Hummingbird Lane by Brown, Carolyn (good books to read for beginners TXT) 📕

No way could she afford to attend the place my folks sent me to. She went to the University of North Texas in Denton. That’s where I wanted to go, but oh, no, I had to attend the most prestigious art school in the whole state of Texas.” Emma yawned. “I’m tired now, but I’m fine, really, I am. Are you going to tell Mother what I said?”

“You can tell me anything, Emma, and I’m bound by confidentiality laws to not tell anyone without your written permission. Is there something else you want to talk about?” Nancy asked.

“When Mother made me sign the papers to check me into this place, she knew stuff that I only told the therapists. She knew I had trouble sleeping at night, that I hate the feel of satin, and that I get nauseated when I see a white fur rug. She answered all the questions on the admission forms and even told them that men should stay out of my room. How did she know that if someone didn’t tell her?” Emma asked.

“I won’t tell Victoria anything that you tell me. I feel like we’re making progress, Emma. I’m glad Sophie and Rebel were in your life. Do you feel that they were the only ones who ever loved you?”

Emma almost smiled again. “That isn’t a feeling. That’s the truth. Thank you for not telling Mother we talked about them. She told me that if I ever mentioned Sophie’s name again, she would put me in a place like this and never let me come home.”

“Why would you want to go home?” Nancy asked.

“Once a week,” Emma whispered.

“What’s once a week?” Nancy’s pen made a scratching noise as she wrote.

“This . . . ,” Emma answered. “I only have to talk to a therapist once a week at home. Mother knows what I tell her”—she lowered her voice—“because there’s cameras in my room.”

“Which is worse?” Nancy appeared to shudder. “Talking to me every day or no privacy at all?”

“I want neither. I want to live in a tiny house by myself, take walks through a park, and watch the birds. That’s what I want,” Emma answered.

Nancy checked her watch. “One more thing before I go. How did your father feel about your mother taking Sophie away from you?”

“Daddy does whatever Mother says. She says she didn’t get what she wanted in a husband or a child—that both of us are spineless and have the personality of milk toast.” Emma put her hands over her eyes for a moment.

“I think we’ve done a lot of good today. You get some rest now, and before I come in tomorrow, will you try to remember what it is that you have buried in your memories? Until you face that problem, you won’t ever be able to get over it or live in a tiny house all by yourself.” Nancy took her notebook and eased the door closed behind her as she left.

Why doesn’t anyone ever slam a door in this place? Emma wondered. She could almost hear the scratch of Nancy’s pen again and could imagine what she was writing on the other side of the door: We had a major breakthrough today. Maybe tomorrow we will get to the root of this problem and she’ll talk about her repressed memories.

“Think about the good times,” Emma said as she forgot about a nap and turned her attention back to the redbud tree outside her window. “I wish I had colored the cat black with red eyes. An artist can do whatever they want. Sophie said so.”

Sophie slammed a pillow over the ringing telephone. Whoever was on the other end had better hope they were a hundred miles away from her if they didn’t hang up soon. The noise stopped and she went back to sleep, but five minutes later, it started up again. She rolled over in bed, threw the pillow against the far wall of her loft apartment in downtown Dallas, and, without even opening her eyes, answered the phone.

“Sophie, darlin’, did I wake you?”

Her eyes popped wide-open at the sound of her mother’s voice. “Yes, but is everything all right?”

“Everything is fine here,” Rebel said. “I just came home from my water aerobics class at the YMCA. I’ve got two houses to clean today, but I had a few minutes to call you. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“No problem, and like I’ve told you a gazillion times, you don’t have to clean houses anymore. I’m putting enough money in your checking account each month that you can retire.” Sophie covered a yawn with the back of her hand. She’d been up until dawn, putting the finishing touches on a landscape painting with the Dallas skyline in the background.

“Honey, you might need that money someday,” Rebel said. “And like I’ve told you a gazillion times, I would go bat-crap crazy if I didn’t work. Now that we’ve beat that dead horse some more, do you remember Emma Merrill?”

“Of course I do. Please don’t tell me something horrible has happened to her.” An icy-cold chill chased down Sophie’s spine. She hadn’t talked to Emma in years—not since that first semester of college. Then she had heard that Emma had decided not to go back to college. When Sophie tried to call her, she got Victoria instead, and the woman had given her a tongue lashing.

“Depends on what you mean by ‘happened to her,’” Rebel said. “I go to my aerobics class with the lady who cleans for her mother these days. She said that Emma is in Oak Lawn Wellness Center somewhere over around Fort Worth. Anyway, my friend Annie said that she overheard Victoria talking on the phone and saying that they were going to put her in a permanent-care facility. I guess she’s been in and out of places like that since she came home from college after the first semester.”

“What in the world? Why would they do that?” Sophie shoved back the covers