“I can’t imagine life without my paintbrushes, and the smell of oils is like vitamin pills to my soul,” Sophie answered. “When are you going to pick up the brushes again?”
Emma was glad she was chewing so she didn’t have to answer right away. The thought of getting paint under her fingernails and inhaling brush cleaner was calling her name. “I’ve got this idea, but it’s probably crazy.” She held both her hands on her lap to keep from twisting them. Could she really tell this group of people the idea she’d kept buried ever since she saw the first tiny house in a magazine?
“Making jewelry from rocks or bits of wood and leather was called crazy at one time, but I’m making a pretty fine living at it,” Filly told her. “Tell us your idea, and we’ll be honest about what we think of it.”
Emma focused on Sophie’s face. Even as a child, whatever she was thinking was right there on her face, so she would know if her idea was bat-crap crazy by Sophie’s expression.
“I hate big houses. They bewilder me. That’s why I wanted to build myself a tiny house, and why I love the trailer we have right now. So . . .” She paused. Could she really put her idea out there in the universe? It was so much easier to keep it inside her heart. She glanced at Josh, who seemed to be hanging on her words, and suddenly got a burst of courage to go on. “I was thinking maybe I’d like to paint some small pictures to go in tiny houses. Those folks would like art, too, but big pictures wouldn’t work in their homes, or in travel trailers or even small houses with limited wall space.”
She shifted her eyes back to Sophie, expecting to see disappointment, but her friend was smiling, and her blue eyes twinkled.
“That’s a great idea.” Sophie’s tone spoke volumes of encouragement. “If you will get maybe twenty of those done while we’re here, I’ll put them in with my next gallery showing. It’s something no one else has thought of in the art world. You could be famous on your debut.”
“Are you serious?” Emma asked.
Sophie laughed out loud. “As serious as Victoria was that day Mama let us have chocolate cake for lunch instead of real food. Your mom got so mad!”
“When are you going to start on the first of these small pieces of art?” Filly asked.
“It was just an idea,” Emma answered. “I hadn’t thought about when and what, and I’m not even sure about a gallery showing. Maybe if the art buyer likes them, I could sell locally like all y’all do.”
Filly took another slice of brisket and then passed the platter around the table a second time. “I think you should paint a hummingbird first. They’re small and would make a perfect subject for a cheery picture. I’ll share my table with you anytime you want to come watch them for inspiration.”
“I just might do that.” Emma could hardly believe that her idea had taken root and was already growing among these sweet folks. Just days ago, she’d had no future except more rounds of therapists and a sterile room in an institution, and now the world was open to her. Just thinking about it was exciting—and a whole lot scary.
Josh could see a little of the haunted look leave Emma’s eyes. That made him think about how much Arty had helped him. He had been more than a little overwhelmed when Harry had passed away suddenly and left him a fortune. Josh had never liked living in the city or in a big house. He went straight to the lawyer who had been hired to help manage his newly found fortune about buying something small in the southern part of the state—away from his parents.
Had Harry not left him the means, he would never have been able to leave his parents’ home, and he never would have met Arty and Filly. His folks didn’t think he could live on his own out in the big, wide world, no matter how intelligent he was, but he’d wanted to be out of their house and on his own. He had even looked at a few apartments, but then he became rich, so he adjusted his thinking to buying rather than just renting. He had looked at a few houses, but when the real estate agent his lawyer was dealing with mentioned a trailer park and a lot of land, he asked to see it.
His folks thought he was crazy. His lawyer tried to talk him out of buying it. He had never lived in a trailer before, or managed a small park, either, but he proved them wrong.
He owed Arty for suggesting that Josh show his artwork to Leo, the art dealer. The night before the man came to the park to buy Filly’s and Arty’s work, Josh hadn’t slept a wink. Now his work was known all over the United States, and people paid good money for a Josh Corlen original. Yep, he wouldn’t have the confidence he had today without Arty’s help and Harry’s faith in his ability to take care of himself. Hopefully, Emma would look back someday and see that she had friends right there on Hummingbird Lane who helped her.
