Emily: The Inheritance

By Xlibris US

Emily Robinson struggles alone with a new baby while trying to finish her college work. Her mothers resentment over the trust fund from her husbands estate leads to an unexpected liaison with the biological father of the baby. While Emily is yearning for loving support, her mother is plotting to capture the entire estate that she feels she deserves. Mr. Robinsons foresight of the expected mother-daughter conflict is revealed when assets are uncovered in offshore bank accounts.
Clifford L. Lueck

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499045758

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by Clifford L. Lueck.

Library of Congress Control Number:        2014913330

ISBN:                 Hardcover                         978-1-4990-4578-9

                     Softcover                          978-1-4990-4576-5

                     eBook                               978-1-4990-4575-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 07/15/2014

Xlibris LLC

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

649630

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter One

She glanced at the clock again to be sure it wasn’t quitting time. Good lord, two more hours before I’m out of this dump she thought. For a measly eight bucks an hour I stand on my feet forever kowtowing to these ungrateful slobs. I suppose everyone has to have groceries. I must need an attitude adjustment – everyone’s a jerk. Maybe they really are and they all find their way to my grocery store. When I’m cheerful I get the once over. Do I look like some quick trick? Cheerful is just a come-on. A smile and a dime will get you a cup of coffee as they say. What century was that? More like a buck and a half – or go for it at Starbucks for a half-hour’s pay for a lousy cup of coffee. I’m sorry - latté. It’s a rip-off no matter what they call it. There is no tipping for check out girls in the super market. What a miserable job. How did I end up here?

You want paper or plastic?

Paper please – I don’t want to plug the landfill.

So paper doesn’t?

Paper will rot eventually. Plastic will be there a hundred years from now.

I don’t think one more plastic bag more or less is going to save this miserable planet, rot or not.

Maybe not, but when we’re up to our armpits in garbage, I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing it’s not my fault.

Are you one of those guys that worry about everything like trees and stuff, but you’d rather cut down a tree to make a paper bag than toss a plastic job in the garbage?

That’s me, I guess, Emily, giving her his best smile."

She unconsciously touched her nametag. He is kind of cute she thought, returning his smile.

Your smile is worth sharing – your scowling does nothing for you but make wrinkles in your face. I’m Jack and I’m pleased to meet you, Emily, extending his hand.

Surprised with the introduction and before she could control her reaction, she grasped his hand. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance as well. What am I doing she thought. This is just one more look-me-over-jerk that’s checking me out.

Have a nice day, Jack said as he turned for the exit with his paper bag nestled in his arm.

You too, she countered.

Emily punched out with a vengeance, glancing again at the clock. She would have to hustle to pick up her baby on time. The asphalt was blistering on her sandals as she crossed the parking lot toward the red Camaro in the far corner. Unlocking the door she noticed a note on the windshield. A sudden chill tempered the flush of the heat. It’s not a parking ticket she thought. Opening the single folded sheet, she focused immediately on the signature - Jack. She turned quickly to check the parking lot to see who might be watching. The lot, which is usually bustling with activity was empty. Strange. How did he know this was my car?

Your right front tire needs air.

You should have it checked.

                                       Jack

She walked around the car to check the tire. It is soft she noted. Damn, just what I need to make me late again. Not sure of her next move, she got in and started the engine. I’d better stop for air she decided.

Exiting the parking lot, she eased into the steady flow of traffic, hugging right, anticipating a quick stop at the gas station a few blocks ahead. Her mind was fully occupied with the soft tire and the digital clock in the dash. She did not notice the Beemer leaving the lot behind her, easing into the left lane.

Can you check my front tire for air please – and I’m really in a hurry.

Sure, Miss, no problem.

It was low on air. I didn’t see anything stuck in it. Maybe it just went soft.

Thanks a bunch. Next time I need gas, I’ll stop here.

Swinging back into traffic, the same BMW pulled in behind her as she sped ahead. With one eye on the speedometer she muttered to herself, No tickets please – I’m late getting my baby.

