R achelle had driven full speed into a personal storm with no warning.
“Maybe I should leave,” she said to Alanna. She sat on Reuben’s bed, talking softly into her cell phone in case Aunt Irene or Uncle Charles ventured past the closed door.
“You gonna let a man run you out of town? You’re better than that, Chelle,” Alanna said. “Just calm down. I know it’s unsettling for Troy to be there, but it’s been fifteen years. You can’t still have feelings for him, can you?”
Rachelle didn’t respond. Alanna knew better.
“Well, you haven’t talked about him in a long, long time, so I thought you had moved on. I thought you were happy with Gabe—until the stunt you pulled last week before he left town,” Alanna said. “You can’t leave Jubilant, though. You know how much Aunt Irene and Uncle Charles love you. They would be hurt.”
Maybe they would understand, since they were concerned enough to keep the news of Troy’s arrival from me, Rachelle thought. “If this were you, what would you do?”
Alanna sighed. “Why are you always asking me how I would handle something? I’m supposed to look to you for advice. You know me—I would have split the second church was over, girl.”
The sisters laughed, but Rachelle’s spirits sagged. Why had she never had that kind of courage?
“You could do it and get away with it too,” Rachelle said. “Me? I’d be accused of causing family trauma, drama, and a whole range of other issues if I had done that today.”
“If you need to leave to be okay, Rachelle, I say do it,” Alanna said. “You gotta take care of you, whether others understand or not.”
Rachelle bit her tongue. The rules aren’t the same.
Alanna had always made her needs a priority and had spoken her mind without hesitation, and no one batted an eye. Her breathtaking beauty and engaging personality bought her breaks others couldn’t pay cash for.
“Let me get off this phone and go outside,” Rachelle said. “Guests are arriving for the barbecue, and I better help.”
“See, there you go,” Alanna said.
“What do you mean?”
“Did anybody ask you to help? If not, why are you feeling obligated? You’re a guest too. Go on out there and chill! I’ll call you back in a couple of hours to see if you’re feeling better.”
Rachelle smiled. Alanna kept her in line.
Her baby sister couldn’t get her love life straight or figure out what career she wanted to pursue long term, but the bachelor’s degree in French and master’s in marketing allowed her to keep landing great jobs throughout metro Dallas. If she’d only stay somewhere longer than a year and a half and stop searching for Mr. Right in all the wrong places, she just might be all right.
“Thanks, sis,” Rachelle said. She still hadn’t told Alanna about Jillian. This Troy thing had thrown her for a loop. “I’ll catch you up on some other things soon. Love ya.”
Rachelle placed the cell phone on the maple dresser and left the bedroom. She sauntered down the hallway leading from the bedroom to the kitchen, taking in the numerous framed photos that lined the wall. There were images of her and Alanna when they were young girls, visiting Aunt Irene and Uncle Charles one summer.
Pictures of Aunt Irene and Uncle Charles that had been taken before they became parents were interspersed with images of extended family members and close friends. Rachelle giggled at some of the photos, especially the ones of Uncle Charles leaning against a teal car that Rachelle thought resembled an iron submarine.
He really thought he was fine.
She strolled into the kitchen, where Aunt Irene was making potato salad. Aunt Irene had come home from church and launched right into preparing food for the cookout. She paused and smiled at Rachelle.
“I’m so glad you surprised us today. It does my heart good to see you. You look as pretty as always. Are you eating anything?” Rachelle laughed. “Yes, Auntie, I’m eating. I also exercise just about every day—jogging and Pilates. Keeps me looking my best.”
Aunt Irene shook her head. “I tell you, you young women come up with some stuff. I never pretended that I was going to be a cover girl when I was your age, so I ate what I wanted.” She patted her hips. “Now I’ve got some regrets, but hey, I wasn’t denying myself something I wanted to enjoy. I’ll be sixty this year, and you can bet that I’m not worried about my figure.”
