“You don’t need luck,” Sophie said. “You’re amazing.”
“Hugs and kisses,” Teddy said—always his choice instead of “goodbye.”
“Hugs and kisses.” She blew him a kiss and ended the call.
“Mornin’.” Emma came out of the bedroom with Coco at her heels. “Do I smell coffee? Where did it come from?”
“Josh and Arty go for groceries every week for the group, and I sent him a list last week so he could stock the place before we arrived. There’s junk cereal, breakfast toaster things in the cabinet, and sausage biscuits in the freezer. Help yourself,” Sophie answered.
“Junk cereal?” Emma asked.
“If you don’t like any of that, there’s eggs to make an omelet and a waffle iron in the cabinet to make our favorite breakfast.” Sophie chose a canvas and locked it down in her easel. “Remember when Mama made us waffles and let us put strawberries and whipped cream on top?”
“After Rebel left, I never got them again, but this morning I want junk cereal.” Emma headed to the cabinet and took down a box. “I especially like this one. I don’t get this kind of stuff at home. Hazel usually makes me a smoothie with lots of kale.”
“That sounds horrible.” Sophie shuddered.
“It is, but Mama says it’s good for my delicate condition,” Emma said.
“Well, you don’t have to drink that green garbage here.” Sophie shook her head and changed the subject. “We’ve got a lot of catchin’ up to do. Do you still like country music?”
Emma shrugged. “Don’t know. Haven’t heard anything but classical since I came home from college. Is George Strait still your favorite?”
“Probably, but now there’s Blake Shelton, Alan Jackson, and a whole raft of others that I love just as much,” Sophie said. “How long has it been since you heard Simon and Garfunkel—or Sam Cooke and Etta James? When we were in the sixth grade, you were the nerdy one who liked jazz.”
“College.” Emma answered in one word as she poured chocolate-flavored cereal into a bowl and added milk. “I listened to whatever I wanted in college and ate what I wanted, but that all changed when I went back home. Mother said that if I had to listen to music, it should be something that calmed me . . .” She shrugged. “Like I said, we do what we must to keep her happy.”
Sophie poured herself a bowl of cereal and headed out to the porch. “Why did you go home, anyway?”
“I don’t know. I just remember that I couldn’t stay in college, but let’s don’t talk about that today. Those were sad days. I just want to enjoy this beautiful day. I’m going to eat outside, then take a walk. Is that all right?” Emma carried her cereal outside and sat down in one of the chairs.
“How old are you, Em?” Sophie asked.
“You know the answer to that,” Emma said. “Why are you asking?”
“Because you keep forgetting that you don’t have to ask me for permission about anything. There’s food in the cabinet and the fridge. We eat at night with the others, but you don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable. You can take walks, sit on the floor while you eat, sleep with Coco—everything is up to you. But if you’re going for a walk, don’t forget to take one of my hats with you. Your pale skin will burn pretty quickly,” Sophie told her.
“Making my own decisions is hard for me to even imagine.”
Sophie quickly swiped a tear away from her cheek with the back of her hand. After spending less than a day with Emma, she could never—not in a million years—tell Rebel how much she appreciated her upbringing.
Emma wondered if it could have been the chocolate cake that kept her from having the recurring nightmares the night before. Or was it the fact that she was so far away from that big mansion of a house and her overbearing mother, or even the many centers she’d been sent to for more than a decade? Whatever happened, it sure was nice to sleep all night without drugs and horrible dreams. If it was because she’d arrived at Hummingbird Lane, then Emma didn’t ever want to leave the place.
She wondered about those things as she watched Sophie get her palette ready. Emma rubbed Coco’s fur with her bare foot and enjoyed eating sugared-up cereal for breakfast. When her bowl was empty, she set it down on the porch so Coco could drink the milk. “I wonder how much land sells for out here.” She dropped a hand and rubbed the cat from her head to the end of her tail. “I like this place, and I would only need a little bit of ground to build a tiny house on.”
