“Oh, honey.” Sophie tried to take in Emma’s rambling that jumped from cupcakes to housekeepers, and just the idea that her friend wasn’t thinking straight put tears in her eyes. “That’s not the reason we left, and you did nothing wrong. Your mother thought your father was having an affair with my mother. Mama tried to tell her it wasn’t true, that she would never do that, but Victoria wouldn’t listen and told her to get out.”
Emma’s eyes filled with tears, too. “I’m sorry. I always thought Rebel was sent away because of me. Why would Mother do that?”
“You don’t have to apologize. You and I did nothing.” Another wave of guilt washed over Sophie for not trying harder to stay in touch with her friend. She was beginning to think maybe Rebel was right about Victoria driving Emma crazy so that she could have attention for taking care of a delicate child. That didn’t sound like her, though. She didn’t want to take care of anyone but herself. She would have an agenda, but what could she gain by treating Emma like she did? Why would a mother do that to her own child?
“Mother told me once that she had never wanted children. Maybe she was ashamed of me because I wasn’t strong like her,” Emma said.
“I wouldn’t know about that, but you are going to get strong while you’re here,” Sophie said. “How’d your conversation with her go? I guess not well, since you murdered your phone.”
“She said she was sending Jeffrey to bring me home. I told her that I was staying right here. I’ll need to use the house phone or yours to call her each night. She gets really angry if I don’t call, and she’s horrible when she’s mad,” Emma said.
“You can use anything that’s here anytime you want, but why did you destroy your phone?” Sophie brought her cake to the living room and sat down across from Emma.
“Because it has a tracker app on it so she can see where I am every minute. I skipped out on a therapist visit a long time ago and spent the day in the park,” Emma explained between bites. “I just wanted some time to sit and think without her telling me what to do and when to do it. That was the last time I got to go off on my own. I’m ready to get well, or at least I think I am.”
“You don’t really have to call Victoria every night unless you want to,” Sophie said.
Emma thought about that for a while and then shook her head. “I don’t guess I do.”
“That’s up to you,” Sophie said. “And you can use either of the phones anytime you want. I talked to my mother tonight, too, but I’ll have to call Teddy tomorrow.”
“Why?” Emma was still working around the idea of not talking to Victoria every evening.
“Because of the time difference. Over in France, it’s about seven hours later than it is here,” Sophie answered. “I’ll call in the morning when it’s just early afternoon there.”
“Are you going to marry him?” Emma polished off the last of her cake. “We always said we would be married to our art, not a man.”
“We were just kids back then,” Sophie said, “and neither of us had much in the way of a positive outlook when it came to marriage, but Teddy and I might never get married. We don’t need a marriage license to know that we are committed. We’ve been together for ten years. We love each other, and we’re fine the way we are.”
Besides, he deserves someone a whole lot better than I can ever be, Sophie thought.
Emma shivered. “I’m never getting married, but when I build my tiny house, I want a cat.”
“Then you’ll have one,” Sophie said.
Chapter Three
Sophie awoke the next morning at dawn, made a hasty trip to the bathroom, and then pulled on a pair of denim shorts under her ragged nightshirt. She stopped in the kitchen long enough to put on a pot of coffee, peeked into Emma’s bedroom door to find Coco curled up beside her, and then eased out the front door. No one was up and around yet, so she quickly unloaded all her painting supplies into the living room and then called Teddy.
“Hey, my gorgeous girl. I love you, and I miss you, too,” he said.
“Hey, right back at you,” Sophie said.
“I miss you so much, darlin’. I feel like half of my heart is in Texas with you, but we’ll be together soon. Hey, I just got confirmation five minutes ago that everything is now in London and will be stored in a climate-controlled room until the showing.”
“Thank God,” Sophie said. “I always rest easier when I know the art has arrived.”
“Don’t worry, darlin’. It’s all there, and nothing can go wrong now. In a few months everyone in Europe will be itching to buy your paintings. So, how are things in the desert?” he asked. “You always do your best work when you’re in that area. We should retire there someday.”
“I’d love that,” she said.
“Got to go. The assistant is waving me in to talk to this gallery owner. Wish me luck,” Teddy said.
“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.”