The return flight home the next day was grueling.
A chain reaction of delays and overbooked airline seats kept Rachelle in the San Diego airport six hours past her scheduled arrival in Houston. Rachelle boarded her plane in the wee hours of the morning and slept for the most of the nonstop flight.
She had to get her bearings when she left the plane and entered the airport terminal just after seven a.m. Usually one of her friends, or Helen, her part-time housekeeper, swooped in to pick her up.
But Rachelle had given Helen the week off, since Gabe was away at his conference and the kids were in Philadelphia. After the series of unpredictable delays, she was glad she had decided to drive rather than bother Shelley, Trina, or Jade. One of them would have been happy to pick her up late last night, but those divas wouldn’t be up this time of morning unless it was to go to and from one of their many exercise classes.
Rachelle retrieved her suitcase from baggage claim and rolled it out of the airport to the parking deck. The sun was positioning itself over the city, and she knew that soon, steamy heat would be rising from the pavement.
She slid her bag onto the backseat, settled behind the wheel, and fastened her seat belt. She turned the ignition and paused when Alicia Keys’ voice permeated the Lexus with the lyrics to “Tell You Something.”
Rachelle had been listening to the song frequently in the weeks leading up to her visit with Jillian and thinking about how accurate those words were—she did feel sorrow, and she wished she could better articulate to Jillian how much their friendship had meant. She didn’t want it to end this soon, especially since they had just reconnected.
Rachelle tried to sing along, but her voice faded as the lump in her throat expanded. Why, of all the songs in her CD rotation, did she have to start the morning with this one? She rested her head on the steering wheel and sobbed. Jillian hadn’t succumbed yet, but her frail appearance and the beautiful ceremony over the weekend left Rachelle with little doubt that it wouldn’t be long.
They were the same age. Had similar hopes and dreams. They were good girls. So why was this happening? Jillian had even taken it a step further by deciding to live a life of full-fledged faith. Why was the God that she loved so much snatching her away so young?
Rachelle turned down the volume of the music and leaned back into the headrest. She wiped her eyes, reached for her cell phone, and called her mother. Mom wouldn’t have answers to her questions, but because she knew Jillian, maybe she’d understand this distress. Plus, Rachelle couldn’t think of anyone else who would be up this time of morning.
Rachelle wasn’t surprised when her mother answered on the first ring.
“What’s up, dear?”
Rachelle chuckled. “I should be asking you that,” she said.
“What have you already accomplished this morning? It’s just eight-something in Philly.”
“Your dad and I are reading the paper and having breakfast,” her mother responded. “The question is, what are you doing up this early?”
Rita Mitchell never ceased to amaze Rachelle. She was always quick on her feet, with astute questions or ready answers. Her calm demeanor and solid organizational skills seemed effortless. Rachelle routinely questioned why she struggled to accomplish that same level of competency, despite her role model.
“I just needed to hear your voice,” Rachelle said.
“Is everything okay?” Rita asked.
Rachelle heard her children laughing in the background. She couldn’t believe they were up so early. Mom must have enforced an early bedtime.
“Jillian’s dying, Mom.”
Her mother gasped.
“I just returned from a farewell gathering she hosted in San Diego, and I . . . I don’t know. It’s hitting me harder than I expected.”
Rachelle waited for the comforting words she needed to hear right now. She crossed her fingers that Mom would come through and offer a dose of reassurance that despite Jillian’s circumstances, everything would turn out okay.
“I haven’t seen Jillian’s mother in a while. I didn’t know,” Rita said. “The family must be devastated. What’s wrong? What’s the diagnosis?”
Rachelle explained that Jillian had breast cancer and described the life celebration she had hosted.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this? I would have gone with you, Rachelle. At least to pay my respects.”
Rachelle stiffened. “Mom, this wasn’t a funeral. There aren’t ‘respects’ to pay—not yet. This was a chance to say goodbye but also to tell her how much we love her. It was just hard. Besides, you have Tate and Taryn. You couldn’t have accompanied me.”
