Hummingbird Lane

by Brown, Carolyn

  “How do you know that?” Nancy asked.

  “Because Sophie wouldn’t hurt me,” Emma said.

  Nancy lowered her voice. “Someone hurt you. How does that make you feel?”

  “Like I’m drowning,” Emma answered. “I can swim. Mother made sure I had swimming lessons, so . . .” She shrugged.

  “Do you want to remember?” Nancy asked.

  “No,” Emma whispered.

  “Why?”

  “Mother wouldn’t be happy. When she’s not happy, she’s . . .” Emma turned her head to look out the window.

  “She’s what?”

  Why couldn’t Nancy be content with that much? That was more than she’d admitted to the other therapists.

  “Will you tell me more about Sophia?” Nancy shifted tactics.

  “She was my friend in elementary school, back when I got to attend public school.” Emma’s intention today was to talk so that Nancy would sign the papers for her to be released. This wasn’t her first rodeo or her first visit to a mental institution. She knew she had to give this woman something or she’d never get out of the place.

  “You’re sure she didn’t hurt your feelings?” Nancy wrote something on her pad.

  “I called her Sophie, and she called me Em. Mother hated for anyone to call me by a nickname, so we were careful when she was around. Sophie and her mama, Rebel, were my . . .”

  “Your what?” Nancy looked up from her notepad.

  “They were more like my family than Mother and Daddy,” Emma answered.

  “Let’s talk about them, then,” Nancy said.

  “Sophie’s mama, Rebel, was our cleaning lady, and sometimes she babysat me when Mother had an appointment. I always loved the name Rebel. It sounded so free to me, something I was never allowed to be. Those were my happy times.” Emma turned her head and stared out the window again. The cardinals were flitting around on the redbud tree, flirting with each other among the purple blossoms. Spring had arrived—a time for new growth.

  “Go on,” Nancy murmured.

  “Sophie and I were going to be artists. We colored in books together when we were little girls, and when we got a little older, we drew our own pictures in sketchbooks.” Emma held her hands tightly in her lap. If Nancy saw her twisting them, she would never get out of this place. “Mother didn’t allow me to play with Sophie except when her mama brought her to our house. We weren’t even supposed to be friends at school, but we were.”

  “Why?” Nancy had a soothing voice, not at all like the therapist who had come to the house once a week. That woman’s voice had a raspy tone, and she always smelled like the peppermint candy she used to cover up her cigarette breath.

  “Rebel didn’t have a husband. Mother said she was low class and Sophie would grow up to be just like her,” Emma said.

  Break-through. Breakthrough. Emma could almost feel the terms emanate from Nancy. She had seen that look—one of excitement—on other therapists’ faces in other places she had been put these past years.

  “Where is Sophie now?” Nancy asked.

  “Everywhere,” Emma said. “She’s a famous artist. Funny, isn’t it? She didn’t have a daddy, and her mama worked as a maid, and she’s famous. My mother is one of the richest women in Texas, and look where I am.” Emma paused and watched a sparrow fly up into the top of the redbud tree. “Do you ever wonder why God made the male species so pretty and the females so plain?”

  “We were talking about Sophie,” Nancy said. “What does she look like?”

  “She was about my size the last time I saw her, but when we were kids, I grew faster than she did. Mother gave her my outgrown clothes, but not after she fired Rebel. Sophie has blonde hair and big blue eyes. You told me to think of happy times, so I did,” Emma answered.

  “Tell me more about that.” Nancy seemed to be all ears. “Describe one of those happy days for me.”

  “Sophie and I were lying on a quilt in the backyard under the weeping willow limbs. We were working with sketch pads and glitter pens. It was a hot summer day, and we had to be careful that the sweat on our hands didn’t ruin our pictures. I sketched a calico kitten and made it look as realistic as possible. Sophie drew a lizard and colored it purple and yellow and red. I told her that lizards weren’t that color, and she said that artists could make their pictures any way they wanted them. Rebel didn’t come to work for us anymore after that day. Sophie and I stayed in touch when we could, but . . .” Emma shrugged. “That was my last happy time, so I thought about that lizard today.”

