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

comment about maybe someday even loving herself.

“I’m not hungry right now. I’ll eat later. You want to talk some more about things?” Sophie asked.

“No, I want to put it away for a while. If I keep reliving it every hour of every day, I’ll never be able to move on,” Emma said.

“So, you want French braids this morning?” Sophie changed the subject.

“I’ll do yours if you’ll do mine. With all these layers, it’s hard to keep it up and off my neck.” She sat down on one of the two barstools.

Sophie brought rubber bands from the cabinet drawer and then pointed at the calendar. “We’re celebrating Easter today. We celebrate everything here. Cinco de Mayo. July Fourth. We’ve been known to even celebrate things like National Ice Cream Day, and sometimes, like now, we don’t celebrate it on the day that it really is.”

Emma giggled and then stopped abruptly and looked at her reflection in the mirror. “That felt strange. I can’t remember the last time I felt like laughing. But why are you celebrating Easter when it’s already over with?”

“The folks here always wait until I’m here to celebrate Easter because they know how much I love it, and Filly likes to buy the little plastic eggs when they go on sale after the holiday. And when you laughed, it reminded me of when we were kids.”

Emma pointed to the mirror. “I love the idea of not sticking to a strict schedule. It’s so artisty. But look at me, Sophie. Do I look like I’m about to go to church services? Mama would stroke out if she could see me, especially when I wear my flower-child clothes.”

Sophie shook her head slowly and then laughed out loud. “I should snap a picture of you when I get your hair braided and send it to her.”

Emma dug into her chocolate-flavored cereal. “She would drop dead if she saw me like this, and I’d have to wear one of my long skirts to the funeral.”

“Then she’d raise up out of that casket and give you a lecture,” Sophie said.

“Yep, she would, but thinking of Easter Sunday, it seems fitting that I figured out things last night, doesn’t it?” Emma shuddered at the picture of her mother in a casket.

“How’s that?” Sophie was suddenly hungry, so she popped a sausage biscuit in the microwave.

“I feel a little like I’ve been resurrected from being dead after what happened to me. Like maybe someday I’ll be all right.” Emma yawned.

“Then happy Easter again.” Sophie poured two cups of coffee. She handed one to Emma and raised her cup in a toast.

Emma touched her cup to Sophie’s and then took a sip. “I don’t expect an instant miracle. When I think about having to be in the presence of big men, I may always get jittery. I know I’ll always hate satin. But knowing what the problem is and facing it is half the victory. At least that’s what all the therapists have said. I know I said I wanted to put it out of my mind, Sophie, but everything keeps working its way right back around to the rape. The way I handled it has robbed me of so much.”

“We can talk or not talk anytime you want,” Sophie assured her.

“Do you think I’ll ever be comfortable enough to have a relationship with a guy?” Emma sipped on her coffee.

“Give it time to fade away. After a while you will get to where you don’t think about it every day,” Sophie said.

So, when is the day coming when you don’t think about the baby you lost? the aggravating voice in her head asked.

This isn’t about me. It’s about my best friend, Sophie argued.

“I wish I’d drunk all that champagne so I would have been knocked out altogether, but I was just groggy enough to know what was going on and not be able to fight back. I cried and begged him to stop, but I’m glad I didn’t really kill them.”

“Me too,” Sophie said.

Emma swiped at a tear rolling down her cheek. “Thank you for that and for everything. You rescued me, Sophie. Maybe someday I can repay you, but with your strength, I don’t think you’ll ever need it.”

Sophie laid a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “Together we can conquer anything.”

“I believe you.” Emma nodded. “I remember what Rebel used to tell us.”

“You are two smart little girls,” Sophie said.

“You are two strong little girls who will go far in life,” Emma quoted.

“Together you can do anything,” they said in unison.

“So, let’s just concentrate on one day at a time, and get each other’s hair braided,” Sophie said.

Emma nodded again. “This is Easter. I’m resurrected. Let’s just rejoice in that and worry about tomorrow when the day gets here,” she said. “Are we going to hunt eggs today?”

“Oh, yes, we are.” Sophie brought out the rubber bands. “Will you do mine first?”

Emma headed down the hall to the bathroom to get a comb. “There’s no kids here, so who’s going to dye them? Or are all the eggs plastic?”

Sophie sat down on the floor in front of the sofa and laid the rubber bands on the coffee table. “Honey, artists never grow up. We’re like Peter Pan. This afternoon, we’ll all meet at the picnic table, and each of us will dye a few eggs. Then, after supper, we will have an egg hunt behind the two empty trailers. Arty hides them, and the four of us will go look for them.”

“What about Arty? Doesn’t he get to hunt them?” Emma sat down on the sofa and started working with Sophie’s hair.

“He says that his joy is hiding them,” Sophie answered, “and then he teases us about the ones that we can’t find. There’s even a prize egg. We take turns putting something special in that one. There’s candy in the other plastic ones. I look forward to it every year.”

“The last time I hunted eggs was that spring before Mother . . . well, you know,”