Breaking Emily's Rules

by Heatherly Bell

  While Ashley inspected the outside of the barn, Emily studied Ashley’s arms. She’d never read someone’s arm before, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the future bride’s full-sleeve tattoos. It wasn’t polite to stare, which gave her limited time to read. Most of them were drawings of roses, butterflies and a woman’s face, but there were words, too, and Emily was dying to read them.

  She’d always wanted a tattoo, a small butterfly on her shoulder. Or maybe a flower. But her father was against body art, and when she’d suggested it to Greg, he implied only loose women had tattoos. Now that she was a wild woman, sooner or later she’d get that dang tattoo. In fact, maybe she could ask Ashley where she got hers done.

  “So what will you do with all this stuff?” Ashley asked.

  “We’ll move it in time for the wedding and put it back later. Unless you’d like to at least see the gazebo out back. It hasn’t been used since my father built it for my sister’s wedding.”

  “No. No gazebos. This is perfect. We’re going for spooky. I love being scared.”

  Emily stared at Ashley’s purple painted lips. She was a striking girl, with jet-black hair and alabaster ivory skin. Her dramatic black eyeliner would have commanded attention at a nightclub, let alone in the bright light of the day. “You want spooky?”

  “I wanted to get married on Halloween, actually, but my mom insisted that wasn’t going to happen. Delilah doesn’t think it’s a good idea, either. We had to scramble to get another date. As long as Billy and I get married, I don’t really care about the date that much.” Ashley might not look like any other bride Emily had ever seen, but funny how her eyes lit up when she said Billy’s name.

  Emily hadn’t heard the car drive up until she heard a door slam. Turning, she saw whom she assumed would be the wedding planner/minister walking toward them.

  Emily had only spoken with Delilah over the phone when she’d committed to the dates. The deposit had cleared, and as far as Emily was concerned, that meant a wedding would take place. The wedding planner didn’t look like anything Emily would have imagined. She wore a colorful caftan and some kind of square hat on her head.

  Ashley and Delilah exchanged a hug, and Delilah introduced herself. She walked into the barn and studied the rafters. “This will do fine. Thank you for working with us, Emily. I realize this isn’t the norm for you, and it’s short notice.”

  “We’re expanding.” Emily hadn’t pictured the barn as the best venue, but now that she appraised it with new eyes, it could work. Amazing she hadn’t thought of it earlier.

  “You were so right, Delilah. This is a sick, classic red barn. And if we do this at night, with only candles, it will be scary. Like, Wrong Turn scary.” Ashley rubbed her arms like she’d just scared herself.

  Why someone would want to be scared on her wedding day was another story, but Emily didn’t want to ask.

  Delilah pointed to a notebook she carried. “I’ve done the numerology charts, and now that we’ve got the right date, this is important—the wedding rehearsal must take place the day before the wedding at precisely six.”

  Ashley nodded like that made all the sense in the world. “You got it. I don’t want to start this marriage off on the wrong number.”

  “The wrong number?” Emily dared to ask.

  Delilah nodded. “It’s how we picked the wedding day. Will that be a problem?”

  Emily took out her tablet and made a note. “No problem at all.”

  The sound of Molly’s truck blazing up the trail kicking up dust like a whirlwind drew Emily’s attention. “Would you excuse me?”

  She met Molly at the bottom of the hill, because Emily didn’t have time for this now. Sure enough, Molly looked ready to throttle someone. “What’s up?”

  “It’s Dylan, that bastard.” Molly kicked the gated fence.

  “When did you see Dylan?”

  “At the park.”

  “What happened?”

  “Oh, forget it. I can see you’re busy.” Molly stalked toward the house. “I don’t want to waste your precious time.”

  “Go talk to Grammy, and I’ll be there in a few minutes. I told these people I’d do whatever they need to make this wedding day memorable for them, and I have to do that.”

  “Talk to the hand.” Molly turned once to hold up a one-handed gesture. “Or the finger.”