“I don’t have any idea,” Sophie answered. “Josh might be able to tell you what he spent on this place. I think I overheard Arty say that it’s about two miles out to the mountains, and Josh owns all the land between here and there. Why do you want a tiny house?”
“Because I can see all around it, and no one can hurt me. I hate big houses, and I really hate satin sheets.” Emma picked up the bowl, took it to the kitchen sink, and rinsed it before putting it into the dishwasher. “Is it really all right if I borrow a T-shirt?”
“Why do you think you hate big places and satin sheets? And of course you can use any of my things,” Sophie answered. “There’s also underwear in my dresser drawer, but I don’t think you can wear my bras. We’ll share what we can for the next couple of days until we can get an order for whatever you want sent here.”
“Big fancy places, bigger than Mother’s house, are where I am in the nightmares. I’m on a higher floor, and I’m really scared. I’m trying to find my way down to the lobby of the building, but my feet are like lead. They are hard to move,” she answered. “I told my first therapists about the dream, but that evening Mother said it was a sign that I had too many problems to live alone. My apartment was on the third floor when I was in college.”
“Do you think that’s what it means?” Sophie asked.
Emma giggled. “You sound like my therapist. I’ve tried to figure out what it means, but the only thing I can come up with is that I felt like I was a prisoner no matter where I was. Mother had all the control, and I had nothing. I want to get away, but I can’t because I’m too stupid to take care of myself.”
“That ends here. You are not stupid, and you’re going to take care of ordering yourself some new clothing right now.” Sophie handed her phone to Emma. “We can get whatever we need by mail in only two days.”
“Are you serious? The mailman comes this far out into the boonies?” Emma asked.
“Rain, hail, sleet, or snow—isn’t that what we read about in elementary school?” Sophie grinned.
“That was the Pony Express. They don’t ride horses out here, do they?” Emma thought about Jeffrey always bringing in the mail and putting it on the credenza in the foyer. Victoria took care of it when she came home each day. For a while, Emma made it a point to beat her mother to the foyer so she could see if she had something personal—like a letter or a note from Sophie or Rebel—but when nothing came, she even gave up on that.
“Strange as it may seem, we’re only about five miles from a small post office. We do have to drive about forty-five minutes to get to a grocery store, though,” Sophie answered. “But for now, let’s do some shopping. Just thought of a question first, though. You had a phone. Why didn’t you at least listen to music or else watch movies on it?”
“The cameras in my room had audio,” Emma answered. “Mother said they were for my own protection since the therapist at the first center was concerned that I might be suicidal.”
“Were you?” Sophie asked.
“Nope, but now that I’m away from there even for a day, I’m wondering why I wasn’t.” Emma pulled up a shopping site and sighed. “What do I order? I’ve never done this. Mother picks out everything for me.”
“Start with underwear. You won’t need a lot since we have a washer and dryer here in the trailer. Then move on to jeans, shorts, and whatever else takes your eye. Just put it in the cart and then we’ll complete the order.”
Emma sat back down in one of the chairs, typed “bras” into the search engine, and picked out a pretty lacy o
ne, but she didn’t know what size she wore. She laid the phone down and hurried inside, checked the one she’d worn the day before, and then went back out. “Crazy, isn’t it? I have no idea what sizes I wear.”
“What did you wear at home?” Sophie asked as she started to do a rough sketch of the mountains.
“Slacks, sweaters, shirts—unless I was going to the beauty shop, and then I had to be dressed up,” Emma answered.
“What do you want to wear?” Sophie asked.
“Don’t laugh at me, but I liked what Filly was wearing last night. Long flowing skirts and sandals. I think I might have been a fortune teller in another life,” Emma replied.
“Then order whatever will make you feel good when you wear it,” Sophie told her.
“What do you like to wear?” Emma asked as she scrolled through the site.
