Rachelle knew she had gone overboard, but it felt great.
Every jibe she uttered made up for the years of stuffing down her emotions, biting her tongue, and letting Gabe make decisions that weren’t always wise or fair.
She hadn’t meant to twist the knife, but when he had failed to ask why Jillian was dying or how much longer she might live, Rachelle’s hope that he really wanted to make things right faded. The fact that he couldn’t muster up genuine concern over the imminent death of a woman she had once been so close to broke her heart.
Granted, Gabe continued to hold a grudge against Jillian for refusing to participate in their wedding; but under these circumstances, none of that mattered.
Rachelle leaned back on Reuben’s bed, where she found herself for a second time today fielding a private call. She could hear the partygoers just outside the window, laughing and chatting.
She felt like curling up and taking a nap, which wasn’t an option. But then again, facing Troy, who was outside with the other guests, wasn’t either.
She sat up and stared at the suitcase in the corner. Technically, she could repeat her actions from a few days ago and sneak out of the house unseen. The thought both intrigued and rattled her.
How would that feel—to up and go, leaving Aunt Irene and Uncle Charles a note, informing them that she would be back to visit at another time? They’d get the message that she didn’t appreciate how they had handled Troy’s arrival, without her having to initiate another uncomfortable conversation like the one with Uncle Charles this afternoon. And maybe the next time something like this came up, they’d treat her like an adult, instead of a child who needed to be spoon-fed the news.
I should do it, she thought. Her heart pounded as she envisioned the scenario. Isn’t that what I want?
Well, respect, yes, but not at the risk of losing the adoration she had always received from her aunt and uncle. Was it possible to get both? If she changed the status quo, would their affections shift, too?
Honoring Jillian’s request to thrive and be happy wasn’t going to be easy. In the few days since she had promised to live in that fashion, she was realizing that she had been existing like a wind-up doll, going through the motions and following expectations set by others. She had somehow numbed herself to the possibility of writing her own script, like Jillian had managed to do.
Was it too late? She just didn’t know. But hurting Aunt Irene’s and Uncle Charles’s feelings this afternoon wasn’t the answer. Jillian hadn’t told her to rush the process; she had simply urged her to begin.
Rachelle surveyed Reuben’s walls, which were plastered with an eclectic mix of posters, ranging from those featuring the poses of his favorite sports figures to the beguiling glances of singers Beyoncé and Rihanna.
She chuckled. Is this what she had to look forward to when Tate was older?
She stood up and stretched. She didn’t want to, but she knew she had to return to the barbecue before Aunt Irene or Aunt Melba came searching for her. She had to face Troy Hardy.
Rachelle followed the hallway from the bedroom to the kitchen, as before. This time the pictures didn’t distract her; she was trying to prepare for whatever awaited her outside.
However, just as she reached for the double-paned door leading to the backyard, Troy pulled it open. The two of them nearly collided. He kept her from tripping over his feet by grabbing her arm.
Great, Rachelle thought, just great.
Troy quickly let go once she had steadied herself.
“Hello, Rachelle,” he said. “Sorry about that. I’m looking for the bathroom.”
He stepped aside and pulled the door open so she could exit.
She was surprised, expecting him to try and make small talk.
“Thanks, Troy. It’s right down the hallway.” She motioned to the area she’d just left, but made no effort to walk past him. “It’s nice to see you. Congratulations on your position at the church. I didn’t know you were pursuing music as a career.”
She could have kicked herself. That sounded so dumb. How would she know what he had been doing for the past decade unless she had been stalking him?
Her eyes were drawn to his dimpled chin when he smiled at her. He was about ten pounds heavier, but it was in all the right places. She thought about her hastily secured ponytail and her rumpled, sweaty outfit. She must look a hot mess.
“Yep, I’ve been fortunate to use both sides of my brain—the artistic and analytical sides,” Troy said. “Engineering and music have been a good combination.”
He was still holding the door open for her and gave her a quizzical look. Rachelle had more questions—like where was the mother of his child?—but didn’t want to seem overly interested.
Humph. Funny how the tables had turned. She had been intent on fleeing from him after church today, but he didn’t seem the least bit fazed by her.
She nodded and stepped outside. “Well, good to see you. I hope you and your daughter enjoy St. Peter’s.”
Troy hesitated and cleared his throat. “I’m sure we will. Pastor Taylor is a great leader, and the members have already given us a warm welcome. It’s good to see you, Rachelle.”
With that, he slid into the kitchen and let the door close behind him.
Rachelle stood there for a moment to get her bearings. The encounter had been odd. Not as uncomfortable as she had expected, but somehow unsettling for that very reason.
She shook her head to clear her thoughts and wandered over to the grill, where Aunt Melba was begging Uncle Charles to burn her a hot dog.
“You know how I like them—nice and crispy,” Melba said.
Uncle Charles shook his head. “You and your burnt stuff, girl. Burnt baloney, burnt hot dogs, burnt—”
“Dates!” Melba finished for him and laughed.
“Dates?” Rachelle asked and laughed. “Are you still breaking hearts, Aunt Melba?”
She smiled slyly. “Can’t tell all my business, niecey. Some things need to remain between me and the Lord. I’m single, so I can keep looking.”
She put her hand on her hip and leveled her eyes at Rachelle. “You on the other hand? Watch it. I just saw that exchange with Mr. Ex-Husband in the doorway. Be careful, Rachelle.”