The Someday List (17 page)

Rachelle complied and unwittingly felt moved by the passage
herself, especially the last few verses.

"Because he loves me, says the LORD, "I will rescue
him;

I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.

He will call upon me, and I will answer him;

I will be with him in trouble,

I will deliver him and honor him.

With long life will I satisfy him
and show him my salvation:"

Aunt Irene nodded and wept as she listened. "God will give
me another chance;' she said softly.

Rachelle wanted to agree, yet she had doubts.

Why was Aunt Irene equating herself to a person concerned
about enemies when she had gotten herself in this mess? She had
chosen to drive drunk.

Rachelle wanted to ask someone steeped in their faith about
that, someone who wouldn't be put off by her questions. Troy fit
that bill, but she had been reluctant to contact him, given Aunt
Melba's eagle eyes and stern warning.

Reaching for Troy's hands in the hospital cafeteria had been
innocent on her part, but Aunt Melba told her to reconsider.

"What if Gabe had walked in on that? Would he think it was
innocent?" Aunt Melba asked. "Or vice versa? If you walked in
and saw him holding hands with an old girlfriend, what would
you think?"

That question hit home.

She thought about Gabe's nurse, who had accompanied him
and the rest of the team on the Ugandan mission trip. Rachelle
had admired Veronica at first for agreeing to go and give up her
creature comforts for ten days to help others in need.

But like Gabe, Veronica understood what a boost for her
resume this mission experience would be. Rachelle had overheard her sharing that view with a group of nurses at a recent
retirement party for a hospital administrator. In the process of
raising her profile, Veronica had said, she might actually help a
few people.

Rachelle also hadn't been oblivious to the frequent calls between Veronica and Gabe as the trip loomed. She hadn't bothered
bringing them up, knowing he would try to explain them away
or dismiss her as paranoid. But Rachelle knew a turkey when she saw one. Veronica was ready to gobble up something that didn't
belong to her.

Rachelle wasn't sure yet what she wanted from her marriage
long-term, but in the meantime, Gabe had better watch himself.

When they returned to the orphanage, they dispersed for some
quiet time before dinner.

Most of the older children who lived in the orphanage were
helping prepare tonight's meal, so Gabe took the liberty of lounging on the sofa in their rec room. Sleep tugged at him, but before
it won, he mentally tallied up the number of women and children
he had examined during the day.

All of the AIDS patients in the area continued to visit the clinics
where they routinely received treatment when the missionaries
were in town, but Gabe had seen men, women, and children with
just about every other kind of ailment.

Some needed the bulk supply of vitamin D supplements he had
given them to prevent or slow the progression of rickets. Some
needed kits to cure yeast infections. One child had a bug bite that
had become grossly infected because it had gone untreated for so
long. Gabe delivered two antibiotic shots and, through a translator,
instructed the boy's mother how to properly clean the wound.

Their faces floated across his mind's eye, and Gabe felt satisfied, knowing that even on a workday cut short by the weather, he had
done some good.

Veronica sauntered into the recreation room and joined him
on the sofa. She knew as well as he did that it was inappropriate in
Ugandan society for an unmarried man and woman to be alone
like this, but Gabe decided not to play enforcer.

"Where's everybody else?" he asked.

She shrugged, curled her feet beneath her, and moved closer.
She rested her chin on his shoulder. "What's up, Gabe?"

He frowned and glanced around to make sure no one was coming. "Veronica, what are you doing? We're in a public place! And
what are you talking about, `What's up?' We're done, remember?"

She moved closer. "We don't have to be, Gabe;' she said softly
and nibbled his ear.

He felt his body betraying him and tried to move away. Veronica grabbed his arm. "I only broke it off because I was tired
of being in second place, behind Miss Beauty Queen Rachelle. I
didn't mean what I said last month. I just wanted you to think I
was going to the medical conference to find another. . . `friend'
I was being silly and jealous. I'll take you however you wantpart-time, full-time, in between. We've been together too long to
turn back now, Gabe. Haven't you missed me?"

Before he could respond, she twisted her body and plopped
on his lap. She leaned in to kiss his lips and pressed herself into
him.

Gabe stood up quickly and she hit the floor with a thud.

"Ow!" She tried to stifle a scream. "What the-"

He scowled at her. "You must have lost your mind. We are on
a mission trip, Veronica. With a bunch of Christians, and you
are trying this? We agreed that it was over and it is. I ... I love
my wife''

Gabe was surprised by his own admission, but uttering those
words helped him realize they were true. He did love Rachelle;
he'd just gotten caught up in life, and in acting out the American
Dream, as defined by the world at large.

Just these few days away from that environment had begun
to open his eyes to something more meaningful. And seeing the
partnership Stevens had with his wife, Chrissa, made him wonder
what he and Rachelle might be missing.

He glared at Veronica, still sitting on the floor. How had he allowed himself to get entangled with her? With her flawless ebony
skin and high cheekbones, coupled with a voluptuous body that
she took good care of, she was fine, for sure. A ten from head to
toe. But she also was spoiled rotten. If life wasn't going her way,
it wasn't going to go anybody's way.