  “How did it make you feel?” Nancy asked.

  “Like I was in a cage without a key,” Emma said.

  “Why?” Nancy whispered.

  “Because my mother fired Sophie’s mother and hired tutors for me to be homeschooled. She said that she didn’t want me around the riffraff that went to public or even private schools, and nothing was ever the same after that.” Emma shrugged again.

  “Why was it never the same?” Nancy asked.

  “Because Sophie was gone, and I was lonely, and I couldn’t make Mother happy no matter how hard I tried.” Emma sighed. “I begged Mother to let Sophie come to the house and be tutored with me. She said no, and when Victoria Merrill says no, we do not argue with her. I loved my art teacher, but I hated not getting to go to school with other kids, especially Sophie. We talked a few times on the phone, but Mother caught us talking once, and she got very angry. She changed the phone numbers and fired all my tutors. The next week I had different ones. We didn’t make Mother angry in our house. I didn’t see Sophie until we went to college, when we reconnected a few times even though we went to different colleges.”

  “How did you reconnect if you went to different colleges?” Nancy asked.

  “I saw Rebel at a bakery, and of course, I asked about Sophie. Rebel gave me her phone number, and I called her. That next Sunday, when we got together for ice cream, it was like old times, and we talked about everything.” Emma almost smiled at the memory.

  “What happened then? Did your mother—”

  Emma held up a palm. “No, the Christmas holiday happened. I went home and . . .” Emma felt the world closing in on her. Her chest tightened, and she began to wring her hands.

  “You went home for the holiday and never went back to school, right?” Nancy asked.

  Emma nodded.

  Nancy looked up from her notepad. “What happened right before that? Did someone hurt you? Did Sophie upset you?”

  Emma crossed her arms over her chest. “You asked me that before, and I already answered it. Sophie would never hurt me.”

  “Did someone else? If so, did you tell Sophie about it?”

  How could she answer that when she couldn’t remember what had happened just before Christmas? “I didn’t talk to Sophie anymore when I went home. Mama wouldn’t let me. She said that Sophie was the cause of my problems.”

  “How did you feel about that?” Nancy asked.

  Why did they always ask how she felt about something? Did they really expect her to explain how she had been so sheltered at home that when she was thrown out into the real world, she felt like she’d been tossed overboard from her daddy’s boat without a life jacket? Her chest tightened more, and she felt a panic attack coming on.

  Think about lizards. Think about lizards. She repeated the phrase over and over in her head until her breathing returned to normal.

  She inhaled to her toes and let it out slowly. “College was tough. I wanted friends, but I hated to socialize. Mother made me promise not to touch liquor or drugs, so parties made me nervous. If I didn’t drink, then I was a nerd. If I did, I knew I’d feel guilty,” she answered.

  “So, how did you handle it?” Nancy asked.

  “Mother would have disowned me for doing what they were doing, so I was basically ignored.” Emma stopped and stared out the window.

  That was enough for one day.

  “Let’s talk some more about Sophie,” Nancy pushed.

&nb
sp; Emma didn’t want to talk anymore, but she forced herself to say, “She had to work her way through college. No way could she afford to attend the place my folks sent me to. She went to the University of North Texas in Denton. That’s where I wanted to go, but oh, no, I had to attend the most prestigious art school in the whole state of Texas.” Emma yawned. “I’m tired now, but I’m fine, really, I am. Are you going to tell Mother what I said?”

  “You can tell me anything, Emma, and I’m bound by confidentiality laws to not tell anyone without your written permission. Is there something else you want to talk about?” Nancy asked.

  “When Mother made me sign the papers to check me into this place, she knew stuff that I only told the therapists. She knew I had trouble sleeping at night, that I hate the feel of satin, and that I get nauseated when I see a white fur rug. She answered all the questions on the admission forms and even told them that men should stay out of my room. How did she know that if someone didn’t tell her?” Emma asked.

  “I won’t tell Victoria anything that you tell me. I feel like we’re making progress, Emma. I’m glad Sophie and Rebel were in your life. Do you feel that they were the only ones who ever loved you?”

