“Physical pain or mental?” Sophie asked.
Emma frowned as if she was trying to remember, and then she put a hand on her thigh and one on a breast. “It was real pain, not in my head. I felt like my chest was bruised, and my legs hurt so bad.”
“Did Victoria finally snap and hit you?” Sophie asked.
“No.” The frown got even deeper. “She rules with an iron hand, but it’s through manipulation, not violence. I was so mad when I first got back to my apartment, and I did really paint that picture. In our art class we were supposed to do something with kind of a sci-fi theme for our final grade. I don’t like that kind of thing, so I asked the professor if I could do a cloud like an angel. He must have agreed, because it was right there on the easel in my apartment. I had to have already showed it to him and gotten a grade on it, because that was the last thing I had to do before the semester ended,” Emma said. “When I slashed it all to pieces, I cut my hand on the knife. I couldn’t go back to the hospital or Mother would be angry with me. She was quick to send me away to one institution after another, but she never wanted to take me to the emergency room. If I got sick, she called a doctor to come to the house.”
“You said back to the hospital,” Sophie said. “Why were you at the hospital originally?”
Emma shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t think I was injured, but I had a fear of going back, so I laid down on the floor and cried myself to sleep.”
Sophie covered the bottom of a platter with chips, poured nacho cheese over them, and added sliced jalapeño peppers to the top. Then she popped the whole platter into the microwave to warm the cheese and thought about what Emma had told her. That had to have been the night that something terrible had happened. She carried the platter of nachos out to the porch and set it on the plastic table between the two chairs.
Emma picked up a chip and popped it into her mouth. “Why would I be wearing scrubs in the dream, and why was I crying? I don’t think I hated the picture that much.”
“Maybe you’re mixing two different times into one memory or dream.” Sophie sat down and reached for her first chip. A wave of worry washed over her. Was she about to hear something that meant Emma needed more help than Sophie could provide?
“I don’t think so,” Emma said. “I’ve worn blue and pink scrubs in centers, but never gray. When a person is a depressive, gray isn’t a good color for them.”
“You picked up a lot of stuff not to have gotten much help in those facilities,” Sophie said.
“I guess I did. But until now”—Emma took a sip of her beer—“it’s hard to explain, but somewhere down deep inside, I know something had happened right before I slashed the picture, and it wasn’t right. The therapist who came to the house after I ran away that day told me that I had something like post-traumatic stress disorder and wanted to know if I’d been hurt or abused. Other than Mother’s constant need to control me, I couldn’t think of anything but those nightmares and the need to get away from a big house. I think that I’m afraid to remember because I know it’s going to be painful. Not hurt like when I felt like my chest and legs hurt, but that mental stuff that might put me into a place I can’t ever get out of. Right now, it’s in a box and locked away.”
“What changed your mind about wanting to get past all this and live an ordinary life?” Sophie didn’t care if Emma’s normal was more like Josh’s, as long as she was happy.
“You did.” Emma flashed a smile that reached her eyes. “You cared enough to march into that room and rescue me.”
“Why do you think you were so mad at the angels in the clouds?” Sophie hoped like hell she wasn’t pressing too much.
“Because painting was my salvation and my escape from Mother, and something took it away from me,” Emma said between bites. “I don’t know why she let me out on a leash rather than hiring more tutors for my college education, but it was wonderful to be free. And I even got to see you a few times. I wouldn’t have done anything to jeopardize that, so something must have happened that I couldn’t face.”
“Were you dating someone?” Sophie asked. “Did y’all break up or something?”
“I didn’t date in college,” she replied. “I was never sure how to act around guys. After I was discharged from the first place Mother put me in, she made me go out with a guy that was a son or a nephew”—she frowned again—“of one of her friends. I can’t remember the connection, but she said he was wealthy and rather nice-looking, and I needed to think about getting married and producing an heir for the business like she did.”
“So, Victoria wanted you to have an ‘heir’ for the business, did she? That sounds so like her.” Sophie air quoted the word heir.
“It seemed strange to me, too. She’d constantly told me that I was too shy to ever marry, and then there she was pushing me toward this guy . . .” Emma gasped.
“What?” Sophie asked.
“She just did that to prove that I wasn’t capable of a relationship, didn’t she?” Emma asked.
“What happened on the date?” Sophie wondered if Emma’s state of mind had more to do with Victoria than anything else. Rebel had been right when she called it Munchausen by proxy, only instead of making her daughter sick, Victoria had done her best to drive Emma crazy. She must hate her daughter a lot to do that to her, or else she was just a manipulative bitch who didn’t want Emma to have the company when Victoria either retired or died.
“He tried to kiss me good night, and I had a panic attack,” Emma answered. “Then Mother told me that she knew I wouldn’t be able to handle a date, and that I would be seeing the therapist twice a week from then on.”
Sophie stood up, rounded the small table, and wrapped Emma up in her arms. “I wish you had run away and come to live with me and Mama.”
“Me too,” Emma said, “but Mother would have found me, and she would have been so mad.”
Sophie went back to her chair and together they finished off the nachos in comfortable silence.
“You cooked lunch. I’ll get dessert. I saw some Fudgsicles in the freezer.” Emma picked up the empty plate and carried it inside with her. “Tell me more about your college stuff. Did you ever slash a picture into ribbons?”
“Nope, not one time.” Sophie giggled. “But I have to admit I thought about it more than once when I couldn’t get the effect I wanted.”
Emma returned and handed Sophie an ice cream bar. She sat down and took a bite of hers. “Whatever happened is right there at the edge of my mind, but I can’t grasp it. Maybe it wasn’t meant for me to remember. Maybe I’m just supposed to find happiness without the memories.”
“When it’s time, it will come to you. Your mind is probably waiting until you are strong enough to face it,” Sophie told her. “Did you have a car accident? Maybe that’s why you were in gray scrubs. You had a bad wreck. They had to cut your clothes off at the hospital, and they sent you home in scrubs.”
“My car was just fine. I drove it home, but Mother traded it in for a new one,” Emma answered.