“I’m going to take a walk tomorrow to work on a picture of an eagle.” Josh kept his eyes on his plate. “Every now and then he flies overhead and I get another detail or two by shooting a picture of him with my camera. If you want to go with me and maybe sketch some cactus blossoms, you are welcome, Em.” He held his trembling hands in his lap and wished he hadn’t said anything at all. What if she said yes out of pity because she didn’t want to hurt his feelings? Or worse yet, what if she said no because she was afraid of him?
“Yes, I’d like that.” Emma smiled.
“I’ll be waiting on your back porch about ten o’clock, then. I usually see the eagle about ten thirty.” His pulse stopped racing.
Emma gave a brief nod. “I’ll be ready.”
“So, you like to be called Em instead of Emma?” Arty asked.
“Yes.” Emma nodded again. “It reminds me of happy times.”
“Then Em it is,” Filly said. “I don’t like to be called Ophelia. It sounds so pompous and stilted. Filly says that I’m a free spirit. Em is kind of the same. Wearing that beautiful outfit, and with your hair all pulled up, I can see that you got a little bit of rebel blood in you, too.”
“That’s so sweet. Sophie’s mama’s name is Rebel, and I always wanted to grow up and be just like her,” Emma said.
Arty pointed toward the southwest. “Looks like Mexico is sending a storm our way.”
“Well, dammit!” Filly swore. “If it rains, we won’t get much of a visit, and I was hoping to talk y’all into a game of gin rummy tonight. Maybe after your walk through the cactus fields, you can come over for coffee tomorrow, Em?”
“That would be nice.” Emma nodded.
They had barely dipped up the cobbler when a dark cloud moved across what sun there was left, and a loud clap of thunder sent Coco running for the pet entrance in the front door of Josh’s trailer.
“Time to go inside.” Josh was disappointed, too. He liked card games and the banter that went on between Filly and Arty when they played. “I can smell the rain, and if you look out there, you can see it headed this way.”
Arty put lids on the plastic containers of food, stacked them up, and started for his trailer. “Temperature is dropping, so we might even get some hail.”
Filly re-covered the cobbler with foil, set the relish tray on top of it, and hurried off to her trailer. “Y’all hunker down until it’s over. If it’s rainin’ tomorrow night, we’ll have supper at Arty’s place.”
Josh jogged across the yard, but he didn’t make it inside before enormous drops of rain began to fall, and the wind picked up. He hurried inside, took time to wipe the water from his glasses, and then opened the door to the back porch. He loved the smell of rain and the sound of it beating on the metal roof. For the first time, though, he wished it would only be a passing storm, not one that lasted through the night. He didn’t mind walking in the rain or getting wet, but he wasn’t brave enough to go out when there was lightning.
He sat down on the sofa in his living room and glanced over at the easel where he’d set his latest work. He refused to be nervous about the next day. He had to calm himself or else he would have insomnia. Only one thing ever got rid of the jitters, and that was work, so he moved from the sofa to the easel and began to put the tiny lines into the eagle’s feather
s that would give them life and movement.
“We’re all afraid of something,” he muttered. “Even someone as pretty as Em has fears. I’ll have to take it easy with her if she’s ever going to be my friend.”
In Emma’s mind the dream was real.
Emma couldn’t move. She kept thinking that if only she had been the girl who wore a flouncy skirt, she would have the strength to fight that guy off. She’d gone willingly to his apartment. Dallas was one of her fellow art students, after all. He had said that Terrance had a painting he wanted her to critique. It was an unusual abstract painting, and Emma told both guys that she had no expertise in that kind of art. Then they had offered her a glass of champagne to celebrate Terrance winning the picture in an online auction. She told them she didn’t drink, but they assured her that one or two sips of champagne wouldn’t hurt, and it would be rude not to celebrate with them. She didn’t want to be a nerd, so she’d drank maybe half of what was in the glass.
