“Why not?” Sophie shrugged. “Maybe they could prescribe a better pill.”
Emma shook her head. “I don’t want any of that stuff, or any of the therapy sessions, either. I’m not sure I want to remember what it is I’ve got locked away. The only thing I’m sure about is that the only good times I’ve had were when you and Rebel were in my life. I want that feeling back. If Nancy knew I was having bad dreams, she would tell Mother, and I wouldn’t ever get out of there.”
“Where is home now? Do you have a house, an apartment?” Sophie asked.
“I still have my suite upstairs in my folks’ house,” Emma said.
“Pink satin and white lace?” Sophie asked.
Emma almost smiled again. “You remembered.”
Sophie reached across the console again and laid a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “Of course I did. I always thought it was a beautiful room, and to tell the truth, I wanted one just like it.”
“You can have it. I hate it.” Emma’s tone could have put frost on the windshield.
“What kind of room would you want if you could change it?” Sophie asked.
“I’ve wanted a tiny house of my own for years, and I want it decorated in neutral shades with some orange and yellow accents to brighten it up,” Emma answered. “But Mother says that will make my problems even worse. You remember she always said bright colors are bohemian.”
Sophie laughed and gave Emma’s bony shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Stick with me, and you can have a tiny house—and it’ll even have orange countertops.”
“I think I’ll like that just fine.” Emma really smiled that time.
Josh Corlen took the time to turn on the air conditioner for Sophie and then went to his own small one-bedroom trailer house. He stripped out of his work clothing, tossed it all in the washing machine in the hallway, and took a shower. Filly and Arty would have supper on the picnic table out under the live oak tree at seven, and he didn’t want to be late. Filly’s chocolate cake was his favorite dessert, and Arty had made an amazing pot of clam chowder.
He dressed in khaki shorts, an orange T-shirt, and matching Crocs and got to the table just as Arty was setting the pot down. Arty had always reminded Josh of his grandfather—short, balding, bright-blue eyes, and slightly cocky. If Grandpa had been alive, he and Arty would have even been about the same age.
Filly was setting disposable bowls and a loaf of her homemade bread on the table. She wasn’t any taller than Arty, and from the day Josh had bought the trailer park, she’d been his surrogate grandmother, friend, mother, and favorite aunt all rolled into one person. She had braided her hair into two long plaits that hung over her shoulders and wore her usual flowing skirt and T-shirt—from her part-hippie heritage, she said. Her given name was Ophelia, but no one called her that, not even Leo, the buyer from the local gift store who came by once a month and picked up Arty’s metal pieces, Filly’s jewelry, and Josh’s drawings. She was Filly to everyone, and Josh loved her.
The chocolate sheet cake on the other end of the wooden picnic table was still warm enough that a little steam floated above it. Josh took a deep breath, drawing in all the mixed aromas.
“This sure looks good. Thank y’all for cooking for us every evening,” Josh said.
“We all got to eat, and it’s hard to cook for one,” Arty said. “Besides, Filly would starve plumb to death if I didn’t cook.”
“No, I wouldn’t. I might die of a sugar overload, but I wouldn’t starve,” Filly argued. “I love to bake, but cookin’ ain’t for me.”
“Together, y’all make a great team.” Josh smiled.
“We all make a great team.” Arty dished up the chowder. “I made plenty in case Sophie hasn’t eaten when she gets here.”
“So, what did you work on today?” Filly asked after Arty said a simple prayer over their meal.
“I finished up that old oil derrick.” Arty pinched up a thick slice of bread and dunked it into his chowder. “This one is three feet tall. I’m going to make one about a third that size next, and then before our buyer arrives, I’ve got a mind to make a lizard.”
“Big or little?” Josh asked.
“Maybe a foot long. I saw a lady on the television last night that had a chameleon brooch about that size on her sweater. Dang thing looked like it was crawlin’ right up to her shoulder. Hers had all kinds of fancy jewels on it, but it set me to thinkin’ about makin’ one. If women are usin’ them for jewelry, they might buy one to set on their coffee table, too,” Arty answered.
