Filly laid her hand on his shoulder. “I’ve got faith in your artwork.”
“Sweet Lord!” Arty laid a hand over his chest. “The world is coming to an end. This darlin’ woman said something nice to me.”
“Oh, hush!” Filly slapped him on the arm. “Ignore him, Em. He’s being a smart-ass again, and to answer your question, I’ve been working on a necklace made of tiny wood pieces woven into leather. I’m going to paint rosebuds on the wood when I get the first phase done, and I think I’ll make a matching bracelet.”
“That sounds beautiful,” Emma said. “What about you, Josh?”
“I saw that same turkey, and like Arty, I hadn’t seen one in a couple of years, so that inspired me to draw one. Leo mentioned something about me working a spot of color into a painting, so I thought I’d give that little mesquite grove some green leaves,” Josh answered.
“Well, I can’t wait to see that one.” Filly winked at Josh.
Emma noticed that his cheeks turned scarlet and wondered what the inside joke was. If she had learned anything from living in a dysfunctional family, it was to watch her parents’ expressions. When she came home from college, she could read Victoria’s and Wyatt’s moods simply by looking at them. Something had caused Josh to blush, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it was.
“Maybe instead of rosebuds on my necklace”—Filly abruptly changed the subject—“I will paint small feathers on it. That would give it a more southwestern feel with the wood and leather, and y’all are all working with turkeys, so we could make it a family thing.”
A family thing. Those three words stuck in Emma’s mind. She had had many dinners with her mother and father, but not once had there been anything like game night, or even vacations. They were both too wound up in their jobs for such tomfoolery, as Victoria called it. The closest thing to a vacation that Emma ever had was when Rebel asked if she would like to join her and Sophie on a Saturday trip to Six Flags.
The happiness she had felt that day rushed over her as she remembered the fun of riding the roller coasters, eating hot dogs and cotton candy, and getting to buy souvenirs to take home. But the shadow of Victoria’s attitude came back to ruin the moment of euphoria. When Emma had handed her a tiny shot glass with the Six Flags logo on it, she had frowned and said, “This has to be the tackiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
At least Daddy pretended to be proud of the one I gave him, and he put it on the desk in his office, she thought. I kind of feel sorry for him for having to put up with Mother.
Josh would have liked to stay longer at Emma’s that evening, but after everyone had seen her new painting, Arty and Filly both wanted to get back to their houses to watch their favorite reality television show. The air in the trailer grew heavy, the awkwardness stretching between them, so he made an excuse and hurried outside. Back at his trailer, he hooked up his little square record player on the back porch and sat down on the steps to listen to some of his vinyl collection—while he scolded himself for not taking advantage of the situation and talking to Emma.
When Simon and Garfunkel started singing “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” he closed his eyes and let one of his favorite songs sink deep into his soul. He was thinking that this song could so easily be his song to Emma and didn’t even realize anyone was close by until she spoke his name.
His eyes popped wide-open and he stammered, “You startled me.”
“Then we’re even. You gave me a start at supper,” she said. “I was lonesome, so I came out for a walk. That’s one of my favorite songs—I didn’t know anyone even had records anymore. I thought everyone had gone to using their phones to bring up music.”
“Got time to sit down for a little while?” He moved his legs to give her space.
“Sure.” She nodded and took a seat. “I used to listen to this song over and over. Mother said the music I liked was depressing.”
Josh’s folks fussed about his obsession with art, but they gave up trying to transform him into a brain surgeon or a nuclear physicist when he was eighteen and refused to go to college. “What other songs did you listen to?”
“I like the older country music and jazz,” she answered. “Especially Etta James and Sam Cooke, and some Cajun. But after the second round of being in an institution, I quit listening to anything except what Mother thought was appropriate for me.”
“Why would you do that?” Josh asked.
“My therapist agreed with Mother and thought that maybe the music was depressing me even more, so . . .” She shrugged.
The song ended, and the needle came back to rest in the right place. He didn’t want her to go, so he asked, “And now?”
“I would listen to all of it now, but”—she blushed—“I got mad and threw my phone away the first day I was here. Mother could trace me with it, and she was really angry, so I knew she would come down here and make me go back to a long-term care center.”
“Well, you are welcome to come listen to my vinyls anytime you want,” he said. “I’ve got an Etta James and also a couple of George Jones. We could just sit here and listen to them this evening if you want to.”
“I’d like that.” She smiled.
He made a mental picture of the way her eyes lit up. Sometime that week, he was going to draw her again—this time from the waist up, with her hair in braids and Filly’s necklace hanging down between her breasts. A fiery heat started on his neck at the thought of drawing something that close to an intimate part of her body. He jumped up and hurried into the trailer so Emma wouldn’t see him blush. While 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.