Dallas and Terrance were talking about something on the television in the living room, but they sounded as if they were in a tunnel. Everything appeared to be covered by a thick gray fog, and then Dallas took her by the arm and led her into a bedroom that opened off the living room. “You should lie down and take a little nap,” he said.
“Take. Me. Home.” Words, even that much, came out slow and labored.
Suddenly, it was as if Emma left her body and was watching everything take place. She yelled at herself to get up and run. Climb out a window. Lock herself in the bathroom. Nothing worked. Her body was only semiconscious and couldn’t move.
“I’m sorry, darlin’.” Dallas kissed her on the neck and whispered, “But I owe him a lot of money that I don’t have. He’ll forgive every dime of it for a virgin.”
Dallas laid her on the bed that had black satin sheets on it. She remembered a white fur–looking rug beside the bed and the thought had gone through her mind that everything wasn’t black and white. Sometimes, things were a gray fog, like her mind was in that night. She raised her voice—or thought she did—and told him again to take her home. Then Terrance, the star football player for another college nearby, came into the room, patted Dallas on the back, and told him he’d done a good job. Dallas closed the door as he left the room. Then Terrance jerked her jeans down around her ankles. She fought and clawed at the six-foot, beefed-up guy. She yelled at him to stop, but she was helpless in her semidrugged state. The last thing she remembered before she passed out was excruciating pain and a heavy weight on her whole body.
Then she was back in her body, and it wasn’t a dream. Her stomach lurched, and she leaned over the side of the bed and threw up on the white fur rug. Pain radiated through her female parts, and her legs ached where Terrance had forced them apart with his strong hands. There was blood on the sheets. When she pulled up her underpants and jeans, even more blood stained them. She was still wobbly when she eased the door open and pulled a small pistol from the side pocket of her purse. Terrance and Dallas were sprawled out on a nearby sofa, playing a video game, drinking beer and laughing, but the apartment went quiet after she put a bullet in the back of each of their heads. She staggered out into a long hallway and held on to the walls to get to the front door. When she made it outside, a hard, cold wind slapped her in the face, and that helped to steady her so that she could get into her car. She drove straight to the hospital.
“I’ve been raped, and I killed the both of them,” she had told the nurse. “My mother can’t know.”
“How old are you?” the nurse asked.
“I’m eighteen,” Emma answered.
“We don’t have to call your parents if you don’t want us to, but, honey, we should call the police,” the woman said. “You take off all your clothes and put on these scrubs. I’ll be back to process you for evidence, and then we’ll make some phone calls. And remember, none of this is your fault.”
“No, no, no!” Emma yelled.
She was sitting up in her bed, eyes wide-open and seeing nothing, when Sophie switched on the lights. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was or even if she was still dreaming. She wiped tears from her eyes with the sheet and begged Terrance to stop.
“Wake up. It’s just a dream. Come on, Em, wake up.” Sophie sat down on the edge of the bed and wrapped her arms around Emma.
Emma hugged Sophie tightly and sobbed into her shoulder. “It wasn’t a dream. I know what happened. I saw it. I felt it.”
“Talk to me, Em. Tell me about it. Maybe it was only a nightmare.”
Emma shuddered and told her what had happened in the dream in full detail. “It was real, Sophie. I killed them both. I shot them in the back of the head. There was blood on them and blood on the bed and even in my underpants and jeans, and there was blood in my car. The reason my legs and chest hurt was because he was a big guy and he was heavy on my body. He forced my legs open and he”—her chin quivered—“raped me. That’s what I couldn’t remember all these years. I’m sure of it. It’s all so clear now.”
Sophie’s blood ran cold, and she shivered right along with Emma as she continued to hold her tightly. “Are you sure you killed them?”
Emma’s eyes popped wide-open, and her back stiffened. “I was raped, and I killed both of them in the dream. Dallas and Terrance were laughing about it, and I shot them in the back of the head. There was more blood on them than what was on me. I stumbled down the stairs to the lobby of the apartment building where Terrance lived. That’s why I hate big houses, isn’t it?”