“I have two pair of bibbed overalls I’ve cut off to make shorts that I wear when I paint. I can wear one and wash one, so I only need a couple, and I can use the pockets for my brushes. I have the normal little black dresses for gallery showings, and seasonal things for when Teddy and I go out to eat. From now until then, that will be sundresses and Filly’s jewelry. I always buy at least two or three of her pieces while I’m here.” Sophie sketched as she talked.
Emma’s chest tightened again when she thought of what her mother would say if she saw the virtual cart loaded with lacy bras and bikini underwear and the skirts and tank tops. Victoria would tell her that hookers dressed like that and that her daughter was a dignified woman. She almost deleted everything and went back to start all over with sensible bras and white underpants, but then she heard Sophie’s words—loud and clear in her head—about making her own decisions.
A screen popped up asking for her shipping address.
“What’s the address here?” Emma asked.
“That would be Hummingbird Trailer Park, Hummingbird Lane #13, Terlingua, Texas, 79852,” Sophie answered.
Emma held her breath as she punched in her credit card information next and let it out in a whoosh when she finished.
She pressed the “Submit” button. A screen immediately popped up that said her credit card was invalid. She couldn’t remember the last thing she’d bought with it, so the card company was probably just being super careful. She laid the phone aside, went to her room, and got the actual card from her purse. Using the landline, she called the number on the back and found that her card had been closed as of that morning.
“Mother is really in control of my life,” she groaned.
Sophie poked her head inside the open doors. “Did you say something to me?”
Emma slid down to the floor and put her head into her hands. “Mother has shut down my credit card and probably frozen my bank account.”
“How can she do that?” Sophie asked.
“She insists on being on all my accounts. What money I have comes from what my grandmother left for me. I didn’t get a job while I was at college. The interest goes into my checking account each month and Mother’s name is on the account as well as mine since I’m . . .” Tears spilled down Emma’s cheeks. Her newly found freedom had only been a pipe dream.
Sophie picked up her cell phone, poked a few buttons, and said, “There, I fixed it.”
“How?” Emma asked without raising her head.
“I used my credit card.” Sophie shrugged and went back to work.
“I can’t let you do that,” Emma said.
“The wrong time to tell someone that they can’t do something is right after they’ve already done it.” Sophie came into the living room and sat down beside Emma. “You gave me all those beautiful hand-me-downs when we were growing up. I’m just repaying the debt.”
“B-but . . . ,” Emma stammered as more tears flooded her cheeks.
Sophie slung an arm around Emma’s shoulders. “There are no buts in friendship. Your things are ordered, and you will be beautiful when they arrive. And, honey, it’s tough to shut off a grown-up’s credit card, so we’ll check into this.”
“Sophie, you don’t understand.” Emma tried to suck it up, but it felt so damn good to cry that she gave up and sobbed like she hadn’t done in years. “I have maybe a hundred dollars in my purse. I can’t begin to pay . . .” She buried her head in her hands and wept.
“I guess you’ll have to find a job or make something to sell.” Sophie motioned toward all the art supplies stacked in the corner of the living room. “The buyer comes out here every few weeks to get Filly’s, Arty’s, and Josh’s work. Produce something that will interest him, and you won’t need to depend on Victoria for anything.”
“I haven’t touched brushes since . . .” A flashback of the last painting she had been working on came to Emma’s mind.
“Since when?” Sophie pressured.
“I went to my apartment . . .” She frowned. “The night I went to my apartment and used a knife from the kitchen to slash my painting.”
“Why did you do that?” Sophie asked.
“I have no idea. The vision just came to me in a flash. My therapists say I have repressed-memory syndrome. Something happened that I won’t remember, but I just now remembered cutting that picture all to pieces,” Emma answered.
“What was the picture? Landscape? Portrait?” Sophie pulled her closer to her side.
“White clouds that looked like the snow angels we made one winter when we were little girls. Sunshine behind them and wheat fields ready for harvest on the ground below them,” Emma answered as she stared at the picture in her mind’s eye. “I was so angry about something that I destroyed the picture.”
