The Someday List Read Online Free

mother,
her sister, or even her friends.
    But Mom wouldn't understand-she believed you got married
and you stayed married, whatever it took. Alanna was too manhungry to see straight, let alone to offer levelheaded advice. And
her friends? None of those divas could hold water. If she confided
in any one of them, she might as well be ready to see her woes on
the front page of the Houston Chronicle.
    Rachelle reached for her iPod and turned to the songs she had
downloaded in recent weeks-Beyonce's "Listen" and Jennifer
Hudson's "I Am Changing" from the movie Dreamgirls.
    She played them over and over as she lay across the bed with
her eyes closed, dressed but unsure of what to do.
    Finally, sleep won.
    With heavy eyes, she pulled back the covers on the queen-sized
bed and crawled underneath, fully dressed. She was too old to be
this lazy, but oh well.
    Rachelle reached over to the bedside nightstand to set the alarm
clock and turn off the light. A blue, hardcover Bible caught her
eye.
    For a second, she was tempted to pick it up and open it.
    You won't understand it anyway.
    That unbidden voice was right. It was probably written in the
King's English, and right now, she doubted she could decipher
Ebonics. Sleep couldn't come fast enough.
    Unless she felt differently in a few hours, she would go home and offer to drive Gabe to the airport. For now, she was going
to rest.

    Rachelle drifted to sleep with the image of Jillian's party invitation before her, as it had been most of the nights since it had
arrived in the mail:

    In her heart of hearts, Rachelle knew this message from a longago friend had triggered her marital and personal angst. Now she
had to figure out what to do about it without causing her world
to implode.

     

4
    ho would throw a party to celebrate her death?
Only Jillian Parks. Age thirty-six. Stricken with
breast cancer. Given six weeks to live.
    Rachelle had marveled over that decision since receiving the
invitation to this evening's gathering at one of San Diego's most elegant ocean-view restaurants. She and Jillian hadn't talked in years,
but Rachelle stood here tonight, awestruck, as she watched her
childhood best friend greet a roomful of friends and relatives.
    Rachelle stood near a wall of windows that featured lapping
waves as the backdrop. Her eyes kept pace as Jillian's husband,
Patrick, pushed Jillian's wheelchair wherever she directed.
    Dark circles had settled beneath her friend's amber eyes, but
they still lit up when she paused to chat with guests who lingered
over a generous seafood buffet or stood in somber small groups,
chatting softly. Jillian was waiflike, but even cancer hadn't stolen
her beauty, Rachelle decided.
    Jillian hadn't lost her flair for fashion, either. Tonight she wore
an ankle-length, soft gold gown that featured one strapless shoulder. The wavy, black hair Rachelle remembered had been replaced
with a Pocahontas-style wig that complimented Jillian's oatmeal
complexion.

    Forget that they hadn't spoken in a decade. How could Rachelle
not be here? She surveyed the chandeliered room of seventy-five
or so people who, like her, had come to shower Jillian with love.
They too seemed surprised by her festive mood.
    Rachelle's eyes watered when Patrick pushed Jillian up the
wheelchair ramp onto a wooden platform that had been temporarily positioned in the middle of the expansive dining room.
    Everyone gathered, and Jillian smiled when she reached the
center of the makeshift stage. The ocean behind her served as a
natural mural.
    Had she chosen to speak now, specifically because the sun was
setting over the water? Rachelle wondered. The scene was simply
beautiful, and fitting of such a special occasion.
    Jillian picked up the microphone that had been resting on her
lap and held it to her ruby red lips. She scanned the room, seeming to peer into the eyes of everyone present, including Rachelle's.
Finally, she spoke.
    "Thank you all for coming