  Great. A pissed-off Molly was the last thing this day needed.

  When Emily walked back to the barn, Ashley and Delilah were inspecting the rafters and speaking to George, who looked confused.

  “Is everything all right?” Emily smiled.

  “There are no cobwebs because I do my job,” George said, eyebrows meeting what was left of his hairline.

  “No cobwebs?” Emily turned to Ashley.

  “I was hoping,” Ashley said with a frown.

  “George takes care of that. It is a gift shop.” Emily wasn’t sure why she felt like she should apologize.

  “That’s okay, we can add some fake cobwebs if we must,” Delilah said with a wave of her arm.

  “Ma’am?” George looked from Emily to Delilah and back to Emily again.

  “I want to make sure your experience here is satisfactory in every way.” Next on the list: buy cobwebs.

  She whispered to George that he shouldn’t worry and she’d explain later. He walked away, muttering under his breath. Finally Emily concluded the meeting, and both Ashley and Delilah were on their way, with an appointment to come back for the wedding rehearsal.

  Now to deal with Molly.

  Emily found Molly in her bedroom, half underneath the bed.

  “So what’s going on?”

  “I want my boots. The pink ones. You seen them?” Molly came out from under her bed, holding what looked like a library book in one hand and a sandal in the other. “I can’t find them.”

  Emily bent down to pick up the matching sandal from where it lay behind Molly’s trash can. “You could clean up in here once in a while.”

  “I could. But right now, I need my boots. Are you going to help me, or what?” Molly opened her closet door and started tossing shoes out.

  Emily caught a flying stiletto pump before it impaled her forehead. “Hey, watch it. What’s wrong? Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No, I don’t want to talk. I want to dance. And I’ll need my boots.”

  “Let’s retrace your steps. Think about where you last saw them.”

  “I’m looking for my boots, not solving a mystery. Help me look or stop talking.”

  Emily should let Molly learn the hard way, but right now she seemed so upset. A quick trip down to the laundry room and sure enough, Molly’s boots were under a pile of her dirty clothes. Emily ran back upstairs with them.

  Molly’s room now looked like a monsoon had been through it. She stood in the middle of a pile. “You had my boots all along? Why did you let me make this mess?”

  “I didn’t—Oh, never mind. What happened at the park today?” She handed the boots over to Molly, who slipped them on.

  “Nothing. Forget about it. I saw Sierra, and Dylan wouldn’t even let me hold her for a minute.” Molly picked up her hairbrush and pulled it through her hair. “No big deal. Maybe I would have dropped her. Lord knows I can’t take care of her.”

  Molly had mastered her poker face to the point where Emily almost believed her. But she’d been upset about it enough earlier. Now she wanted to forget it. If there’s one thing Emily understood, it was how difficult it could be to talk about the pain of a humbling experience. In Emily’s case, it had been a derailed wedding day but Molly was dealing with so much more.

  “You don’t really believe that. You took care of her for six months, maybe even the most important months.”

  “I screwed that up, too. I barely slept
and I was tired all the time. I couldn’t do it. I’m not ‘Mom’ material, I guess.”

  “No one said you had to do it all on your own. New mothers need a lot of help. Maybe I should have helped you more.”

  Molly turned to Emily, eyes wide. Probably amazed anyone else would shoulder some of the blame. “You helped.”

  “Not enough, and I’m sorry about that.”

  Molly plopped down on her bed. “Is that the first time you did anything wrong?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Sorry. Not trying to be a smart-ass. Dylan wanted me to do everything all on my own. And every time I asked him to help with housework, he’d call Violet. She’d run right over and practically make a list of everything I was doing wrong. Because of course, Dylan always did everything right.”

  “So you stopped asking him for help. You should have asked me.”

  Molly didn’t look at Emily. “But I wanted you to think I could do something right. Without your help. Stupid, I know.”

  “No.” Emily’s heart cracked open a little bit. “It’s not stupid at all.”

