Not Quite by the Book

Chapter Three

I dragged my feet leaving the apartment the following Saturday evening, dreading the conversation that was to come. Even as I’d packed my things for Amherst, I’d promised myself I could cancel if the night went poorly. I desperately needed the fresh start but wasn’t sure I could take it at the cost of hurting my family. Which was exactly what I feared would happen.

My phone buzzed with an incoming message as I climbed into my car and willed myself to be brave. I smiled when I saw the message was from Grace.

Historically_Bookish: Watching the game today?

ED_Fan: Of course. Plus Saturday-night dinner with the family. You?

Historically_Bookish: Yep at the pub for drinks and wings

ED_Fan: Pregame rituals are delicious

Rini family dinners were always low key, but during football season, Saturdays were casual in the extreme. A UMass game often played on the big screen. We ate homemade wings and pizzas, cheered the Minutemen, and talked smack about the opposing players. With a little luck, an early points lead today would put everyone in a good mood before I broke my news.

I drove to my folks’ house feeling a little lighter, then climbed out and rang the bell.

Annie answered the door with a frown.

Now that I’d arrived, I wasn’t sure what to do. Charge ahead or turn back before it was too late? I’d asked myself a thousand times if I really needed to go to Amherst, or if maybe just knowing I could go was enough to catapult me into change. Unfortunately, there was really only one way to find out.

“Well?” Annie asked, one hand on the open door as if prepared to shut it in my face. She wore her hair in smooth waves over her shoulders and was dressed casually in flats, jeans, and her old UMass Cheerleading sweatshirt. “Are you going to come inside, or just look at me like I smell bad?”

I stepped into the foyer. “Sorry. You smell lovely. I was lost in thought, but I brought wine.” I lifted the bottle in my hand before remembering she couldn’t have any.

“I wish.” She turned for the kitchen and left me to close the door.

“Sorry.” I cringed. “I wasn’t thinking. I’ve got a ton on my mind. I should’ve brought something for you. I can run out for a milkshake!”

She kept walking. “I’m fine.”

I followed her down the hall of the old Tudor-style home where we’d grown up.

“How was your appointment?” I asked Annie’s back, hoping to lighten the mood before I dropped a bomb.

“Great.”

I frowned and hurried to catch up. “Is everything okay?”

“I can’t see my feet. I’m gaining weight every time I inhale, and I have two months before I can try to lose it.”

“But you’ll also have a baby,” I said, working some big-sister enthusiasm into my tone.

She didn’t respond.

My parents and Jeffrey were in the kitchen, chatting and snacking around the island. They looked cozy and inviting in their game-day ensembles, UMass alumni shirts and warm smiles. The tangy scent of hot wings in the slow cooker seasoned the air.

Annie drifted to her husband’s side, drawn by the invisible force I craved.

Mom’s eyes caught mine, and she rushed to wrap me in a hug. “Emma! We’re so glad you’re here. How are things at the shop?”

I stifled a grimace. I wanted to complain and say I had other things going on that she could ask me about, but that was historically inaccurate, and she had no reason to think otherwise.

“Things are great,” I said, stepping away from her to hug Dad. “I worked late this week setting up the deliveries during my absence and arranging autopayment for invoices. I scheduled email reminders on the mailing list for our upcoming events and laminated copies of the daily and weekly tasks as quick-reference guides.”

Dad chuckled as he set me free. “You’re a natural,” he said proudly. “No one runs a ship as tight as yours.”

Jeffrey raised a hand in greeting. “Good to see you again, Emma,” he said. “Sorry we won’t make it into the shop this week. Annie has an early-morning appointment, and our usual date day is out the window.”

“No problem,” I said. If things went well, I wouldn’t be at work for a while anyway. “I brought wine.”

“Set it there,” Mom said. “We just opened a bottle. Annie has juice.”

Dad filled an empty glass with a robust nine-ounce pour. “We’re celebrating again today,” he said. “Not every family gets to spend time with their grown daughters every week, like we do.”

“And their spouse,” Mom said, raising a glass to Jeffrey. “And their grandbaby on the way.”

Annie folded her arms.

“How about a toast to the Rini ladies?” Jeffrey suggested, passing a glass of apple juice into his wife’s hand.

“Great,” she said.