  Emma almost smiled again. “That isn’t a feeling. That’s the truth. Thank you for not telling Mother we talked about them. She told me that if I ever mentioned Sophie’s name again, she would put me in a place like this and never let me come home.”

  “Why would you want to go home?” Nancy asked.

  “Once a week,” Emma whispered.

  “What’s once a week?” Nancy’s pen made a scratching noise as she wrote.

  “This . . . ,” Emma answered. “I only have to talk to a therapist once a week at home. Mother knows what I tell her”—she lowered her voice—“because there’s cameras in my room.”

  “Which is worse?” Nancy appeared to shudder. “Talking to me every day or no privacy at all?”

  “I want neither. I want to live in a tiny house by myself, take walks through a park, and watch the birds. That’s what I want,” Emma answered.

  Nancy checked her watch. “One more thing before I go. How did your father feel about your mother taking Sophie away from you?”

  “Daddy does whatever Mother says. She says she didn’t get what she wanted in a husband or a child—that both of us are spineless and have the personality of milk toast.” Emma put her hands over her eyes for a moment.

  “I think we’ve done a lot of good today. You get some rest now, and before I come in tomorrow, will you try to remember what it is that you have buried in your memories? Until you face that problem, you won’t ever be able to get over it or live in a tiny house all by yourself.” Nancy took her notebook and eased the door closed behind her as she left.

  Why doesn’t anyone ever slam a door in this place? Emma wondered. She could almost hear the scratch of Nancy’s pen again and could imagine what she was writing on the other side of the door: We had a major breakthrough today. Maybe tomorrow we will get to the root of this problem and she’ll talk about her repressed memories.

  “Think about the good times,” Emma said as she forgot about a nap and turned her attention back to the redbud tree outside her window. “I wish I had colored the cat black with red eyes. An artist can do whatever they want. Sophie said so.”

  Sophie slammed a pillow over the ringing telephone. Whoever was on the other end had better hope they were a hundred miles away from her if they didn’t hang up soon. The noise stopped and she went back to sleep, but five minutes later, it started up again. She rolled over in bed, threw the pillow against the far wall of her loft apartment in downtown Dallas, and, without even opening her eyes, answered the phone.

  “Sophie, darlin’, did I wake you?”

  Her eyes popped wide-open at the sound of her mother’s voice. “Yes, but is everything all right?”

  “Everything is fine here,” Rebel said. “I just came home from my water aerobics class at the YMCA. I’ve got two houses to clean today, but I had a few minutes to call you. I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “No problem, and like I’ve told you a gazillion times, you don’t have to clean houses anymore. I’m putting enough money in your checking account each month that you can retire.” Sophie covered a yawn with the back of her hand. She’d been up until dawn, putting the finishing touches on a landscape painting with the Dallas skyline in the background.

  “Honey, you might need that money someday,” Rebel said. “And like I’ve told you a gazillion times, I would go bat-crap crazy if I didn’t work. Now that we’ve beat that dead horse some more, do you remember Emma Merrill?”

  “Of course I do. Please don’t tell me something horrible has happened to her.” An icy-cold chill chased down Sophie’s spine. She hadn’t talked to Emma in years—not since that first semester of college. Then she had heard that Emma had decided not to go back to college. When Sophie tried to call her, she got Victoria instead, and the woman had given her a tongue lashing.

  “Depends on what you mean by ‘happened to her,’” Rebel said. “I go to my aerobics class with the lady who cleans for her mother these days. She said that Emma is in Oak Lawn Wellness Center somewhere over around Fort Worth. Anyway, my friend Annie said that she overheard Victoria talking on the phone and saying that they were going to put her in a permanent-care facility. I guess she’s been in and out of places like that since she came home from college after the first semester.”

  “What in the world? Why would they do that?” Sophie shoved back the covers and slung her legs over the edge of her bed. Something horrible must have happened for Emma to give up on her artist dream. Hoping that Emma might be the one to answer the phone, Sophie had tried to call her one more time after Victoria’s outburst. That time she got a recording saying that the number was no longer in use or had been changed.

