Читать книгу Breaking Emily's Rules - Heatherly Bell - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

“WAKE UP, EMILY.”

Emily opened one eye.

Grammy stood over her, dressed in her sparkly blue jeans and leopard-print top. It was one of the most irritating things about her grandmother. She refused to give in to convention and wear tracksuits like all her friends did.

Emily hadn’t even heard her come in. “What good is it to give me the loft for privacy if you keep barging in on me like this? What if I had company?”

“Emily, dear, please. I don’t have time for jokes. We have the Chamber of Commerce party today. I’ll need you to help George. He’s an old man now.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that.”

George Carver had worked for the family for as long as Emily could remember. Old or not, he was still their handyman, their gardener and a long-time family friend.

Emily’s dog, Pookie, a Poodle and Chihuahua mix, peeked out from the under the covers.

“You’re letting Pookie in your bed? What’s wrong with you?”

“She’d old, Grammy, and it was cold out last night. I caught her shivering.” That was Emily’s story and she was sticking to it. Growing up on their pseudo ranch usually meant dogs lived outside, but Emily liked it better this way. If Grammy was going to let Emily have the loft over the garage, then Emily could let Pookie have a spot on her bed at night.

“Girl, your heart is just too big. Pookie has you fooled. She’s fine outside and has a warm dry place in the pen. Cuddles up next to Beast every chance she gets. Anyway, the meat is coming in at noon, and I’ll need you to check it. You know what happened last time.” Grammy started to make the bed with Emily in it.

“Hey. Why don’t you let me get out of bed first? What time is it?” Fighting to push off the last dregs of sleep, Emily pulled the covers up to her nose. She wasn’t sure, but she might have been in the middle of a dream that made her blush, even thinking of it. It might have involved Stone and some of that horizontal dancing.

“It’s time for you to get up. And there’s something I want to show you first.” Grammy walked toward the front door and put her hand on the doorknob.

“What is it?” Emily rubbed her eyes and looked at the clock. Eight thirty. Too bad Grammy didn’t believe in sleeping in even on the weekends, because right now all Emily wanted was another few minutes. And she wasn’t going to get them.

“Wait till you see. I ordered it and it came yesterday. I’ll meet you at the house for breakfast.” Grammy let herself out, but not before picking up Pookie and carrying her out. “Dogs stay outside.”

Emily rustled her feet from under the warm covers and let them touch the cool hardwood. She shrank back and resisted the urge to bury under the blanket and go back to her dreams. Dreams in which she’d gone home with Stone.

Forget about him. I’m not ready for someone like that, and maybe I never will be. No, she was never going to be “that girl.” The girl who didn’t worry about consequences. The one who took a chance. She was too sensible for all that.

Emily showered, tried not to think of Stone, dried off and dressed in the working jeans and Fortune Ranch company shirt she wore while working on the family’s ranch. Not that it was a ranch anymore, unless one counted a petting zoo and three ponies. But Grammy insisted on keeping the name, a testament to the former glory of the Parker family’s four-hundred-acre cattle ranch of days gone by.

After eminent domain and the freeway extension had made its way through, they’d been left with forty acres and the house. Thank God for ever-resourceful Grammy, who claimed she hadn’t lived through the depression for nothing. And even if the family business now came down to outdoor company parties, picnics and high school Sadie Hawkins dances, they still had their home.

Thank heavens for that, because right now Emily needed home. The place where she’d grown up and the last place she’d lived with Mama. She’d been gone seventeen years, but her absence still ached if Emily thought about it too much.

Emily made her way down the creaky steps of her second-story apartment loft above the detached garage and jogged over to the main Victorian house on the hill. She threw open the side door to the kitchen and walked in to the sounds of Molly’s high-pitched voice. “That’s it—you’ve finally taken the last train into Crazy Town, and this time I’m not sure you’ll be back.”

“What’s up?” Emily grabbed a mug from the cupboard.

Molly and Grammy stood before some type of large vase on the kitchen counter.

“Grammy has done it now.” Molly looked like she’d woken only minutes ago and stood in the middle of the kitchen wearing her oversize Hairdressers Do It with Style T-shirt, hair mussed and eyes bloodshot with the after effects of too much tequila.

