Hummingbird Lane Page 13

  “And the MM, for Em Merrill, is a great way to sign your work, but I’m wondering why you’ve been hiding such great talent all these years,” Josh added.

  Oh, Josh, I didn’t hide it. It was stolen from me, but I’m finding it every day now, thanks to everyone here in this trailer park.

  “When are you going to do another one? Leo comes Wednesday. Think you could have one more done by then?”

  “I didn’t even notice the MM down there in the spines of the cactus,” Sophie said. “Nice touch, Em.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “Y’all did miss one tiny detail, though. And I plan to put something like that in every painting I do to give it life.”

  “What is it?” Josh leaned closer to the painting. “I was right there with you . . .” He smiled. “I see it.”

  “What?” Sophie bumped Josh’s forehead with her nose, trying to get a closer look.

  “Right there.” Emma pointed. “If you look close, I embedded a tiny cactus spine into the paint.”

  “Perfect!” Filly clapped her hands. “But what is that symbolic of? Buyers will want to know.”

  “That life has thorns, but there’s hope in each new day.” Emma had been through the briar patch for more than a decade, but now she was smelling the flowers. Hopefully, someday she would be able to forget all the pain of the thorns and wouldn’t even remember the rape.

  Filly nodded and smiled. “That’s powerful. You do realize that this place is your muse, don’t you? You should consider staying right here with us forever. If Josh won’t let you rent a trailer permanently, you can live with me when Sophie leaves us.”

  “Thank you, and I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather live than here,” Emma said. “There’s no telling where we’ll all be in another few weeks, but right now, this minute, I would love to stay right here. My mother threatened to lock me up forever, but now that I’m thinking clearly, I know that it was just something she was using to control me. I’m an adult, and I had to sign myself into the last few places where she thought I could get treatment.”

  “Well, the offer has no time limit,” Filly said. “Which reminds me . . .” She pulled something out of her pocket and handed it to Emma. “With this necklace, I christen you a bona fide flower child, just like me.”

  Emma slipped the necklace over her head. The soft leather with small feathers attached felt like silk, or even freedom, against her bare skin. The flat rock with a picture of a rose painted on it hung down between her breasts. She felt like she had just been given the Hope diamond.

  “I love it,” Emma whispered.

  “I’m making matching earrings, but they aren’t finished yet. Every real hippie needs dangling earrings,” Filly told her.

  “I’ll wear both them and this necklace with pride.” Emma smiled.

  “Good,” Filly said. “Now, let’s finish up these eggs so Arty can hide them. What’s your favorite memory of Easter, Em? Hunting eggs? Getting a new dress?”

  “My folks are CEO Christians. That means Christmas and Easter only.” Emma toyed with the necklace. “Mother picked out an outfit for me to wear to church on those occasions, and I never did like it, so getting a new dress wasn’t a good memory.”

  “Why didn’t you like it?” Filly asked.

  “They were always so stiff and fit so tight, and the shoes hurt my feet,” Emma answered. “I would rather have had something like I’m wearing now. New shoes nearly always made blisters on my heels, and I couldn’t wait to get home and take them off. The only time I ever hunted eggs was when Sophie’s mama let us decorate them with crayons and watercolors and then hid them for us. That would have to be my favorite memory.”

  Arty chuckled. “I love that about being a CEO. That’s what most folks probably are. I grew up in a big family. Twelve kids in all, and I was the baby of the whole bunch. They’re all gone now, but on Easter, my mama would boil dozens of eggs, and we’d color them. Daddy would hide them for us out in the pasture. But my favorite memory is the last year she was alive, when she let me help her make the family dinner. We had ham and baked beans, and she even showed me how to make her hot rolls. How about you two?” He nodded toward Josh and Sophie.

  “Mine’s the same as Em’s.” Sophie smiled.

  “Easter was just another day before I moved here,” Josh answered. “I do remember the year before he died, Grandpa and I went fishing. I always liked spending time with him, whether it was a holiday or not.”

  “We had broom-jumping weddings on Easter when I was a little girl,” Filly said.

