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

living in a place that makes glue to put me back together. Sophie is here. So are Filly and Arty and Josh. With their help, I can be whole again. I might have cracks, but then, no one is perfect.”

She heard a door open and close, so evidently Sophie had taken the phone to her bedroom. Emma went inside, took a quick shower, and wrapped a towel around her body and one around her wet hair. When she opened the bathroom door, she could hear Sophie talking to Coco, so evidently, she and Teddy had ended their call.

“Come on out. No one is here but us,” Sophie said.

Emma didn’t even parade around in the privacy of her own suite in a towel. If Victoria had popped in, she would have thrown a hissy fit. Bathrobes were made for that purpose. Towels were made to dry the body and to then be tossed into the hamper in the bathroom.

“Go away, Mother. You aren’t welcome in my world anymore,” Emma whispered. She went into the living room and sat down on the sofa. “Are you getting excited about spending time with Teddy?”

“Always,” Sophie answered.

“Do you think you’ll ever be able to be with him all the time?” she asked. “Like Etta James singing ‘At Last,’ when she says her love has come along.”

“I don’t know,” Sophie answered. “That idea scares me. What if we couldn’t survive in a world where we got to see each other every single day? I’d rather not have a permanent living arrangement if it ruined what we’ve got now.”

“Have you told Teddy that?” Emma asked.

“No, I haven’t, but surely he’s figured out that I’m afraid of commitment. We’ve been together for years.” Sophie opened the door so Coco could get out. “Smells like rain out there.”

“I’ve done that.” Emma got up and went to her bedroom. She pulled on a pair of underpants and a nightshirt and then returned to the living room.

“You’ve done what? Smelled the rain?” Sophie asked.

“I’ve changed the subject when a therapist asked me a question about what I’m afraid of, especially when they wanted me to work harder at bringing the repressed memories out into the open,” Emma answered. “I couldn’t until recently, but you know what you’re afraid of, so face your fears, like you told me to do.”

Sophie bit the inside of her lip and smiled. “The student becomes the master. Did you ever think of studying to be a therapist?”

“Nope. I just want to paint my tiny pictures and never go back to Dallas, but that’s a pipe dream. I hope, by the time we have to leave, that I’ve gained enough strength to take over my own life and tell my mother to go to hell,” Emma answered. “Would it be running away from my problems if I stayed here? Josh said he would make arrangements for me if I wanted to, and that sweet Filly offered me a place in her home.” She took a deep breath. “Or would it be running toward an amazing future if I didn’t leave?”

“That’s totally your decision.” Sophie started down the hall and then turned around. “But until you make the choice, you’ve always got a home with me. You never have to go back to the way things were again.”

“Thank you.” Emma yawned. “It’s been a big day. I’m off to bed. I’m looking forward to doing another painting tomorrow.”

“Look how far you’ve come already. By the time we go home, you’ll be strong enough to lift an elephant.”

“I sure hope so.” Emma covered another yawn with her hand and went to her room. She stopped long enough to read the framed quote on the wall. “Love will put you face-to-face with endless obstacles”—she touched the picture frame—“and these days my mother is the biggest obstacle out there.”

She had no trouble falling asleep, but at midnight, she awoke. She hurried to the bathroom, dropped down on her knees, and threw up until there was nothing left but dry heaving. Then she crawled over into the corner beside the tub, drew her knees up, and locked her arms around them.

“Are you all right?” Sophie poked her head in the door.

“I’m fine,” Emma answered, but that wasn’t the truth. Her eyes were burning, and she felt as if her world was falling apart again.

Sophie slid down beside her and draped an arm over her shoulders. “You are definitely not fine. Talk to me.”

“I thought,” Emma sobbed, “that it would be over when I dreamed that I killed them. I thought”—she wiped her wet cheeks on the back of her hand—“that meant they were dead to me, and I could move on, but the dream was there again tonight.”

Sophie pulled off a wad of toilet paper and dried Emma’s tears, then tossed it in the trash can. “It took more than ten years for you to remember what happened to you. You can’t expect it to be over in a few weeks.”

“But the nightmares are so vivid.” Emma shivered. “It’s like I’m living it all over again, only this time I’m not drugged, and I woke up as I was stumbling down the stairs. Mother was waiting at the bottom of the steps, and she told me that she wished I’d never been born, that she never wanted kids and I’d been the biggest disappointment of her entire life.”

Sophie gave her a gentle squeeze. “Was there anything new about this dream? Tell me the details.”

“I bent over at the waist and threw up on her shoes. When I woke up, I barely made it to the bathroom before . . .”

“What would your therapist say?” Sophie asked.

“She would ask me how it made me feel.” Emma’s hands trembled, so she held them together so tightly that they began to ache. “I feel like I did when I was twelve years old.”

“What happened then?” Sophie asked.

“I was pouting because I couldn’t go to school with you.” Emma’s memory was so vivid that she felt the same