Hummingbird Lane

by Brown, Carolyn

  A butterfly lit on the cactus and seemed to be staring right at her. If she could ever have wings to fly, she had to put the past behind her and pick up the brush. With trembling hands, she chose the smallest brush, dipped it in the pink paint, and outlined the cactus on the small canvas.

  “What did you finally decide to work on?” Josh asked after the first hour.

  “See that pink cactus right here?” She pointed and then turned what little she had managed to do around for him to see. “There was a butterfly on it, but I want to give the buyers something special, so I intend to hide the word hope in every painting.”

  “That’s pretty amazing,” Josh said.

  “I thought of it when that butterfly lit on the cactus. It was so delicate, and yet it has the strength to survive. Sophie rescued me, and y’all have taken me in. That gives me hope in humanity again, so I want to pay it forward in my art. Does that even make sense?” she asked.

  “It’s as clear as a summer sky to me,” Josh said and continued working on his eagle picture.

  His drawings and Harry’s generosity had sure enough given him wings to fly, so he understood Emma’s reasoning all too well. If a little butterfly could talk her into painting again, she might get to feeling better about herself.

  “Thank you for understanding.” She made eye contact with him and smiled.

  “Takes an artist to know an artist,” he said. “Those are Arty’s words, not mine. When I first bought the trailer park, it wasn’t with the thought of ever selling my drawings.”

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Arty saw one of my pieces when I was working on the back porch and talked me into letting Leo look at it.” Josh shrugged. “And that was the beginning of my career. Are you going to let Leo see what you’re doing?”

  “I’ll have to think about it,” Emma said. “I’ve never sold anything before.”

  “First time for everything,” Josh said. “I’m living proof of that.”

  The sun was straight up overhead when Josh brought two bottles of water out of his backpack and handed one to Emma. “We should take a break and have a snack.”

  She dug down into her backpack, found two apples, gave him one, and then twisted the top off her water and took a long drink. “Can I see what you’ve done?”

  He turned around his drawing, and she gasped. “That’s breathtaking. It’s like that eagle is coming right at me and his eyes can see right into the depths of my soul.”

  Josh’s chest puffed out a little at her praise. Sure, Arty and Filly told him all the time how talented he was, and Leo always brought news of how he was considered an up-and-coming pen-and-ink artist. His neighbors were both artists, but there was something special about hearing it from Emma.

  “Thank you.” He felt like kicking the dirt like a little boy who had just gotten a compliment. “There’s a lot of feeling in that thing you’re doing, too, Emma. You work those oils like magic.”

  “Hope overcomes darkness,” she whispered as she bit into her apple.

  “Amen,” Josh said.

  Sophie had just finished eating a peanut butter sandwich and had twisted the top off a beer at noon when her phone and the landline both rang at the same time. Worried that Emma might need her, she let the answering machine pick up the one and answered the other.

  “Hey, darlin’,” she said when Teddy’s face popped up. “Where are you today?”

  “I’m finishing up over here and flying home tomorrow. Things went better than we could have ever hoped for. We’re booked for four shows. I should be picking you up the middle of next week. We’ll be staying in Del Rio for a day before we fly to London. We’ve got a lot to talk about,” he said.

  “Do I need to make reservations in a hotel?” she asked.

  “Nope, we’re staying in a house this time,” he said.

  “Sounds wonderful to me,” she told him. “What are we going to talk about, other than me saying that I love you a hundred times a day?”

  “Lots of things,” Teddy said. “Will Em be all right without you for a whole week?”

  “I hope so. I’m leaving her in good hands, and I’ll call her several times a day,” Sophie answered. “I’ve missed you more this time than any other, and I’ll be counting the days until you get home.”

  “I like that word, home,” Teddy said. “I’m so ready to wake up with you beside me every morning. I’ll tell you one thing we’re going to talk about is that I’m not taking any more of these trips alone. A month at a time away from you is too much.”