  “I thought that had to do with the Black community,” Emma said.

  “It did and it does, but there’s a dispute about just where it did originate. My folks liked to think it started in Romania at some point in my ancestors’ ethnic community. The Romani didn’t feel like the government should have any part or place in their marriages. They had rules, too. The feet of both parties had to be in the air, and later if the Romani elders condoned it, they could annul a marriage by jumping backward over the broom. In the carnie life, even though some of the folks weren’t Rom, and even if some of them went to the courthouse and had the whole marriage license thing, we still had the ceremony to celebrate their union,” Filly explained.

  “Are you—” Sophie started to ask.

  Filly butted in before she could finish. “My grandparents on my father’s side were Romani. They came to America and started a carnival and hired some of their friends and relatives to help run it. My mother was not Rom. Even though she embraced their culture, my grandmother never really liked her very much. By blood, I’m half Romani. By heart, I’m all hippie.”

  “Did you ever jump the broom?” Emma asked.

  Filly shook her head. “Never was good at getting both feet off the ground.”

  “Did it always involve a real broom?” Sophie asked.

  “Sure.” Filly nodded. “Each couple brought their own broom, and after the ceremony, it was given to them as a wedding gift. No preacher or justice of the peace asked them to promise to love, honor, and obey until death parted them—the couple just said their own vows to each other. Then the groom took the bride by the hand and, together, they jumped over the broom that was all decorated up pretty with bows and ribbon. The jump signified that they’d left their old single life behind. The joined hands said they were committed to be a couple. And the other side of the broom was their bright future.”

  “I like that,” Emma said. “Makes more sense than a huge wedding.”

  The word wedding sparked a vision of the huge portrait hanging over the mantel in her folks’ house. To her, the big smiles on their faces were all farce. She’d never seen them hug each other or even give a peck on the cheek. They shared a house, not a relationship, and if that’s what a wedding meant, then Emma wanted nothing to do with it.

  Chapter Eight

  Excitement filled the whole little trailer park that evening as Sophie, Filly, Emma, and Josh all waited at the table for Arty to hide the eggs. Finally, after half an hour, Sophie heard the familiar sound of the bell.

  “What’s that?” Emma asked.

  “That’s our call to line up,” Sophie explained. “Arty has hidden the eggs, and it’s almost time for us to find them.”

  Filly passed out the four baskets she had decorated. “We’d better go get ready so Arty can fire his gun.”

  “A real gun?” Emma asked.

  Sophie nodded. “A little .22 pistol he uses to shoot snakes, but he’ll be firing blanks this evening.”

  “This really is a production.” Emma took her pretty yellow basket and followed the other three to the back side of the trailers.

  Sophie looped her arm in Emma’s. “Yes, it is, and I’m glad you are here with me so we can do this together again.”

  Arty waited on Sophie’s back porch, gun in hand and Coco in his lap. A piece of gold Christmas tree tinsel lay stretched on the ground from the edge of the steps out about ten feet. “Toes on the gold,” he said.
“When I fire the gun, you can take off, but first study your path.”

  “Just shoot the dang gun and let us loose,” Filly yelled.

  “I can’t believe that I’m doing this at my age,” Emma said.

  “Don’t think about Victoria,” Sophie told her. “Just enjoy the fun.”

  “She’s always there in my head,” Emma whispered, “telling me that I’m stupid and a big disappointment.”

  “Shut her out for the next hour,” Sophie said. “Tell her to get lost.”

  Arty put Coco on the porch, stood up, and fired the gun into the air. Filly moved fast but left a lot of eggs hiding behind cacti, wildflowers, and even clumps of grass. Josh took his time, finding what she had overlooked. Emma moved around the outer edge of the area, filling her basket slowly. Sophie stopped several times and watched Emma gather eggs for her yellow basket. To see her come this far meant that Sophie hadn’t done the wrong thing when she rescued her.

  “Fun, ain’t it?” Sophie bent down and picked up two eggs.

  “Are you going to ask me how I feel?” Emma smiled.

