The Someday List

by Stacy Adams

Gabe sat there in the dark and in the silence, fully seeing himself for the first time. His seasons of accomplishment flashed before his mind’s eye: his marriage to Rachelle, the professional accolades and awards, the birth of his children, his complacency with everything. The arrogance and sense of entitlement. The thrill he thought an affair would bring. The emptiness that followed. The joy of helping a Ugandan woman who had been bedridden for months feel better. The despair over possibly returning home the same as he had left.

  He just couldn’t. He sat there and sobbed and replayed those scenes over and over. And for the first time with pure sincerity, he called out to God.

  “I need you now, Lord. I don’t know any other way.”

  32

  Rachelle turned on the cell and listened to Gabe’s messages with disgust.

  He had been calling off and on for two days now, and she hadn’t bothered to respond. He hadn’t mentioned Veronica, so she was curious to know if he was aware that this nurse and girlfriend had contacted her.

  Then again, knowing Gabe, he was playing innocent. He’d take whatever position served him best. Since the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy had been working, he wasn’t going to alter it.

  Rachelle still didn’t know if she loved him or whether that should factor into her decisions about the future. Had that mattered when she married him?

  She had reached the conclusion that whatever happened to their relationship long term, they were going to have to develop better communication and some level of respect, for the sake of their children. She also realized that whatever doubts she had about her marriage, something was there, because when she allowed Veronica’s news flash to penentrate her defenses, it hurt deeply to imagine that Gabe had slept with another woman, and one she knew at that.

  How would Mom tell me to handle this?

  Rachelle smirked. She could hear her mother now—“What do you mean, what should you do? He’s a heart surgeon. Go shopping and get over it!”

  And Alanna?

  That one was trickier. Little sis seemed to be mellowing, so Rachelle wasn’t sure what she could expect—advice to forgive and try to work things out with Gabe, or an itinerary on when and where the beat-downs for Veronica and Gabe should occur.

  Rachelle was leaning toward the latter, but she was pretty sure that wouldn’t make God happy, and she was glad that Aunt Irene, who sat in the passenger seat perusing a magazine, couldn’t read her mind.

  She drove into the parking lot in front of Cynthia Bridgeforth’s medical office while she listened to Gabe’s fifth and final message.

  “Rachelle,” he paused for a few seconds and sighed. “I’m calling to say I’m sorry. For everything. We have a lot to work through when I get home, but I want you to know that I’m ready to try. No more games.”

  That was a first. Rachelle pulled the phone away from her ear, as if it were contagious.

  Aunt Irene looked at her. “What?”

  Rachelle shook her head. “Gabe left me a thoughtful message. I’m not sure what’s going on, but he sounded different.”

  Aunt Irene smiled. “That’s a good thing,” she said. “Maybe he’ll come home to a different wife.”

  Rachelle tucked the phone away without responding.

  Maybe he would, and maybe he wouldn’t. She had thought about all that Aunt Irene had advised her a few days ago and all that Aunt Melba had shared last week.

  Aunt Melba was right about Troy—Rachelle was playing with fire. And she was right about the need for Rachelle to stop living on someone else’s coattails. Rachelle couldn’t thrive and be the “daughter of,” “wife of,” “mother of,” forever.

  Still, she was scared. Changing might mean losing the life she knew. She wasn’t sure she was ready to stop being Mrs. Covington, just for the sake of being more self-aware. She also wasn’t sure she could keep turning a blind eye to her husband’s transgressions, especially when they slapped her in the face.

  “What are you so lost in thought about?” Aunt Irene asked.

  Rachelle shrugged. “Everything, I guess.” She grabbed her purse and stepped out of the car. “Come on, let’s go in.”

  Rachelle held open the door to Dr. Cynthia’s office and leaned against it, giving Aunt Irene plenty of time to enter with the assistance of her walker.

  “This is a shame,” Aunt Irene said. “I look like a ninety-year-old woman!”

  Cynthia was standing just inside the pediatric office, waiting to greet her.

