Breaking Emily's Rules. Heatherly Bell

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      “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.” СКАЧАТЬ