The Someday List

by Stacy Adams

  “Go on and take your calls, Rachelle,” Aunt Irene said. “I can’t go anywhere; I’ve got all afternoon to finish the story and chat about it.”

  Still, since she wasn’t familiar with the number, she let the call roll into voice mail.

  Seconds later, a light flashed, indicating that she had a message. Her patience was wearing thin as she punched in her voice mail password.

  She stopped breathing as she listened.

  “Rachelle, bet you didn’t expect to hear from me,” the voice said. “Just wanted to let you know that I’m here in Africa with your hubby, making sure he gets all of his safari needs met, just like I always do. And I do mean all of them. Hope you’re enjoying the weather in Texas.”

  The woman hadn’t left her name, but she didn’t have to. Rachelle knew Veronica’s voice.

  Rachelle clutched the book in her lap and stared out of the window. Her thoughts tripped over each other.

  So it was true—Gabe was having an affair and Veronica was his mistress. How long had this been going on? She had suspected something, but she wanted to be wrong. Even after her talk with Aunt Melba, she had dismissed her suspicions as paranoia. But maybe this call wasn’t legitimate. Veronica could simply be trying to rattle her. Would Gabe really be bold enough to take his girlfriend on a Christian mission trip?

  Aunt Irene had been right all along. Gabe was a selfish, self-centered man, and there wasn’t anything she could do to change him. If he really had stepped out on her, and if she had any shred of self-respect, there didn’t seem to be any more reason to even try to make it work.

  30

  Rachelle strained to compose herself without burdening Aunt Irene with the details of the last call, but Aunt Irene knew something was awry.

  “Want to talk about it?” she asked.

  What Rachelle really wanted was to crawl into bed, curl into a ball, and stay there forever. She wanted to be alone so she could throw something. And cry.

  Instead, she tried to feign interest in the third short story in the collection.

  Aunt Irene patted her hand. “You go on and take a walk or something. Something’s got you distracted. Get away and talk to God about it.”

  Rachelle graced her aunt with a halfhearted smile. “Does God hear heathens?”

  She was thinking about Troy, their kiss, and how she had enjoyed it. If Veronica was telling the truth about Gabe, though, her transgression hadn’t been so bad.

  “Does he hear heathens?” Aunt Irene repeated the question and raised her hands heavenward. “I sure hope so, cause you lookin’ at one. After I have shamed my family and hurt someone else’s child by driving drunk, God has every right to forget my name and address, like it seems most of my friends have.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “And Reuben.”

  Rachelle took her hand. Reuben had called several times from Prairie View, where he attended college and was enrolled in summer school classes. But she was surprised that he hadn’t made the two-hour trek home, especially after Aunt Irene underwent surgery. Rachelle had been tempted more than once to ask what was going on, but had thought better of it.

  Aunt Irene continued. “If God can love me and heal me in spite of myself, if he can hear my prayers and send me the peace I’ve begged for, he can hear you too, Rachelle. I could tell that last call unsettled you. Whatever it is, give it to God.”

  Rachelle sighed. “That sounds so easy—‘Give it to God.’ What does that accomplish? What does that even really mean?”

  Aunt Irene tried to sit up on her elbows. Rachelle stood up and propped a couple of pillows behind her.

  “It means you tell God what you desire to happen in a particular situation and you ask him to make the best decision on your behalf,” Aunt Irene said. “Then you just stop worrying about it, do the best you can with the options and opportunities available to you, and let God work it all out. He’s the only one in control anyway.

  “Believe me, that’s easier said than done. But after lots of practice, you eventually learn to really let go and trust him. I’m not a pro at this myself. There are things I’m still working through. But I know God is in the fight with me.”

  Rachelle began to weep. “What if you’re too angry to turn it over? What if you just want to hurt the person who hurt you?”

  Aunt Irene leaned forward and took her hand. “Whatever it is, Rachelle, you have to feel the pain, then let it go. It will eat you alive if you don’t. You have to work through the anger, then forgive and determine what’s next. Forgiveness is always key. You have to release yourself and the other person.”

