of Josh.” Emma slumped down in the chair and picked up the beer, turning it to look at the label. “I don’t drink.”
“Because you don’t like it or because Victoria said you couldn’t?” Sophie asked. “And why does Josh remind you of Leonard?”
“He’s not tall and he’s a little backward, like me. And he wears those black-rimmed glasses and has a square face,” Emma answered. “I don’t know why I don’t drink. Mother insisted that I have a glass of champagne when we had guests one evening. The first sip put me into a panic attack, but maybe it was just something in the champagne that sets me off. Do you think it has something to do with the nightmares?” She stared hard at the bottle in her hand for a moment, then took a sip. “This is pretty good. It doesn’t feel like it’s going to make my chest go into spasms.”
Spasms? Sophie wanted to ask a million questions, but patience was the key here. If Emma was ever going to truly get well, she needed space to figure out things on her own.
“Tell me more about your walk. Did you see anything to paint?” Sophie asked.
“Too many things to count, and it was wonderful to take a walk by myself,” Emma answered. “I have to admit that a simple little bunny almost put me in flight mode, though. I thought for sure Mother had sent either Jeffrey or some medical people to drag me back to Dallas. Everything is different here than back there. I’ve always felt so cooped up there, like I’m being smothered or drowning in deep water. Here I feel free.”
“I’m with you, sister.” Sophie sat down in the other chair. “When I come here, it’s like I’m coming home.”
“I saw Josh and heard him playing a harmonica. The music was beautiful. I wanted to see what he was drawing, but I didn’t want to disturb him,” Emma said.
“Do you like this feeling of freedom? Is it going to help you figure out what happened to make you have these regressed memories?” Sophie asked.
“Repressed, not regressed,” Emma said, “although I suppose they’re both right. About these snowbirds, as you called them. Are Filly and Arty snowbirds? Do they ever leave?”
“No, they’re the permanent residents,” Sophie answered. “There’s three retired couples from up in one of the northern states who come down here for the winter months. They usually arrive in late October and stay through March.”
“Does Josh own all six trailers? If you’ve already told me this, I’m sorry.” Emma took another sip of her beer.
“Yes, he does,” Sophie replied. “His grandfather had a close friend who died a few years ago and left Josh a huge fortune. His parents weren’t happy about Harry giving Josh a big inheritance, but Josh was a grown man and Harry had had no kids, so there was nothing they could do about it. He used part of the money to buy this place. I don’t know a lot about his background, other than he’s super shy and a terrific artist. You’re right about him looking like Leonard and being kind of like that kid. He’s got a kind heart and a sweet nature like the character in the show.” She stood up and started into the house. “I’m going to make a plate of nachos for lunch. Want me to make enough for two?”
“Yes, what can I do to help?” Emma asked.
“It’s a one-person job, so just sit here and enjoy the view.” Sophie went inside but left the sliding glass door open so she could talk to Emma without yelling.
“Sophie, last night I dreamed about that angel picture again. I was wearing scrubs, gray ones, and I never wore that color in any of the centers that Mother put me in, not even once,” Emma said.
“Did you figure out why you were so angry? Or if you ever even painted a picture like that?” Sophie raised her voice above the noise of opening a bag of tortilla chips.
“Not why I was so angry at the world, or even one person. Maybe it was Mother.” She shrugged. “I just can’t remember anything other than hurting . . .”
“Physical pain or mental?” Sophie asked.
Emma frowned as if she was trying to remember, and then she put a hand on her thigh and one on a breast. “It was real pain, not in my head. I felt like my chest was bruised, and my legs hurt so bad.”