The Someday List (12 page)

"Hey!" she protested.

Rachelle laughed at their playful exchange. Sadness flickered in
her heart for a second when she considered how Gabe never interacted like that with Taryn, and neither had her dad with her.

Uncle Charles flipped another set of pancakes. They were perfectly round and golden. He gave himself a thumbs-up.

"Thanks for taking Indigo to Melba's;' he said as he moved
about. "I took the day off from the car dealership since not too
many people buy on Mondays during the summer. I'm going to
remove those tents from yesterday's barbecue and catch up on
some projects around the house. Your Aunt Irene went to bed last
night with a splitting headache. She's still sleeping:'

Rachelle remembered the cup Aunt Irene had clutched most
of yesterday, even while they sang "Happy Birthday" to Indigo.
She wondered if Uncle Charles knew the likely cause of Aunt
Irene's ailment.

She was puzzled by the contrast between the thoughtful conversation she and Aunt Irene had just last night and what she was
hearing now. Other than her sore hips, Aunt Irene had seemed
coherent.

Uncle Charles placed the last pancake onto a clean plate and
held it out to Indigo. "Take this to your Mama"

Indigo focused her attention on the last bite of her eggs and
bacon, without responding. Uncle Charles set the plate on the
table, in front of her.

"Did you hear me?" he asked.

Rachelle couldn't ever recall seeing him angry. If Indigo was like
every other teenager Rachelle knew, the girl would be mortified
that her father was yelling at her in front of company. Rachelle
rose from the table and headed down the hall to give them some
privacy.

"I'll get my purse and meet you at the car, Indigo;' she said.

Rachelle entered Reuben's bedroom and leaned against the back
of the door. What was going on with the Burns family? Maybe
having an adolescent girl was testing Uncle Charles's mettle.

Rachelle grabbed her bag and trotted back down the hallway.
She peered into the kitchen and saw Uncle Charles was standing
near Indigo, whispering heatedly. The girl's face was expressionless.

If she's anything like I was at that age, she is furious, Rachelle
thought.

She trusted Uncle Charles's child rearing judgment, but she
empathized with Indigo. Sometimes parents didn't get it; they
put you in a box with a label affixed and tried to keep you there
forever.

Rather than interrupt them, Rachelle decided to leave through
the front door. Her car was parked out front anyway. She had
moved it to the street before yesterday's cookout so that Aunt Irene
and Uncle Charles's older guests wouldn't have to walk far.

The heat engulfed Rachelle when she stepped outside onto the
porch. Yasmin sat on the stoop, waiting for her. She looked up
and offered Rachelle a puppy dog smile.

"Cousin Rachelle, will you please take me over to my friend
Carmen's house to play? Daddy called her mama, and she said it
was okay. There's nothing going on around this boring house."

Indigo, who had followed Rachelle outside, smirked. "You're
seven," she told Yasmin. "Play with your dolls and be happy."

Yasmin clearly was used to her older sister's disdain. She waited
for Rachelle's response, and when Rachelle nodded, she trotted
off to find a few treasures to take with her. "Gimme just a minute,
okay?"

Yasmin returned with a pink backpack stuffed with who knows
what. Rachelle recognized one of the lumps as a doll, but didn't
ask what else was enclosed.

Indigo rolled her eyes. "You spend more time over there with
your little friend than you do at home"

Rachelle glanced at Indigo to gauge if the girl was serious, but
couldn't decide. That didn't sound like something Aunt Irene
would approve of, but then again, quite a few things seemed out
of sorts. Whether they were worthy of concern was up for debate. Rachelle hoped she was reading more into things than she
should.

achelle pulled away from the curb and followed Yasmin's directions to Carmen's house, two blocks away.

Twenty minutes later, she and Indigo turned into the parking
lot adjacent to Hair Pizzazz, Aunt Melba's salon. The squat, redbrick building that housed the business didn't fit Aunt Melba's
stylish image. When clients entered, however, they often referred
to the atmosphere as a chic or elegant haven.

