The Someday List (2 page)

When Tate and Taryn disappeared around a bend that led to
Terminal A, Gabe turned toward Rachelle and motioned with
his head that he was ready to go. He and Rachelle walked briskly
toward the parking deck without touching or talking.

Gabe walked a stride or two ahead of her, as if he were on a
mission. He tempered his gait as they neared his SUV, and he
unlocked the doors with his key chain device.

"I'm not going into the office this morning since I'll be flying
out early tomorrow," he said without looking toward Rachelle.
"Let's grab breakfast at Olivette."

Rachelle scrambled for an excuse, but none presented itself.
She hadn't mentioned that she soon would be leaving too, for a
weekend trip to the West Coast. It didn't matter that he didn't
know. He wasn't going to be home anyway.

"That's fine;' she finally said about breakfast, although he had
already steered his Mercedes in the direction of the hotel restaurant.

They rode in silence during the half-hour drive and didn't
speak until the waitress asked for their order.

Rachelle sighed and responded by rote. "He'll have smoked
salmon and a bagel with a side of fresh fruit:"

Gabe nodded and looked up at the waitress. "She got it right"

"Salmon and bagel with a side of fruit;' the waitress repeated,
lodging the order in her memory.

Rachelle leveled her eyes at Gabe. "Order for me."

He peered at her over the rim of his glasses. "How would I
know what to order for you?"

Rachelle didn't feel like playing along with his public politeness
today. She sat back and folded her arms.

Try. 11

The waitress shifted from one foot to the other and turned her
gaze to a nearby bank of potted plants.

Gabe's nostrils flared and he clenched his teeth. "Just order
something already."

"If you can't do it, I guess I'm not hungry," Rachelle said.

Gabe opened the leather-encased menu and glared at the offerings. Seconds later, he pushed it into the waitress's face. Startled,
she grabbed it before it landed on the Oriental rug beneath the
table.

"Bring her an omelet with ham, mushrooms, and cheddar
cheese"

The waitress nodded and left quickly, her reddish-brown ponytail swaying with each step. Rachelle knew the young lady had
to be wondering how a couple could fight over a breakfast order.
If she had asked, Rachelle would have assured her this skirmish
was overdue.

Since she had received Jillian's unsettling invitation three weeks
ago, Rachelle's tolerance for just about everything had plummeted.
With the kids away for the next month, she didn't have to contain
herself. Gabe should be thankful he was leaving for a business
trip tomorrow.

He laid his linen napkin across his lap and stared at her.

Rachelle challenged him with her eyes. She wanted him to care
enough to question her, to probe why she was being defiant.

But just as she knew what to order for his meal, she knew he
wouldn't take the bait. He was his usual, detached self-enveloped
in skin that was a smooth, savory brown and as self-absorbed as
a two-year-old whose favorite words were "no" and "mine:"

In that moment, something welled up inside of her. She looked
past Gabe's glasses, past the perfect white teeth, past the pool
of nothingness in his eyes. She wanted to see into his soul. She
wanted to know that he had an "I would die for you" kind of love
inside of him. For her. Even if they had been together for what
seemed like forever. Even if she didn't know how she really felt
about him. If one of them could summon the emotion, maybe
that would make all the difference.

He was leaving tomorrow for New York and would return
home for one day before traveling to Uganda. In twenty-four
hours, she'd have the entire house to herself. But right now, she
realized, she needed to leave to save herself.

Right now, what mattered more than being a good wife was
being good to herself. Hearing from Jillian for the first time in a
long time was nudging her to stop procrastinating.

Rachelle took a sip of her coffee and rose from her seat. "Stay
and enjoy your breakfast. Call a taxi when you're done. I may or
may not be at home by then:"

"What-"

Before he could protest, Rachelle raised her hand to stop him.
Her voice trembled when she addressed him in a whisper. "Gabe,
I'm tired of playing like the happy couple. Our life is strangling
me. I want a real marriage and this isn't it ... And by the way, I've
always hated cheddar cheese:"

She grabbed her purse from the back of her chair and strode toward the door, heart pounding as if it would burst through her
sleeveless tangerine top.

Had she really done that? Did she just walk away from her
well-to-do, handsome husband and leave him stranded in a restaurant?

What would her parents say? Their friends? For the first time
that she could recall, those questions wouldn't determine her
actions.

Rachelle slowed her pace when she reached the restaurant's
entrance and nodded farewell to the hostess. She strode through
the lobby of the Houstonian Hotel and thanked the bellhop who
held open the door for her. While the valet retrieved Gabe's Mercedes truck, she stood at his booth, tapping her foot and looking
over her shoulder.

In the minutes since she had left the table, Gabe hadn't pursued her. Despite the fact that she had fueled this drama, she
was hurt. She breathed in the humid summer air and exhaled
slowly, trying to keep her composure. For once, she wished she
were sweaty enough to mask the moisture on her face. The last
thing she wanted to admit was that once again, she had allowed
him to make her cry.

achelle sat in the middle of her four-poster bed an hour
later, staring into space. She clutched a cordless phone
to her ear and listened to her younger sister's nasal drawl.

"Girl, no you didn't do that to that man;' Alanna said. "How
could you, when you know he's leaving for his medical conference
tomorrow and then going to Africa?"

Rachelle shrugged as if her sister could see her through the
phone. Alanna lived four hours away, in Dallas, but they talked
at least three times a week, sometimes more if one of them had
a pressing issue.

