Hummingbird Lane, Brown, Carolyn [fox in socks read aloud txt] 📗

she had cut up that painting. For the first time, she wanted—no, she needed—to face her fears, and yet all she had were flashes that popped into her head at the strangest times. Like that memory of leaning over the bed with satin sheets and throwing up on a white rug. Victoria loved satin sheets and had them on most beds, but there had never been a white rug in the Merrill mansion, so where did that vision come from?

It’s only been a day. It’s been more than a decade since you buried whatever happened, so don’t expect for it all to come flooding back in twenty-four hours, the voice in her head said.

“If I was as strong as Sophie, I wouldn’t have repressed memories,” she whispered as she put on the jeans she’d worn the day before and then opened Sophie’s closet door and chose a T-shirt with paint stains on it. She found an old pair of Sophie’s cowboy boots that looked like they’d fit and slipped her feet into them. When she made it to the living room, Sophie tossed a wide-brimmed hat toward her. “You’ll need this to keep the sun from burning your face. You’re white as the driven snow right now.”

“Thanks.” Emma caught it midair. “I haven’t been out by myself since the day I went to the park. Which way do I go?”

Sophie laced her fingers in Emma’s and led her out to the porch. She slipped her cell phone in one of Emma’s back pockets along with a piece of paper with the house phone number on it and stuffed a bottle of water into the other one. “There’s no wrong way to go. Enjoy the walk. If you get lost, I’ll send Josh on his four-wheeler to rescue you. If you’re not back by dinner this evening, I’ll send out the National Guard.”

Emma giggled. “Wish me luck.” She gave Sophie a brief nod and took the first step off the porch. That’s where her bravado ended. Her boots filled up with concrete, and she panicked. Her heart pounded so hard that it sounded like thunder in her ears.

You girls are going to be famous artists someday. You are both strong. I can see that from the way you use your imagination when you color. Rebel’s voice came to mind. She couldn’t disappoint Rebel, so she took a step and then another one, repeating to herself that she was a strong woman. In half an hour she allowed herself to look over her shoulder and was surprised to see that the trailer looked like a toy out there in the distance.

All kinds of cacti surrounded her, some with beautiful purple blooms, others with yellow and hot-pink blossoms. At home, the gardener kept the grass so thick that it was like walking on velvet, but here, sparse green stuff that resembled grass grew in clumps, interspersed with wildflowers. Maybe she shouldn’t compare the two places, but she couldn’t help it. There, she was stifled and agitated most of the time. Here, there was stark beauty and a modicum of peace.

She caught a movement from the corner of her eye and spun around in an instant adrenaline rush. She was about to tear off back to the trailer when she saw the little rabbit hopping toward a thicket of trees. No one was following her. She didn’t have anything to worry about except getting a sunburn.

“I’m strong,” she reminded herself.

Funny how just twenty-four hours at Hummingbird Lane had made her remember things that made no sense and also let go of a few fears. Why here, and why now?

She pulled the water bottle from her pocket and took a long drink and then plodded out toward the mountains. She’d gone a few hundred feet when a slight breeze out of the south kicked up and brought the haunting sound of music with it. She removed the hat and cocked her head to track where the noise came from.

She tucked her hair behind her ear and started walking to the west. As she drew nearer, she recognized the tune as “Red River Valley.” One of the boys at her college used to sit on the lawn and play the harmonica, and he often played that song. She kept walking toward it until she saw Josh sitting on the ground with a sketch pad in front of him and a harmonica at his mouth.

Spots of brilliant color in the cactus blooms dotted the landscape all around him. Purple, red, yellow, and shades of pink looked like splashes of paint on a blank canvas. She studied the yellow bloom on a cow’s tongue cactus closest to her and thought about how it would look on a small canvas. “I can’t do that—not yet. I’m not ready,” she muttered.

The sound of the music Josh made with that simple instrument sank down deep into her soul. Memories of being somewhat free that semester in college flooded over her, and right then, standing near a thicket of scrub oak trees with cacti all around her, she felt stronger than she had in years.

“I’m beginning to think that Mother really was trying to make me believe I couldn’t survive on my own,” she whispered. “I bet it was so that she could sell the company instead of passing it down to me like Grandmother said she was to do.”

She stood as still as possible and listened to him play. Out there in the raw earth, where everything struggled for a place, Josh’s music was the most beautiful she’d ever heard. He finally put the instrument back in his pocket, picked up his sketch pad, and began to draw. No matter how hard she squinted, she couldn’t see what he was working on. She took a step forward, but that was as far as her newly found strength would allow her to go. Finally, she turned around and started back toward the tiny dots that were the trailers in the far distance.