Since Uncle Charles went in one direction, Rachelle chose to go in the other.
She gathered the ears of corn she had shucked and cradled them in her arms. Before Uncle Charles could grill them, they needed to be washed, and she might as well do the honors.
When she reached the patio that led to the kitchen, Rachelle noticed Aunt Irene standing under a nearby tree, gulping from a red plastic cup. Aunt Irene smiled when Rachelle approached her and tucked her hand with the cup behind her back.
“What’s up?” she asked. She squirmed under Rachelle’s curious gaze. “This heat makes you thirsty, doesn’t it?”
Rachelle nodded and peered over her aunt’s shoulder. The cup held a clear liquid and was half full, but why would Aunt Irene try to hide it?
“Is that ‘happy juice’ or something?”
Rachelle laughed, but Aunt Irene winked at her.
“I need a little help to unwind sometimes,” she said. “Between getting ready for this barbecue/birthday party for Indigo and dealing with your stubborn uncle and my creaky hip, Lord knows I need something!”
she leaned closer. “But don’t tell anybody, okay? Let’s keep this between us. Come on, help me set the rest of the food out and bring out Indigo’s cake.”
Rachelle wanted to pinch herself. She had to be dreaming. All of her aunts and uncles were social drinkers except Aunt Irene, who had always said she didn’t partake so she could remain clearheaded enough to hear from God. When had that changed, and why? Rachelle followed Aunt Irene into the kitchen, but decided not to question her until later, when they had some time alone.
Before she could fret further, Aunt Melba barreled in with a friend trailing her. Bags that overflowed with chips, two-liter sodas, and ice filled their arms. Aunt Melba’s face was nearly hidden by her packages, but her hearty laugh was unmistakable.
“I’m here now! Let’s get this party started!”
Melba had never been one to use an “inside voice.” Family gatherings weren’t half as lively when she wasn’t around, and everyone teased her about it.
“Shoot, I was the middle child—I had to fight to get some attention,” she’d always respond. “That saying is the truth—the squeaky wheel gets the oil, and I don’t like being rusty or ashy!”
“A little coarse sometimes, yes; but never ‘rusty or ashy,’” Rachelle’s mother had commented years ago, after one of Melba’s weekend visits to Philadelphia.
Other than Rita Mitchell, no one seemed to mind Melba’s volume or straightforwardness. She was colorful and flamboyant and lovable. She was also gorgeous. At five foot ten, she was slender, but thick in all the right places. She wore a short-layered haircut that accentuated her bronze complexion and high cheekbones.
Aunt Irene was the baby sister and Rachelle’s dad was the oldest of the three children, but Aunt Melba looked nowhere near the sixty-two years she insisted her birth certificate documented. When she visited Houston for shopping trips to the Galleria and other exclusive stores, strangers often mistook her for Rachelle’s older sister.
Rachelle still couldn’t fathom why Aunt Melba hadn’t fled Jubilant as a teenager for the runways of New York or Paris.
Melba, Irene, and Rachelle’s dad, Herbert, loved each other deeply, which meant that loving each other’s children was second nature. Since Melba had never had any of her own, she claimed Rachelle, Alanna, and Irene’s crew by default.
Aunt Melba set her grocery bags on the granite countertop, next to Irene, who was arranging deviled eggs on a serving tray. She kissed her sister’s cheek, then turned toward Rachelle.
“Well, look what the cat drug in. When did you get here, Rachelle?”
Rachelle grinned and trotted over for a hug. “It’s great to see you, Aunt Melba. I made a surprise visit this morning. Gabe is away on business and the kids are with Mom and Dad for the month, so I thought I’d drive down.”
Melba raised an eyebrow and grabbed a deviled egg. “Gabe’s away, so you can play?” She popped the appetizer into her mouth and waited.
Rachelle smiled but didn’t respond. Aunt Melba had always been able to illuminate the heart of matters. Maybe that’s why her hair salon remained the busiest in town. It wasn’t unusual for clients who had moved away to drive several hours to Jubilant for a special occasion appointment with Melba.
Rachelle couldn’t blame them. Melba was indeed a fabulous hairstylist, but her unparalleled energy, doses of encouragement, and the tell-it-like-it-is advice she doled out were the true magnets. Melba didn’t play favorites—whoever sat in her chair had her full attention.
Rachelle turned to the woman who had accompanied her aunt. “Hi, I’m Rachelle.”
“Hello, Rachelle.” The woman smiled and extended her hand. “I’m Cynthia, one of Melba’s clients and also a friend. Nice to meet you.”
