Rachelle slid into the driver’s seat of her car and started the ignition. Where to?
Uncle Charles had ordered her out of the house for the afternoon to take a break from playing nursemaid, so she had some time on her hands.
She chuckled at her dilemma. How had she gone from scheduling her life around manicures, pedicures, and Pilates classes to serving as Alice from the Brady Bunch in a week’s time? She was beginning to wonder if she’d feel out of place when she went back to Houston.
After rising every morning to read Scriptures to Aunt Irene, she had decided that she too needed a routine. In her quest to fill her Top Ten List, every night at bedtime she reviewed her day and assessed whether something she had experienced, read, or heard about should become a personal goal.
She could accept returning home a few pounds heavier from lack of exercise and all of this cooking; she had a great personal trainer who would be eager to guide her back into shape. But going back without having done something for herself would equal defeat.
Rachelle pulled out of the driveway and paused at the stop sign.
Left or right? In a town the size of Jubilant, she could take a two-hour leisurely drive and just about cover its circumference.
A car whizzed by with an Everson College “Go Tigers!” bumper sticker plastered on the bumper.
Rachelle smiled. She would visit the campus.
Fifteen minutes later, she turned into the college entrance and slowed the car to a crawl. The changes on campus were amazing. With just ten thousand students, Everson was considered small, but enthusiastic alumni support insured that it continued to thrive.
Some of the streets that she remembered winding through campus had become cul-de-sacs. Plazas and gardens graced the landscape in areas where there had once been nothing but trees or patches of dirt.
Rachelle rounded a familiar corner and smiled when she saw one of her hangouts: the biology building. She had performed more than her share of experiments there and had struggled to cope with a range of interesting lab partners. By senior year, she realized that most of them were introverts who were passionate about their work. If she had been a career counselor, she would have advised them to look for jobs that allowed them to tackle solo projects and succeed.
Rachelle parallel parked next to one of the entrances and quickly unbuckled. She stepped out of her car and approached the door. She wasn’t surprised to find it locked. Few science majors took summer classes. Most spent that period gaining valuable experience as interns or on fellowships that could help them create long-lasting networks.
Rachelle returned to her car and pondered her next stop. It didn’t take long to settle on McPherson Hall. She had spent so much time in the building that a lot of the other students thought she was a music major.
Rachelle drove the few blocks to that building and parked in the adjoining lot. This section of the campus was surprisingly quiet too. She entered through the familiar arched set of double-paned doors, surprised to find this building as she remembered it. Little had changed since her graduation.
She scanned the long hall, which featured row after row of trophy cases on each side.
Her two-inch open-toe sandals produced a staccato rhythm as she strolled down the path and paused to read brief summaries about the Everson students who had won choir competitions across the South. She knew if she looked closely, she’d find her name and photos. She had helped win at least five awards.
The trophies and plaques spanned generations, as did the pictures—from black-and-white images to color photos that highlighted gospel and choral singers sporting hairstyles and fashions from the ’40s, ’50s, and ’60s through the present.
Rachelle heard voices as she neared the end of the hall and grew excited. Maybe some of her former professors were here today. She waited for whomever it was to round the corner and nearly choked when three people came into view.
Troy and Chaundra approached her, along with a woman dressed in business attire.
“Oh, hello,” the woman said and walked toward Rachelle with her hand extended. “Carla Wesson, executive secretary of the music department. May I help you?”
Rachelle found her voice and shook Ms. Wesson’s hand. “Hello. Rachelle Covington. I’m a former student, visiting town, and thought I’d stop by.”
Chaundra giggled. Rachelle and Ms. Wesson looked her way.
“I saw you on some of those old choir photos with Uncle Troy,” she told Rachelle. “Your hair was funny!”
Ms. Wesson looked curiously from Troy to Rachelle. “You two sang in one of the choirs together? You know each other?”
Rachelle nodded. “Isn’t it a small world?” she said. “Would it be okay if I continue to look around? I haven’t made it to those photos yet. And are any of the professors here today?”
Ms. Wesson shook her head. “No, no one’s here today. Wednesday is usually pretty low key in the summers. But help yourself. Look around. And welcome back, Ms. Covington.”
Ms. Wesson turned toward Chaundra. “Did you still need to visit the ladies’ room? I’ll show you where it is.”
“Yes, please,” the girl said. She looked at Troy. “I’ll be back. Will you be waiting here?”
“Either here or in front of the building, where we came in,” Troy said.
When they were gone, he stuck his hands in his pockets and turned toward Rachelle. “How’s your Aunt Irene doing?”
Rachelle glanced at him, then focused on one of the trophy cases. “She’s at home, but she has a long way to go. Emotionally and physically.”
Troy nodded. “That’s understandable.”
He walked closer and peered at the photo that had captured her attention. Their former choir director, Mr. Pearson, was scowling at the choir and bending toward them, as if he could pull the notes from their throats.
Rachelle and Troy laughed together. Troy leaned against the case and turned to face her.
“I don’t believe in coincidences anymore,” he said.
“Really?” Rachelle said. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She looked into his eyes and looked away. The longing there scared her.
Troy reached for her hand, but she pulled away.
“Don’t,” Rachelle said.
She turned and walked down another hallway. Troy caught up with her and reached for her hand again. This time she didn’t resist.
Rachelle paused and looked up at him, trying not to get any closer than she already was. What would Ms. Wesson and Chaun-dra think if they returned right now?
Troy didn’t seem to care. He held on to her hand and stared at her.
She thought about the pictures behind them, displaying proud moments and memories made years ago. She wished they could be transported back, to a time when what they both were feeling right now was nothing to be ashamed of or to fear. She wished she could lean into him and hug him, instead of straining in the opposite direction.
Troy kept her hand tucked in his and led her to the end of the hallway and around the corner. “I want to show you something.”
She allowed him to guide her.
In the very first case at the edge of the corner were photos from their years at Everson. She recognized the student choir directors in the images. She saw several photos of herself, and one in particular caught her eye. Troy zoned in on it too.
The two of them stood side by side, with their shoulders touching as they smiled and lifted a large trophy in the air. The choir stood behind them cheering.
Troy turned to Rachelle and raised her chin with his forefinger. He held her in that pose for what felt like an eternity. “How did I go from first place with you to last?” he asked. “Why did you leave me, Rachelle?”
He wiped the solitary tear that slid down one of her cheeks with his thumb and leaned in closer. She should have been telling him to stop, but she didn’t.
She let him kiss her, tenderly and slowly, as if he wanted to make it last for a lifetime. She should have pulled away, but she kissed him back.
In a split second, however, she realized she had gone too far. There was no way this could last—no need even faking it. Rachelle pushed past him and trotted down the hallway, toward the main entrance.
“I’m sorry, Troy,” she said without turning to look at him, “I can’t do this. You can’t either. You have too much to lose.”
She exited the building and tried to see past the tears that were blinding her.
As much as she resented her husband’s lack of attention and affection, Rachelle didn’t want to sink lower than he had. She also didn’t want to hurt Troy a second time. If he wasn’t going to think straight and consider all that he had at stake, she would love him enough to do it for him.