  “Oh hush! You don’t look a day over fifty,” she told Aunt Irene and gave her a hug.

  Rachelle thought that was pushing it, but given that Aunt Irene was actually sixty, it was a compliment.

  “Come on in and get comfortable,” Cynthia said.

  They had agreed that Aunt Irene would spend two hours in the waiting room, greeting children and their parents when they arrived and offering to read books to the younger ones, if they were interested. Cynthia had positioned a straight-back chair for Aunt Irene near a small table that was stacked with a variety of books.

  “The kids will probably come over to the table and tell you what they’d like to read,” Cynthia said. “Just play it by ear, and have fun, Irene.”

  Aunt Irene smiled. Rachelle could tell she was nervous but determined to give it a try.

  The cozy waiting room bustled with busy toddlers and tired mothers. Some were yelling at babies who could walk but weren’t yet able to articulate their thoughts. Some mothers seemed overwhelmed by several children they were trying to keep in line.

  After observing for a few minutes, Rachelle asked the receptionist for the other volunteer smock and began rounding up the kids to steer them in Aunt Irene’s direction.

  “Come on, sweetie,” she said with a smile to one busy little girl who was sucking her thumb and a lollipop at the same time. “Let’s read a book.”

  The girl’s mother seemed baffled by the invitation.

  “I’m going to take her over to the table so that nice lady sitting over there can read a story to her,” Rachelle told the woman. “Is that okay?”

  The mother nodded cautiously and watched to see what her daughter would do. The girl, who was about three, took a seat at the table and squirmed until Aunt Irene began reading and pointing to the book’s colorful pictures.

  “Where is the red ball?” she asked.

  Before the girl could answer, a boy who was sitting nearby with his mother piped up. “Right there!” he yelled. “The dog has the ball in his mouth!”

  The boy’s mother laughed. “I didn’t know you were even listening,” she told him. “Go to the table so she can read to you.”

  Rachelle marveled at how quickly most of the kids became engaged as Aunt Irene raised and lowered her voice and made animal and car engine sounds to match the action and dialogue on each page.

  About an hour into the session, Aunt Irene had read four books and was now sitting in a chair near the waiting room bookshelf, organizing the titles. She pulled out books that were torn or covered with teeth marks and put the others in alphabetical order.

  “I know it won’t look like this for long, once the kids start searching for what they want,” she told Rachelle, “but for now, it makes me feel better.”

  When a fresh round of youngsters filled the waiting room, Aunt Irene started the process over.

  The door leading to the exam room opened and instead of a nurse emerging to call for the next patient, Cynthia stuck her head out and motioned for Rachelle to join her.

  “Melba told me you want to volunteer too,” she said. “Come back here with me.”

  Rachelle tried to appear unfazed, but she was thrilled. “I’ll be back, Auntie,” she told Irene.

  She followed Cynthia down a short, brightly colored hallway, into a mid-sized room. Rachelle grinned when she saw the chart with letters on the wall, diminishing in size from top to bottom.

  “I get to help administer eye exams?”

  Cynthia nodded. “If you don’t mind
. You’re still licensed, right? The nurse will bring the patients who need one back to you.”

  “Sure,” Rachelle said. “I haven’t done this in forever, but I’ll give it a try.”

  Cynthia smiled. “It’ll come back to you,” she said and stepped out of the room. She returned seconds later with a white lab coat and held out her hand to Rachelle. “Give me that volunteer smock, and you take this.”

  Rachelle chuckled and complied. She positioned herself on the stool behind the piece of equipment she would look through to peer into a child’s pupils and waited for a nurse to bring a young patient her way.

  She looked around the room—at the seaside mural that featured dolphins flying through the air, catching letters of the alphabet—and smiled. An excitement she hadn’t felt for a long time swelled inside of her. She was about to contribute something, and it felt really, really good.

  33

  Rachelle had downplayed the encounter with Troy for as long as she could, but today, she realized she had to stop running.

  Troy had called her again a few times at Aunt Irene’s and tried to apologize, but she had rushed him off the phone.