Rachelle smiled. Aunt Irene had full cheeks and wide hips, but Uncle Charles didn’t seem to be complaining. She was still a pretty woman, and Rachelle was sure that men her age still considered her someone to talk about.
“Fried food is my big no-no,” Rachelle said. “I’m married to a cardiothoracic surgeon, after all. Other than that, I just try to eat in moderation. The exercise gives me energy and just helps me feel better.”
Aunt Irene stuck a tablespoon in the potato salad and took a bite. “Hmm, this is so good,” she said. “I’m glad you’ve got a system for staying healthy, baby. Want some potato salad?”
Rachelle shook her head. “Not right now, but I’ll take it out and put it on the table if you want me to.”
“It’s too hot out there for it right now. I’ll refrigerate it and bring it out when it’s time to bless all of the food,” Aunt Irene said. “Go on out and get a cool drink. Say hi to your uncle.”
Rachelle stepped outside, into the backyard, and remembered why she spent most of her summer days at a spa or indoor pool. Sweat trickled down her back before she had taken a good three steps toward Uncle Charles.
It was about three p.m. and the day couldn’t have been hotter. Here she was at a Sunday afternoon barbecue in July. In southern Texas. The humidity left her longing for a bath filled with ice cubes.
“Stop complaining,” Uncle Charles said and motioned for her to sit in the lawn chair next to him. “Don’t you rich folk cook out in your hoity-toity section of Houston?”
Rachelle laughed and swatted him with the newspaper he had placed in her lap, along with a few ears of corn to shuck.
“Yeah,” she teased back, “on our air-conditioned patios.”
She grabbed her thick mane and pulled a hair claw from the pocket of the khaki shorts she had found in her suitcase. Today was a testament to why packing more than she thought she needed could be beneficial. And thank goodness she kept a few extra supplies in the glove compartment of her car for Taryn’s hair emergencies. If she didn’t get this stuff off her neck, she might be tempted to cut it.
After shucking the corn, Rachelle and Uncle Charles moved their chairs under one of several white tents where they could relax. He sipped a soda while she chug-a-lugged a bottle of water.
A heavy silence settled between them, until finally, he spoke.
“We shoulda told you about Troy, but we just didn’t know how,” Uncle Charles said. “Knowing how much went on between you two, it was hard when we learned he was moving back to Jubilant and wanted the director of music position. But he was the best candidate of the bunch, and we believe God sent him to us.”
Rachelle peered through the haze of heat at the neighborhood kids playing in the shallow pool Uncle Charles had inflated for them. Yasmin was frolicking with them and orchestrating teams for a water game.
“I’m not questioning your commitment to follow God, Uncle Charles,” she said. “I just want to know why, once it was clear that Troy was a contender for the job, you or Aunt Irene didn’t pick up the phone and call me. I had a right to know. I make sporadic visits to Jubilant; and I occasionally go to your church. Just the fact that he moved back to Texas meant there was a chance of me running into him. You should have prepared me for that.”
Uncle Charles sipped his soda and shrugged. He looked away before he spoke. “I don’t know, Rachelle. We knew how hard you took it when you two broke up. We just weren’t sure what to do.”
“No,” Rachelle said in as even a tone as she could muster. “We didn’t ‘break up.’ My parents gave me an ultimatum—get a divorce or find a way to pay for optometry school on my own. I think that could be considered blackmail instead of a ‘breakup.’”
Uncle Charles cleared his throat and rose from the seat. He patted her shoulder, and wandered away, toward Yasmin and her friends.
Rachelle could tell she had crossed his line of tolerance. Aunt Irene often accused him of fleeing from uncomfortable situations.
Rachelle sat there awhile longer, stewing over the circumstances. More guests began to arrive, and she realized she needed to give the subject a rest. But I always do that—give it a rest; keep the peace; make sure no feathers are ruffled. What if I don’t feel like it?
Before she could mull over answers, a startling thought crossed her mind: Troy might have been invited to this barbecue before her family knew she’d be there. If he showed up, she was pulling an “Alanna”—she would pack up and be home by nightfall.