“Everywhere,” Emma said. “She’s a famous artist. Funny, isn’t it? She didn’t have a daddy, and her mama worked as a maid, and she’s famous. My mother is one of the richest women in Texas, and look where I am.” Emma paused and watched a sparrow fly up into the top of the redbud tree. “Do you ever wonder why God made the male species so pretty and the females so plain?”
“We were talking about Sophie,” Nancy said. “What does she look like?”
“She was about my size the last time I saw her, but when we were kids, I grew faster than she did. Mother gave her my outgrown clothes, but not after she fired Rebel. Sophie has blonde hair and big blue eyes. You told me to think of happy times, so I did,” Emma answered.
“Tell me more about that.” Nancy seemed to be all ears. “Describe one of those happy days for me.”
“Sophie and I were lying on a quilt in the backyard under the weeping willow limbs. We were working with sketch pads and glitter pens. It was a hot summer day, and we had to be careful that the sweat on our hands didn’t ruin our pictures. I sketched a calico kitten and made it look as realistic as possible. Sophie drew a lizard and colored it purple and yellow and red. I told her that lizards weren’t that color, and she said that artists could make their pictures any way they wanted them. Rebel didn’t come to work for us anymore after that day. Sophie and I stayed in touch when we could, but . . .” Emma shrugged. “That was my last happy time, so I thought about that lizard today.”
“How did it make you feel?” Nancy asked.
“Like I was in a cage without a key,” Emma said.
“Why?” Nancy whispered.
“Because my mother fired Sophie’s mother and hired tutors for me to be homeschooled. She said that she didn’t want me around the riffraff that went to public or even private schools, and nothing was ever the same after that.” Emma shrugged again.
“Why was it never the same?” Nancy asked.
“Because Sophie was gone, and I was lonely, and I couldn’t make Mother happy no matter how hard I tried.” Emma sighed. “I begged Mother to let Sophie come to the house and be tutored with me. She said no, and when Victoria Merrill says no, we do not argue with her. I loved my art teacher, but I hated not getting to go to school with other kids, especially Sophie. We talked a few times on the phone, but Mother caught us talking once, and she got very angry. She changed the phone numbers and fired all my tutors. The next week I had different ones. We didn’t make Mother angry in our house. I didn’t see Sophie until we went to college, when we reconnected a few times even though we went to different colleges.”
“How did you reconnect if you went to different colleges?” Nancy asked.
“I saw Rebel at a bakery, and of course, I asked about Sophie. Rebel gave me her phone number, and I called her. That next Sunday, when we got together for ice cream, it was like old times, and we talked about everything.” Emma almost smiled at the memory.
“What happened then? Did your mother—”
Emma held up a palm. “No, the Christmas holiday happened. I went home and . . .” Emma felt the world closing in on her. Her chest tightened, and she began to wring her hands.
“You went home for the holiday and never went back to school, right?” Nancy asked.
Emma nodded.
Nancy looked up from her notepad. “What happened right before that? Did someone hurt you? Did Sophie upset you?”
Emma crossed her arms over her chest. “You asked me that before, and I already answered it. Sophie would never hurt me.”
“Did someone else? If so, did you tell Sophie about it?”
How could she answer that when she couldn’t remember what had happened just before Christmas? “I didn’t talk to Sophie anymore when I went home. Mama wouldn’t let me. She said that Sophie was the cause of my problems.”
“How did you feel about that?” Nancy asked.
Why did they always ask how she felt about something? Did they really expect her to explain how she had been so sheltered at home that when she was thrown out into the real world, she felt like she’d been tossed overboard from her daddy’s boat without a life jacket? Her chest tightened more, and she felt a panic attack coming on.
Think about lizards. Think about lizards. She repeated the phrase over and over in her head until her breathing returned to normal.
She inhaled to her toes and let it out slowly. “College was tough. I wanted friends, but I hated to socialize. Mother made me promise not to touch liquor or drugs, so parties made me nervous. If I didn’t drink, then I was a nerd. If I did, I knew I’d feel guilty,” she answered.
“So, how did you handle it?” Nancy asked.
“Mother would have disowned me for doing what they were doing, so I was basically ignored.” Emma stopped and stared out the window.
That was enough for one day.
“Let’s talk some more about Sophie,” Nancy pushed.
Emma didn’t want to talk anymore, but she forced herself to say, “She had to work her way through college. No way could she afford to attend the place my folks sent me to. She went to the University of North Texas in Denton. That’s where I wanted to go, but oh, no, I had to attend the most prestigious art school in the whole state of Texas.” Emma yawned. “I’m tired now, but I’m fine, really, I am. Are you going to tell Mother what I said?”
“You can tell me anything, Emma, and I’m bound by confidentiality laws to not tell anyone without your written permission. Is there something else you want to talk about?” Nancy asked.
“When Mother made me sign the papers to check me into this place, she knew stuff that I only told the therapists. She knew I had trouble sleeping at night, that I hate the feel of satin, and that I get nauseated when I see a white fur rug. She answered all the questions on the admission forms and even told them that men should stay out of my room. How did she know that if someone didn’t tell her?” Emma asked.
“I won’t tell Victoria anything that you tell me. I feel like we’re making progress, Emma. I’m glad Sophie and Rebel were in your life. Do you feel that they were the only ones who ever loved you?”
Emma almost smiled again. “That isn’t a feeling. That’s the truth. Thank you for not telling Mother we talked about them. She told me that if I ever mentioned Sophie’s name again, she would put me in a place like this and never let me come home.”
“Why would you want to go home?” Nancy asked.
“Once a week,” Emma whispered.
“What’s once a week?” Nancy’s pen made a scratching noise as she wrote.
“This . . . ,” Emma answered. “I only have to talk to a therapist once a week at home. Mother knows what I tell her”—she lowered her voice—“because there’s cameras in my room.”
“Which is worse?” Nancy appeared to shudder. “Talking to me every day or no privacy at all?”
“I want neither. I want to live in a tiny house by myself, take walks through a park, and watch the birds. That’s what I want,” Emma answered.
Nancy checked her watch. “One more thing before I go. How did your father feel about your mother taking Sophie away from you?”