Rachelle noticed that Aunt Melba had changed the decor since
she had last ventured to the salon several years ago. The jewel-tone
color scheme had been replaced by faux-finished, muted gold
walls. Two sofas in the waiting area had been reupholstered in a
Tuscany red, and an Oriental rug that covered most of the open
floor emphasized both colors.

Live ferns were strategically placed on pedestals near each
window and eclectic paintings graced the walls. It appeared that
Aunt Melba still offered art majors from Everson College opportunities to display their work.

The soft jazz pouring through the speakers soothed Rachelle's
ears. She wasn't getting her hair done today, but she had a feeling
she'd leave here relaxed, just the same.

Other than Indigo, Aunt Melba had only two clients this morning, and one of them was Dr. Cynthia Bridgeforth. She waved
to Rachelle and Indigo from under the dryer.

Aunt Melba motioned for Indigo to sit in her chair. She draped
a black cape over the girl and fastened it at the neck while Rachelle
stood with her and watched.

"I love the new decor, Aunt Melba." Rachelle glanced around,
admiring the makeover again. "When did you do all of this?"

`About six months ago;' Melba said. "It's good to change things
up every so often, you know? If I've got to be in here ten or twelve
hours a day for most of the week, it's like a second home, and I
need to love it:"

Rachelle smiled. "Well, I love it too. Jubilant, Texas, isn't going
to be able to handle you in a minute. This is classy."

Aunt Melba paused and put her hand on her hip. "Watch it
now. Don't be talking about my town. Jubilant isn't Houston, but
we aren't all hicks, Miss Thang. You fit in right nicely before you
became `Mrs. Cardiac Surgeon America"'

They both laughed.

"Do you always come in on Mondays?" Rachelle asked, purposely changing the subject. She would rather focus on her
independent, feisty aunt this morning than on her own trophywife woes. "I thought most hairstylists took this day off."

Aunt Melba nodded. "I'm usually closed, but I couldn't fit Cynthia in on Saturday, and she has an important function tonight.
Then Indigo had so much fun at her party yesterday that she got
her hair all wet and jacked it up"

The three of them laughed. Melba motioned toward an older
woman sitting under a dryer next to Cynthia.

"And Lela Cooley over there? She's recovering from cancer and
her hair is finally growing back. She called me on Saturday and
told me she thought that enough had returned for her to throw away her wig and start getting it styled again. Since I was booked
up and couldn't squeeze her in, I told her to come today.

"I'll have all of these folks in and out of my chair by one p.m.;'
Aunt Melba said. "Got one more young lady coming in after Indigo, and the rest of the day will be mine:"

Aunt Melba walked Indigo to the shampoo bowl and wet and
lathered the girl's hair. Rachelle took a seat in the chair Indigo
had vacated and watched.

When Aunt Melba had washed and rinsed twice, she slathered
on conditioner and slid on a plastic cap. She instructed Indigo to
close her eyes and relax for a few minutes.

Melba dried her hands with the white towel she kept on the
rack behind the sink, then motioned for Rachelle to follow her
through a door, into the salon's supply room.

"What's up, Aunt Melba?" Rachelle asked.

In her camel halter top, matching jeans, and wedge sandals,
Melba looked ready for a casual chic photo shoot. She folded her
arms and pursed her lips.

"You tell me," she said. "What are you doing down here, hanging around town just when your ex-husband happens to move
back and your current husband is nowhere to be found? You're
playing with fire, Rachelle"

Rachelle frowned. "Aunt Melba;' she said slowly, grasping for
a response she wouldn't later regret. "I'm not sure what you're
thinking, but I'm not up to anything. I came to visit yesterday
and didn't realize that Troy was here, or that St. Peter's Baptist
had hired him. No idea. I wouldn't have shown up if that were
the case. And when I saw him at the barbecue yesterday, I almost
grabbed my suitcase and drove home.