Bounding up the steps and across the porch of the aged Tudor, she thought a coat of paint would do wonders for this place. Elegant in its time, it had fallen into disrepair. She was greeted with a breath of cool air as the door swung open to meet her.

You’re late again, Emily.

I’m sorry, Mrs. Balducci.

You are always the last one to pick up their child. I have other things to do and I can’t be waiting around for you to get Susan. I have a job too, you know. When you’re late – I’m late. Simple as that.

I know, I’m sorry.

If your baby wasn’t so wonderful, I wouldn’t put up with your foolishness. She had a good day but wants her Mommy now. Here you go precious.

Taking the child from Mrs. Balducci, she could not resist nuzzling her as she cooed in her ear. I love you, you precious thing. Susan responded with a gigantic smile and cooing as only she could at her age. She loved her mother very much too.

I’ll see you tomorrow, Emily said as she stepped through the door. I’m sorry I was late again, but I had car trouble.

All is forgiven, my dear. Bye, Susan.

Fastening Susan in her car seat took Emily’s full attention. She turned the Camaro around and nudged the pedal for home. She did not notice the two men slouched in the BMW down the block watching her every move. The Beemer did not follow.

When the Camaro turned the corner, Jerry started his BMW and turned to Jack, Now you know what she looks like and where she stashes the kid.

Jack raised an eyebrow at the comment exclaiming, "That’s your baby, Jerry. You fathered that kid. Don’t you have any feelings for it?"

Sure, it’s my ticket to happiness. Get real, buddy.

They pulled out of the parking space and left the area. Jack shifted in his seat, uneasy with the situation as they followed at a safe distance. When Emily turned into her driveway, Jerry went on past the apartment, both keeping a low profile. They headed back to the supermarket to pick up Jack’s truck.

Safe in her apartment, Emily’s mood lifted considerably. She kept up a steady conversation with Susan nestled in her car seat on the kitchen table. Supper prep was the focus of her activity, but that alone did not keep her mind from wandering. Salad with a piece of cold chicken will have to do. It’s a good thing I have left over chicken. I need to remember to bring more greens from the store tomorrow. It is payday so I could splurge and get take-out. Maybe I should treat myself once in a while and eat out. I hate to eat alone. I feel so conspicuous with Susan in a restaurant. People must think, look at the poor girl with a baby. Where’s her husband? I’ll bet she’s not married and some jerk got her pregnant and split. Poor thing. I don’t need sympathy – I need money, Emily thought. She smiled at the mental conversation she was having with herself.

Susan vocalized, drawing Emily’s attention, breaking the indulgent thought pattern. Feeling sorry is not a healthy state of mind. This is her situation and no one is to blame but Miss Emily, Miss know-what-I’m-doing, take-no-advice Emily. Was I gullible! Don’t forget stupid, blind, and naive. I thought he really loved me and we would be forever. Letting myself get pregnant was really stupid. Why did I skip the pill? One thing I did learn is I must be one fertile mama. Skip one month and bingo, the jackpot. Maybe I thought that would force him into a proposal. Yeah, right. Men do not think marriage. They think sex. What was I thinking? But my baby is so precious I wouldn’t give her up for anything, especially Jerry. That snake!

I love you, Sweetie, cooing at her daughter who is busy waving off fictitious flies.

Emily probed yesterday’s chicken with little enthusiasm. I must not be hungry – or I’m getting tired of cold chicken and salad. It must be time for a hamburger or something yummy. Is there a saying that man cannot live on salad alone? Or was it bread? Man does not live on bread alone unless it comes on both sides of an all-meat-patty with special sauce, lettuce, and a pickle on a sesame-seed-bun. Squaw no want salad. Squaw need meat. Squaw need man. Man need hunt for squaw. Squaw lonesome. Squaw too long, no brave. Squaw love papoose, no like brave.

Right Papoosie? You my papoosie? Papoosie has no daddy. Squaw do best I can, Papoosie. Squaw love Papoosie.