“Once again, your sister is demonstrating how short-sighted she can be. This is where I’ll be buried—my ashes will be, anyway. And I want you girls to pick the perfect place where I’ll be seated for all eternity. I was thinking somewhere in the dining room.”

That thing sitting on the kitchen counter was an urn? No wonder Molly was freaked out. Emily wasn’t sure she could ever eat food in here again. “Can we take it off the kitchen counter?”

“For the love of Pete, you girls act like I bought a used urn. This was ordered from the most highly regarded crematorium in the state. Don’t you think it’s nice?” Grammy ran her hand along the little pink roses that decorated the border.

Emily couldn’t look at the place where her Grammy’s bones would someday lie. “Can’t we do this another time?”

Grammy waved a hand. “Fine. I’ll find a place in the dining room. This way I’ll be in attendance at every Thanksgiving and Christmas even after I’m gone. Now, I’ll be watching over you all, so don’t forget to say grace.”

“Oh, Daddy is going to love this,” Molly said with an eye roll.

“Your father isn’t any of my concern. He spends half his time in Texas pretending he’s a cowboy when he ought to be home with his family,” Grammy shouted over her shoulder as she left the room with her urn.

The subject of their father and his reluctance to let go of the cattle ranch days was one Emily couldn’t handle before noon. Or plenty of coffee.

She eyed the bacon and eggs Grammy had left on a warming platter, considering whether or not she still had an appetite.

“I was thinking—” Molly said with a grin.

“Don’t you dare.” Emily pointed a finger.

“I’ll be good this time. Okay, I should have stayed away from the tequila shots. And Thomas.”

“That would have been nice.”

“But we should go see if we can find that nice man who helped us with Thomas. And then I can apologize.”

Emily sat at the kitchen table and thought about how much she’d like to thank Stone. But she wouldn’t need Molly for that. “I’m not going back there for a while.”

“Why? I saw you dancing with him. And you looked happy. What have you got against happy?”

“I don’t have anything against it. I have something against starting a relationship right now. I have to work on myself.”

“Who said anything about a relationship?” Molly drew the last word out, emphasizing every syllable. “Why does everything have to be a big deal to you? Can’t you just have fun?”

Of course she couldn’t have fun. She had plans to make, and they didn’t involve a man. Emily opened her mouth to answer, but Grammy walked back in the kitchen and spoke first.

“What you need to do is learn from your big sister, young lady. Sometimes a lady needs to take a good long look at her life to find out where she’s going. It wouldn’t hurt you to do the same.” Grammy reached for a mug and poured some coffee in it.

Molly rolled her eyes. “Sorry. I forgot Little Miss Perfect does everything right.”

Emily winced at the moniker, but what was so wrong with setting goals and controlling one’s future? For so long, she’d been the only one with any good sense in this family. Dad out in Texas playing cowboy, Molly pretending she hadn’t screwed up the best thing in her life and Grammy planning her own funeral.

Either way, it was time for Plan B, since none of her best-laid plans had worked out.

Like real estate. She’d bought the course on the late-night infomercial, but nothing was like the book said it would be. Her attempt at writing a historical romance hadn’t done any better. And if it wasn’t for the stage fright that kept her from returning to the stage, maybe she could get that country music career off the ground.

Either way, she had to figure something out, because she was running out of time.

Molly had struck a nerve when she talked about ticking clocks. It wasn’t that Emily wanted a baby—she’d given up that dream—but reminders of how little she’d accomplished in her twenty-eight years weren’t welcome. She’d recently read in one of her college alumni newsletters that a former classmate had founded her own clothing company and another was running for a congressional seat in her district.

Emily needed something like that. Something big.

Grammy patted Emily’s back. “Nothing wrong with being a good girl, right, dear?”

Good Girl. Yeah, that was her. Another name might be Doormat. “Never said I was perfect.”

“Don’t forget tomorrow is our monthly meeting with the Pink Ladies. I know you won’t want to miss it, Emily.” Grammy sat across from Emily.

“Why are you encouraging her?” Molly slammed her coffee mug on the table. “That’s exactly what Emily needs. Hanging out with a bunch of geriatric women. That should do it.”

“Your sister has a hobby, and maybe you can find one, too,” Grammy said with a scowl.

“I have a hobby. It’s called dancing. Meanwhile you waste your time talking about dead people that can’t do a thing for you anymore.” Molly took a gulp from her mug and gave Emily a pointed look.

