Filly was setting disposable bowls and a loaf of her homemade bread on the table. She wasn’t any taller than Arty, and from the day Josh had bought the trailer park, she’d been his surrogate grandmother, friend, mother, and favorite aunt all rolled into one person. She had braided her hair into two long plaits that hung over her shoulders and wore her usual flowing skirt and T-shirt—from her part-hippie heritage, she said. Her given name was Ophelia, but no one called her that, not even Leo, the buyer from the local gift store who came by once a month and picked up Arty’s metal pieces, Filly’s jewelry, and Josh’s drawings. She was Filly to everyone, and Josh loved her.
The chocolate sheet cake on the other end of the wooden picnic table was still warm enough that a little steam floated above it. Josh took a deep breath, drawing in all the mixed aromas.
“This sure looks good. Thank y’all for cooking for us every evening,” Josh said.
“We all got to eat, and it’s hard to cook for one,” Arty said. “Besides, Filly would starve plumb to death if I didn’t cook.”
“No, I wouldn’t. I might die of a sugar overload, but I wouldn’t starve,” Filly argued. “I love to bake, but cookin’ ain’t for me.”
“Together, y’all make a great team.” Josh smiled.
“We all make a great team.” Arty dished up the chowder. “I made plenty in case Sophie hasn’t eaten when she gets here.”
“So, what did you work on today?” Filly asked after Arty said a simple prayer over their meal.
“I finished up that old oil derrick.” Arty pinched up a thick slice of bread and dunked it into his chowder. “This one is three feet tall. I’m going to make one about a third that size next, and then before our buyer arrives, I’ve got a mind to make a lizard.”
“Big or little?” Josh asked.
“Maybe a foot long. I saw a lady on the television last night that had a chameleon brooch about that size on her sweater. Dang thing looked like it was crawlin’ right up to her shoulder. Hers had all kinds of fancy jewels on it, but it set me to thinkin’ about makin’ one. If women are usin’ them for jewelry, they might buy one to set on their coffee table, too,” Arty answered.
“Hell’s bells, Arthur.” Filly shook her finger at him. “Ain’t you realized yet that folks buy your art to put behind glass doors in them fancy cabinets and treat it like an investment? They pay enough money for those pieces that they aren’t going to put them on a coffee table to get dusty. Most of them brag to their friends that they own a signed Art Crawford metal piece.”
“Ophelia!” he shot back at her. “Don’t call me Arthur.”
“If you call me by my birth name again, you’ll go without dessert for a week. You know I hate that.” She shook her spoon at him.
“Not as bad as I hate Arthur.”
“Shh . . .” Josh put a finger to his lips. “I hear a vehicle.”
“Maybe it’s Sophie,” Filly said.
“One can only hope.” Arty glared at Filly. “I’m ready for a fresh face around here. She won’t be as hateful as you are.”
“Now, honey, you know I love your chowder even if I did call you Arthur.” Filly giggled. “Besides, you called me Ophelia.”
“You did it first,” Arty said.
“I hope it’s not someone who’s just going to turn around and go back,” Josh whispered. When Sophie was there, or when the other three trailers were filled with their winter snowbirds, things always went smoother at the supper table.
“Yay!” Filly clapped her hands. “I can see the license plate on the front of her car. Our Sophie has come home for the summer.”
The silence between them was comfortable, but during the last hour of the trip, Sophie had continued to question her decision to practically kidnap Emma and take her to an almost wilderness existence. What-ifs circled around in her mind like a hamster on an endless wheel. Emma had lived in the lap of luxury her whole life. What if she hated living with the bare essentials in a small two-bedroom trailer house? Victoria had dressed her in the best that fashion had to offer—what if she hated wearing Sophie’s clothing? What if living in a world of cactus and wildflowers depressed Emma even more and she needed medicine?
Whoa! Hold your horses! Rebel’s voice in her head was loud and clear. You saw where Emma was living and what she was wearing. I’d say what’s more important than physical things right now is that you are going to try to help her get her head on straight.
“Yes, ma’am,” Sophie whispered under her breath.
The sun had begun to drop below the mountains in the distance, leaving nothing but an orange glow over the tops of the six trailers arranged in a semicircle around a huge live oak tree that shaded a picnic table and benches. When Sophie parked in front of the first trailer on the right, Emma took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“This is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. Is this your trailer?” Emma whispered.
“This is home for the next couple of months.” A heavy what-if load lifted from Sophie’s shoulders. “The trailer is old, but Josh keeps it well maintained.”
“It’s perfect,” Emma said. “It reminds me of a tiny house.”
Sophie smiled. “It kind of does, doesn’t it? Are you ready for supper?”
Emma dropped her chin to her chest and shifted her eyes from one to the other of the two people who’d left the table. “Would it be rude if I scrounged through the cabinets and maybe got a bowl of cereal or a peanut butter sandwich and met them all tomorrow?”
“Not one bit. You are in charge of what you want to do while you are here,” Sophie answered. “That’s Filly and Arty coming this way, and Josh is sitting at the table.”
Filly was dressed as usual in a long, multicolored, flowing skirt and a T-shirt that had been belted in with a hot-pink scarf. She was barefoot, and her braids flopped around as she ran toward the vehicle. A rim of gray hair circled Arty’s bald head, and he wore his usual flip-flops, bibbed overalls, and faded T-shirt. Their smiles and open arms said they were as glad to see Sophie as she was to see them.
Emma’s eyes darted around like those of a bunny who had been caught in a circle of coyotes, and she started wringing her hands again.
Sophie’s chest tightened. Maybe she’d done the wrong thing by breaking Emma out of prison. She inhaled deeply and shook off the doubts. She had to try to help her or she couldn’t live with herself.
“You just sit tight for maybe five minutes, and then we’ll go inside.” Sophie laid her hands on Emma’s. “It’s going to be all right. I promise. Remember what I told you. You are in control here. You make your own decisions.”
She got out of the SUV and hugged Filly and then Arty. “My friend Em is in the car, and she’s going to be staying with me. She’s pretty tired, so I think we’ll go on inside and get unpacked.”
“Sure thing,” Filly said, “but she’s welcome.”
“Any friend of yours is a friend of ours,” Arty told her.
“I’ll just get her inside, and then I’ll be out for supper,” Sophie whispered in Filly’s ear.