“What did you do then?” Sophie asked.
“I don’t remember much past that. The next thing that comes to mind is being in an institution. Nancy would call this a breakthrough,” Emma said as she reached up over her head and picked up the phone from its base.
“Who are you calling?” Sophie asked.
Emma’s hands shook, and her insides quivered. This was Friday. Jeffrey would be driving her mother to get her weekly massage and facial at this time, so Emma called her cell phone number.
“Hello, who is this?” Victoria asked.
“It’s Emma.” The acrid taste of chocolate cereal mixed with stomach acid stuck in her throat, threatening to come up at any second, but she swallowed it down. Another vision popped into her head. She was leaning over the side of a bed covered in satin sheets and throwing up all over a white fur rug. She didn’t ever remember being in that room before. Was that the reason she hated the feel of satin?
“Are you ready to come home?” Victoria asked. “If not, we have nothing to talk about.”
Was this tough love? Emma wondered as she punched the speaker button. Knowing that Sophie was close by and could hear gave her the courage to go on. “Why did you cancel my credit cards? Did you freeze my bank account, too? How am I supposed to live?” she blurted out.
“If you want to make your own decisions or depend on Sophia to make them for you, then you can figure that out on your own. I’ll be damned if that gutter child gets a dime of my money,” Victoria told her.
“But that money is from Grandmother,” Emma said. “It’s my money, not yours, and Sophie is a famous artist. She doesn’t need my money.”
“Don’t sass me.” Victoria raised her voice an octave. “When you came home from college in a mental mess, we thought it best to let me handle your affairs, including the money that my mother left you. You should have stayed in the wellness center until I could find you a nice place where you could get help the rest of your life.”
“You were going to send me away forever?” Emma whispered. “Has this been your plan all along? To finally convince everyone that I had lost my mind and needed to be put away?”
“It was for your own good. You would have other people who had problems like yours to visit with in group therapy every day, and folks who could take care of you. Your father is retiring this summer, and I’m planning to sell the company.
You would never be able to run a huge corporation, so why keep it? We sure can’t leave you alone to fend for yourself, especially while we travel, and you’re not in any shape to go with us,” Victoria told her. “We would come and visit you often in your new assisted-care center, and we would bring you home for Christmas. When you wake up from this folly and return to us, we will take you to see the place. It’s really quite pleasant.”
“So, the bottom line is come home and get locked up somewhere for the rest of my life, or stay where I am with no money?” Emma asked.
“I don’t like your tone,” Victoria said, “and Jeffrey is parking now, so I should be going.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” Emma was amazed that she hadn’t thrown up.
“Why should I? You know the answer, but to make things perfectly clear, yes, Emma, that’s the bottom line. Call me when you want Jeffrey to come and get you, or else be independent and make your own decisions with no money. But that’s not your choice forever: you’ve only got a few weeks to make up your mind, and then I’ll fix it so you can’t come home again—ever. I suppose I can reach you at this number in case of a dire emergency?” Victoria asked.
“That’s right.” Emma felt her chin start to quiver and pursed her lips to make it stop.
From the sound of a car door opening and slamming and Jeffrey’s voice saying something about returning in two hours, Victoria must have been going into the salon. “Like I just said, this is not an open-ended offer. Understand me when I say that you only have four weeks to come home, or else I will transfer all your money into my account.”
“I think that’s called theft,” Sophie said.
“I expect that’s Sophia. She’s always been a thorn in my side. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s not your half sister. Goodbye.” Victoria ended the call.
Emma threw the phone across the room. “She’s lost it, Sophie. She’s crazy, and I’m the sane one. Looking back, I think she’s planned this from the time I was twelve years old, or maybe from the day I was born. How could I not have seen this sooner? Even if Rebel and Daddy were having an affair, you were already born by then.”
Hummingbird Lane Page 6
