“But the nightmares are so vivid.” Emma shivered. “It’s like I’m living it all over again, only this time I’m not drugged, and I woke up as I was stumbling down the stairs. Mother was waiting at the bottom of the steps, and she told me that she wished I’d never been born, that she never wanted kids and I’d been the biggest disappointment of her entire life.”
Sophie gave her a gentle squeeze. “Was there anything new about this dream? Tell me the details.”
“I bent over at the waist and threw up on her shoes. When I woke up, I barely made it to the bathroom before . . .”
“What would your therapist say?” Sophie asked.
“She would ask me how it made me feel.” Emma’s hands trembled, so she held them together so tightly that they began to ache. “I feel like I did when I was twelve years old.”
“What happened then?” Sophie asked.
“I was pouting because I couldn’t go to school with you.” Emma’s memory was so vivid that she felt the same knot in her stomach that she had had that day. “That was the first time she told me that she had never wanted kids. I was brazen enough then to ask her why she had me,” Emma said.
“And?” Sophie pressured.
“She said that her mother had told her if she didn’t have a child by the time she was thirty-five so it could take over the business . . .” Emma cocked her head to one side and drew her brows down so tightly that her head hurt. “Why am I remembering this now?”
“Keep talking,” Sophie said.
“My grandmother said that if Mother didn’t have a baby, she would leave everything to a charity when she died,” Emma answered.
“So, Victoria got married and had you.” Sophie removed her arm, stood up, and extended a hand toward Emma. “Let’s go to the living room where it’s more comfortable.”
Emma was glad for the helping hand, because her knees still felt like jelly. Sophie led her to the living room, got her settled on the sofa, and then went to the kitchen. She poured two glasses of sweet tea and got a box of crackers from the cabinet.
“I’m not pregnant.” Emma managed a weak smile.
“No, but after throwing up, this will settle your stomach without irritating it,” Sophie told her. “Now tell me more about when you were twelve years old.”
“Mother was so mad at me,” Emma said. “She never raised her voice, but she could cut steel with a whisper. She said that she tried to produce a decent heir for my grandmother, but that I was going to be like my worthless father.”
“Why did she marry him if he was so worthless?” Sophie asked.
“Because having a child out of wedlock would have been a disgrace. My grandmother held the purse strings, so Mother found a husband and had me. My grandmother died when I was three. I never knew her, but she left a big chunk of money in a trust fund for me.” She stopped and took a sip of tea. “You know what happened to that.”
“And you’re supposed to inherit the company?” Sophie asked.
“I’m not sure. Mother had me sign a whole raft of papers when I first came home from college. She was impatient and just kept flipping the pages and telling me to sign here and here. I didn’t even have time to read them. I wouldn’t be surprised if the company is off the table completely by now. Do you think maybe this was her plan all along? To declare me mentally incompetent to get back at my grandmother for making her have me?”
“Knowing Victoria, I wouldn’t put it past her,” Sophie answered. “And while we’re talking about her, she can’t just take your inheritance from you. If the company is set up to go from daughter to daughter, then it will be yours. And I’m going to talk to my lawyers about her freezing your accounts. That’s just not right.”
Emma didn’t care about the company or the trust fund. In her life money had only brought about bad decisions and unhappiness. “Thank you, but I’m not sure I even want the company. At twelve, I just didn’t want to have tutors and be homeschooled. Now I realize what a horrible life my father has lived, and why I never liked the idea of power and money.”
“Why did he marry her?” Sophie asked.
“Mother found him in the mail room at the company. He never knew his birth family and was raised in foster homes,” Emma answered. “Now that I’m not on meds, things are clearing up. He must have wanted a place in the world. She needed a husband to produce a child, and he was also a little way to get back at her mother for insisting that she get married.”
“But there’s that huge picture of them on their wedding day hanging over the mantel,” Sophie said.
“Mother said that was Grandmother’s idea. All the women in the family had their picture taken on their wedding day and hung it in the living room,” Emma said. “I’d forgotten all this until now. Why would it come back to my mind tonight?”
