Hummingbird Lane by Brown, Carolyn (ebook reader for comics .txt) 📗

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 . . .”

“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