  Rachelle wiped her eyes and looked at Aunt Irene. “I don’t understand. When I sit with you, you share all of this wisdom and helpful advice. Then I find out you’re out somewhere drinking too much and driving. Which Irene can I trust?”

  It was Aunt Irene’s turn to tear up. “I deserve that,” she said. “When I look in Indigo’s eyes, I can tell she’s asking herself the same question: which Mama does she really know, and which one can she rely on?

  “I fell into drinking years ago, after David and Meredith died.

  Losing my only son left a hole in my heart that hasn’t healed to this day.”

  Rachelle sat back in her seat. Now she understood.

  “When I got the call that he and Meredith had been killed instantly on the Gulf Freeway, part of me died too.” Aunt Irene squeezed her eyes shut to staunch the looming tears. “But I had to keep it together for his kids. Reuben was twelve, Indigo was seven, and Yasmin was just eight months—not even old enough to remember anything about her parents.

  “I had to wipe their tears and provide them with whatever they needed to make it through the loss. I stopped being their grandmother in order to raise them, Rachelle, and when I did that, I didn’t have a chance to grieve.”

  Rachelle climbed onto the bed next to Aunt Irene and hugged her.

  “I accompanied Charles to his company Christmas party about a year after the accident, and one of his bosses gave me a glass of champagne to toast Charles for being named the top car salesman of the year,” Aunt Irene said. “I sipped it at first, then a waiter walked by and offered me a second one. When I drank part of that, I felt a little buzz. I realized that for the first time in what seemed like forever, my heart wasn’t aching. I could think about losing David and never seeing Meredith again and about the tragedy of it all for my grandchildren and feel numb. Numb was better than the pain.”

  Rachelle did the math and looked at her. Reuben was twenty.

  “This started almost eight years ago?”

  Aunt Irene nodded. Rachelle could tell the confession was helping her.

  “That’s what your Uncle Charles was referring to when John, the lawyer, was here.” Aunt Irene removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “He’s seen me cycle on and off alcohol several times since then, usually when I’m stressed. I’ve always hidden it well—I’m a deacon’s wife, you know?

  “I usually could pull myself together and quit on my own. The hip injury last year threw me for a loop, though. Nothing the doctors gave me would dull the pain. I tried the vodka one day and it worked, and there I went again.”

  “What happened on the day of the accident?” Rachelle asked.

  Aunt Irene sighed. “I mixed my prescription medicine with the alcohol. I had scrubbed the kitchen floor late the night before, after the barbecue. Because I had been drinking, I didn’t realize just how much I was moving my hips.

  “That Monday morning, the pain was so fierce I wanted to scream. My hips felt like they were on fire. I took my anti-inflammatory medicine as usual, but this time, I also took a prescription painkiller. Then I had the nerve to chase it down with my usual morning drink—the vodka.”

  Rachelle nodded. “Yeah, that would leave you impaired. But where on earth were you going?”

  Aunt Irene shook her head. “To tell you the truth, I really don’t remember. I recall thinking I was hungry. I believe I was headed to the Chinese place
on Thompson Avenue. Or maybe I wanted to go to the cleaners. There’s no telling.”

  Aunt Irene looked sunken and sad. She lowered her eyes and surveyed her hands while she let her revelations sink in. Rachelle hugged her again.

  “Are you addicted, Auntie?”

  Aunt Irene shrugged. “I don’t think so, but then again, why would I be drinking early enough in the day to crash a car at one p.m.? I haven’t had a drink since the accident and I haven’t craved one, but I’m also on prescription pain medicine now, for the hip injury, versus over the counter.”

  Rachelle sighed. “Professional help is available if you really need it, you know? You’ll get through this. You’ll be fine.”

  Aunt Irene nodded. “I think so,” she said. “But now you know why Reuben rarely comes home. He thinks I’m a hypocrite and can’t stand that Charles tolerates it. And look how Charles and the girls are suffering because of me.