“Because you dreamed that Victoria was in the hallway when you left Terrance’s apartment. You are like your dad. Neither of you ever felt wanted.” Sophie opened up the sleeve of crackers and handed a couple to Emma.
“But I wanted Mother’s approval, right? By letting myself get lured into Terrance’s apartment, that made me pretty dumb in her eyes.” Emma sighed. “I wish it could be over, Sophie.”
“So do I, but it’s a slow process. I bet that sounded like your therapists for sure, didn’t it? Do you think she really would have blamed you? Rebel would have wanted to strangle those guys if that had happened to me. Hell’s bells, she would still want to murder them for doing it to you,” Sophie finished.
Emma nodded slowly. “I don’t feel like I ever pleased her with anything, so yes, she would have that attitude if I’d told her about the rape. In the dream, I dropped to my knees and begged her to forgive me, but she just walked away and left me there. But we should be getting to bed. We’re going to paint rain tomorrow.”
“Hey, I can stay up all night, sleep until noon, and then paint if you want to talk,” Sophie offered.
“I’m fine.” Emma said the familiar words, but she couldn’t believe them herself—not yet, anyway.
Chapter Nine
The sound of rain on a metal roof reminded Sophie of the trailer that she and her mother had lived in when she was a little girl. She’d especially loved the weekends, when she and Rebel would curl up under one of Granny Mason’s handmade quilts and watch old movies. Sophie pulled the covers up to her chin and pretended she was back in that trailer.
If she had had a daughter, would they have been in the living room watching movies that morning? She tried to picture what a daughter would have looked like when she was seventeen. Would she have dark hair and dark eyes like her father, or would she have been a blonde with blue eyes like Sophie? Like Victoria, Sophie had not wanted a child, but unlike Victoria, she would have loved her baby.
Her phone rang and brought her out of the past and into the present. She knew it was Rebel by the ringtone and answered it with, “Good morning, Mama. Is it raining in your part of the state?”
“The sun is shining here. Happy late Easter. Annie threw a little party for our cleaning lady club. My phone was in my purse, and so I missed your call. Did you hunt eggs with your artist friends?” Rebel asked.
“Yes, I did,” Sophie answered, “and Emma and I talked about the year when you let us color a dozen eggs and then hid them for us. We decided that was one of our favorite memories.”
“How’s she doing?” Rebel asked.
“I can’t talk about it. She told me in confidence,” Sophie said.
“Told what?” Emma peeked in the bedroom. “I’m going to make coffee. Want some eggs for breakfast today?”
“This is Rebel. She asked how you were doing, and I’m good with cereal,” Sophie answered.
Emma gave her a nod. “You can tell Rebel. I’m okay with it.”
“Mind if I put it on speaker?” Sophie asked.
“No, I don’t want to talk just yet. Tell her that I love her, though.” Emma turned around, and in a couple of minutes, Sophie could hear rattling dishes.
“She’s had a couple of horrible nightmares,” Sophie replied and then went on to tell Rebel the whole story.
“I’m so sorry that she had to endure that awful experience.” Rebel’s voice cracked. “I hope it doesn’t damage her for life. She was so sheltered. No wonder she’s been in and out of centers all this time.”
“She painted a gorgeous picture yesterday. I think she’s going to be the next big thing—only in small pictures.” Sophie told her about Emma’s love for tiny houses and how she wanted to do paintings to decorate them.
“At least she’s got a dream now,” Rebel said.
“Mama, did you ever wish that you hadn’t gotten pregnant and had a child to support all on your own?” Sophie blurted out.
“No! Good Lord, Sophie, why would you ask that?”
Sophie sucked in a lungful of air and let it out slowly. “Victoria told Emma that she never wanted children. I just wondered if you felt like that, especially when you found out you were raising me with no help.”