Emily shook her head. “I love when you both talk about me like I’m not here. What if I’m interested in our family history? What’s wrong with trying to find out all about my namesake?”

“That Emily Parker isn’t going to help you. Because there’s a little problem. She’s dead.”

“Listen, young lady. Never speak ill of the dead. Someday I’ll be one of them.” Grammy reached over and swatted Molly’s hand.

Molly walked over to the sink with her mug. “Someday we’ll all be one of them. But before that, let’s have a little bit of damn fun before we all die, why don’t we?”

Grammy laughed at Molly’s back as she walked out of the kitchen. “Oh, Molly, dear, you are so dramatic. Learn to be a little bit more like your sister. Level-headed. Grounded.”

Emily almost choked on her coffee. Was that what she was? Level-headed? Grounded? Why did that sound boring?

Emily had spent the past year in a kind of self-imposed hibernation with little interest in anything other than eating, sleeping and watching reruns of the first three seasons of Homeland.

But then a few months ago Grammy had come to her with some genealogy research. She wanted to find out whether her family had come from Ireland or Scotland. One of Grammy’s Historical Society friends had traced her ancestors back to the Revolutionary War. Naturally, Grammy was convinced they could do better than that. They only needed to trace the family lineage back far enough and the truth of the spunky and steady Parker spirit would be revealed. It had all started out simply, with a bit of online searches, and before Emily knew it, she’d been spending most of her spare time with Grammy’s friends.

Then Molly had come back home. Suddenly genealogy research was a hobby for the geriatric crowd.

“I’ll quit when I find out what happened to the first Emily Parker.” Time to reevaluate, perhaps, the amount of time she spent on this hobby. A little diversity couldn’t hurt. Getting out from under this “good girl” image couldn’t hurt, either.

* * *

MOLLY TRUDGED UP the steps to her bedroom, and threw herself on the trundle bed. Everyone in her family was officially bonkers, fascinated with the past and dead people when there was so much living to be done right now. Emily was too young to hang out with all those old women, but Molly couldn’t seem to get through to her. Yet.

She’d get Emily back out on the dance floor, or her nickname wasn’t Trouble.

She reached under the mattress and pulled out the photo of Sierra at six months old. She’d just learned to sit up and wore a bib that read Daddy’s Girl as she smiled her toothless grin. Molly traced the angle of her baby face. Oh, how she remembered that smile. It was the last picture Molly took of Sierra before she left town. Dylan had been working long hours and left her alone with Sierra night and day. They could have all lived at the Parker family home and Molly would have had help from both Grammy and Emily, but Dylan had insisted they live on their own. Raise Sierra on their own. Insisted he’d support his own family, and that meant they were stuck in a studio apartment.

That same studio apartment had felt more like a Love Shack when they’d first been married, right after they’d learned of her pregnancy, and made love every night. But once Sierra arrived, everything changed. Dylan had been too tired to do anything but collapse in a heap at the end of the day.

Emily had offered to help but Molly was so ashamed of her mess. Ashamed that she couldn’t stop crying some days. She couldn’t figure out how to take a shower and at the same time take care of her baby. And after every time Emily had come over, Dylan had nothing but praises for her big sister. Emily sure knows how to clean a house. Or, Did you fold and put away all this laundry, or did Em? On and on he’d go about her wonderful big sister and how Molly could learn a lot from her.

Emily wasn’t a spoiled Daddy’s girl like Molly, Dylan would say. And now that she was a mother, she had to give up on being Daddy’s girl. But Daddy seemed to be the only one who realized when Molly was way in over her head. Which, according to him, was pretty much always.

Molly swallowed the sob in her throat and picked up her cell phone. She dialed her father, who was out at their Texas cattle ranch instead of at home where he belonged.

“Daddy?” Molly whispered into the phone.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Daddy answered with the Texas twang that grated on her nerves.

But leave it to her daddy to always realize when something was wrong. “I’m bored here. When are you coming home?

“I’ll come home next week, for sure.”

“I’ve been back home two months and seen you once.”

“The ranch out here keeps me busy. Doesn’t Emily keep you company?”

“She’s no fun anymore.”

“Your sister has been through a rough time. You go easy on her. Have you seen your daughter yet?”

