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 one, 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.