"Yeah, we're on a mission trip, but you and I both said this
was more about gaining professional clout than anything else;"
Veronica reminded him. "Now that you've arrived in this hot
and raggedy place, you're really beginning to care? Give me a
break, Gabe"

She stood up and dusted off the tight, designer jeans that accentuated her impressive curves. DKNYs seemed so unfitting
in a Third World country, but he had realized Veronica was determined to turn heads wherever she could, no matter who she
offended. Stevens would be furious when he saw her. He had
repeatedly asked Veronica and other women making the trip for
the first time to dress modestly, in deference to the culture they'd
be entering.

"You don't want this anymore?" she asked Gabe and ran her
hand up and down the length of her body, as if she were a Price
Is Right prize. "I've told you before, someone else will be happy
to fill your shoes, baby."

She rolled her eyes and strutted toward the door, where she
paused.

`And by the way, if you aren't afraid of what it means to `dis'
me, you need to be. I have your home number and your wife's
cell"

achelle slid into the driver's seat of her car and started
the ignition. Where to?

Uncle Charles had ordered her out of the house for the afternoon to take a break from playing nursemaid, so she had some
time on her hands.

She chuckled at her dilemma. How had she gone from scheduling her life around manicures, pedicures, and Pilates classes
to serving as Alice from the Brady Bunch in a week's time? She
was beginning to wonder if she'd feel out of place when she went
back to Houston.

After rising every morning to read Scriptures to Aunt Irene,
she had decided that she too needed a routine. In her quest to
fill her Top Ten List, every night at bedtime she reviewed her day
and assessed whether something she had experienced, read, or
heard about should become a personal goal.

She could accept returning home a few pounds heavier from
lack of exercise and all of this cooking; she had a great personal
trainer who would be eager to guide her back into shape. But
going back without having done something for herself would
equal defeat.

Rachelle pulled out of the driveway and paused at the stop sign. Left or right? In a town the size of jubilant, she could take a twohour leisurely drive and just about cover its circumference.

A car whizzed by with an Everson College "Go Tigers!" bumper
sticker plastered on the bumper.

Rachelle smiled. She would visit the campus.

Fifteen minutes later, she turned into the college entrance and
slowed the car to a crawl. The changes on campus were amazing.
With just ten thousand students, Everson was considered small, but
enthusiastic alumni support insured that it continued to thrive.

Some of the streets that she remembered winding through
campus had become cul-de-sacs. Plazas and gardens graced the
landscape in areas where there had once been nothing but trees
or patches of dirt.

Rachelle rounded a familiar corner and smiled when she saw
one of her hangouts: the biology building. She had performed
more than her share of experiments there and had struggled to
cope with a range of interesting lab partners. By senior year, she
realized that most of them were introverts who were passionate
about their work. If she had been a career counselor, she would
have advised them to look for jobs that allowed them to tackle
solo projects and succeed.

Rachelle parallel parked next to one of the entrances and quickly
unbuckled. She stepped out of her car and approached the door.
She wasn't surprised to find it locked. Few science majors took
summer classes. Most spent that period gaining valuable experience as interns or on fellowships that could help them create
long-lasting networks.

Rachelle returned to her car and pondered her next stop. It
didn't take long to settle on McPherson Hall. She had spent so
much time in the building that a lot of the other students thought
she was a music major.

Rachelle drove the few blocks to that building and parked in
the adjoining lot. This section of the campus was surprisingly
quiet too. She entered through the familiar arched set of doublepaned doors, surprised to find this building as she remembered
it. Little had changed since her graduation.

She scanned the long hall, which featured row after row of
trophy cases on each side.

Her two-inch open-toe sandals produced a staccato rhythm as
she strolled down the path and paused to read brief summaries
about the Everson students who had won choir competitions
across the South. She knew if she looked closely, she'd find her
name and photos. She had helped win at least five awards.

The trophies and plaques spanned generations, as did the pictures-from black-and-white images to color photos that highlighted gospel and choral singers sporting hairstyles and fashions
from the '40s, '50s, and '60s through the present.

Rachelle heard voices as she neared the end of the hall and
grew excited. Maybe some of her former professors were here
today. She waited for whomever it was to round the corner and
nearly choked when three people came into view.

Troy and Chaundra approached her, along with a woman
dressed in business attire.

"Oh, hello;' the woman said and walked toward Rachelle with
her hand extended. "Carla Wesson, executive secretary of the
music department. May I help you?"

Rachelle found her voice and shook Ms. Wesson's hand. "Hello.
Rachelle Covington. I'm a former student, visiting town, and
thought I'd stop by."

Chaundra giggled. Rachelle and Ms. Wesson looked her way.

"I saw you on some of those old choir photos with Uncle Troy,"
she told Rachelle. "Your hair was funny!"

Ms. Wesson looked curiously from Troy to Rachelle. "You two
sang in one of the choirs together? You know each other?"

Rachelle nodded. "Isn't it a small world?" she said. "Would it
be okay if I continue to look around? I haven't made it to those
photos yet. And are any of the professors here today?"