  “So what am I supposed to do now?” Molly rubbed at her eyes.

  “You’re going to march over to Dylan’s and tell him you’re back and you want to see Sierra.”

  “Or maybe I could keep showing up at the park. At least I get to see her that way. I pretty much have his schedule down.”

  “But what about the divorce?”

  “We should probably get one.”

  “I mean,” Emily said with a sigh, “what if Dylan tries to sue for sole custody?”

  “Ha! I almost hope he tries it. He’ll be walking funny for a while.”

  Emily shook her head. “You two should come to an agreement like reasonable adults.”

  “Good idea, but every time Dylan and I are together in a room there are no adults. No reasonable ones, anyway.”

  “Honestly? I think it would help if you just talked to him.”

  “What am I supposed to say? I’m sorry, Dylan, for the gazillionth time?”

  “Tell him how you feel. How much it hurts not to be able to see her.”

  “He’ll say it was my choice. And you know what? It was. My fault.”

  “But everybody deserves a second chance. What you’re doing now isn’t healthy. You can’t just go dancing and pretend you don’t care. I know what I’m talking about. For six months I barely left the house. And weren’t you the one who told me that I need to stop hanging out with the geriatric set?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve done my share of hiding from my life. It doesn’t work. And now I’m doing something with it.”

  “Flying is a crazy kind of something.”

  “I know you said I was nuts to try this, but if I can do that crazy thing, you can talk to Dylan. He can’t be any scarier than flying a plane, can he?”

  “Guess not. But he’s not going to listen to me. I just know it.”

  “You’ve got to at least try.”

  Molly nodded but didn’t speak.

  And something told Emily that this whole matter was far from over.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE FOLLOWING WEEK, Dad finally got himself home.

  “He’s here! Daddy, Daddy!” Molly yelled, and Emily marched out of the dining room to see her sister run down the steps, taking them two at a time.

  Emily wished she could do that, but she’d face-plant if she even tried. “Slow down.”

  Dad had been in Texas three weeks this time. Molly always missed him most of all, and Emily tried to miss him. She really did. Unfortunately, Emily resented that he hadn’t been supportive of any of her ventures to date, calling them her I Love Lucy moments. She knew it was love and concern talking, but he had shot down every one of her business ideas even before they’d gotten far off the ground.

  He couldn’t see Emily was at least making an effort at accomplishing something significant in her life. She’d been the one to go to college, while Molly insisted it would be a waste of good money on her. While Dad adored Molly, he didn’t expect much from her. A big mistake because Emily was convinced Molly had a lot more ability than she wanted anyone to recognize. If only he would expect more from her, she might actually deliver it.

  Tonight Emily expected she would probably get a whole heap of that judgment from him because she’d been taking flying lessons for two weeks. Even if she’d used her own savings to pay for them in advance, Grammy had asked where she’d been spending her afternoons and Emily couldn’t lie.

  So there was probably little coincidence Dad had made his way back home shortly after Grammy heard about the lessons. He would probably forbid her from continuing, since he never approved of anything Emily wanted to do on her own. She was ready for this, and had been for a while. Dad couldn’t tell her what to do. Not anymore. She was done with Doormat Emily.

  “Hey, Dad,” Emily said as he walked in the front door, Molly’s arms wrapped around him like she was the bread and Dad was the peanut butter.

  “My Emily-girl.” At least he hadn’t called her his favorite nickname for her: Lucy. “Thank God you’re safe on the ground. Where you belong.”

  Grammy spoke from behind Emily. “Decided to come home? Won’t lie, we’ve missed you around here.”

  “Hey, Mother. Sorry I didn’t come last week, but we bought two hundred more head of cattle. That ought to increase the net worth of Parker Inc. Don’t you think, Trouble?” Dad ruffled Molly’s hair like she was ten, and in his eyes she probably was, even if she now had a baby of her own.