“Hell’s bells, Arthur.” Filly shook her finger at him. “Ain’t you realized yet that folks buy your art to put behind glass doors in them fancy cabinets and treat it like an investment? They pay enough money for those pieces that they aren’t going to put them on a coffee table to get dusty. Most of them brag to their friends that they own a signed Art Crawford metal piece.”
“Ophelia!” he shot back at her. “Don’t call me Arthur.”
“If you call me by my birth name again, you’ll go without dessert for a week. You know I hate that.” She shook her spoon at him.
“Not as bad as I hate Arthur.”
“Shh . . .” Josh put a finger to his lips. “I hear a vehicle.”
“Maybe it’s Sophie,” Filly said.
“One can only hope.” Arty glared at Filly. “I’m ready for a fresh face around here. She won’t be as hateful as you are.”
“Now, honey, you know I love your chowder even if I did call you Arthur.” Filly giggled. “Besides, you called me Ophelia.”
“You did it first,” Arty said.
“I hope it’s not someone who’s just going to turn around and go back,” Josh whispered. When Sophie was there, or when the other three trailers were filled with their winter snowbirds, things always went smoother at the supper table.
“Yay!” Filly clapped her hands. “I can see the license plate on the front of her car. Our Sophie has come home for the summer.”
The silence between them was comfortable, but during the last hour of the trip, Sophie had continued to question her decision to practically kidnap Emma and take her to an almost wilderness existence. What-ifs circled around in her mind like a hamster on an endless wheel. Emma had lived in the lap of luxury her whole life. What if she hated living with the bare essentials in a small two-bedroom trailer house? Victoria had dressed her in the best that fashion had to offer—what if she hated wearing Sophie’s clothing? What if living in a world of cactus and wildflowers depressed Emma even more and she needed medicine?
Whoa! Hold your horses! Rebel’s voice in her head was loud and clear. You saw where Emma was living and what she was wearing. I’d say what’s more important than physical things right now is that you are going to try to help her get her head on straight.
“Yes, ma’am,” Sophie whispered under her breath.
The sun had begun to drop below the mountains in the distance, leaving nothing but an orange glow over the tops of the six trailers arranged in a semicircle around a huge live oak tree that shaded a picnic table and benches. When Sophie parked in front of the first trailer on the right, Emma took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“This is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. Is this your trailer?” Emma whispered.
“This is home for the next couple of months.” A heavy what-if load lifted from Sophie’s shoulders. “The trailer is old, but Josh keeps it well maintained.”
“It’s perfect,” Emma said. “It reminds me of a tiny house.”
Sophie smiled. “It kind of does, doesn’t it? Are you ready for supper?”
Emma dropped her chin to her chest and shifted her eyes from one to the other of the two people who’d left the table. “Would it be rude if I scrounged through the cabinets and maybe got a bowl of cereal or a peanut butter sandwich and met them all tomorrow?”
“Not one bit. You are in charge of what you want to do while you are here,” Sophie answered. “That’s Filly and Arty coming this way, and Josh is s
itting at the table.”
Filly was dressed as usual in a long, multicolored, flowing skirt and a T-shirt that had been belted in with a hot-pink scarf. She was barefoot, and her braids flopped around as she ran toward the vehicle. A rim of gray hair circled Arty’s bald head, and he wore his usual flip-flops, bibbed overalls, and faded T-shirt. Their smiles and open arms said they were as glad to see Sophie as she was to see them.
Emma’s eyes darted around like those of a bunny who had been caught in a circle of coyotes, and she started wringing her hands again.
Sophie’s chest tightened. Maybe she’d done the wrong thing by breaking Emma out of prison. She inhaled deeply and shook off the doubts. She had to try to help her or she couldn’t live with herself.
“You just sit tight for maybe five minutes, and then we’ll go inside.” Sophie laid her hands on Emma’s. “It’s going to be all right. I promise. Remember what I told you. You are in control here. You make your own decisions.”