  “It sounds like you’re ready to make a lot of changes.” Sophie had thought their relationship had settled into a routine. A short burst of panic made her chest tighten. She didn’t want things to change—what if he wanted to get married and start a family?

  “Oh, honey, I am, and I think you’re going to love what I’ve got in mind,” Teddy said. “I’ll be there with you as soon as I wrap up things here. Love you.”

  “Love you more,” she said as he ended the call.

  She carried her beer out to the porch, set it on the table, and picked up her palette, but she flat out couldn’t make herself work. She had hated surprises since she got hit with that positive pregnancy test all those years ago, and Teddy was about to spring a huge one on her. She could feel it in her bones.

  “Why do we have to change?” She put the palette aside and sat down. “Everything is fine the way it is.”

  She finished her beer and then paced up and down across the porch. Time stood still as she worried about whatever had Teddy so excited. Time was running out if they were going to have children. If they did, what would that do to her career, and what kind of mother would she be anyway? She’d felt relieved when she lost her baby. Was that a sign that she shouldn’t be a mother? She went from thinking about that to worrying about Emma. She had just figured out that she had been raped. Would she really be all right if Sophie left her alone for a few days? Some friend she was—rescuing Emma and then not being there with her. “Filly will help me out and keep her company, and Josh and Arty are here. It’s not like I’m leaving her totally without support.”

  But none of them know about the rape, the annoying voice in her head shouted. You didn’t think this through when you kidnapped her, did you?

  “Hush!” She put her hands over her ears and then caught a movement in her peripheral vision. Josh and Emma were almost back to the porch, and she hadn’t gotten anything settled. She glanced down at her phone and could hardly believe that it was already four o’clock.

  “Well? How did the day go?” she asked when they made it to the porch.

  “I got my eagle’s eyes done right,” Josh answered and headed on down the path to his trailer.

  “And I painted, too. It took every bit of my willpower to do it, but I got one tiny picture done today.” Emma handed it to her. “Be truthful. What do you think?”

  Sophie took it inside and laid it on the bar. “Do you even realize the emotion in this? The dark clouds and then that ray of sun on the butterfly wings, and the tiny dewdrop on the cactus flower. It’s like the hard times are behind you, and the tears have been shed, and wait a minute . . .” She held the picture up to get a better look. “Did you write hope in the butterfly wings? Nice touch. You should do that in all your pictures. It could be your brand.”

  “You’re not just shooting me a line of bull to make me feel better?” Emma asked.

  “I am not,” Sophie said emphatically. “I’m telling you the truth. You haven’t lost your touch. How did you feel when you were painting?”

  “Here comes the therapist again.” Emma went to the refrigerator, got out the milk, and poured a full glass, then brought out the chocolate cookies and sat down at the bar.

  “Whoa!” Sophie grabbed up the painting and took it down the hall. “I’ll just put this on the closet shelf in my room to dry. Coco doesn’t need to leave paw prints on a masterpiece. When I get back, we need to talk.”

  “Yes, m
a’am.” Emma nodded. “But I’m not sure I can put into words just how I felt.”

  Sophie made sure the doors to the closet were closed tightly, and then she went back to the kitchen. She got herself a glass of milk and carried it to the sofa. “Bring the cookies over here so we can be comfortable while you tell me about your first painting in all these years.”

  As she dipped her cookies in the milk and ate them, Emma told her about the emotions, the memories, and what had happened that morning. “Nancy would call it a breakthrough.”

  “That’s exactly what it was. You overcame the fear and the memory. I wish I could overcome the fear of change.” Sophie went on to tell her about Teddy’s call. “I couldn’t paint after he called. I’m afraid of commitment, and I’m scared that’s what he’s going to want—a wife and a family. What if this showing in Europe goes badly? What if . . .”

  “That’s tomorrow’s worry.” Emma laid her hand on Sophie’s shoulder.

  “I’ll be gone for a week. You’re not ready for me to leave you alone. I took you out of that place, and now I’m deserting you. Some friend I am. I thought I’d have more time but they moved the showing up.”