  “That’s right, son. That’s what we need. More cows.” Grammy disappeared into the kitchen.

  He made his way to his brown leather recliner in the living room and collapsed into it. “I’d like to know what you’re thinking, Emily.”

  “That’s what I said,” Molly chimed in. “It’s not safe. Of all your schemes, Em, this one has got to be the nuttiest.”

  So they were going to slide right into it. “You must be so tired. Why not go upstairs and change? Take a shower?”

  “Lord love a duck, I am tired,” Dad said. “Hey, sugar, why don’t you go get me a beer? That ought to relax me.”

  Of course, sugar meant Molly. “Be right back.”

  Dad scratched his ear and glanced at Emily. “Did you get this idea from a late-night infomercial or something?”

  One time. One time she ordered a real estate course from a late-night infomercial and she would never live it down. “No!”

  “Where did this confounded idea come from?” He accepted the beer from Molly, who then pulled up the ottoman so she could sit closer to him.

  Actually, the idea had been Rachel’s at first. But Emily was going to take credit for this one. Now it was her turn to explain the history behind it, and she could only hope Dad would find some pride in her then. She was, after all, following in the footsteps of a Parker. His family line.

  “We’ve been doing the family tree and it turns out one of your relatives, my great-great-grandmother, Emily Parker, was a pilot.”

  “Is that right? Sounds like a nutcase to me. And here your mother thought she named you Emily after her favorite author, Emily Brontë. I wish she was here right now so I could tell her she mistakenly named you after one of my relatives. All the people she hated. What a kick!”

  Molly laughed, but Emily didn’t think it was funny. “I’m doing well. The teacher said so just yesterday.”

  That wasn’t quite the truth. He’d kind of lost his temper a little bit when she touched a button she wasn’t supposed to. One having to do with landing gear, before it was time. Mostly, he was a bit nicer though she seemed to bore him. He never flirted with her anymore. But the point was, she’d made progress on her flight hours and was that much closer to g
etting her license.

  “What if you have an accident?” Molly asked.

  “Flying is statistically safer than driving.” Emily had learned that, among other things.

  “But when your engine dies, you can pull over to the side of the road. In a plane, it’s more like ‘Sayonara, baby! Hope you got a parachute.’” Molly laughed.

  Dad laughed, too. Naturally.

  “At least I’m trying to do something with my life.” She shot a glare in Molly’s direction.

  “Who says I’m not trying to do something with my life?”

  “Now, don’t you girls start fighting. Didn’t come home for none of that. Emily, I’m glad you’ve had your fun, but it has to stop now. Just go over there and tell that teacher of yours you’re done.” He waved a hand in the air. “Mother needs you around here anyway.”

  “I never let it interfere with my job. Just ask Grammy. I’m the one who does most of the work around here.” She could manage to keep a few balls in the air, thank you very much. And flying would not be the one to go.

  “Well, I won’t have it. What will people say? A real American man keeps his daughters safe!” Dad pounded his fist while his face colored to an interesting shade of red.

  Emily would need to tread carefully now, because there was no point in upsetting him. His cholesterol and blood pressure were through the roof, and he refused to stop eating red meat. Said that would be unpatriotic. “Calm down. You know I love America. And also red meat.”

  “Stop making Daddy sick!” Molly said. “The doctor said he can’t get upset.”

  “I’m fine, sugar.” He patted Molly’s hand. “Don’t you worry none. Your sister has good sense. She’ll come around, won’t you, Emily, now? Where’s dinner? Mother?”

  Emily smiled and said nothing, because saying the truth would mean Dad’s blood pressure would blow past the two hundreds. This might not be the best time to assert her newfound rebel streak and let him know she’d do what she wanted to regardless of his input.

  She wasn’t the young girl who listened to her father, no matter what he said. Even when it didn’t make sense. Even when he hadn’t let her go out with Luke Eilers, the handsomest boy in high school, because he came from a family of no-good un-American vegans. The horrors.