"I didn't plan it, Lanna," she said. "It just happened. I couldn't
help myself. I don't think I'm really leaving him; I just want him
to know how unhappy I am. I want him to put some effort into
this marriage, other than just paying the bills:"

"But, Rachelle;' Alanna said dryly, "by tomorrow morning you
would have had your space, without causing all of this drama.
And believe me, paying the bills is nothing to sneeze at. What
gives?"

Rachelle remained silent for what felt like an eternity while
Alanna waited. She didn't want to go into details about the tur moil Jillian's news had thrown her into, and other than that, she
had no explanation.

"When I find out, I'll let you know," Rachelle said. "I'm going
to go pack for him and for myself. I don't think I told you-I'm
going to California for the weekend. Jillian lives there now, remember?"

Alanna sniffed. "You haven't seen Jillian in years. Why fly across
the country now? Don't get there and start wallowing in your
memories of what coulda shoulda been. Hopefully when you
come back, Gabe won't have changed the locks:"

Rachelle ignored her sister's cynicism. Alanna didn't know that
Jillian needed her. Plus, she had always questioned how Rachelle
had landed such a good man while she-despite her "fabulosity"still found herself catching frogs.

"Girl, you don't know how good you have it," Alanna would
often tell Rachelle after relaying the details of another breakup
with a boyfriend she hadn't known was married, on medication,
or afraid of commitment.

Before the conversation went down that path this afternoon,
Rachelle ended the call and began packing for a brief stay in
San Diego. Her flight didn't leave for another two days but this
would give her something to do, other than watching the clock
to see what time Gabe made it home. Usually she was too busy
with Tate and Taryn to notice, but with them gone, she needed
to keep herself occupied.

She intended to visit California for less than forty-eight hours,
but that still meant a large suitcase, because she could never decide
what to wear. Rachelle tucked her digital camera and a scrapbook
of childhood photos of herself and Jillian between her favorite
knee-length cocktail dress and a floor-length emerald green one.
She added a pair of jeans and shorts and a few casual tops, in case there was some downtime with Jillian, or, more likely, the
other guests. When her bag was ready, Rachelle sat it in the back
of her closet.

She padded across the plush plum carpet and walked into
Gabe's closet. She surveyed his collection of bags and retrieved a
small suitcase from a low-level shelf.

Packing for him came as easily as ordering his meals. It took
minutes to fill the designer luggage with several white shirts, ties,
slacks, and the suit he needed for his medical conference. She pulled
out a large hard-shell suitcase for the mission trip to Uganda.

"Might as well get all of it out of the way," she muttered.

Rachelle walked over and sat on Gabe's side of the bed. She
rummaged through his nightstand for the list of recommended
travel items the medical mission leader had given to the "freshmen" on the team-him, another doctor in his practice, and a
surgical nurse, all of whom were first-time participants.

Three pairs of khakis-check. Five long-sleeved shirts and a
few T-shirts-check. Socks, underwear-check. Sneakers-check.
Insect repellent ... the list went on and on.

She slid his supply of over-the-counter medicine and malaria
pills into plastic zipper bags, tucked his first-aid kit in the suitcase's
interior pouch, and made sure he had his passport.

Rachelle closed the oversized bag and placed it in a corner, near
the bedroom entrance. She was preparing to organize her shoe
closet when she heard Gabe climbing the winding staircase.

His slower than usual pace cued her that he was ticked off.

By the time he reached the upstairs landing and leaned against
the bedroom door, her heart was racing. She looked up from her
task and returned his glare.

"What's going on with you?" Gabe uttered more of a challenge
than a question.

Rachelle walked over and paused in front of him, taking in his
thin lips, now frozen in the straight line they always made when
he was angry. She gazed at the thick eyebrows that Tate and Taryn
had inherited before allowing her eyes to skim his angular face and
chiseled chest and wander down to his hands-miracle hands, he
called them-that were now perched at his hips in frustration.

She was average height, but having to look up to him always
made her feel smaller. She moved in close enough to feel his breath
on her face and inhale the intoxicating cologne she had given him
for his birthday, but she still didn't answer him.

Rachelle was tempted to try again to express all that she had
been feeling over the past few weeks, but thought better of it.
When had he ever cared to understand her perspective about
anything?

Lately, the few times she had tried to be romantic or give him
extra attention had only led to more frustration. The dinners she
prepared for just the two of them had grown cold while she waited
for him to get home from the hospital or his office, without even a
call to let her know he had been delayed. When he did come home
early enough to spend time with Tate and Taryn and retire with
her for the night, he'd be too weary for pillow talk about her day
or the kids' activities. Before she could finish a thought, he'd be
fast asleep.Why bother to broach a subject about something more
meaningful, like her restlessness? Instead, she would beat him at
his own game today: his questions didn't deserve her answers.

"What do you mean?" she asked and looked into his eyes.
"I'm doing my `wifely duty,' aren't I? Your bags are all packed for
the conference and even for this mission trip you're so excited
about:' She tilted her head. "Wonder what your partners would
say if they knew you could care less about those poor children in
Africa, other than what they can do for your resume."

Gabe narrowed his eyes. "Don't change the subject, Rachelle.
You left me stranded downtown, at a hotel restaurant frequented
by people we know. Do you know what that looked like? My picture appears in the paper for a feature on the upcoming mission
trip and my wife walks out on me days later in a public place?
Don't you know this could get back to the other docs and be very
damaging?"

Rachelle willed herself not to cry. "I wish I knew what was
going on, Gabe. All I can say is that I'm tired. I'm not happy with
myself or with us, and I'm sick of pretending that everything is
perfect. It takes too much work:'