Read Online The Someday List by Stacy Hawkins Adams - Free Book Online

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. ButI 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.

     

10
    ince 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,