“Great,” I echoed.

Great was the default word Annie and I used when things were, in fact, the opposite. And oftentimes, especially in the presence of our parents, it sometimes meant fuck off .

In retrospect, Annie had answered the same way when I’d asked how her latest prenatal appointment had gone. My brow furrowed, and she looked at her feet as she leaned against her husband’s side. Intuition scratched at the back of my mind.

“Are the notes you wrote up for when you hire help for the shop?” Dad asked.

I bit my lip. “I’m sure any new hires will find the notes useful, but that wasn’t the only reason I made them.”

“Well, cheers,” Mom said.

Dad and Jeffrey echoed the statement.

I looked more closely at my sister while we toasted, wondering when we’d become so distant and hating it more than ever. I opened my mouth to ask if something was wrong and if I could help somehow.

“So, Emma,” Mom interrupted, flashing a smile briefly at Dad. “We’re speaking with our attorney and financial adviser this week. We’ll get things sorted, then bring you in for the paperwork.”

Wow. They were just diving right into things.

I wasn’t sure if my parents planned to legally transfer their business to me as an early inheritance, if they hoped I’d buy them out, or if they wanted to create some kind of co-ownership, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask. Not yet. Not now.

Panic burbled in my gut as I looked into their eager faces. It was time to tell them.

Tell them. Tell them. Tell them.

“What do you think?” Dad smiled hopefully. “We can ask your aunt Stacia to cover the shop while you meet with us to go over the details. She never minds putting in a shift or two.”

I always appreciated when my aunts or cousins popped in to help during our busy times, but we rarely left them alone in the store for long. What if they ran into trouble or had a question? I pushed the thought aside. My moment was passing, and I could feel my inner chicken urging me to go home and email them instead.

Emily seemed to speak to me then, bringing her precious words to my mind. Life was composed of a million tiny moments, of a million little nows —and my now was happening.

“Actually, I have news,” I said. I cleared my throat, then swallowed a gulp of wine.

The stares of eight expectant eyes locked onto me.

Mom’s brows rose. “News?” She glanced at Dad, then Annie and Jeffrey, excitement illuminating her face. “You met someone?”

I slouched. “No.” Jeez. Why was that always their first thought? And why did it feel like a slap every single time?

“Is this about taking over the shop?” Mom asked, drawing my attention back to her. “I know we kind of sprang it on you, but it’s been on our minds a long while.”

Dad smiled. “What are your thoughts so far?”

I released a slow, steadying breath. “I’d like some time off before you retire.”

“Of course,” Mom said. “Completely understandable. Your dad and I have things we want to do before we step down anyway. We’ll take care of those while you get away.”

Dad, the least oblivious of the Rini clan, stiffened slightly, and I got the feeling he was the only one picking up on my tension.

“Thank you,” I said. “I’m glad you’re on board. I’ve already made plans for this month.”

“When this month?” Mom asked. “Our calendar is wide open now that the vow renewal is over and we’re on standby for our first grandbaby.”

“The rest of it,” I said. “And about half of next month as well.”

Annie scoffed. “You’re taking off work for the rest of September?”

“And fourteen days in October,” I clarified.

Jeffrey murmured something against her hair.

Our parents exchanged a look.

“But I’m having a baby in eight weeks,” Annie said.

“I know, but I’ll only be away for six.”

Her eyes narrowed to slits, and Jeffrey slipped his other arm around her, presumably to prevent the bare-handed murdering Cecily had predicted.

Dad rubbed a finger across his bottom lip. “I don’t understand. You want to take all that time off work?”

“Yes.”

Mom drained her glass of wine.

“Why?” he asked.

That answer was complicated, and not something I wanted to share with the group. So I focused on the facts I thought they’d understand. “I rented the manor behind Village Books, the indie bookshop in Amherst. I know the owner through our online group, and she’s a very nice lady. I’ll be safe.”

I scanned their pinched faces, seeking support. When I didn’t find any, my gut demanded I take the words back immediately.

Inner Emily rooted her feet in place.

If I didn’t do this now, I’d wind up working a hundred hours a week until I died restocking the shelves and some unfortunate patron discovered my miserably single skeleton, probably surrounded by cats.

Annie set small, outraged hands on newly rounded hips. “You’re leaving town for the entire rest of my pregnancy. Why are you always so dramatic?”

