entering an Alford plea.”

  Her attorney, John Dupree, had explained to the family last night that by making this kind of plea, Aunt Irene was not technically pleading guilty, in the traditional sense. Instead, she was acknowledging that there was enough evidence to find her guilty of causing bodily harm to another person while driving drunk.

  The Alford plea allowed her to take responsibility for her actions without assuming the guilt of someone who had committed the crime intentionally, and it allowed the prosecuting attorney to recommend a sentence that better fit her crime.

  If this option hadn’t been available, Aunt Irene informed the family that she would have entered a traditional guilty plea without qualms.

  “I’m not trying to dodge the consequences of my actions,” she had insisted, with her eyes fixed on Yasmin and Indigo. “I’ve taught you two, and your brother Reuben, to never do that, and I can’t break my own rules.”

  As she stood before the judge this morning, the prosecutor summarized the details of the car accident and provided the judge with documentation of Aunt Irene’s blood alcohol level. Copies of the injured child’s medical records were also entered into evidence.

  “Judge, not only was she intoxicated with alcohol, blood tests revealed that she also had prescription pain medicine in her system,” Kirby Branson said. “The worst part was that this accident resulted in more harm than just a few banged-up cars. Because of her negligence, a young boy will spend most of his summer in leg and arm casts.”

  John Dupree spoke on Aunt Irene’s behalf.

  “Mrs. Burns is an upstanding citizen, a retired schoolteacher, who coped with the grief of losing her only child by self-medicating in an unwise fashion. A fairly recent hip injury that required her to take several prescription medicines only compounded the issue.

  “She is very remorseful, and recently began making a positive contribution to the lives of children about the age of the boy who was hurt in the accident. She is reading to youths in a local pediatric office and is prepared to continue this community service long term.”

  John held a document in the air. “I have a notarized statement about her excellent service from the doctor who operates the reading program.”

  Judge Carmichael nodded and turned toward Aunt Irene. “What do you have to say for yourself, Mrs. Burns?”

  Aunt Irene had taken a seat while the lawyers presented the evidence. John helped her stand again so she could respond. She glanced at her family before speaking. “I don’t know what to say, Your Honor, except that I am very sorry.”

  She began softly, but the longer she talked, the louder and more confident she grew. “I know you get apologies all day long, but I am truly horrified by what happened. I have asked my family to forgive me and also the little boy who I hurt, and his family. I wrote them a letter last week and my lawyer gave it to Mr. Branson to deliver. I love children, Your Honor. I would never have put that young man or his family in harm’s way if I had been coherent.

  “That’s no excuse—I’m owning up to my failure. I started drinking years ago, after my son and his wife were killed in a car accident. My daughter-in-law’s mother was deceased and her father was legally blind, so that meant my husband and I had to take custody of our three grandchildren.

  “I can honestly say it has been a joy.” Aunt Irene’s voice began to tremble, but she continued. “They are beautiful young people, and they deserve much better than they’ve had from me when my drinking has spiraled out of control.

  “I’m asking you to please give me a chance to right the things I’ve done wrong. They’ve already lost their biological parents. Please let me stay with them and make it up to them.”

  Before she finished speaking, a young couple entered the courtroom and sat on the last row of seats. Rachelle didn’t recognize them, but they seemed to be hanging on to Aunt Irene’s every word.

  Rachelle ignored the knot forming in her stomach and turned her attention back to Judge Carmichael who was reviewing the sentence both parties had agreed upon, to decide whether she would approve it.

  Please, God, grant her mercy, Rachelle prayed again.

  “First of all, Mrs. Burns, let me commend you for taking care of your grandchildren after your devastating loss,” the judge said. “I’m sure the experience has been rewarding for you and for them.

  “However, I can’t ignore the seriousness of this crime. You were driving drunk.” She paused and let those words resonate. “Your actions injured a child and could have killed someone.”

  She paused again and stared at Aunt Irene, who didn’t avert her gaze.