The phone jangled and the Caller-ID read: David R Robinson. Emily scowled, hesitated, knowing what was to come. Mother, bless her well-intentioned heart. She worries about the baby and me and wants me to move back home. I know she could be a big help with Susan, but at what price? I couldn’t wait to go off to college and out from under her clutches. Since Dad died she is worse than ever. I feel badly knowing she is desperately lonely and she needs someone to love and love her back. Or control. Like - every minute. Mom, the ultimate micromanager. Susan would be wonderful for her if I could live with her. Don’t even think about it. It would be hell again. Getting back to school is the objective – here, not back home. Steel yourself and pick up the phone. She’s your mother and means well. Emily snatched the receiver.

Hello, Mom, exuding excitement in her greeting.

Hello, Emily. I was afraid I would get your recording again. It seems like you’re out a lot. At least when I call you seem to be out.

She hasn’t figured out I have Caller-ID. You’re slipping, Mother, or pretending you don’t know that I’m giving you the cold-shoulder.

How is the baby?

Susan is wonderful. Growing like a weed and more beautiful everyday.

Give her some hugs for me. When are you coming to visit, so I can spoil her?

I don’t know, Mom. It’s hard for me to get away from work. I can’t afford to take time off.

Can’t I ask a simple question about visiting with my granddaughter and you throw up your money situation? It seems all our conversations end up over money.

I’m sorry, Mom – I didn’t mean it that way. Really.

I’m sorry too, Emily, that we can’t have a simple conversation like other folks.

Mom, we have a lot of problems. I know you’re unhappy with me here alone with the baby. And before you ask again, the answer is - No - I’m not moving back home. I want to stay here and re-enroll for the fall term and finish college. I just need three semesters to a bachelor’s. My scholarship will pick up for me since I lost just the one semester to have Susan. If I come home now, I would lose this apartment, give up my job, and lose my spot with my daycare for Susan and everything.

Emily, since your father died, I have been beside myself rattling around in this big house. It is a shame to have all this space going to waste that you could use rather than paying rent and baby sitters. I want you home, Emily.

Now her ploy is her empty house going to waste. Throw up the money, Mom. I know you’re lonely without Dad. I miss him too. It’s not fair!

What’s not fair, Emily? Me? Are you saying I’m not fair? Lord knows all I do for you. Do I get any thanks? I’m paying your rent every month - against my better judgment, I might add. Where is that no good father of your baby? You are entitled to child support as a minimum. You should be dragging his no good butt into court.

The no good father has a name, Mother. It’s Jerome. And Jerome has big time lawyers in the family. His father and brother to start with and lord knows how many others in his father’s law firm. So what do you expect me to do? Jerry made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with Susan and she was my problem. After all, it was my fault I got pregnant to start with. So what do you expect? Jerome threatened me if I came after him and he would not cooperate with paternity testing. He said I would be sorry if I made a scene and he would have to show everyone what a slut I am. Do I need to spell it out, Mother?

It sounds like you have some skeletons. Is that it, Emily?

"No, Mom, I’m not a slut. I was a gullible, naive woman that used very poor judgment falling in love with a snake. It is my fault I got pregnant; he’s right. I skipped the pill! I’m not sorry I have Susan. If I have to raise her on my own, I will."

You’re not seeing him, are you?

Of course not! He was out of here like he was on fire. I haven’t seen him in four months. In fact when he came back and took his stuff, I think he stole my laptop. It disappeared about the same time. Maybe I lost it. I don’t know.

I never understood what you saw in him. He looked like an opportunist to me and interested in getting you into bed. And I think I’m right, don’t you?

Yes, Mother!

I also had the impression that Jerome thought we were wealthy and you might be a meal ticket. How did he get that impression?

I did mention Dad’s insurance money and the trust that he set up for me. I guess that peaked his interest.