"I'm not playing games;' Rachelle continued. "I'm a grown
woman and I'm married to someone else:"

Melba stared at her. "So you didn't know he would be bringing
Chaundra in this morning to get her hair done?"

Rachelle caught her breath. Another encounter? "Troy is coming here? I'll leave and come back to pick up Indigo when you're
done."

Melba wasn't fazed by Rachelle's frustration. "If it's no big
deal, why do you need to disappear every time he's around?"
she asked. "I don't go to church often, but I was there yesterday,
sitting on one of the last rows, and I saw you flee after service. I
also saw you dash inside with your cell phone when he arrived
at the barbecue."

Rachelle was busted. She had been running, as if not sharing
the same space with Troy would limit her exposure to her previous
heartbreak. Then, when she had finally talked with him, she was
the one who hadn't wanted the conversation to end.

Even so, Rachelle wasn't sure why Aunt Melba was pushing
her so hard.

"It's not so cut-and-dried," Rachelle said. "We were more than
just college sweethearts, Aunt Melba. I eloped with him. It's an
awkward situation. But why are you so up in arms about this?"

Aunt Melba paused for the longest time, clearly debating
whether to answer. "I'm just looking out for you, Rachelle. I don't
know what's going on with you and Gabe, but I don't think you
should let this encounter with Troy blur your reason. God has a
purpose for everything and everyone, including you:"

Rachelle's eyes widened. Aunt Melba was the life of the party,
not the spiritual sage. Where was this coming from?

"Don't look so surprised!" Aunt Melba said. "God can work
through anybody!"

They both chuckled.

"Look;' Aunt Melba said. "If you need to talk anything through, I'm here. I just see the potential for problems and I want you to
make sure you keep your guard up."

Rachelle gave her a light hug. "Thanks for caring, Auntie, but
no need to worry;" she said. "Besides, Troy didn't have two cents'
worth of time or words for me yesterday. He has moved on:'

The women returned to the salon's studio. Indigo still rested
at the sink with her eyes closed while Cynthia sat at a dryer with
the hood up, waiting to have her hair combed and styled. Melba's
other client, Lela, had dozed off under the dryer.

Rachelle sauntered over to Cynthia and greeted her with a
hug. Before long, Rachelle was quizzing the pediatrician about
her work.

"It can be grueling, but I enjoy what I do;' Cynthia said. "I
easily see fifteen to twenty patients a day, and they usually have a
long wait, because I take the time to talk with the mothers about
everything that's going on in their families, not just about their
child's growth and development.

"A lot of my parents are just teenagers themselves, so their
lives are challenging;' Cynthia said. "I realized a long time ago
that God didn't allow me to become a doctor just to administer
medical advice. This is my social ministry."

"That is so meaningful;' Rachelle said. "Not that providing
pediatric services alone isn't. But to offer everything else that
you're doing for your patients-wow. Most doctors aren't giving
patients books or making sure they get screened onsite for asthma
and diabetes."

Cynthia shrugged. "I grew up in a single parent home where
my mother stressed education and excellence. If not for that, I
wouldn't have dreamt of becoming a doctor. I might have been
one of those teenage mothers I now help, if not for her. That's
why I do it:'

She shifted in her seat. "Now, you know more about my work
than you ever wanted to;' she said and laughed. "Tell me your
story, Rachelle. Melba told me you're an optometrist?"

Rachelle was surprised her aunt had thought to mention the
career she hadn't pursued in so long. "Aunt Melba remembers
that? Yes, I'm a trained optometrist, but I haven't practiced in
years. I stopped soon after my ten-year-old son was born" She
hesitated, then lowered her voice. "Few people know this, but I
renew my license every year, even though I'm not working in the
field. Is that silly or what?"

Cynthia shook her head and smiled. "I'm a firm believer that
few things are coincidental. You've been renewing that license for
a reason. Time will tell you what it's for"