“I don’t know if Dylan is going to let me.” Dylan had been furious when she’d left. She was still a little bit afraid to face him.

“It’s not for him to let you or not let you. You’re that baby’s momma and nothing can keep you from seeing her.”

That’s what Daddy thought, but Molly knew Dylan wouldn’t make it easy. He’d warned her when she’d left that if she didn’t come home immediately, she could forget about coming back. “I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything.”

“You do that, little Trouble. You made a mistake and some people just have to be big enough to forgive you.”

More than anything, she wished Daddy was right about that. Molly hung up and stared at the ceiling, trying to swallow the golf ball in her throat. I’m not going to cry. Not today. I should be all cried out by now.

She stuffed Sierra’s photo back under her mattress.

What she wanted to do and what she could do were two different things. Right now, a little fun wasn’t going to kill her.

Anything to forget about the photo that lay pressed under her mattress of the little baby girl with red hair, just like her mommy’s.

* * *

THE PINK LADIES Genealogical Society gals were in good spirits on Sunday, mostly because Grammy had whipped up her famous wine-based margaritas. It didn’t matter everyone knew the recipe originally belonged to George, who called them Po’man Margaritas.

Emily sat at the dining room table with the ladies, her laptop in front of her. She was their online researcher, and the ladies had come to count on her. She searched census records and online gravesite markers for those with ancestors in other states. So, even though she’d had second thoughts about tonight, wondering if maybe she should go back to the Silver Saddle, she was here tending to her obligations. Good girl and all.

Grammy set the pitcher at the end of the table, away from all the papers. “Dig in, girls.”

Luanne Hinckle leaned in to Emily. “I can drink now, because Dr. Taylor took me off the pills. You know, from the hysterectomy?”

Emily winced. “Are you doing all right?”

“Oh, honey, I won’t miss those parts. Don’t need them anymore.” Luanne gave a wave of her hand.

“Speaking of pills,” Marjory Lewis said, “I’ve got a new supplement which could help with your arthritis, Jean.”

“You don’t mean that pool scum thing?” Grammy scowled.

“It’s made from blue green algae.”

“It’s pool scum.” Grammy poured a margarita and set it down in front of Emily.

“Emily, are you back on the dating scene again or is it too—ah, too soon? Because if you are, my nephew is on the hunt for the third Mrs. Dr. Logan. And, honey, you would enjoy being a doctor’s wife.” Luanne winked.

Emily reached for the margarita and took a large gulp. “No thanks, Luanne.”

“She’s still in recovery, Lu. What’s the matter with you?” Marjory patted Emily’s hand.

“I’m not in recovery,” Emily protested. That would give Greg too much power over her. No way would she let the slimeball control her, even now. “But I’m working on myself.”

“Of course you are,” Marjory and Luanne said at once.

“If we could get back to the matter at hand,” Julia Bush spoke now.

Leave it to Julia to get the meeting back on track. Now a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution, thanks to her family tree, she seemed to believe she was the Grand Pooh-Bah of their little club. Emily didn’t dare disagree, and probably no one else would, either.

“Yes, please, Julia. Get us back on track. Where were we when we left off?” Grammy opened the notebook she used to take notes.

Grammy’s official parchment family tree was probably still under lock and key. It wouldn’t be coming out anytime soon, not when the ladies were drinking. Grammy guarded the document like it was the US Constitution.

“I’m still trying to find out about my Uncle Bob, the one who owned the barbershop back in Maine. I can’t find a certificate of death anywhere,” Luanne said.

“We’ll get to that,” Julia said with authority. “But you won’t believe this. Remember how Emily hasn’t been able to find out much about her namesake, the first Emily Parker?”

“I can’t find her on any census records except for the one in nineteen hundred, and by then, she had married.” Emily had tried to find out the name of her great-grandmother’s parents, but time after time reached nothing but a dead end.

“We know she had a son, Lonnie, and then she died shortly thereafter. Her husband remarried and they had six more children,” Grammy added.

“It’s like any record of her before her marriage doesn’t exist. Where did she come from? Who were her parents?” It bothered Emily to think that a two-year-old had been left motherless, but what bothered her most was it seemed no one would ever remember the first Emily Parker.

Julia smiled and peered over her bifocals. “I’ve got good news.”

Emily’s heart did a little squeeze, and her fingers froze on the keyboard. News for her? “What did you find?”

