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

Emma served herself another helping of the chicken potpie. “Not so much, but I was worried about Mother and what she might do.”

“Well, your job with Sophie is easier than she had with you, then,” Arty said. “Rebel won’t give you any trouble.”

“What’s in the park?” Emma asked. “Do they have places to buy junk food and stuff like tourists want?”

“Just mountains, rocks, and lots of cactus,” Josh said. “There’s a small convenience store at a junction. Fuel is expensive in the park, so fill up the gas tank in Sophie’s vehicle before you enter. You can get ice, drinks, and the essentials there, but they close early in the evening. You’ll need to take toilet paper, paper towels, and . . .”

“What about showers and bathrooms?” Emma asked. She’d just spent the night in a cave, but she couldn’t imagine living like that for days on end.

“Got several bathrooms along the way, but sometimes they’re out of toilet paper, and they’re mostly outdoor toilets—no flush. They do have picnic tables scattered around,” Josh answered. “A couple of places offer showers, but pack your own soap, of course.”

There had been a sign on one of Emma’s therapists’ desks that said SOMETIMES WHEN THINGS ARE FALLING APART, THEY ARE ACTUALLY FALLING IN PLACE. Emma had thought about that often, but it never made as much sense as it did that evening. She had been falling apart, and Sophie had arrived to help her. Now it was her turn to help Sophie find her inner strength again.

Emma took a deep breath and nodded toward Josh. If she had to stay in the desert with no showers for a week and use smelly potties, then that’s exactly what she would do. She owed Sophie that much and more for helping guide Emma back to her own life.

“All right, then, when should we leave?” Emma asked.

“As soon as possible. Tomorrow morning would be good. How long did Sophie give you to make up your mind about leaving?” Arty asked as he spooned up a bowl full of peach cobbler.

“About two minutes,” Emma answered.

“Then don’t give her more than that,” Filly said.

“We can start loading the SUV tonight,” Josh said. “Take at least three canvases for her and a few for yourself. Watching her paint was inspiration for you to start, so give her a dose of her own medicine and inspire her with your eagerness to work.”

Emma finished off her food and then dipped up her own peach cobbler. “I guess we should have it loaded and ready or she’ll make a hundred excuses as to why she can’t go. So how many canvases do you think it will take before she’s cured?”

“Take four,” Arty said. “Better to have too many than not enough.”

And she may slice one to ribbons.

“Good cobbler and great supper, Arty,” Emma said. “Maybe I could take a plate in to see if I can entice Sophie to eat. If she will get up out of bed, maybe we won’t need to leave.”

Emma knew the moment the words were out of her mouth that wasn’t the case. She had spent the better part of a week hiding in her bed after the rape, and then another week at home before Victoria checked her into the first institution because she couldn’t come out of a deep depression. That’s where she’d learned to say, “I’m fine,” just like Sophie had told her a dozen times. Now that she was on the other end of the conversation, she understood why the therapists never believed her. Saying the words did not mean anything when the tone was graveyard dead.

Filly got busy loading up a plate with potpie and salad and a bowl with peach cobbler. “If anything will get her up and going, it’ll be food. She loves to eat.”

“I’m going to box up some grub,” Arty said, “and get out the cooler to put some frozen meat in. To cook over a campfire, all you girls need is a skillet and a coffeepot. I’ve got extra of both.”

“We’ll have you all loaded up and ready to get out of here by daylight.” Filly began to clean up the table. “She’ll get over this with you by her side.”

“We’ll miss you girls. When you have reception, we’ll expect a report every evening,” Arty said. “I’ll tuck in my little .22 pistol in case you need it for snakes.”

“Either two-legged or the slithering kind.” Filly winked.

“You probably shouldn’t do that. If a two-legged one came sniffing around, I might shoot first and ask questions later,” Emma told him. “Did Filly tell you—”

Arty slammed a fist into his open hand. “She did, and I just want to know if your mama or daddy killed those sorry bastards.”

“I didn’t tell them until Mother sent Jeffrey to take me home a few days ago. I told her over the phone, and she responded just like I thought she would. She asked me what I’d done to provoke the attack and called me stupid for being so naive. At the time, I just figured if I ignored it, everything would be all right, but it wasn’t. I haven’t told my father yet, and I don’t know if Mother will even bother to tell him. Sophie and you all have helped me realize that ignoring something doesn’t make it disappear, and now I have to help her see the same thing. No matter what happens to us, we can’t let it define the rest of our lives,” Emma said.

“Amen to that, sister,” Arty agreed.

“Your mother said that to you?” Filly laid an arm around Emma’s shoulders. “I shouldn’t talk ugly about your mama, but, honey, that ain’t normal. She should have gone gunnin’ for those sumbitches even after all these years.”

“Mother isn’t capable of loving anyone but herself—at least that’s the way I see it,” Emma explained.

“Guess you’re showin’ her that you’re nothing like her, ain’t you, child?” Arty said. “And, honey, I’m still tuckin’ in that little gun. If you