She got out of the SUV and hugged Filly and then Arty. “My friend Em is in the car, and she’s going to be staying with me. She’s pretty tired, so I think we’ll go on inside and get unpacked.”
“Sure thing,” Filly said, “but she’s welcome.”
“Any friend of yours is a friend of ours,” Arty told her.
“I’ll just get her inside, and then I’ll be out for supper,” Sophie whispered in Filly’s ear.
Before Filly and Arty could turn around, Emma stepped out of the SUV and nodded toward them. Her face had lost what little color it had, and her voice trembled. “Sophie told me about all of you. I’m very glad that she invited me to spend some time here.”
“We’re glad to have you. We got clam chowder for supper,” Arty said.
“And chocolate cake,” Filly added.
“That sounds delicious, but . . .” Emma looked longingly toward the trailer.
“Give me a few minutes, and then I’ll come out and get some for each of us,” Sophie said. “Em and I both have phone calls to make. It’s already past midnight where Teddy is, but I should send him a text at least. And Mama is expecting me to call as soon as we get here.”
“Of course,” Filly said. “I’m sure glad you’re here. Arty’s bein’ a jackass.”
“We just been spendin’ too much time together, and, woman”—he shook his finger at Filly—“don’t be a tattletale. Is Teddy going to come see us in a couple of weeks?”
“Yep, hopefully,” Sophie said. “He’s in Europe right now setting up things for my showing.”
“I can’t wait to see him,” Filly said. “If I was twenty years younger, I’d take that man away from you.”
“You’d have to be forty years younger and a helluva lot prettier.” Arty snorted as they walked back toward the supper table.
Emma’s eyes widened, so big that for a split second Sophie thought she might faint right there beside the SUV. Sophie looped her arm through Emma’s and led her toward the trailer. “They banter like that all the time. They aren’t serious, and they aren’t fighting.”
They walked up the porch steps, and Sophie threw the door open.
“I’ve never been around anyone like that,” Emma said. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”
“You didn’t embarrass me.” Sophie gave her a hug. “You’re just used to folks who are so uptight that . . .”
Emma giggled. “As uptight as a bull’s butt during fly season. That was one of Rebel’s sayings, and I always thought it was funny. Mother would shiver all the way to her toenails if she saw me eating from red plastic bowls out of a communal pot of chowder. And was that a bumblebee flitting around on the chocolate cake?”
“Victoria isn’t here, and what she thinks doesn’t matter on Hummingbird Lane,” Sophie told her. “I’m going out to get our things. Take a look around and acquaint yourself with everything. I’ll be right back.”
She found Josh standing at the bottom of the stairs when she went outside. “I hope it’s all right that I brought a roommate with me.”
“It’s your trailer. You can do what you want while you are here. Need some help?” he asked.
“I never turn down help.” Sophie smiled. “Just the suitcase and the tote bag tonight. I’ll take care of the art supplies tomorrow. They’re in the back seat. And thanks, Josh.”
He kept his eyes on the ground. “Glad you’re here.”
“It’s good to be back,” Sophie said. “Just set them on the porch.”
Emma was standing in the doorway, and Josh stole a sideways look at her. His body language and the fact that he averted his eyes said that he was as uncomfortable as Emma was. “I’ll just set your things on the porch and then get on back to have dessert.”
“Thank you so much.” Sophie smiled again.
Emma took a step away from the open door when Josh set the bags down, and then he made a hasty retreat back to the picnic table. His orange Crocs caught her eye. She had always wanted a pair of those, but her mother said they were ugly. Any guy who wore orange shoes had to be all right.
Her mouth watered at the thought of having a piece of that cake. She couldn’t remember the last time she had cake or sweets of any kind. Her mother said that fresh fruit was much better for her than sweets, and the center where she’d been for weeks served fruit for dessert.
“Oh!” Emma gasped as she crossed the small living room to look out the sliding glass doors at the mountains in the distance. Look at that sunset. Sophie should paint that picture. It takes my breath away, she thought as she pushed the doors open and inhaled the night air. “There’s a porch and chairs.”