“You won’t believe it.” Julia looked through the binder she carried with her everywhere—the Bible, she called it.

“Don’t keep us in suspense!” Grammy said.

Julia pulled out a piece of paper she’d covered with a plastic sheath.

She did that with all official documents. Emily stopped breathing.

“Now it wasn’t easy to find this, but you all know how I have connections now.” Julia probably wouldn’t spill the beans this century.

“Yes, yes we know!” Luanne leaned forward, like she might reach across the table and rip it out of Julia’s hands.

“This little piece of paper is a private pilot’s license,” Julia said, her chin rising slightly as she placed it on the table for all to see. “For an Emily Parker.”

“Let me see that,” Grammy reached for it, only to earn a glare from Julia.

“Careful.” Julia slid it over to Grammy.

Emily watched, not moving, as Grammy read it over. “My goodness. How about that.” She handed the document to Emily.

It really was the official pilot’s license of an Emily Parker. Frayed around the ages, yellowed and worn. “This is my relative?”

“It is,” Julia said with authority. “Same date of birth, as you can see. She was only twenty-one at that time.”

“And she would have died only three years later,” Grammy added.

“Imagine that. A pilot. Isn’t that the funniest thing you ever heard?” Marjory elbowed Emily.

“Funny?” Emily put down the paper. It was a connection all right, to a woman who sounded as different from her as any two women could be. Emily had never done anything even remotely that adventurous. The first Emily Parker sounded like a maverick. A rebel.

“You have to admit it. This Emily Parker sounds like she was a risk taker, maybe a bit of an eccentric.” Grammy leaned over Emily’s shoulder now.

“It’s true,” Julia said. “At that time, there weren’t many women pilots. Amelia Earhart comes to mind, but that was much later. And that’s about it.”

“A woman at that time, flying a plane. That’s dangerous. Irresponsible. What if she had crashed and left her children behind?” A second after the statement, Marjory clapped her hand over her mouth.

They were all aware this Emily had died of consumption and left a young son behind. But at least she’d lived her life fully before dying. Something the new Emily wasn’t sure she could say about herself. Then again, hadn’t she decided she would change some things?

“It’s true. I’ve always played it safe,” Emily said to the license. Maybe that was what Greg had been all about. Greg and his 401K, sensible shoes and plans for a rock-solid future. A future that would have included their 2.5 children. She could have never guessed that he, of all people, would humiliate her the way he had.

“I wouldn’t call it playing it safe, dear. I’d call it being practical. You’re by far the most dependable girl I know.” Grammy patted Emily’s shoulder. “Why, I’d trust you with anything.”

“Which is why she’d make a good doctor’s wife,” Luanne said with a nod.

“Why does everyone want to marry me off?” Emily’s voice rose. “Maybe I don’t want to get married anymore. Ever.”

“Don’t say such a thing,” Marjory grimaced and then waved her arms in the air. “Cancel that, cancel that.”

Marjory believed every word spoken had power, and that if one waved their arms around like they were shooing away a bug, the Universe might forgive it. Wipe it away, so to speak.

“Don’t cancel it.” Emily waved her arms around in the other direction. “What if I mean it?”

“Hear that, Universe? She said if.” Marjory cast her eyes heavenward. “She’s not thinking this through.”

Emily stood. “I’ll tell you what I want. I want you all to stop thinking about me as good ol’ dependable and steady Emily. I’m not a vacuum cleaner. I’m ready to be a wild woman now. Take a risk.” There. She’d said it out loud. It didn’t sound as crazy as she thought it might.

“Oh, Julia, look what you’ve done,” Luanne shook her finger.

The Daughter of the American Revolution stood up now, hands on her waist. “I’m merely a conduit to the past. We all have our path to take. I’m happy if this leads to personal insight.”

“But there’s nothing wrong with being sensible,” Grammy said, practically wringing her hands.

“Nothing wrong at all,” Luanne agreed.

“Did I say there was anything wrong with it? It’s just that maybe, for the first time in my life, I want to do something crazy. Something none of you would expect of me.” Emily crossed her arms.

From now on, she was going to do what she wanted, when she wanted, like Molly. No more Little Miss Perfect.

She’d show her family. She’d show everyone she could, at a moment’s notice, if the mood so struck her, be a wild woman.