Before Filly and Arty could turn around, Emma stepped out of the SUV and nodded toward them. Her face had lost what little color it had, and her voice trembled. “Sophie told me about all of you. I’m very glad that she invited me to spend some time here.”
“We’re glad to have you. We got clam chowder for supper,” Arty said.
“And chocolate cake,” Filly added.
“That sounds delicious, but . . .” Emma looked longingly toward the trailer.
“Give me a few minutes, and then I’ll come out and get some for each of us,” Sophie said. “Em and I both have phone calls to make. It’s already past midnight where Teddy is, but I should send him a text at least. And Mama is expecting me to call as soon as we get here.”
“Of course,” Filly said. “I’m sure glad you’re here. Arty’s bein’ a jackass.”
“We just been spendin’ too much time together, and, woman”—he shook his finger at Filly—“don’t be a tattletale. Is Teddy going to come see us in a couple of weeks?”
“Yep, hopefully,” Sophie said. “He’s in Europe right now setting up things for my showing.”
“I can’t wait to see him,” Filly said. “If I was twenty years younger, I’d take that man away from you.”
“You’d have to be forty years younger and a helluva lot prettier.” Arty snorted as they walked back toward the supper table.
Emma’s eyes widened, so big that for a split second Sophie thought she might faint right there beside the SUV. Sophie looped her arm through Emma’s and led her toward the trailer. “They banter like that all the time. They aren’t serious, and they aren’t fighting.”
They walked up the porch steps, and Sophie threw the door open.
“I’ve never been around anyone like that,” Emma said. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”
“You didn’t embarrass me.” Sophie gave her a hug. “You’re just used to folks who are so uptight that . . .”
Emma giggled. “As uptight as a bull’s butt during fly season. That was one of Rebel’s sayings, and I always thought it was funny. Mother would shiver all the way to her toenails if she saw me eating from red plastic bowls out of a communal pot of chowder. And was that a bumblebee flitting around on the chocolate cake?”
“Victoria isn’t here, and what she thinks doesn’t matter on Hummingbird Lane,” Sophie told her. “I’m going out to get our things. Take a look around and acquaint yourself with everything. I’ll be right back.”
She found Josh standing at the bottom of the stairs when she went outside. “I hope it’s all right that I brought a roommate with me.”
“It’s your trailer. You can do what you want while you are here. Need some help?” he asked.
“I never turn down help.” Sophie smiled. “Just the suitcase and the tote bag tonight. I’ll take care of the art supplies tomorrow. They’re in the back seat. And thanks, Josh.”
He kept his eyes on the ground. “Glad you’re here.”
“It’s good to be back,” Sophie said. “Just set them on the porch.”
Emma was standing in the doorway, and Josh stole a sideways look at her. His body language and the fact that he averted his eyes said that he was as uncomfortable as Emma was. “I’ll just set your things on the porch and then get on back to have dessert.”
“Thank you so much.” Sophie smiled again.
Emma took a step away from the open door when Josh set the bags down, and then he made a hasty retreat back to the picnic table. His orange Crocs caught her eye. She had always wanted a pair of those, but her mother said they were ugly. Any guy who wore orange shoes had to be all right.
Her mouth watered at the thought of having a piece of that cake. She couldn’t remember the last time she had cake or sweets of any kind. Her mother said that fresh fruit was much better for her than sweets, and the center where she’d been for weeks served fruit for dessert.
“Oh!” Emma gasped as she crossed the small living room to look out the sliding glass doors at the mountains in the distance. Look at that sunset. Sophie should paint that picture. It takes my breath away, she thought as she pushed the doors open and inhaled the night air. “There’s a porch and chairs.”
“So, you like it?” Sophie startled her when she slipped an arm around Emma’s shoulders. “I will be setting up my easel out here for the next few weeks, because I’m going to paint what you are looking at. I have three paintings planned. A night scene, one with a sunrise, and then the same at midday. I’ve already shipped the pictures for the showing in Europe, but hopefully if they want another showing next year, I’ll have these for then. What do you think, Em? Think you could find your way back to painting on this porch?”
“Maybe . . . someday if I can . . .” She shook her head and stammered, “I don’t know who I am anymore. I have . . . to know . . . what inspires me before I can pick up the brushes. I love your idea for all three of those paintings. Is there really nothing between here and those mountains? I mean, like, houses or more trailer parks?”
“Josh owns all the land from here to the mountains, and there’s nothing but cactus, wildflowers, and”—she smiled—“purple lizards. We’ve both got some phone calls to make.”
“Can I sit on the porch while I’m making the phone call?” Emma had no doubts that her mother was going to be furious with her. Victoria had never hit Emma, but her words could cut through the heart like a machete through soft butter. Her mother would send out a search party for her if she didn’t tell her where she was, and she would definitely get even with Sophie in some way.
“Rule number one is that you are the boss of you while you are here,” Sophie answered. “You will need to turn your phone back on. I’m glad you let me turn it off. I was afraid that Victoria would talk you into going back to that place or else send someone to get you and arrest me for kidnapping.”
“Thank you,” Em sighed. “But you can’t kidnap me. I’m not a kid anymore, and, Sophie, you’re a good friend. She’s going to be mad at me, you know, but I’m really glad I’m this far away when she starts whispering and telling me that I’m delicate and stupid, that I can’t make decisions for myself. She’ll say that I should remember what happened when I tried to live on my own in college.”
“It won’t be the first or the last time she’s been mad about something, will it?” Sophie asked.
Emma dug deep into her memories and tried to remember the last time she had made her mother angry. “Probably not, but the last time she got really upset was when I refused to eat because she said you wouldn’t be coming back to our house, and that I would be having tutors instead of going to school. I don’t think she’s been that mad at me since, but I learned to be careful and not get her all riled up.”
“Really?” Sophie blinked a half dozen times in rapid succession. “Are you serious?”
“If I do what she wants, she’s happy, and she’s so mean when she’s mad that Daddy and I just let her have her way,” Emma told her.