Breaking Emily's Rules

by Heatherly Bell

  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.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “LET ME GET this straight. Your great-grandmother, your namesake, was a pilot.” Emily’s oldest friend, Rachel Harwood, leaned across the booth and touched the official pilot’s license, still wrapped in the plastic Julia had put it in.

  Emily was still a bit surprised she’d been able to wrestle it out of Julia’s hands. “What do you think? Are you going to laugh, too?’

  “Laugh? Why would I do that?” Rachel stirred her coffee. “Please. Let me just have a nice whiff of your leaded coffee. This decaf is killing me.”

  Emily pushed her mug over and let Rachel take a nice long sniff. She obviously wanted Emily to feel sorry about the awful caffeine withdrawal, but she couldn’t dredge up even an ounce of pity. Rachel had switched to decaf because she was eight weeks pregnant.

  It was Monday morning, and they were sitting in a booth at The Drip, one of Emily’s favorite places in town. Nothing could cheer her up like the strongest coffee in the Bay Area. “You don’t want to tell me that she doesn’t sound anything like me?”

  “I didn’t expect you to have anything in common with a woman who lived in the first part of the last century,” Rachel said with a mini eye roll.

  “Don’t you think she sounds wild and carefree?”

  “Sweetie, women in that time were never wild and carefree. Get a clue.”

  “But she was a maverick, for her time.”

  “She sounds like she was bored,” Rachel said. “When you can’t vote, can’t work, can’t get birth control, I guess you get a little stir-crazy. Lesson learned.”

  “I can’t believe you’re not impressed. I know I am. And from now on, I’m going to be a wild woman, too.”

  Rachel froze and closed her eyes for a second. “You’re going to be a—what?”

  “You heard me. I’m going to take chances and throw caution to the wind, and most of all, I’ll be the most impractical person you’ve ever met. Rachel, meet your new best friend. She’s going to be fun and carefree. Like a Rebel Without a Cause, but not so James Dean-y. I think you’re going to love me.”

  “Where is my Emily and what have you done with her, you impostor?”

  “I’m the new and improved Emily.”

  Rachel put her hand on Emily’s arm. “Don’t let Greg do this to you.”

  “This isn’t about him. This is all me.”

  “Oh, the hell it is. You didn’t do anything wrong, so why change who you are?”

  Emily sighed. “Because maybe I want to?”

  “Only if you want to change for the right reasons. I’ve always said you can’t control everything. Sometimes the fun is in letting go and going for a ride.” Rachel rubbed her temple. “Okay. I get where you’re going with this. And I think I’m on board.”

  “Thank you!”

  “Why don’t we try this ‘new you’ on for size.” Rachel, who faced the entrance to the café from their booth, turned to point to a man who now stood in line behind her. “What about him?”

  Emily glanced at the back of the man. Her back to the entrance, she hadn’t even noticed anyone come in. Still, she couldn’t see how a stranger had anything to do with this. “Him?”

  “I’d like to see this new wild woman go up to that man and ask him out. Then I’ll believe you mean it. That will show me you’re willing to do this thing by relaxing Emily’s Dating Rules.”

  “Can we start with something that doesn’t have anything to do with a guy? This new me doesn’t have anything to do with men.”

  “Meh. I hear a lot of excuses. I don’t think you have it in you. It’s all right. Not everyone does.”

  “I’m not afraid. There’s no point to it.” Besides, what if the man said yes? What then?

  “Okay, okay, never mind.”

  “What if he’s married?” That would be where she’d draw the line with this rebel thing. No married men. No thank you.

  “Then he’ll say no.”

  Emily raised an eyebrow. “Now who’s being naive?”

  “I’ll have him checked out at the paper if he says yes. It’s one date, and it won’t kill you. And after that, you can go back to your dry spell.”

  “Fine. I’ll do it. But if he says yes, you’ll have to find a way to get me out of it.” Emily planted her hands on the table, wrenched herself up and marched over to the man’s back.

  It was a pretty good-looking back, as those went. Broad shoulders tapered down to long lean legs. Definitely fit, not that it mattered. Ask the man out. She could do that.

  Rachel was worried about her, which was kind of sweet, actually. But even if Emily had stayed in bed for the better part of six months, she was back now and better than ever. Except, she wasn’t sure how she would ask this man out.

  She’d watched Molly do this a bazillion times. Emily had to channel her inner Hoochie Mama. She was in there somewhere, under lock and key, and would now be released on an unsuspecting world. And this unsuspecting man. She’d probably come staggering out, waving cobwebs out of her way, but come out she would. Just for a minute.

  Emily drew in a deep breath. In a voice as dripping with sex as she could conjure up, she said to the man’s back, “Hey, I think you and I should go out sometime. What do you say?”

  The man had just paid for his drink and turned, coffee in hand, eyebrows up.

  It was Stone.

  Emily threw up her hand in surprise, and it accidently collided with his hot coffee. Like watching an accident unfold in slow motion, he tried to right the cup while her hand did the same. But when her hand slapped against his, disaster reigned supreme as coffee won the day and spilled all over Stone’s brown cargo pants.

  “Here, let me help you.” Emily grabbed napkins, and the barista threw over a dishrag.

  Emily blotted for a minute before she realized how close she was getting to his crotch. She turned in desperation to Rachel, only to see her doubled up in laughter, wiping her eyes.

  Stone shook his head, scowling. “You’re dangerous, girl.”

  Oh, epic fail. As if she was Cinderella at the crack of midnight, Emily turned, grabbed her purse from the booth and ran out of the café. She could barely hear the sound of Rachel behind her, calling out Emily’s name.

  Maybe if she was lucky, really blessed, Emily would turn into a pumpkin.

  She reached her truck and climbed in, ready to peal rubber out of the parking lot. Ask a man out? When will I listen to that inner little voice? A klutz should never ask a
guy out in the vicinity of any kind of liquid.

  Rachel banged on the passenger-side window, so Emily unlocked the door.

  “Are you happy now?”

  Rachel opened the door and let herself inside. “I’m sorry I laughed. That wasn’t fair. But, hey, you did it.”

  “I made a fool out of myself.”

  “Who cares? I’ve never known you to even approach a stranger, and there you were, doing it. So what if coffee and gravity won? I do think he would have said yes, had you not run out on him.”

  Emily hit the steering wheel with her head. She’d run out on Stone. Again. No point in telling Rachel this was round two. “I did run out on him.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Rachel continued. “With a man like that, you want to put your best foot forward. Maybe you should go back in there and try again.”

  “No way, Rachel. I’m done listening to your bright ideas.”

  Rachel elbowed Emily. “You know what? You’ve proved it. You’re a wild woman. Why don’t you do something really wild, like get your pilot’s license?”

  “Are you nuts?”

  “Why not? Your namesake did, so there’s some connection to the past there. It has nothing to do with men, right? And if you want to do something different, step outside your comfort zone. Does it get any more different for you than that?”

  As a matter of fact, it didn’t. She’d always had her feet planted firmly on the ground, both literally and figuratively. But flying lessons? Emily thought about it while she peeled out of the parking lot. “It would make a nice human interest story for the alumni newsletter.”

  “You bet it would.”

  Pilot’s license. Crazy, yes, but wasn’t she courting crazy? “I’ll think about it.”

  * * *

  “ARE YOU OKAY?” The barista handed him another coffee, a sheepish look on her face. “This one’s on the house.”

  His first visit to the establishment and he’d been bathed in the stuff. Damn Matt for getting him hooked on the coffee here. “Yeah. Thanks.” Now he’d have to turn around and go back home to change, and he could look forward to another encounter with Winston when he did.