“I’m taking an overdue break from work,” I snapped. “That’s not being dramatic. Besides, like you said, you aren’t due for eight weeks.”

“First babies can come early.”

“Or they can be late,” I said. “Just like every baby. This isn’t about you, Annie. It’s about me. And if I don’t go now, when can I?”

Her jaw locked. “So, you’re just going on vacation and leaving Mom, Dad, and me to handle everything at the store?”

I blinked, wondering why she was so angry.

I looked to Jeffrey for help, but he kept his eyes on his wife, his lips whispering softly in her ear.

Mom climbed onto a chair at the island, looking ill. “I don’t understand. You’re leaving?” She set a hand on her middle, apparently processing the worst news of her life. “Why didn’t you talk to us about this? This is big. Something you know we’d want to hear as soon as possible.”

“The decision is new,” I said, my earlier guilt slipping away. “I just made the deposit last week, and I planned to tell you the next time I saw you or talked to you. But I haven’t seen or heard from any of you in six days.” Not since I’d seen them leaving the Bistro together on Monday. When they’d pointedly left me out.

I hadn’t bothered trying to reach them, either, but that was the point. If I didn’t call or text, I’d never hear from them.

Dad raised his palms in an attempt to de-escalate the situation. “Let’s take a minute to process this before we get too far ahead of ourselves.” He looked to Mom. “Mary?”

She nodded, eyes fixed on me. “Is this why you did all that extra work?” Mom asked. “For us? Not because you plan to hire new help?”

I nodded, though I absolutely planned to find a way to hire help as soon as possible. “A lot of things have changed since you’ve done the bookkeeping and ordering. I’ve streamlined and updated processes everywhere I can because I’m usually on my own. I thought the lists would help.”

I’d expected to back down if my family became upset, but now that the moment had arrived, indignation stiffened my spine. “All you have to do is show up and handle customers. I’ve taken care of everything else.”

“Ed?” Mom looked to Dad for help.

“It’s fine,” he said, forcing a patient smile. “We can handle it. Take the break you need, Emma.”

“Dad!” Annie yelled. “Are you serious?”

Jeffrey held her, while Mom and Dad tried to make everything sound better. Their agitated and disappointed voices clashed and collided around me.

Annie’s words eventually cut through the noise, and I raised my eyes to meet her angry gaze. “Anyone else would take a weekend off, or maybe a week. But a month and a half with zero notice?” Annie’s expression turned miserable and defeated. She sank back against her husband’s chest. “This is selfish, Emma,” she muttered. “Even for you.”

My jaw dropped, and I snapped it shut, locking it in place.

Inner Emily rolled her shoulders and cracked her knuckles. “I’m truly sorry for the short notice, but I’ve needed a break for a while, and no one noticed. This opportunity is too good to pass up. I need this, and I won’t apologize for it.”

I moved forward on wooden legs, kissing Mom and Dad on their cheeks. I hated confrontation, and I never stood up to my family. I was the giver, the helper, not the one who left others in a pinch. Especially not my parents and sister, who I cared for most in the world. I hated the shock and confusion on their sweet faces, but I wouldn’t recant; I’d already made it that far. “I have to finish packing. If you want to see me off tomorrow morning, or want to review those notes about the shop, I’m leaving at ten.”

The next evening, I followed my GPS’s instructions past miles of rolling farmland toward Amherst. I checked my messages when I stopped for gas and laughed at the supremely dorky post made by Historically_Bookish in IBOOM.

Beneath a photo of her new Outlander display, she’d written Diana Gabaldon, master of time travel, always thinking outside the clocks .

Several group members had already responded with eye roll GIFs. I selected something with Michael Scott from The Office shaking his head regretfully.

Historically_Bookish responded to me almost immediately.

Historically_Bookish: I knew you’d love it

I snorted. Then responded because I couldn’t help myself.

ED_Fan: I do! I was obsessed with time travel once, but that’s all in the past now

Responses of thrown tomatoes in GIF format piled into the comments, and I put my phone away feeling satisfied.

Grace had told me, in her last email with specifics for accessing the manor, that she and her friends had tickets to see a local show, so she couldn’t meet me at the manor but looked forward to seeing me soon at the bookstore.