"Emily, you shouldn’t have. That was none of his business, and let me remind you that I’m the trustee of your money until you’re twenty-one. I will pay your rent as long as you insist on living in that god-forsaken apartment. But that’s it. When you come of age next year, you can throw it away if you want, and I can’t stop you. I do think I’m a better judge of your needs right now than you are. Your Father had enough foresight to make me trustee. Lord knows I don’t understand why he would split his estate in half between his wife of nearly twenty years and you. Talk about fair, Emily. That wasn’t fair for me."

Maybe Dad was a lot smarter than you think.

Don’t get smart with me, young lady.

I’m sorry, Mom.

I’m sorry too, Emily. We always end up fighting. I don’t know what to do with you. I want to see my granddaughter. Won’t you please at least come home for a visit with the baby? If you need gas money, just say so, and I’ll send it. Don’t play the martyr. This is your choice, not mine.

OK, Mom – plan on me late Friday. I work ‘til five and I’ll pick up Susan after work and drive on down. We should be there by 7:30 or 8 o’clock. I’ll call if we get delayed. I’ll ask for Saturday off and plan to drive back on Sunday. I have enough money for gas, but don’t forget to pay my rent.

That’s wonderful. I’m looking forward to hugging our baby. I can’t wait.

OK, Mom. I need to go, Susan is fussing.

Bye. Drive safely and I’ll see you Friday night.

You win again, Mother. Now you’ll have two days to badger me into moving back home. Maybe I’ll be sick by Friday and can’t make it. Or Susan. That’s right, maybe Susan has something – can’t travel. Why did I agree to go?

"What is it baby? Are you wet? Hungry? It is about time to eat, then beddie-bye. You are so precious, my sweet."

The human alarm sounded at 3:45 AM. After three months, the nights were getting better with uninterrupted sleep approaching five hours. But we need to work on the timing. This is much too early to start the day. Emily rolled herself across the bed toward the crib. Why is it when you are in your best sleep, it’s time to get up? At least Susan thinks it’s time.

Emily picked up the baby, noticing that she not only sounded hungry, but was very wet. Soaked was a better description. She shouldered Susan and headed for the kitchen to start the bottle warming. I should have nursed her longer she thought and I could have eliminated a few steps here. Warming formula always seemed to take forever when the baby is screaming. This child will not wait for warm water to take the chill off the refrigerated bottle. So in spite of the note-worthy official guidebook, she beeped the microwave. I can’t believe any waves stick in the milk anyway she rationalized. I eat micro waved food all the time and I’m not any worse for it. I think.

Here you go baby.

Susan hungrily latched onto the nipple and slurped anxiously. Emily grappled with the wet nightclothes with one hand dropping them to the floor. In one continuous motion, she deftly slid off the diaper and it followed the same path onto the kitchen tile. She shoved the pile with her bare foot grunting in disgust at the cold sensation. I understand why that didn’t feel good she thought. So far so good, except I didn’t bring dry clothes. She grabbed a dishtowel to cover the naked baby and headed back to the bedroom for reinforcements. This must be real world multitasking – motherhood style. Susan, preoccupied with emptying the bottle, never lost concentration on her single-minded assignment.

The checkout counter was backed up again at Emily’s register. Why does everyone think I’m the only checker in the world? Ten items or less – use the other aisle. The store manager was headed her way to see why the holdup. As she turned, she noticed yesterday’s visitor, Jack, a couple of customers back in her line. Well that’s interesting she thought – out of food so soon?

What’s the holdup here, Emily? Mr. Woodward, the store manager asked.

I’m doing the best I can, but everyone wants to go through my checkout today. And everyone has coupons!

Let me switch some of these people onto Steve and Gary.

Emily picked up the pace with her scanning while the manager shooed the back of the line toward other checkouts. She strained to hear the discussion between Mr. Woodward and Jack, but could not quite make out the details. Jack kept shaking his head. Jack’s not moving. The manager then plucked a few customers ahead of Jack to alternative checkers shortening up Emily’s line. Jack smiled his appreciation for a job well done. Now he’s only two back.

Hi, Emily, Jack chortled, smiling graciously. He clearly felt good about himself. His gaze scanned Emily thoroughly top to bottom, at least that which showed above the counter. He bore in on her gaze as she caught his eye. His stare was penetrating, unrelenting. She glanced away, back to the scanner. No smile for me today? he asked.

