kind of mother would she be anyway? She’d felt relieved when she lost her baby. Was that a sign that she shouldn’t be a mother? She went from thinking about that to worrying about Emma. She had just figured out that she had been raped. Would she really be all right if Sophie left her alone for a few days? Some friend she was—rescuing Emma and then not being there with her. “Filly will help me out and keep her company, and Josh and Arty are here. It’s not like I’m leaving her totally without support.”
But none of them know about the rape, the annoying voice in her head shouted. You didn’t think this through when you kidnapped her, did you?
“Hush!” She put her hands over her ears and then caught a movement in her peripheral vision. Josh and Emma were almost back to the porch, and she hadn’t gotten anything settled. She glanced down at her phone and could hardly believe that it was already four o’clock.
“Well? How did the day go?” she asked when they made it to the porch.
“I got my eagle’s eyes done right,” Josh answered and headed on down the path to his trailer.
“And I painted, too. It took every bit of my willpower to do it, but I got one tiny picture done today.” Emma handed it to her. “Be truthful. What do you think?”
Sophie took it inside and laid it on the bar. “Do you even realize the emotion in this? The dark clouds and then that ray of sun on the butterfly wings, and the tiny dewdrop on the cactus flower. It’s like the hard times are behind you, and the tears have been shed, and wait a minute . . .” She held the picture up to get a better look. “Did you write hope in the butterfly wings? Nice touch. You should do that in all your pictures. It could be your brand.”
“You’re not just shooting me a line of bull to make me feel better?” Emma asked.
“I am not,” Sophie said emphatically. “I’m telling you the truth. You haven’t lost your touch. How did you feel when you were painting?”
“Here comes the therapist again.” Emma went to the refrigerator, got out the milk, and poured a full glass, then brought out the chocolate cookies and sat down at the bar.
“Whoa!” Sophie grabbed up the painting and took it down the hall. “I’ll just put this on the closet shelf in my room to dry. Coco doesn’t need to leave paw prints on a masterpiece. When I get back, we need to talk.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Emma nodded. “But I’m not sure I can put into words just how I felt.”
Sophie made sure the doors to the closet were closed tightly, and then she went back to the kitchen. She got herself a glass of milk and carried it to the sofa. “Bring the cookies over here so we can be comfortable while you tell me about your first painting in all these years.”
As she dipped her cookies in the milk and ate them, Emma told her about the emotions, the memories, and what had happened that morning. “Nancy would call it a breakthrough.”
“That’s exactly what it was. You overcame the fear and the memory. I wish I could overcome the fear of change.” Sophie went on to tell her about Teddy’s call. “I couldn’t paint after he called. I’m afraid of commitment, and I’m scared that’s what he’s going to want—a wife and a family. What if this showing in Europe goes badly? What if . . .”
“That’s tomorrow’s worry.” Emma laid her hand on Sophie’s shoulder.
“I’ll be gone for a week. You’re not ready for me to leave you alone. I took you out of that place, and now I’m deserting you. Some friend I am. I thought I’d have more time but they moved the showing up.”
“I’m not really alone. You’ve brought me to the park. I’ve got Filly and Arty and Josh. You need this trip, and . . .” Emma seemed to be searching for the right words. “It’s scary, but you need to do this, and I would feel horrible if you didn’t. I might fall apart, but if I do, I’ll go see Filly. I promise.”
“I’ll call every day,” Sophie said.
Emma gave her a sideways hug. “Just remember what Rebel said. We are strong, and just because there’s an ocean between us doesn’t mean we’re not together in spirit. I want you to go.”