  “I’m wondering if he’s selling any cars these days, or if people are shunning him at work too. He won’t say. Yasmin, she’s so young and unaware, she loves me unconditionally. Indigo can’t stand to be in the same room with me. I’m really worried about her.”

  “It’s going to all work out, Auntie,” Rachelle said. “Isn’t that what you’re always telling me faith is about? I just want you to get better, and if you need it, get some help so this doesn’t happen again.”

  “It won’t, Rachelle. I know how much is at stake,” Aunt Irene said. “I don’t mean to change the subject, but I hope you do too.”

  31

  The neck that had once enticed him with forbidden longing now drew his attention for a different reason. Gabe was so angry that he wanted to choke the life out of Veronica.

  She couldn’t be telling the truth.

  “Don’t believe me? Call your wife and ask her what she knows,” Veronica said and laughed. “Call her and ask her who she believes.”

  A caretaker at the orphanage joined Gabe and Veronica outside and began peppering them with questions about American life. What was Hollywood like? Was everyone really rich? How did poor people survive? Had they ever met Beyoncé or Barack Obama?

  Gabe politely excused himself from the conversation and assured the man that Veronica would be happy to tell him everything he wanted to know.

  “She’s a big fan of Entertainment Tonight and the National Enquirer,” Gabe said with a straight face. “I don’t think she has to be anywhere this afternoon. Ask away!”

  Veronica narrowed her eyes at Gabe while smiling at the caretaker, who led her to a bench where they could sit and chat.

  That’s what she deserves, he thought. First she seduces me, then she tries to ruin my marriage.

  All he could think about was Rachelle hearing Veronica’s accusations and being devastated. Despite the disdain he had long felt for his wife, he had never meant to hurt her. Veronica had just been . . . available.

  He strolled through the orphanage, looking for a quiet, secure spot in which he could make a cell phone call. Sometimes the calls went through and sometimes they didn’t.

  He wondered where Veronica had been when she succeeded in contacting Rachelle. How could she?

  He finally got through and decided to play it cool, in case Veronica had been bluffing. When Rachelle didn’t answer, he left a message on her voice mail.

  “Rachelle, I’m guessing you’re still in Jubilant, and . . . that’s fine. Just wanted to say hi and let you know that things are going well here in Uganda. We have a few more days left before we head back to the States. The trip has been . . . amazing, Rachelle. I can’t wait to see you and tell you about it.”

  God, please don’t let her leave me.

  He left a similar message at home, in case she had decided to return to Houston. What if she were at their house, moving herself and the kids out? The more he thought about losing his family, the angrier he grew. It was all that selfish Veronica’s fault.

  Before fully thinking it through, he stalked off in search of her. She was still on the patio, this time sitting by herself. Gabe moved swiftly, until he was standing before her.

  “Do you know what you have done? You may have ruined my life! You think that’s going to make you Mrs. Covington? Think again!”

  Veronica couldn’t escape him from her seated position, so she cowered instead. “Stop yelling,” she hissed. “All these folks don’t need to know we’ve been sleeping together!”

  “Too late.”

  Gabe spun around and Veronica leapt to her feet.

  Stevens stood before them, and he was fuming. “I really don’t believe this.” He looked at Gabe with a mixture of hurt and disgust. “Man . . . why?”

  Gabe lowered his head.

  Veronica stepped in front of him and smiled at Stevens. “So now you know.” She stabbed her finger in Gabe’s direction. “Your partner here has been stringing me along for almost two years, telling me how bored he is with his Barbie-doll wife, and how he needs some true companionship. Well, I’m tired of playing second string. He needs to make good on his promises.”

  Stevens looked from Veronica to Gabe and back again, without speaking.

  He bowed his head briefly before looking up again and gently addressing Veronica. “This trip ends in another four days, but under the circumstances, especially since our hosts have likely heard this inappropriate exchange, I think it would be wise for both of you to head back home early.”