Rachelle wondered how Cynthia had been roped into attending the barbecue. Either she was new to town, in a crisis, or had struck Melba’s fancy as someone the family would appreciate knowing.
“Good people need to know other good people” was a Melba catchphrase.
“This is Doctor Cynthia Bridgeforth, pediatrician extraordi-naire,” Melba said, satisfying Rachelle’s curiosity. “Could be living the cushy life of a private practice doctor caring for Jubilant’s well-to-do kids and instead spends her days in the toughest part of town, helping the children most folks gave up on before they even got here. This Cynthia, she’s something else.”
Rachelle was intrigued. Before she could ask questions, though, the birthday girl made her entrance with an entourage of lip-gloss– smothered, giggling friends. The various perfumes and scented lotions they wore overshadowed the baked beans Aunt Irene had retrieved from the oven.
While today’s gathering was a celebration of Indigo’s fifteenth birthday, it also was enough reason for the family and their extensive circle of friends to fellowship. Most teenagers shied away from social functions that included embarrassing adults, but Indigo seemed to be dodging that pattern. Aunt Irene and Uncle Charles had made it a practice to surround all three children with loved ones at every turn. They might never know the meaning of the term nuclear family.
Indigo parted the crowd and ran to embrace Rachelle. “You came to my party but you didn’t bring my little cousins?”
She rested her skinny arms on Rachelle’s shoulders and locked eyes with her. Rachelle laughed.
“When did you get so tall? And why weren’t you at church today?”
“I slept over at my friend Sabrina’s house last night.” Indigo pointed to the girl. “But if I had known the new director of music was going to show up today and sing, I might have popped in. ‘Shawty’ is fine!”
Indigo and her giggling girlfriends moved as one force toward the back door and tumbled outside. Rachelle couldn’t help but smile, despite hearing Indigo refer to Troy in that fashion. She was just an infant when everything transpired between Rachelle and Troy during their college days and didn’t know that this “Shawty” was her former cousin by marriage.
Aunt Melba winked at Rachelle and grabbed the baked beans. Cynthia picked up the tray of deviled eggs and the two women followed the girls outside.
The mention of her ex-husband reminded Rachelle of a pertinent concern. “Is . . . Troy . . . coming to the barbecue, Aunt Irene? Did you invite him?”
Aunt Irene averted her eyes. She wet a dishtowel and concentrated on wiping the island countertop. “He was invited, along with a few other folks from church. But he came up to me after service this afternoon and told me that he and Chaundra were having dinner with Pastor and First Lady Taylor and might not have time to stop by.”
Rachelle fiddled with the paper napkins she had folded into triangles. “Did he . . . ask about me?”
“He saw you, Rachelle,” Aunt Irene said. “I saw him looking at you. But he didn’t say a word to me about you.”
Ouch. Why did that sting? Hadn’t they both moved on? She had fled church to avoid him, so her disappointment surprised her.
She was curious about what he’d been doing all these years since they split and how he had wound up back in Jubilant. Aunt Irene probably knew everything, but Rachelle decided not to ask.
An awkward silence filled the kitchen and Rachelle took that as her cue. She grabbed a serving spoon and an aluminum pan filled with potato salad and headed for the door.
She crossed the expansive lawn and placed the food on a cloth-covered table under one of the tents. A couple Rachelle didn’t know sat nearby under a tree, chatting. The woman leaned into the man and he bent down to kiss her nose.
“No newlywed hanky panky. Y’all got little eyes watching ya!” Uncle Charles yelled from across the patio, where he was basting ribs on the grill. The couple laughed and put up their hands in an admission of guilt.
Rachelle smiled at them and turned back toward the house. She froze in her tracks when Pastor and First Lady Taylor opened the gate of the tall wooden fence and entered with their adolescent son.
Please, God, let them be alone.
Did arrow prayers really work? Maybe so, but Rachelle decided hers must be so rusty that an instant answer wasn’t guaranteed.
Troy and Chaundra stepped inside the backyard and closed the fence behind them. The girl spotted Indigo and her friends and trotted over to join them. Troy zeroed in on Rachelle and paused.
Her cell phone rang before either of them could react. Thankful for the distraction, she pulled it from the clip attached to her buckle loop and answered without screening the call. It had to be Alanna.
“You won’t believe who just showed up,” Rachelle said, with her eyes fixed on Troy.
“Really,” said a deep voice on the other end that didn’t belong to her sister. “Just where are you, anyway?”
Gabe had picked a fine time to call.