  “I’m not really alone. You’ve brought me to the park. I’ve got Filly and Arty and Josh. You need this trip, and . . .” Emma seemed to be searching for the right words. “It’s scary, but you need to do this, and I would feel horrible if you didn’t. I might fall apart, but if I do, I’ll go see Filly. I promise.”

  “I’ll call every day,” Sophie said.

  Emma gave her a sideways hug. “Just remember what Rebel said. We are strong, and just because there’s an ocean between us doesn’t mean we’re not together in spirit. I want you to go.”

  “All right then, but I’ll still worry.” Sophie nodded.

  “And I’ll worry about you and the showings. I know how important this is for you,” Emma said. “Now let’s talk about something else.”

  “All right. How did things go with Josh? Were you comfortable with him out there?”

  “I really was,” Emma said. “He said that it takes an artist to know an artist, so we have a lot in common even though we work with different things. He’s so good at what he does. His eagle drawing is just awesome. I wasn’t afraid of him. To tell the truth, I was comfortable with him. That’s saying a lot for me.”

  “Yes, it is, and Leo is going to love your picture,” Sophie said. “But even if he doesn’t, I think it’s beautiful, and the fact that you are working again means more to me than what you are working on. It says that you’re taking control of your life again.”

  “I hope so, but it means more to me that you like it,” Emma said. “Tell me about Leo. Is he a big man? Is he going to intimidate me or remind me of Terrance?”

  “You don’t need to be afraid. He’s a big guy, but he’s sweet and has a kind heart,” Sophie told her.

  Emma held her hands tightly in her lap. “Maybe I can give you some money to help with expenses if he buys it.”

  “I told you”—Sophie shook her finger at Emma—“no money is needed. You could have a couple more paintings done by then. You should call your work the Hope Collection. By the end of the year, folks will be buying prints, and your originals will go for big bucks.”

  Emma sat down in one of the red chairs. “That’s dreaming too big for me today, but painting again was liberating. Maybe tomorrow I will do another one, and maybe you can get past this fear of commitment and get something done tomorrow, too. That reminds me—Josh said that it’s going to rain tomorrow. Maybe you should paint the rain and a lightning storm in addition to sunrise and night.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Sophie agreed. “Will you do something with rain, too?”

  “Maybe a bird on the porch rail?” Emma said. “Or a lizard crawling up the porch post and blinking at the raindrops. You do remember that rain, dirt, and clouds are tough to paint, right?”

  “Oh, yeah, but a challenge is good for the soul.” Sophie finally felt a little peace settling the turmoil in her heart and soul. “Let’s get cleaned up for supper. We’ll eat at five tonight so we can have time to make our eggs and hunt them before dark.”

  “Where do we eat when it does rain?” Emma asked.

  “Always at Arty’s place, since he cooks the main meal of the day. Filly brings the dessert then, too. His dining area is quite a bit bigger than any of ours,” Sophie answered. “If you get antsy while I’m away, will you promise that you’ll go talk to Filly? She’s like a grandmother to me, and I know she’ll be here for you.”

  Emma laid her hand on Sophie’s arm. “I can’t promise that I won’t be lonely without you here every day, but I will promise that I’ll talk to Filly if I think I’m having a panic attack.”

  “Let me show you who I always talk to when I get worried or antsy.” Sophie brought out her phone, hit a few icons, and then handed it to Emma. “That’s my Teddy. Those were taken just before he left.”

  “Oh. My!” Emma gasped. “He’s not at all what I thought he would look like. I thought he would be six feet tall, dark, and . . . oh!” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean . . .”

  “Mama had the same impression.” Sophie laughed. “I dated the tall, dark, handsome, sexy, well-built guys in college. Teddy isn’t much taller than me. He’s a little pudgy around the middle and he wears wire-rimmed glasses, as you can see. He likes his ivy hats because his hair is getting thin on top. But, honey, he makes me feel like I’m a queen, and he makes me laugh.” Sophie didn’t tell Emma that one of those tall, dark, brooding guys had gotten her pregnant and failed to even mention that he was married.