  Veronica seemed unfazed. “I’m tired of this place anyway,” she said. “Please send me home!”

  “The thing is, I can’t send you out of here together—that would be just as inappropriate as allowing you to stay. One of you has to go tomorrow and the other can leave two days later. It’s going to be an extra burden for our drivers to keep going back and forth to the airport two hours away, but I don’t see any other way to handle it.”

  Gabe sighed and shook his head. Not only had he broken his marriage vows, he had disgraced himself with his colleague.

  Mukasa, the director of the orphanage slowly approached Stevens and tapped his shoulder. He took Stevens aside and gestured vividly while speaking too low for Gabe or Veronica to understand.

  Gabe looked at her and rolled his eyes. “Happy now?” he asked. “Feel better?”

  She rolled her eyes as well. “If I can’t be happy, neither should you. We went into this together, so we can go down together.”

  Stevens and Mukasa returned. Mukasa lowered his eyes so that he did not have to look at either Gabe or Veronica. Stevens addressed them matter-of-factly.

  “Mukasa can arrange for you to stay in a nearby parsonage with a minister and his wife for the next four days,” he told Veronica. “That would prevent us from burdening his drivers with extra trips. It’s more feasible for you to go than Gabe, because the family has three daughters. You are the more appropriate choice for their sleeping arrangements.”

  Veronica put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “You’re trying to send me off to sleep in some hut? In Africa? By myself? Who do you think I am?”

  Stevens sighed and turned to Mukasa. “Thanks, friend, but we’re going to have to figure something else out, okay?”

  By nightfall, it had been determined that Veronica would stay, but would no longer serve in the same vicinity as Gabe. As long as they weren’t seen together, Mukasa agreed to tolerate their presence for the duration of the trip.

  Stevens had been sullen the rest of the day. Gabe finally garnered the courage to approach him after dinner, where he sat with Chrissa, looking out into the bush.

  Gabe walked over slowly and stood there, unsure of what to say.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Stevens broke the silence. “Yes?”

  Chrissa patted his back and rose from her seat. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”

  Before walking away, she paused and gave Gabe a light hug. “No matter how bad it seems right now, all things have a way of working themselves out.”

  Gabe didn’t tell her that w
as what worried him most. When she was gone, he took her spot next to Stevens. “

  You disgusted with me?”

  Stevens looked at him. “Yeah, Gabe, I am. How long has this been going on?”

  Gabe sat back and peered up at the sky. “Veronica exaggerated a little. I’d say about eighteen months. Either way, it was too long. The other night, when I was asking you about God’s grace and mercy? It was because of this. Veronica and I broke up about a month or so ago, and my stay here only reinforced that decision. She kept coming on to me and got angry when I told her it was really over. I lost it earlier today when she bragged about calling Rachelle and telling her about the affair. Is this how God redeems our mistakes?”

  Stevens stood up and faced Gabe. “Don’t go bringing God into this. You’re no scapegoat. We all have to deal with the consequences of our actions, no matter who we are—saved or sinner. You still need to ask him to forgive you, along with asking Rachelle—and Veronica, for that matter—if you’re serious about fixing things.”

  “Veronica?” Gabe said and frowned.

  “Yeah, her too,” Stevens said. “I don’t know how all of this started, but you chose to participate. You chose to cheat on your wife, and in the process, you violated Veronica too. If you had resisted, she wouldn’t have been able to act on her desires. It took only one of you to be strong enough to stop.”

  Gabe put his head in his hands and groaned. When he lifted his eyes, Stevens was staring at him, this time with compassion.

  “I’m disappointed, Gabe, but didn’t I tell you about my gambling problem the other night?” he said. “None of us is perfect. We simply can’t be. So I’m upset, but I’m not judging you. I just want you to think about whether living for nothing but yourself, by your own rules, is worth all of this.”

  Stevens slapped Gabe’s back gently. He turned and walked toward the orphanage.

  “Good night, man,” he said. “I’m praying for you.”