When that antsy feeling that someone was close by came over Josh, he put his harmonica away and picked up his sketch pad. A coyote was probably hiding in the copse of young scrub oak trees about fifty yards behind him and trying to decide whether to have Josh for a midmorning snack since he couldn’t find a rabbit. Every hair on Josh’s neck stood up until he glanced up at the rearview mirror of his four-wheeler, which was parked close to him, and saw that it was a dark-haired woman. What would some stranger be doing out here on his land? He’d told at least a dozen developers that he wasn’t interested in selling even one acre of what he owned. Dealing with those people made him nervous, but he could and would say no again.
He squinted until his eyes were nothing but slits before he finally figured out that it was Sophie’s friend Emma. From what Sophie had said, she was an introvert like he was, but he didn’t know much more than that. His mother, a psychologist, and his father, a physician, had had test after neuropsych test run on him from the time he was four years old. The final prognosis was that he was simply one of those smart people who did not adapt to society. His only niche in life seemed to be the pictures that he loved to draw.
That day he was working on a picture of a hawk coming in for a landing. Dark clouds hovered behind the bird with its widespread wings, but there in the pupils of his eyes were the reflections of a sunrise.
Do your homework. Drawing pictures is never going to get you anywhere. His father’s big, booming voice was so loud that he dropped his pen in the dirt and covered his ears.
He was supposed to be their wonder child, but what they got was a kid who didn’t talk until he was four years old, who hated school and wound up liking to spend time with his grandfather and his grandfather’s old buddy Harry more than anything other than drawing pictures.
“Who would have thought that one day my grandfather’s best friend would leave me a fortune? His will said that my dad didn’t need his money since he and my mom were making their own millions. Dad was furious, but he couldn’t do anything about it.” Josh talked to himself as he picked up his pen and gathered up his supplies to push all the internal voices away. “Now I don’t have to listen to my father yell at me.” He got on the four-wheeler and started back to his trailer to make himself a sandwich for lunch. When he got closer, he could see Emma going up the stairs to the back porch of Sophie’s trailer.
Sophie waved at Emma and then went inside to get two longneck bottles of beer. By the time she got back, Emma was sitting on the porch. She set one beer down on the wide porch rail next to Emma and took a long drink from the bottle in her hands.
“How was your walk?” Sophie asked.
“Amazing,” Emma answered. “Did you ever watch Big Bang Theory?”
“Did you? I thought that Victoria . . .” Sophie paused to regroup.
“Sometimes when she was gone, Daddy and I would watch it together in his study. That was one room she didn’t have control over,” Emma said. “Have you seen it?”
“I have all twelve seasons of it on discs,” Sophie said. “I brought those and Castle with me. We don’t get many television stations out here. Why are you asking?”
“Leonard Hofstadter, a character in that show, reminds me of Josh.” Emma slumped down in the chair and picked up the beer, turning it to look at the label. “I don’t drink.”
“Because you don’t like it or because Victoria said you couldn’t?” Sophie asked. “And why does Josh remind you of Leonard?”
“He’s not tall and he’s a little backward, like me. And he wears those black-rimmed glasses and has a square face,” Emma answered. “I don’t know why I don’t drink. Mother insisted that I have a glass of champagne when we had guests one evening. The first sip put me into a panic attack, but maybe it was just something in the champagne that sets me off. Do you think it has something to do with the nightmares?” She stared hard at the bottle in her hand for a moment, then took a sip. “This is pretty good. It doesn’t feel like it’s going to make my chest go into spasms.”
Spasms? Sophie wanted to ask a million questions, but patience was the key here. If Emma was ever going to truly get well, she needed space to figure out things on her own.
“Tell me more about your walk. Did you see anything to paint?” Sophie asked.
“Too many things to count, and it was wonderful to take a walk by myself,” Emma answered. “I have to admit that a simple little bunny almost put me in flight mode, though. I thought for sure Mother had sent either Jeffrey or some medical people to drag me back to Dallas. Everything is different here than back there. I’ve always felt so cooped up there, like I’m being smothered or drowning in deep water. Here I feel free.”
“I’m with you, sister.” Sophie sat down in the other chair. “When I come here, it’s like I’m coming home.”
“I saw Josh and heard him playing a harmonica. The music was beautiful. I wanted to see what he was drawing, but I didn’t want to disturb him,” Emma said.
“Do you like this feeling of freedom? Is it going to help you figure out what happened to make you have these regressed memories?” Sophie asked.
“Repressed, not regressed,” Emma said, “although I suppose they’re both right. About these snowbirds, as you called them. Are Filly and Arty snowbirds? Do they ever leave?”
“No, they’re the permanent residents,” Sophie answered. “There’s three retired couples from up in one of the northern states who come down here for the winter months. They usually arrive in late October and stay through March.”
“Does Josh own all six trailers? If you’ve already told me this, I’m sorry.” Emma took another sip of her beer.
“Yes, he does,” Sophie replied. “His grandfather had a close friend who died a few years ago and left Josh a huge fortune. His parents weren’t happy about Harry giving Josh a big inheritance, but Josh was a grown man and Harry had had no kids, so there was nothing they could do about it. He used part of the money to buy this place. I don’t know a lot about his background, other than he’s super shy and a terrific artist. You’re right about him looking like Leonard and being kind of like that kid. He’s got a kind heart and a sweet nature like the character in the show.” She stood up and started into the house. “I’m going to make a plate of nachos for lunch. Want me to make enough for two?”
“Yes, what can I do to help?” Emma asked.
“It’s a one-person job, so just sit here and enjoy the view.” Sophie went inside but left the sliding glass door open so she could talk to Emma without yelling.
“Sophie, last night I dreamed about that angel picture again. I was wearing scrubs, gray ones, and I never wore that color in any of the centers that Mother put me in, not even once,” Emma said.
“Did you figure out why you were so angry? Or if you ever even painted a picture like that?” Sophie raised her voice above the noise of opening a bag of tortilla chips.
“Not why I was so angry at the world, or even one person. Maybe it was Mother.” She shrugged. “I just can’t remember anything other than hurting . . .”