  “You mean like a Great Gatsby hat?” Emma asked.

  “Exactly.” Sophie grinned.

  “Well, I’m glad he makes you happy,” Emma said.

  “Oh, he does, and I’m a lucky woman to have him in my life.” Sophie kissed her forefinger and laid it on the picture.

  Filly had boiled two dozen eggs to decorate after supper and had given five to each person in the group except for Arty, who only got four. Oil had always been Emma’s choice of painting medium, but painting a little yellow chicken on an Easter egg with fast-drying acrylics was a lot of fun. She felt a lot like the little peep with its soft yellow down and wide eyes. Even with the obstacles ahead of her in overcoming the ordeal she’d gone through, she had made a start that day. She had popped out of the confinements of the egg and was now holding a paintbrush. She was making her own place in the little artist group—and that made her happy.

  “Why do I get cheated?” Arty asked.

  “Because you hate to paint,” Filly told him, “but you do like to cook, and that ham tonight was delicious.”

  “So was the coconut cake,” Sophie told Filly.

  “Thank you,” Arty and Filly said in unison.

  “Now, do something spectacular on your four eggs,” Filly fussed at him.

  “You want to see artwork?” Arty smarted off. “When I get done with my eggs, you won’t even want to peel them for deviling when we get done hunting them.”

  “Show, don’t tell,” Filly told him.

  Arty dipped his first egg in warm wax and then picked up a small tool that Emma had only seen used for picking out nuts. He carved an intricate lizard on the egg and then dipped it in purple dye. “What do you think of this, Miz Em?” he asked.

  “Oh. My. Gosh! Look, Sophie! He’s made our purple lizard,” Emma squealed.

  “What’s this about a purple lizard?” Arty asked. “I just did that to get a rise out of Filly.”

  “You old fart!” Filly slapped the air at him.

  “Emma and I spent hours coloring in books when we were little girls,” Sophie explained. “One day, she made a calico kitten that was perfectly right, and I colored a lizard purple.”

  “And I told her that lizards weren’t that color,” Emma butted in. “She told me that artists could do whatever they wanted.”

  “That’s right.” Filly glued colore
d stones on her pink egg. “Artists have the rule of the world. We can do whatever we want. If people like it, that’s great. If they don’t, that’s their problem.”

  “Speaking of artists and their rights, Em painted today. She did an amazing picture that y’all have got to see,” Sophie said, and then glanced over at Emma. “Is it all right if I show them your painting?”

  As usual when she was nervous, Emma’s hands began to tremble. Living with her mother had taught her early in life to read people by their body language and expressions. She would know if Arty and Filly thought her work was crap, and she wasn’t ready for that. If she was ever going to sell her work so that she could be independent, then she had to learn to accept criticism, constructive or otherwise. “Sure, but it’s not dry yet,” she finally said.

  “No problem,” Sophie said and jogged from the table to the trailer. In minutes she was back with the small painting in her hands. She laid it down, and everyone leaned in for a closer look.

  Emma sat on her hands, determined not to start wringing them. Everyone stared at the small picture for what seemed like an eternity. She was sure that they were trying to figure out a way to tell her that it was childish—nothing more than a coloring book painting that any six-year-old could have done.

  “That’s about the most powerful picture I’ve ever seen,” Filly said. “It tells a story of a lost soul coming out of the dark and into the light. That dewdrop is a nice touch, and the sunlight reflecting off the butterfly wings is breathtaking with all those dark clouds back behind it. You need to make more of these, Em.”

  The weight on Emma’s heart crumbled into tiny pieces. If Nancy had asked her how she felt, she would have said, “Like the darkness is gone.”

  “Sneaking the word hope into the wings is the crowning glory,” Arty said. “You should put that word into all your paintings to mark them as yours. Folks will go crazy to own a hope painting by MM.”

  “I didn’t see it, but I do now. That makes it even more amazing.” Filly kept staring at it.