  “I am taking into account the fact that you are a first offender, and that you’ve already begun giving back to the community by reading to pediatric patients. I will honor the guidelines set forth in this plea agreement and sentence you to one year of probation and 200 hours of community service, and I order you to complete an accredited substance abuse program, such as Alcoholics Anonymous.” Judge Carmichael’s expression was as nonchalant as if she were ordering a cup of coffee, but her warning pricked Rachelle’s heart. “If you wind up back in here, Mrs. Burns, I’ll revoke your license and you will serve time in jail. I hear stories like yours all the time—it’s up to you to turn things around for these children you say you love.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Aunt Irene said. “I’ll work hard to insure that I’m never in this position again.”

  Rachelle glanced at her cousins and saw that Indigo was weeping. Yasmin was too young to understand what the judge’s orders meant, and she peered at Rachelle expectantly.

  “Does this mean Mommy’s not in trouble anymore?’”

  “It means that she will make up for what happened by continuing to visit Dr. Bridgeforth’s office to read books to children,” Rachelle whispered. “It also means she will have to talk to someone about finding good ways to handle pain when her hips bother her. But she’s had her surgery now; she’ll be feeling a lot better in a few more months.”

  “So she’s not going to jail?”

  Yasmin covered her mouth to stifle a scream when Rachelle told her no.

  Minutes later, outside the courtroom, Uncle Charles refused to give the Herald reporter a comment, and the man reluctantly left to file his story.

  The family took turns hugging Aunt Irene, who was in tears. Rachelle noticed when she stepped aside that the couple who had listened to Aunt Irene’s plea and sentence stood nearby, watching. Glaring. They had to be the parents of the little boy who was injured in the crash, she decided. The woman followed Aunt Irene’s every move with her eyes.

  When she noticed Rachelle staring, she challenged her. “What you looking at? I’m checking out the criminal who hurt my baby and just got off scot free, ’cause she said she was sorry.”

  Everyone froze in unison.

  Where was the bailiff? Rachelle couldn’t believe he had disappeared so quickly.

  Her father stepped in front of Irene. “Ma’am, maybe you’d better leave,” he said calmly.

  The man who had accompanied the angry lady tugged at her arm. “That’s alright, Angela,” he said,
while keeping his eyes on Rachelle’s dad. “We don’t want no trouble. These folks uppity. You see that. They bought that old lady’s freedom. They gone pay for our son’s doctor bills, though. That prosecutor told us so.”

  The woman yanked her arm free, and Herbert moved again to protect his sister.

  But Aunt Irene gripped her walker and poked her head around him. “No, it’s okay, Herb,” she said. “I want to talk to her, if she’ll let me.”

  “I’m listening.” The woman flung her shoulder-length reddish-blond braids over her shoulder, pursed her full lips, and folded her thick arms. A deep frown creased her cinnamon brow, but even so, Rachelle was struck by her pretty features, which under different circumstances would have seemed friendly and inviting.

  Aunt Irene shuffled toward the woman and her companion, with Uncle Charles at her side.

  When she reached them, she sighed and pushed herself as upright as she could. “I’m glad you came today,” she said softly.

  Surprise registered on the man’s face. “My wife and I are angry at you. We don’t have much in this world, but your selfishness coulda taken our baby’s life. He’s all we got, and it took us years to have him. You coulda killed him.”

  Tears swam in Aunt Irene’s eyes. “You two love your son and God, don’t you?”

  Now the woman’s expression changed.

  “How do I know?” Aunt Irene answered the woman’s unasked question with a halfhearted smile. “Because there’s nothing else keeping either of you from cursing my name right now. You’re being way too kind for what I did.”

  The man looked at his wife. The fire in her eyes seemed to dim, but she didn’t alter her stance.

  “We received your letter,” the man said, “but we had to come here today. My wife couldn’t make peace with this until she heard what you had to say. She wanted to see you and hear you before she’d ask God to forgive you. We’re here today really for her, to help her move on.”

  Aunt Irene peered into the woman’s eyes. Even from where she stood, Rachelle could see the challenge the woman was issuing. Whatever Aunt Irene said had better be good.