he was inside, he splashed cold water on his face and picked out half a dozen records.
That was Emma out there on his porch. Sure, they’d taken walks together and even spent a day working on their art, but that wasn’t like a date. This was—at least to him it was. He’d never been on a date, and he wasn’t sure how it should all go. Didn’t most of them involve dinner and a movie?
You are both artists. His grandfather popped into his head with a chuckle. You don’t do things like other people. Evidently, she likes spending time with you or she wouldn’t be waiting for you. Now get it in gear and get back out there with her. She might not want to wait forever.
“Sorry I took so long,” he said when he carried the records out to the porch. “I should have asked you to come in and pick out whatever you like. I have a really big collection. Would you like a beer or something to drink?”
“I’m sure whatever you’ve got is fine, and I don’t need anything to drink right now,” she said.
He removed the record on the player and put on a George Jones. “We had this elderly guy who was my grandpa’s friend. Harry was his name, and he and his wife, Sally, lived down the street from us. When Harry’s wife died, he spent even more time with me. We used to listen to his vinyl records and go fishing together. Then a year later he passed away and left a big chunk of his money to me. Before that, though, Harry gave me that old record player right there and all his vinyls. I’ve got a fancy stereo setup in the house, but I bring this one outside and listen to the music, like we did back when . . .” He choked up at the memory.
“Sophie and I used to listen to music together. I missed that when she wasn’t there anymore,” Emma said.
“I still miss him”—he swallowed hard—“a lot.”
“I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine losing Sophie. We hadn’t talked in years, but friendship like we have and what you had with Harry doesn’t need words every day. It’s just knowing that that person is there,” she said. “But your friend is gone, and that has to leave a hole in your heart.” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m so, so sorry. That came out wrong. I would never . . .”
He reached over and removed her hand. “It’s okay, and you are right. It did hurt for a long time, but now I just think of all the good memories and let go of the pain. I do feel bad that I didn’t go to his funeral, but I couldn’t bear to see him in a casket. I wanted to remember him sitting in his living room with me while we listened to his records.”
“Then you did what was right for you,” Emma said. “That’s all any of us can do when it comes right down to it. I’ve tried for all my life to make my mother happy, but it’s only been since I came here that I’ve realized that’s impossible. She doesn’t like me or my father. She only likes her fancy friends, her money, and her job. And even at that I wonder if she even likes herself. How could anyone so calculating and self-centered like themselves?”
“I think my folks like me,” Josh said, “especially now that I’m getting a name in the art world, but I’ve always felt like I disappointed them. I hated school, so that put an end to me becoming something they understood and could be proud of. My dad wasn’t real happy when Harry named me as the heir to his estate. He and Mother have only visited me a couple of times here at the trailer park. They both thought I was crazy for buying it, and for not moving into my grandpa’s big mansion. But before he died, Harry told me that I should make myself happy. This place makes me happy.”
“Artists are often . . .” She shrugged. “You know.”
“Yes, I do.” He sat down beside her on the top step but kept his distance.
Sophie had told them when she first brought Emma to the park that she was a little like Coco. Josh understood that it would take time for her to be comfortable with him, but he had hopes that someday she could see