  “Hadn’t thought about it, but now that you mention it.” Sophie grinned back at her.

  “The same excitement that I did when Rebel let us hunt out in the backyard. Mother would have thrown a fit, and she probably would now if she could see me,” Emma answered.

  “Why?” Sophie saw a bright-colored plastic egg in the grass, but she let Emma find it.

  “She said eating eggs that had been boiled the day before would make me sick,” Emma replied, “but they didn’t. Why do we get the mothers that we do? I would have rather had Rebel.”

  “Don’t know, but I’m glad I got her. Remind me to call her this evening and tell her happy Easter,” Sophie said.

  The sun had begun to sink below the western horizon when Filly shouted that she had found the prize egg. She carried the big, gold plastic egg apart from the others. When she got to the porch, she popped it open to find a hundred-dollar bill.

  “Do we all donate toward that?” Emma whispered to Sophie.

  “No, each year one person takes care of the prize egg. This year was my turn, and I had no idea what to put inside it, so I opted for money,” Sophie answered.

  “I’m going to buy a bottle of whiskey for us all to share, and a new skirt like the one Em is wearing,” Filly declared. “Now, let’s go peel the eggs, and I’ll devil them for our snack. This has been the best hunt ever. Not just because I found the prize, but because you girls are here with us.”

  Sophie loved her grandmother, and Filly reminded her so much of Granny Mason. She was past eighty and still a flower child who didn’t give a tiny rat’s butt about society’s rules.

  Emma laid all her beautiful eggs out on the picnic table and sighed. “They’re too pretty to break open. We should figure out a way to preserve them.”

  “Oh, no.” Arty shook his head as he cracked the first one open on the edge of the table. “I’ve been looking forward to our traditional snack all day. Filly makes wonderful deviled eggs, and she won’t tell me her secret, so we only get them once a year.”

  “Besides, darlin’ girl,” Filly said, “this is a spiritual lesson on many levels. We have the beauty, and then we crack them open and remove the outer shell, which is just physical prettiness anyway, and then we see what’s inside.” Filly picked up the egg that Arty had designed and smashed it on the tabletop. “What’s inside is the real prize, both in the real eggs and the plastic ones.”

  “Amen,” Josh agreed. “Kind of like me buying this place. It didn’t look like much when the Realtor brought me out here to see it, but there’s an inner beauty to it.”

  With another long sigh, Emma picked up the first egg and gently cracked the shell. Was this like figuring out the nightmare? Was the yolk symbolic of her heart, sitting close to the center of the egg and trying to break away from the cords that had bound it for so many years?

  “I love the friendships I’ve made here.” Sophie had already peeled four of her eggs. “And the fun that we all have together.”

  “We’re a family, and we’re adopting you into it just like we did Josh and Sophie,” Arty said.

  Emma didn’t say a word, but she hoped like hell they weren’t like her biological family. From her experience, family meant tension and control. She’d far rather that they all just be friends.

  Maybe if you’d had a backbone, Victoria wouldn’t have run over you like she did, the voice in her head said.

  I’m getting one now, Emma shot back. If push comes to shove, I will stand up to her.

  Sophie nudged her on the shoulder. “You look like you’re ready to chew nails.”

  “More like railroad spikes,” Emma said, “but I’m finding a heart inside this brittle shell, just like Filly said.”

  “That’s great. Want to talk about it?” Sophie asked.

  “Not now. Maybe later.” Emma hoped the heart that she had finally located would someday be soft enough to let other people inside, and not hard-boiled like the centers of the eggs.

  Dark had settled on the trailer park when the party broke up. Emma and Sophie took half a dozen leftover deviled eggs with them. Coco followed them into the trailer and curled up on the sofa. Sophie’s phone rang, and Emma could tell by the tone of her voice that Teddy was on the other end.

  With a wave over her shoulder, Emma headed out onto the back porch to give Sophie some private time. “This is me,” she muttered as she sat down, drew up her knees, and tucked her skirt around her legs. “I might be broken, but I’m 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 p
ipe 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.”