My family had shown up to say goodbye at nine in the morning. They’d stayed all day, reviewing my notes about the shop and when to water the plants in my apartment. Then my parents took us out to eat before finally saying goodbye.

Mom and Dad spent our mealtime trying to convince me to stay, and Annie barely spoke. She wished me well on the sidewalk outside the restaurant and hugged me tightly before I climbed into my car, but she appeared miles away the entire time. We didn’t eat at the Bistro, and I never asked why they’d left me out last week. But I’d missed three exits so far, winning a long-overdue argument against Annie in my head.

My phone buzzed as I got back behind the wheel. A new message had arrived.

Historically_Bookish: See you tonight

My smile returned. Apparently her plans had changed, and that sounded absolutely perfect.

I pulled out of the gas station and merged into traffic, feeling immeasurably thankful for Grace and her rentable manor.

Soon, large historic homes appeared along the roadside, sparsely at first, then more abundantly as downtown drew nearer. I took in the quaint details and sidewalks dotted with students wearing cross-body bags, backpacks, or shirts with their school logo. Nostalgia hit like a punch.

Annie and I had been close until I started college and she’d started middle school. After that, the doting little sister I’d always known began growing and changing, becoming a strong, independent woman. I hadn’t chased her when she pulled away. I’d never imagined I wouldn’t get her back.

I cast the weight in my chest aside and refocused. This trip was about me. I’d already made a list of sights to see and places to visit, including the Homestead, Emily Dickinson’s childhood home, now a museum in her honor. Her brother’s home, the Evergreens, still stood next door. After five years of driving past during my college years, perpetually late for class or in a hurry to return to work, I would finally go inside.

A thrill rocked through me as I slowed outside my destination. The historic carriage house turned bookstore stood at the corner of Pleasant Street and a long tree-hugged lane. I stared into the slowly bruising sky for long moments, then eased down the gravel drive toward Hearthstone Manor, my new, if temporary, home.

Waning shafts of sunlight stretched through the canopy of reaching oaks above, dappling the road in a haze of fiery hues. I adored this time of year, when change was afoot and the world aglow. By the time I left, the lane would be an explosion of fall colors, a fall-foliage lover’s dream.

Slowly, the two-story stone manor came into view through the shadows, looking exactly as it had on-screen. The same regal face and cheery welcome mat. The same floral wreath and window boxes filled with blooms. Even the inviting old rocking chair on the wide cement porch looked familiar, and I couldn’t wait to test it out.

This was the place where my life would irrevocably change. Where I would finally find peace and new joy.

I parked and took a picture, attaching it to a message for Cecily, but my cell signal had disappeared. No available Wi-Fi either. Thankfully, I was here to become Emily Dickinson, so I had no need for those things. Besides, I could walk back up the lane, or to the bookstore, anytime I wanted to use the internet, or text and call Cecily and my family.

Meanwhile, from my position before the manor, on a rocky lane surrounded by trees, it truly seemed as if I’d stepped back in time. Sounds of frogs and crickets, a light breeze, and chasing squirrels played the evening score around me. I felt like the only person in the world.

I found the manor’s key hidden in the potted flowers as promised, and I slipped it into the front-door lock with anticipation. Grace had left a light on in the foyer, and a welcome basket on a round mahogany table beside a vase of wildflowers.

A passage across the grand foyer led to the kitchen, and an open archway on the right led to a sitting room. Stairs curved up before me. Everything looked clean, peaceful, and inviting.

I took a spin around the room, admiring the attention to historic detail in the decor and taking my time as I perused the collection of black-and-white photographs hung on one wall. Frowning couples and stoic babies, thoroughly overdressed, stared back. I returned to the table and smiled at the collection of handmade soaps, fresh fruits, baked goods, and stationery. The packaging on each item declared it grown, produced, and sold locally. Then I lifted the sheet of thick ivory card stock with my name scripted beneath the fold at its center.

Emma,

Welcome to Hearthstone Manor. I hope your stay is everything you want it to be. If you need anything, just call.

Best regards,

Grace

She’d written her personal phone number and the number of her nephew, Davis, across the bottom. Beneath the latter were six words. Davis is good with a toolbox.

I returned the note to the table and took a deep breath.

This was where my new story began.