  “Seems she can’t shake this depression she’s been in since she quit college,” Rebel said. “I thought you might want to go visit her before you leave to go down to south Texas. I loved that little girl and felt like we had deserted her. If Victoria’s not there, y’all might get to spend a little time together.”

  “You shouldn’t feel that way.” Sophie opened her packed suitcase and threw in a few more items. “Victoria fired you. If anyone deserted her, I did. I gave up trying to get in touch with her when I should have marched up to that house and demanded that they let me talk to her.”

  “Victoria would have never let that happen, and honey”—Rebel paused—“I would have said no if Emma had talked Victoria into paying your tuition back in the day so that you could have been tutored with her.”

  “I had no idea that Emma tried that,” Sophie said.

  “Me either, until Annie told me a few weeks ago. It was water under the bridge, so I didn’t mention it to you before now. Victoria was ranting about the fact that if Emma had never known you, she wouldn’t be in the shape she’s in now,” Rebel said.

  Tears welled up in Sophie’s eyes. “What did I do that would put her in a mental institution?”

  “Victoria says that Emma depended on you for everything and that when you deserted her, she was never the same,” Rebel answered. “We both know that’s a crock of bull crap. We were kicked out of Emma’s life. We damn sure didn’t leave her because we wanted to, but there’s no telling what Victoria told her.”

  “Emma never mentioned anything like that when we met those few times that first semester of college, but, Mama, I’m glad I went to public school,” Sophie said. “I’m just sorry that Emma couldn’t have been there with me. The few times she called me after we couldn’t go to her house anymore, she told me that she hated not getting to go to school. I’ll go see her this morning and give you a call afterward.”

  “Better let me call you this evening. You know how these rich folks are about their maids talking on their time.” Rebel laughed.

  “Yes, ma’am, I surely do,” Sophie agreed. “Love you. Don’t work too hard.”

&nbs
p; “Never happen,” Rebel said. “Love you, too.”

  Sophie laid the phone on the end table and checked the time. Straight up twelve o’clock noon. She wasn’t one to work on a schedule. If she really got into painting, she might get up at dawn and work until noon. If she decided to paint a night scene, she might not go to bed until sunrise, which was the reason she had slept until noon that day.

  As she got dressed, she did the simple math. If she spent thirty minutes with Emma, she could still be moving into her place near Big Bend National Park before dark. She loved that area and for the past several years had rented a little two-bedroom trailer in the Hummingbird Trailer Park, aptly named because it was located on Hummingbird Lane.

  “I’m going to tell her that there’s no way I deserted her, no matter what Victoria says,” Sophie said as she closed her suitcase, threw a few more items into a tote bag that held her toiletries, and took one last look at the loft. Bed made. Dishes all done and put away. The last three pictures she had painted were covered with canvas. The rest of the past year’s work—all thirty paintings—had already been shipped to London. They would travel from there to Paris and then to Rome for her gallery tour. Her boyfriend, Teddy, was over in Europe now, taking care of all the details, but he would be home in a few weeks.

  She locked the door behind her, picked up her bags, and carried them across the hall to the service elevator. The thing moaned and groaned so badly every time she got into it that she held her breath and hoped that it didn’t crash and burn with her. When it reached bottom, she went out through the back door of the old building to her SUV and loaded her things. She checked her collection of canvases of every size, brushes, paints, and equipment one more time before she closed the back hatch and got behind the wheel.

  With noonday traffic, the twenty-minute drive from her place to the wellness center took over an hour. Now she wouldn’t arrive at the trailer park until suppertime, and that was if she didn’t stop for a snack in the middle of the afternoon. She parked in front of the fancy facility with its fancy sign and its perfectly manicured lawns and flower beds and wondered how much money Victoria had shelled out to get her daughter into the place. Before she got out of her vehicle, she sent Josh, the trailer park owner, a text asking him to turn on the air-conditioning in her place sometime around six that evening. Then she used the rearview mirror to reapply lipstick, shook her long blonde hair out of its ponytail, and took a deep breath before she swung the driver’s side door open.