  “It’s no big deal, Troy. Forget about it, okay?” The last time he had called, Rachelle hung up before he could respond.

  He followed up by mailing a card and writing a brief note.

  It is a big deal. We need to talk. Until we do, this won’t ever be resolved, for either of us.

  He included his email address and cell phone number and asked her to give him a date and time when they could sit down together, with Pastor Taylor or someone of her choosing. Rachelle responded by putting the information in File 13.

  Today he was trying a new tactic. How had he gotten her cell phone number?

  “I hope you don’t feel like you’re being stalked, Rachelle,” he said. “We just really need to talk. I need to apologize for my recent behavior and see where we stand. I’ll be at the church all day today. If you stop by, Pastor Taylor has agreed to sit and listen, or sit and talk with us. Whatever we need. He’s my mentor as well as my boss, and I trust him. You can bring someone with you if you feel like you need some support. Just come, Rachelle. Please.”

  She sighed. This sounded too much like marriage counseling, and she was no longer his wife.

  Yet even Alanna was taking his side. “Talk to the man, Chelle! You’ve got to clear up whatever there is between you two.”

  Rachelle pulled in front of Hair Pizzazz and tucked the phone in her purse. She was Aunt Melba’s first client of the day.

  “Why you needed to come in at seven a.m. when all you’re doing is driving ‘Miss Daisy’ to volunteer at Cynthia’s clinic is beyond me,” Aunt Melba teased. “My next client doesn’t come in until ten thirty today, so I got out of bed early for you.”

  Rachelle smiled. “Well, thank you. ‘Miss Daisy’ is excited about reading to the kids at the clinic. She likes to get there when Cynthia opens. I happen to like it a lot too. I’ve been helping with eye exams.”

  Aunt Melba lowered Rachelle’s head into the shampoo bowl and nodded. “Cynthia told me. She says you’re great with the kids and the parents.”

  Rachelle was beginning to think so too. Since they were alone, however, she had a more pressing matter on her mind. “Troy keeps trying to contact me. Can you believe it, Aunt Melba?”

  Melba was quiet as she worked shampoo through Rachelle’s hair and scrubbed her scalp. “What does he want, Rachelle?” she finally asked.

  “He keeps apologizing for kissing me and says he wants to meet so we can put this behind us.”

  Melba stood back and looked at her. “I actually think that’s a good idea, under the right circumstances. Both of you need to deal with what happened so you can bless and release each other. You need to move on so you can get things straight with Gabe.

  And it hasn’t escaped my attention that this fine man is walking around Jubilant unattached. If I were about thirty years younger, I’d be telling him to kick you to the curb once and for all.”

  Rachelle raised her head and tried to keep from leaking water onto the floor. “Aunt Melba!”

  “I’m serious,” she said. “You don’t need to be looking at him, but I can!”

  Rachelle resumed her position and shook her head in exasperation.

  “Seriously though, Rachelle, you need to talk and get this resolved,” Melba said. “It’s probably weighing on him because he works at church, with Pastor Taylor, and he wants to make sure he’s doing the right things before God.”

  Rachelle hadn’t considered that. Maybe Troy was trying to clear this up so he could minister more effectively through the music. If that was the case, she had been hampering him.

  She told Melba about his plea for her to come to the church today and his offer for her to bring someone along. “Will you go with me?”

  Melba glanced at the clock. It was 7:20 a.m. “I’ll be done with your hair in another hour, but I don’t want to miss my next client.”

  Rachelle frowned. “Didn’t you just tell me she won’t be in until ten thirty?”

  Aunt Melba nodded. “Yep, but this could take awhile. Call him and ask if he and Pastor Taylor mind coming here. If they get here right at eight thirty, that would give us almost two hours. I want to help.”

  Troy had left his cell phone number in the message. Rachelle listened to it again and stored the digits in her temporary memory bank.

  He picked up on the first ring. “Thanks for calling me back.” He sounded anxious.