“No, I didn’t.” Rebel’s tone was blunt. “I had help. My mother came and stayed with me for six months after you were born. Then I got a few jobs cleaning houses where they didn’t mind me bringing you with me. Honey, you were my best friend, even as a baby and a toddler. Don’t ever feel like you upset my dreams or my life. You’ve always been a blessing.” Rebel chuckled. “Back that up. You were a little monster from the time you were about fifteen until you graduated, but I just figured I was payin’ for my raisin’. Your grandmother Mason said I was the same way.”
Sophie closed her eyes and smiled. “Thank you, Mama.”
“No, darlin’, thanks go to you for completing my life,” Rebel said. “On that note, I’ve got to get ready for work. It’s Monday, and today I’ve got two houses to clean. I’m sorry Emma grew up knowing that she wasn’t really wanted. Give her a hug from me.”
“Will do, and love you,” Sophie said.
“Right back atcha, kid,” Rebel said and ended the call.
Sophie stared at the ceiling for a long time. If she was given the chance at having another child, would she be a good mother? She could never be like Victoria and almost despise her child, but would she be a loving one like her own mother? No answers came floating down from the ceiling, so Sophie laid the phone aside, crawled out of bed, and followed her nose to the kitchen, where she smelled coffee brewing. Emma had already set up painting equipment on the bar and had roughly sketched in a cardinal sitting on the porch rail. Sophie stopped by the barstool where she was perched and gave her a brief hug.
“What’s that for?” Emma asked.
“Surviving that horrible nightmare, and this one is from Mama. Thank you for letting me talk to her about it.” She gave her another hug and headed for the coffeepot, poured herself a cup, and then topped off Emma’s. “Looks like the weatherman was right and we’ll be inside today.”
“I loved Rebel’s hugs, and I’ve always trusted her.” Emma smiled. “Daddy gave good hugs, but”—she frowned—“I don’t remember Mother ever hugging me at all. Do you think that if I ever do come out on the other side of all this and become a mother, I’ll be like her?”
“Of course not. If either one of us ever has kids, we’re going to be like my mother.” Sophie hoped with all her heart that she was telling the truth and that neither of them wound up acting like Victoria.
“I hope so.” Emma didn’t ever want to bring into the world a child who would feel the way she did. She had given up on ever thinking that she could alter herself so that her mother would love her like Rebel loved Sophie. Yet, somewhere deep in her heart, she wished that Victoria would change.
“I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to make a breakfast burrito,” Sophie said. “Want me to make you one?”
“Love one.” Emma started to move the paints.
“We can eat on the sofa and open the door a crack so we can smell the rain,” Sophie told her.
Emma slid off the barstool and opened the glass door a little. “I love the sound and the smell of rain.”
“Me too,” Sophie said. “I wish we could paint the smell of a good rainstorm.”
Emma carried her coffee to the living room and sat down on the sofa. “As real as your pictures are, I can feel the warmth of the sun coming off that one, so I bet I could smell rain if you work on one like that today.”
“You give me way too much credit. I see you’re doing a cardinal, but not a male one.” Sophie tilted her head toward the small canvas on the bar.
“The female needs to be recognized,” Emma said. “She lays the eggs, sits on them, takes care of the babies. She should be recognized, and besides, I found a tiny feather on the porch yesterday from the lady bird to work into my picture. It was an omen for sure. I’m painting it with a very faint rainbow in the background to show that we have to endure the rain if we want to have the rainbow.”
Sophie handed her a paper towel and a burrito. “You are a walking example of that.”
“Do you really think I’ll ever get to see the rainbow?” Emma sighed and dabbed at the single tear finding its way down her cheek.
“Yes, you will.” Sophie sat down on the end of the sofa. “You are going to have lots of rainbows in your future, and many pots of gold at the end of them.”
“I don’t even care about the gold. I just want the rainbow, because to me that will mean that all this rape stuff is finally over. But I don’t want to talk about that today. What are you going to paint?” Emma asked.
“I’ve decided to do a long, thin picture today—just a slice of the mountain and maybe a yucca plant in the foreground with rain falling on the bloom.”