“Did you dream that they both . . .” Sophie couldn’t bear to even think that Emma had been gang-raped, much less say the words.
“Not Dallas, but he was guilty of tricking me into going to Terrance’s apartment and then convincing me to drink the champagne. It had to have been drugged, but I only drank half of it.” She jumped up and began to pace the floor. “It all makes sense now why I blocked it. Dallas gave me to Terrance because he owed him money. Terrance wanted a virgin. I remember being wobbly and my hand shaking when I pulled the trigger, but I didn’t care. They both deserved to die after what they did to me. The gun was heavy in my hands, and . . .” She stopped and stared out the back doors. “Why would I figure out this much and all if it isn’t true? I couldn’t tell Mother, so . . .” The words trailed off to nothing.
Sophie didn’t believe for one minute that her friend had killed someone. Emma couldn’t swat a mosquito when they were kids without worrying if it had a family or children.
Emma’s eyes had glazed over, and she stared off into space. “I went to the hospital, and the nurse told me to take off my clothes and put on gray scrubs. Then she said she was going to call the police and my parents. The police wouldn’t do anything, not when Terrance was the big hotshot star of the football team. And Mother . . .” She stopped and put her hand over her eyes.
“Sweet Jesus!” Sophie gasped. “Victoria would be awful if she knew that you had been raped or had killed someone.”
“She would have locked me away forever, after she screamed at me that it was all my fault for being weak like my father, and that’s pretty much what Mother did after all, even though she didn’t know what happened.” Emma’s face was totally without color when she dropped her hand. “I thought if I left the hospital, that if I pretended it didn’t happen, then no one would know, and Mother wouldn’t be angry with me.”
“Are you sure you killed them?” Sophie asked.
Emma shook her head. “Right now, I don’t know for sure what’s real and what’s nightmare, but I know down deep in my heart that Terrance raped me. Can we look them up on the internet and see if they’re still alive?”
Sophie took her by the hand and led her to the living room. She opened her laptop and nodded for Emma to research those two horrible guys. Sophie sat down beside her. “There’s no way you killed anyone. There would have been dead bodies, and they would have found your DNA all over the bed. Look at me, Em. You did not shoot those two bastards, even though t
hey deserved it.”
“If I did and it’s still an open case . . . ,” Emma whispered, “there is no statute of limitations on murder.”
But there is a statute of limitations for rape, and that’s long past, Sophie thought. That meant they couldn’t be brought up on charges. Not even if Emma was strong enough to face them in a courtroom, or if she had the evidence to back her accusations. A nightmare and years of treatment for depression sure wouldn’t look good for her defense.
She watched Emma as she typed the fellow’s name into the computer. Three different possibilities came up, but with only a few keystrokes, Emma found the Dallas who had gone to school at the same college that she did. His obituary said that he had died five years ago during a robbery in an illegal gambling establishment owned by one Terrance Farnsby. Just a little more research and they found out that Terrance had been sentenced to five years in prison and had died six months before his term was up.
“I hope they didn’t do that to any other girls, but thank God I didn’t kill anyone,” Emma sighed. “But it was so real in the dream.”
“Since that part isn’t real, is there a possibility that the rest isn’t?” Sophie asked.
“No, that’s what happened,” Emma answered. “I remember the details now—the satin sheets, the pain, and all of it. Now that I’m thinking rationally, Mother would have said I was stupid and irresponsible to get myself in that situation, and then she would have asked me if I’d been leading them on by wearing inappropriate clothes.”
“Nothing could make me madder or sadder or . . .” Sophie’s voice cracked. “Or make me want to shoot someone myself than thinking about what was done to you. You trusted your friend, and he betrayed you. The first time you went to a guy’s apartment, he molests you. You don’t trust your mother enough to tell her what happened. I’m so sorry this happened to you, but I’m most sorry that I wasn’t there to help you through this.” The waterworks turned loose, and Sophie sobbed. “No woman or girl should ever have to endure something so horrible. Please remember, none of this is your fault.”
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