  “Would you and Pastor Taylor be able to meet me at Melba’s salon in about an hour?”

  Troy agreed without hesitating. “We’ll be there. Thank you, Rachelle. I appreciate it.”

  She clicked off the phone and realized she was feeling uneasy. This could be the close of a difficult chapter for both of them, but first, some deep wounds might have to be reopened.

  34

  Gabe couldn’t believe it.

  They were just children, many of them the same ages as Taryn and Tate, just eight and ten. But here they were, chanting rhythms and walking for miles and miles, for no reason at all but to remain safe, to keep from being kidnapped and forced to join a murderous army.

  People called them night commuters, because that’s what they did. They walked, sang, and prayed all night, hopeful that if they kept moving instead of sleeping in one of the displaced persons camps, they would stay out of harm’s way. Some of their friends and relatives had been captured by the Lord’s Resistance Army and tortured or raped. Some had been forced to become soldiers and kill people they knew and loved.

  When some of those young victims managed to escape, they too joined the band of night wanderers. Staying alive and free from the army’s grip was worth the wear and tear on their feet that came with the twelve-mile, one-way commute.

  Gabe watched from the shadows and wanted to weep. His heart broke. God, please help them.

  For the second time in days, he uttered a genuine prayer. For the first time ever, he received a reply in his heart.

  That is what I have sent you to do.

  When Stevens and a couple of Ugandan locals were preparing to slip away from the well-lit perimeter of the orphanage earlier this evening for a “special mission,” Gabe had insisted on coming along. Stevens and Chrissa had tried to talk him out of it.

  “Gabe, this is your first time on a mission trip. This can be dangerous. Just stay,” Chrissa had said. She looked at her husband. “Lyle and I are prayed up; we’re prepared for whatever may happen, but I’m not sure you have that same level of assurance right now. Northern Uganda is dangerous.”

  Gabe knew Chrissa was talking about the need to have a relationship with God. She didn’t know about his desert experience, though. He had connected with God and was ready to be of service. If Stevens believed this mission to another part of the country warranted the risk, he was going too.

  While they were en route, Stevens shared details about Joseph Kony’s Lord’s Re
sistance Army and about how, if children weren’t rescued or hidden away, they could be taken and turned against their own families.

  It happened every night, and youths whose parents had died of AIDS or in some other fashion were the most vulnerable.

  “Malichi and Akello have already scoped out a couple of villages where children are living alone, fending for themselves,” Stevens explained while he and Gabe crouched in the back of the a car so no one could see them. Stevens’s white skin and Gabe’s light complexion would make them easy targets.

  Malichi and Akello scanned the streets to make sure no one was following them.

  “We’ll go into the villages and tell them to come with us, to safety,” Stevens said. “Since I am white, they know I’m not part of LRA. They trust me when I tell them I’m taking them to a better place.

  “We bring them to southern Uganda, to one of the orphanages that cares for children, and they remain there until they are able to care for themselves.”

  Now, under the veil of night, they had paused on their way to one of the designated villages near Acholiland to watch the night commuters’ routine trek.

  “If they are all walking, how can we be sure that the children we want to help are at home, in their villages?” Gabe asked.

  “Not everyone walks,” Stevens said. “Some are afraid; some just don’t know yet. There are still many children to help. We do what we can.”

  Gabe sat back and looked at his friend. “How long have you been doing this, Stevens? Why haven’t you told me about this?”

  Stevens shrugged. “When we do things for Christ, he is the only one who needs to know. This is not about me doing ‘good works.’ It’s about me loving others because I’ve been blessed to be loved.”

  Malichi pulled away from their hiding spot and drove to the village he had selected. When he gave Stevens a thumbs-up, Stevens put on a lightweight hooded jacket and hid his face as much as possible.

  He and Akello trotted along the edge of the village and entered two thatched huts. Within minutes, they returned with three children.

  They thrust them onto the backseat of the car, next to Gabe. The saucer-sized eyes of two little boys and a little girl, not more than four, peered up at him.