Nothing to smile for. You stood in line for these few things?

Actually this was just an excuse to come and see you. I thought you would brighten my day with your smile. I know it’s there. Come on, one little grin is all I’m looking for.

This guy is too much Emily thought, straining to hold back a smile. He looks kind of silly in that stupid grin. If I’m not careful I might laugh out loud. Who does he think he is? He comes through my check out one time and he acts like we’re long lost friends. He can just buzz off. Maybe I shouldn’t be hasty. There are some questions that need answering. Like how did you know that was my car in the parking lot yesterday?

"Jack, I’m dead on my feet. Smiles come at a premium today. The baby was up early, and I mean real early and wouldn’t go back to sleep. I’m exhausted."

I wanted to check to see if you had the tire checked on your car. I was worried about you getting a flat and getting stranded somewhere without an able bodied man to take care of the little lady.

I’m not totally helpless. All the same I don’t want a flat either. How did you know that was my car?

"Easy. I noticed the soft tire when I parked next to it. When I surveyed the lot full of cars, I asked myself who would be driving this red Camaro? I waited

Reviews for Emily

[magarcia-2 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

great book about a girl who lives across from the wonderful Emily Dickinson. Gives students a preview of who is emily dickinson.

[supendleton · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is an imagined story of a little girl's contact with Emily Dickinson. The illustrations are beautiful. The writing is very poetic and could be used as a mentor text in the classroom; "Mother wore her new silk dress, the one that whispered when she walked. the dress I wore was white, like the disappearing snow. . . . The road was full of mud and mirrors where the sky peeked at itself." Lovely.

[bookwren · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A lovingly written picture book tribute to Emily Dickinson. Bedard's prose imagery is like poetry: "We were still new to the house the day the letter dropped through the slot. I heard it whisper to the floor and ran to pick it up. I peeked through the narrow window in the door. There was no one there but winter, all in white." The white of winter alludes, I think, to Emily's habit of wearing only white clothing. On the same page, Bedard pays tribute to one of Emily's poems, "I'm Nobody" when the Mother in the story receives a letter. Her little girl asks who its from and she replies, "Nobody, dear." Further along, the father in the story sings to his daughter before bed, and Bedard's words flow like Emily's poetry: "Like flakes of flowers the words fell to the sheets. I listened to them fall and fell asleep." The little girl asks her father what poetry is. He replies: "Listen to Mother play. She practices and practices a piece, and sometimes magic happens and it seems the music starts to breathe. It sends a shiver through you. You can't explain it, really; it's a mystery. Well, when words do that, we call it poetry." What a perfect explanation! In the story, Emily writes a poem for the child in exchange for the child's gift of flower bulbs.

[karizev-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

"Listen to mother play. She practices and practices a piece, and sometimes a magic happens and it seems the music starts to breath. It sends a shiver through you. You can't explain it, really; its a mystery, its called poetry." Students will learn how to write poetry as a way of looking at a poets life.

[allawishus_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This title tells a little of the history of Emily Dickinson from the perspective of a little girl who moves into the house across the street from her. Emily is known as "The Myth" to the people around town - she's reclusive and antisocial. However, she invites the little girl's mother to play piano for her; the little girl comes along to Emily's house and meets her. This book does go off into some fanciful, poetic language while attempting to describe poetry. The father of the little girl compares music to poetry fairly abstractly - it definitely won't work for a primary crowd. I mean, the language is lovely, it's just too abstract for the intended audience, I think. This story would best work with an intermediate level group who're learning about poetry and/or Emily Dickinson. The really amazing thing about the book is the illustrations. Just absolutely beautiful. The detail of Emily's house, the snowy scenes, the image of lonely Emily sitting on the stairs ... really breathtaking.

[aengle_8 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Grades 2-5. Story about poet about young Emily Dickinson. Reality and Fantasy. Poeticically written.