“So, you like it?” Sophie startled her when she slipped an arm around Emma’s shoulders. “I will be setting up my easel out here for the next few weeks, because I’m going to paint what you are looking at. I have three paintings planned. A night scene, one with a sunrise, and then the same at midday. I’ve already shipped the pictures for the showing in Europe, but hopefully if they want another showing next year, I’ll have these for then. What do you think, Em? Think you could find your way back to painting on this porch?”
“Maybe . . . someday if I can . . .” She shook her head and stammered, “I don’t know who I am anymore. I have . . . to know . . . what inspires me before I can pick up the brushes. I love your idea for all three of those paintings. Is there really nothing between here and those mountains? I mean, like, houses or more trailer parks?”
“Josh owns all the land from here to the mountains, and there’s nothing but cactus, wildflowers, and”—she smiled—“purple lizards. We’ve both got some phone calls to make.”
“Can I sit on the porch while I’m making the phone call?” Emma had no doubts that her mother was going to be furious with her. Victoria had never hit Emma, but her words could cut through the heart like a machete through soft butter. Her mother would send out a search party for her if she didn’t tell her where she was, and she would definitely get even with Sophie in some way.
“Rule number one is that you are the boss of you while you are here,” Sophie answered. “You will need to turn your phone back on. I’m glad you let me turn it off. I was afraid that Victoria would talk you into going back to that place or else send someone to get you and arrest me for kidnapping.”
“Thank you,” Em sighed. “But you can’t kidnap me. I’m not a kid anymore, and, Sophie, you’re a good friend. She’s going to be mad at me, you know, but I’m really glad I’m this far away when she starts whispering and telling me that I’m delicate and stupid, that I can’t make decisions for myself. She’ll say that I should remember what happened when I tried to live on my own in college.”
“It won’t be the first or the last time she’s been mad about something, will it?” Sophie asked.
Emma dug deep into her memories and tried to remember the last time she had made her mother angry. “Probably not, but the last time she got really upset was when I refused to eat because she said you wouldn’t be coming back to our house, and
that I would be having tutors instead of going to school. I don’t think she’s been that mad at me since, but I learned to be careful and not get her all riled up.”
“Really?” Sophie blinked a half dozen times in rapid succession. “Are you serious?”
“If I do what she wants, she’s happy, and she’s so mean when she’s mad that Daddy and I just let her have her way,” Emma told her.
“Well, we’re going to change that. You are not delicate. You are a strong, talented woman, and we’ll prove it right here on Hummingbird Lane in trailer number thirteen,” Sophie said.
“I only counted six trailers,” Em said.
“That’s right. But back before Josh bought this place, there must have been more. Only four of them are occupied right now. Arty lives on the other side of the circle in seven. The two next to us are vacant until fall, and then there’s Josh’s place, and Filly lives between him and Arty.” Sophie headed down the hallway. “I’m just going to take a bathroom break and then make a couple of phone calls. Then I’ll get us some food. We usually eat together in the evenings, but it’s not mandatory, so . . .”
“I’ll try, but not tonight,” Emma said.
“That’s good enough for me. Like I said, everything is up to you.” Sophie disappeared into the restroom.
“I’m not sure I can handle making my own decisions,” Emma muttered as she got her phone out of her purse, turned it on, and called her mother.
“Where are you?” Victoria asked without even saying her usual proper “Merrill residence, Victoria speaking.”
Emma went outside and sat down in one of the red plastic chairs. She sucked in a lungful of night air, but her chest still felt like an elephant was sitting on it, and the stars in the sky went all blurry for a few minutes. “I’m in south Texas somewhere close to Big Bend National Park. I’ll be here for a while.”
“No, you will not,” Victoria declared. “I’ll send Jeffrey to get you tomorrow morning. What is the address? You are not staying with Sophia more than tonight. The center called me an hour ago and told me that you’d checked yourself out. Have you lost what little mind you have left? You’ll be dead in a week if you don’t listen to me. I may have Sophia charged with kidnapping.”
Hummingbird Lane Page 4