A rap on the door startled Emma so badly that she almost dropped her burrito. Then the door opened and Filly dashed in without an invitation. She had cut a hole in a black garbage bag for her head and one in each side for her arms. She carried a pan across the living room and set it on the cabinet, and then she removed the garbage bag and tossed it in the trash can.
“I brought cinnamon rolls for y’all’s breakfast. I need some inspiration for my jewelry this morning. Nothing seems to appeal to me. What are y’all working on?” She poured herself a cup of coffee and carried it to the rocking chair that had been shoved back in the corner so Sophie could set her painting up to dry.
“Emma is going to paint a mama cardinal in the rain, and I’m thinking about doing one of the mountain that’s in that picture”—she pointed to the one that was finished and drying—“but mine will have a big yucca in the foreground in this one, and where that one has the sun peeking over the mountain, this one will have rain.”
“I knew I could find something to kick me in the butt and get me going if I came over here. I never thought of painting rain on my rocks. Maybe three rocks on one necklace,” Filly said. “Dark clouds, rain, and then a rainbow.”
“Sounds beautiful. Those cinnamon rolls smell wonderful,” Emma said. “Have one with us.”
“I plan on it,” Filly said. “I’ve got a question for you, Em. What made you decide to be a flower child like me?”
“Remember what you said about cracking the eggs so we can get to the heart of things?” Emma asked.
Filly sipped her coffee and nodded.
“This has always been the real me.” Emma shrugged. “I was closed up in a shell until Sophie rescued me, and now I’m coming out, kind of like that little yellow peep I painted on one of my eggs.”
“Or like a caterpillar in a cocoon?” Filly asked.
“That’s right. Now one for you. What made you a hippie child?” Sophie asked.
“I was born one,” Filly answered. “Remember that I told you I grew up in a carnival?”
Emma nodded. “I always wondered what it would be like to grow up in one of those. Rebel’s mama lived in one when she was growing up. She told us about it one time when she was at our house. I met her one time when she came to clean our house with Rebel. I thought she was beautiful, and I loved her name. I
s a carnival kind of like a commune?”
“If you live in a commune, you pretty much stay in one place. A carnie is someone who travels with the fair. My mama was the fortune teller. Daddy was the lion tamer. I grew up on the move for nine months out of the year,” Filly told her.
“That sounds so exciting.” Emma couldn’t even imagine such a lifestyle, not with her fears and social problems, but to grow up wild and free would be like living in heaven.
“It was life,” Filly said. “We were kind of like a commune when we wintered down around Texas City for three months. That’s when we repaired the equipment and got things ready to go again in the spring. That’s also when I started gathering small rocks and making jewelry. Mama sold it for me in her fortune-telling wagon. She put all the money up for my college.”
“Did you go to college?” Sophie asked.
“Hell, no! I took Mama’s place as a fortune teller when she retired. When I got tired of doing that, I came here and kept on doing what I love, which is designing jewelry.” Filly finished her coffee and went back to the kitchen, where she dished up cinnamon rolls for all three of them. “I’ve always been what you see right here, except that I could read your palm and tell your fortune.”
“For real?” Emma’s heart skipped a beat. “Could you do it right now?”
Sophie moved over to the bar and held out her hands. “Would you read mine right now, too?”
“Be glad to.” Filly moved into the living room and patted the sofa. “Come and sit right here beside me.”
Sophie left the barstool and sat down beside Filly.
“All right, first thing is that you place your hands on this pillow”—Filly laid a throw pillow in Sophie’s lap—“and relax. Then what I’m going to do is take your hands in mine and feel your skin, gently, like this.” Filly held both of her hands and rubbed the tops and then the palms. “You have medium skin, probably coming from the higher aspect of your heart, and that’s what makes you a good artist. Now I’m going to squeeze your hands from side to side. Your hand has bounce to it. That means you have energy.”
Hummingbird Lane Page 14