Rachelle sighed. Why had she thought her mother would understand?
“Well, it is indeed sad,” Rita said. “But get yourself together, Rachelle. Sounds like Jillian has accepted this. It’s good that you had a chance to say goodbye. You’ll be fine.
“What are you doing now, with all of this free time on your hands? Have you heard from Gabe since he left?”
Rachelle closed her eyes. That was just like her mother, to say her two cents’ worth about an uncomfortable subject, then turn the discussion elsewhere. Rachelle inhaled and exhaled slowly a few times to ease her tense muscles. She had seen Gabe advise many a stressed-out friend or acquaintance to use this technique to lower their blood pressure or reduce the anxiety that contributed to heart problems. Not that she had either of those health issues—she had long ago adopted the strategy to keep her cool in trying situations, and now it was almost a reflex.
“Mom, let me call you and the kids back later, okay? Tell Dad I said hello.”
Rachelle tucked the cell phone into her purse and put the car in reverse. Before she backed out of the parking space, she pressed the FM radio control on her steering column.
She didn’t listen to the radio often, but today, she felt restless. She wanted something other than the dozens of songs on her CDs and iPod that she played so often she could sing them in her sleep. She surfed stations until the strains of a melody caught her ear:
“Grateful, grateful, grateful; Gratefulness . . . is flowing from my heart . . .”
When the song wound to a close, the DJ piped up. “Good Sunday morning, Houstonians! That was Hezekiah Walker and the Love Fellowship Choir with the beautiful song, ‘Grateful.’ What are you grateful for this morning?”
Rachelle focused on the digital radio panel as if the DJ were speaking specifically to her.
“Let me ask you another question based on a Hezekiah-inspired song,” he said. “Who do you need to survive? Yes family, yes friends, but have you tried God?”
Normally, this would be the point at which she tuned out or turned the dial. This morning, however, her heart was tender.
Rachelle pulled out of the parking deck and sat at a traffic light a block away from the Sam Houston Tollway. She could take the freeway to her cushy suburb, but why go home? No one was there.
Her friends would be spending time with their husbands and kids today. Since she had neither of those to make it a family affair, she’d be a tagalong.
Rachelle glanced at the dashboard clock and noted that it was just eight a.m. The red-eye flight and multiple cups of coffee over the last hour had left her wired. Why not hit the road?
She could be at Alanna’s place in Dallas before her sister climbed out of bed, around noon . . . or maybe she should drive just over two hours to Jubilant and spend a few days with Aunt Irene and Uncle Charles. The surprise would make their day, and she realized in answer to the radio announcer’s question, they were among the people she needed and cherished most, even though she hadn’t regularly expressed her affection over the last dozen years.
Gabe felt threatened by her visits to her college town and to Aunt Irene and Uncle Charles’s home for reasons he had never fully articulated. The few times he had accompanied her before and after they wed, he hadn’t relaxed enough to enjoy himself. Rachelle soon realized that unless they were unwinding or having fun in a formal or structured activity that in the long run furthered Gabe’s career goals, her husband didn’t care to participate.
This morning she thought about her anorexic list of things she wanted to accomplish in the coming years. She had dated the paper, folded it up, and tucked it in her wallet, so that when ideas came to her, she could readily fill the nine blank slots.
Visiting her extended family didn’t necessarily belong on the list of long-term goals, but it was something she wanted to do, and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel the need to justify her desire. Gabe wasn’t here to shift the excitement she was feeling about her Sunday morning excursion into doubt about whether her relatives cared to be bothered with her. She knew differently.
Fresh from her visit with Jillian, now was the perfect time to immerse herself in Aunt Irene and Uncle Charles’s world. They would accept her as is, even if, in her quest to create a list of tangible goals, she stopped being the Rachelle who lived to please everybody but herself.