Hummingbird Lane - Carolyn Brown Page 0,1

know that?” Nancy asked.

“Because Sophie wouldn’t hurt me,” Emma said.

Nancy lowered her voice. “Someone hurt you. How does that make you feel?”

“Like I’m drowning,” Emma answered. “I can swim. Mother made sure I had swimming lessons, so . . .” She shrugged.

“Do you want to remember?” Nancy asked.

“No,” Emma whispered.

“Why?”

“Mother wouldn’t be happy. When she’s not happy, she’s . . .” Emma turned her head to look out the window.

“She’s what?”

Why couldn’t Nancy be content with that much? That was more than she’d admitted to the other therapists.

“Will you tell me more about Sophia?” Nancy shifted tactics.

“She was my friend in elementary school, back when I got to attend public school.” Emma’s intention today was to talk so that Nancy would sign the papers for her to be released. This wasn’t her first rodeo or her first visit to a mental institution. She knew she had to give this woman something or she’d never get out of the place.

“You’re sure she didn’t hurt your feelings?” Nancy wrote something on her pad.

“I called her Sophie, and she called me Em. Mother hated for anyone to call me by a nickname, so we were careful when she was around. Sophie and her mama, Rebel, were my . . .”

“Your what?” Nancy looked up from her notepad.

“They were more like my family than Mother and Daddy,” Emma answered.

“Let’s talk about them, then,” Nancy said.

“Sophie’s mama, Rebel, was our cleaning lady, and sometimes she babysat me when Mother had an appointment. I always loved the name Rebel. It sounded so free to me, something I was never allowed to be. Those were my happy times.” Emma turned her head and stared out the window again. The cardinals were flitting around on the redbud tree, flirting with each other among the purple blossoms. Spring had arrived—a time for new growth.

“Go on,” Nancy murmured.

“Sophie and I were going to be artists. We colored in books together when we were little girls, and when we got a little older, we drew our own pictures in sketchbooks.” Emma held her hands tightly in her lap. If Nancy saw her twisting them, she would never get out of this place. “Mother didn’t allow me to play with Sophie except when her mama brought her to our house. We weren’t even supposed to be friends at school, but we were.”

“Why?” Nancy had a soothing voice, not at all like the therapist who had come to the house once a week. That woman’s voice had a raspy tone, and she always smelled like the peppermint candy she used to cover up her cigarette breath.

“Rebel didn’t have a husband. Mother said she was low class and Sophie would grow up to be just like her,” Emma said.

Break-through. Breakthrough. Emma could almost feel the terms emanate from Nancy. She had seen that look—one of excitement—on other therapists’ faces in other places she had been put these past years.

“Where is Sophie now?” Nancy asked.

“Everywhere,” Emma said. “She’s a famous artist. Funny, isn’t it? She didn’t have a daddy, and her mama worked as a maid, and she’s famous. My mother is one of the richest women in Texas, and look where I am.” Emma paused and watched a sparrow fly up into the top of the redbud tree. “Do you ever wonder why God made the male species so pretty and the females so plain?”

“We were talking about Sophie,” Nancy said. “What does she look like?”

“She was about my size the last time I saw her, but when we were kids, I grew faster than she did. Mother gave her my outgrown clothes, but not after she fired Rebel. Sophie has blonde hair and big blue eyes. You told me to think of happy times, so I did,” Emma answered.

“Tell me more about that.” Nancy seemed to be all ears. “Describe one of those happy days for me.”

“Sophie and I were lying on a quilt in the backyard under the weeping willow limbs. We were working with sketch pads and glitter pens. It was a hot summer day, and we had to be careful that the sweat on our hands didn’t ruin our pictures. I sketched a calico kitten and made it look as realistic as possible. Sophie drew a lizard and colored it purple and yellow and red. I told her that lizards weren’t that color, and she said that artists could make their pictures any way they wanted them. Rebel didn’t come to work for us anymore after that day. Sophie and