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

picture what a daughter would have looked like when she was seventeen. Would she have dark hair and dark eyes like her father, or would she have been a blonde with blue eyes like Sophie? Like Victoria, Sophie had not wanted a child, but unlike Victoria, she would have loved her baby.

Her phone rang and brought her out of the past and into the present. She knew it was Rebel by the ringtone and answered it with, “Good morning, Mama. Is it raining in your part of the state?”

“The sun is shining here. Happy late Easter. Annie threw a little party for our cleaning lady club. My phone was in my purse, and so I missed your call. Did you hunt eggs with your artist friends?” Rebel asked.

“Yes, I did,” Sophie answered, “and Emma and I talked about the year when you let us color a dozen eggs and then hid them for us. We decided that was one of our favorite memories.”

“How’s she doing?” Rebel asked.

“I can’t talk about it. She told me in confidence,” Sophie said.

“Told what?” Emma peeked in the bedroom. “I’m going to make coffee. Want some eggs for breakfast today?”

“This is Rebel. She asked how you were doing, and I’m good with cereal,” Sophie answered.

Emma gave her a nod. “You can tell Rebel. I’m okay with it.”

“Mind if I put it on speaker?” Sophie asked.

“No, I don’t want to talk just yet. Tell her that I love her, though.” Emma turned around, and in a couple of minutes, Sophie could hear rattling dishes.

“She’s had a couple of horrible nightmares,” Sophie replied and then went on to tell Rebel the whole story.

“I’m so sorry that she had to endure that awful experience.” Rebel’s voice cracked. “I hope it doesn’t damage her for life. She was so sheltered. No wonder she’s been in and out of centers all this time.”

“She painted a gorgeous picture yesterday. I think she’s going to be the next big thing—only in small pictures.” Sophie told her about Emma’s love for tiny houses and how she wanted to do paintings to decorate them.

“At least she’s got a dream now,” Rebel said.

“Mama, did you ever wish that you hadn’t gotten pregnant and had a child to support all on your own?” Sophie blurted out.

“No! Good Lord, Sophie, why would you ask that?”

Sophie sucked in a lungful of air and let it out slowly. “Victoria told Emma that she never wanted children. I just wondered if you felt like that, especially when you found out you were raising me with no help.”

“No, I didn’t.” Rebel’s tone was blunt. “I had help. My mother came and stayed with me for six months after you were born. Then I got a few jobs cleaning houses where they didn’t mind me bringing you with me. Honey, you were my best friend, even as a baby and a toddler. Don’t ever feel like you upset my dreams or my life. You’ve always been a blessing.” Rebel chuckled. “Back that up. You were a little monster from the time you were about fifteen until you graduated, but I just figured I was payin’ for my raisin’. Your grandmother Mason said I was the same way.”

Sophie closed her eyes and smiled. “Thank you, Mama.”

“No, darlin’, thanks go to you for completing my life,” Rebel said. “On that note, I’ve got to get ready for work. It’s Monday, and today I’ve got two houses to clean. I’m sorry Emma grew up knowing that she wasn’t really wanted. Give her a hug from me.”

“Will do, and love you,” Sophie said.

“Right back atcha, kid,” Rebel said and ended the call.

Sophie stared at the ceiling for a long time. If she was given the chance at having another child, would she be a good mother? She could never be like Victoria and almost despise her child, but would she be a loving one like her own mother? No answers came floating down from the ceiling, so Sophie laid the phone aside, crawled out of bed, and followed her nose to the kitchen, where she smelled coffee brewing. Emma had already set up painting equipment on the bar and had roughly sketched in a cardinal sitting on the porch rail. Sophie stopped by the barstool where she was perched and gave her a brief hug.

“What’s that for?” Emma asked.

“Surviving that horrible nightmare, and this one is from Mama. Thank you for letting me talk to her about it.” She gave her another hug and headed for the coffeepot, poured herself a cup, and then topped off Emma’s. “Looks like the weatherman was right and we’ll be inside today.”

“I loved Rebel’s hugs, and I’ve always trusted her.” Emma smiled. “Daddy gave good hugs, but”—she frowned—“I don’t remember Mother ever hugging me at all. Do you think that if I ever do come out on the other side of all this and become a mother, I’ll be like her?”

“Of course not. If either one of us ever has kids, we’re going to be like my mother.” Sophie hoped with all her heart that she was telling the truth and that neither of them wound up acting like Victoria.

“I hope so.” Emma didn’t ever want to bring into the world a child who would feel the way she did. She had given up on ever thinking that she could alter herself so that her mother would love her like Rebel loved Sophie. Yet, somewhere deep in her heart, she wished that Victoria would change.

“I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to make a breakfast burrito,” Sophie said. “Want me to make you one?”

“Love one.” Emma started to move the paints.

“We can eat on the sofa and open the door a crack so we can smell the rain,” Sophie told her.

Emma slid off the barstool and opened the glass door a little. “I love the sound and the smell of rain.”

“Me too,” Sophie said. “I wish we could paint the smell of a good rainstorm.”

Emma carried her