Heatherly Bell - Breaking Emily's Rules

“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?