Page 72 of Trouble Me
They stood shoulder to shoulder, filling the large foyer area, facing her. Emma couldn’t help but feel as though she stood in front of a firing squad. Noah stepped forward, the apparent ringleader of this early morning coup. “Call it an intervention of sorts.”
The connotation straightened Emma’s back against the hard door behind her. She narrowed her eyes on him. “I don’t need an intervention. I’m just fine. I’ve had the flu.” She pulled the tie of her robe tighter, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Bullshit.” Aidan coughed into his hand. Emma shot him a withering look.
Charlotte, the baby of the clan, stepped forward, white bag in one hand. She held it out like a peace offering. “We heard so we brought you some cake.”
Emma stared at the young woman with her chestnut-brown hair—the Reynolds women all had dark hair like their mother—pulled back into a ponytail, her heart-shaped face free of makeup. When had Charley gone and grown up on her? She was a beautiful girl, just like her sisters, Amelia and Grace. Emma reached for the bag and murmured, “Thank you,” then turned her attention to Amelia. “Shouldn’t you be at your shop? It’s your busiest time of day.”
Amelia shrugged. “I have more important things to deal with right here.”
Emma glanced at Grace. “And you? Don’t you have a class of kids to teach?”
“It’s Saturday.” Grace replied with a “nice try” smile on her face.
Stella came forward and placed her hands on Emma’s shoulders. “Emmaline, we’re calling a family meeting.”
She stared into Stella’s eyes. Determination, worry, and sadness filled the older woman’s eyes. Seeing that in her aunt’s eyes and knowing she put it there was like ripping open a wound that wasn’t completely healed.
Emma stepped around Stella and walked into the open living area. “Well, come on in, then. Let’s get comfortable in the living room.”
“I’ll make coffee.” Charley took the bag of goodies from Emma and gently shoved her toward the living room.
They all shuffled into the spacious living area, sitting in various places around the room. Emma sat in the corner of the overstuffed sofa, curling her legs up under her. “So, what’s the meeting about?”
“You.”
Her head snapped up to where Noah stood, legs shoulder-width apart, his strong arms over his chest.
“Me?”
Del came up and stood beside him, mirroring his stance. The easygoing smile from earlier dropped away and now concern lined his face. “Yes, you. And why you won’t sell to KVN.”
Emma closed her eyes and let her head fall back on the couch. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Too fucking bad, Emma,” Aidan said from his spot in front of the fireplace. He threw Stella a sheepish glance. “Sorry, Mom.” She raised a hand in a “don’t worry about it” gesture, and he continued. “Emma, enough with the evading and avoiding when the hard conversations come up.”
Emma shot to her feet, anger built in her chest and every muscle in her body tensed. “You think I haven’t had hard conversations, Aidan? My life has been nothing but hard conversations for the last two years. You have no idea what I’ve dealt with when it comes to hard conversations.”
“Aidan isn’t saying that you haven’t had them, Em,” Grace began in her calm way, as though dealing with one of her unruly students. “All he’s saying is that we need to talk about why you want to hang on to something that is doing nothing for you.”
“I can’t sell the house. I made a promise to my mother, one that I plan to stick with. It’s my future.” Emma looked at each of them, including Charley, who’d come back in the room and leaned against the archway, her heart aching with the thought of losing the last tangible thread to her parents. “If I sell, it will just be one more failure on my part.”
She crossed her arms over her middle, unable to meet the eyes of the people she loved—and hurt—the most in her life. “I know my family hasn’t always made things easy. And I helped add to the misery by continuing the lovely addiction gene and almost killing myself. I put everyone I love through the wringer with my terrible decisions, and, for years, I didn’t even care that I did it.”
The shame running through her veins threatened to swallow her whole. Her body trembled from head to toe and she bit her lip to keep the sob swelling her chest from escaping.
“You have an illness. We know that,” Stella said, her voice calm and caring.
Emma waved it away and dropped back down on the couch. “I know, but I still have to live with the fact that I acted like an ass to all of you. Keeping this house is my way of showing that I’m better. I’m more responsible. And like I said, it’s my future.”
Amelia rose from her spot on the other end of the sofa and perched on the coffee table in front of Emma. “Isn’t that what the twelve steps are for? To help you work through that?”
Emma nodded looking down at her hands clasped in her lap. “Yeah, that’s why they’re there. And I’m working through them. I’m getting back to the basics. I have to.” Her eyes welled up and a tear fell down her face. “I came this close”—she put her forefinger and thumb a hair’s breadth apart—“to relapsing the other night. I found my father's prized bottle of Jack was still in the bottom drawer of his desk. I didn’t even know it was there. I just sat there, staring at the bottle. Thinking of how just one drink, just one, would ease the pain.”
Stella frowned. “What happened to push you so close?”
Emma met her aunt’s gaze. “That’s the thing, Stella. For an alcoholic, nothing has to happen. It just is, sometimes.” She sighed and looked down at her hands fisted in her lap. She decided to keep the fight between her and Shane out of it. “But this time, something did happen. I received a letter that the bank is moving forward with foreclosure proceedings.” She held up a hand to ward off what she knew was coming. “And no, none of you can loan me the money. That’s one of my hard-and-fast rules. Don’t mix finances with family.”
