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“How long can we stay?” Joey asked as we walked to the front entrance.
“A couple of hours.”
“How many is that?”
I ruffled his hair. “Two, kid.”
He clutched his elephant, keeping it close as we went through security and followed the signs for family day. The place was clean and peaceful, with skylights, lots of plants and softly gurgling fountains. A few kids were tossing pennies into a large fountain in an open two-story room where a harp player performed in one corner.
The hallway led us to a room with a few rows of blank canvases set up on easels, small groups of people sitting around tables or standing and talking.
“Joey!”
Emma was rushing toward us, tears shining in her eyes as she approached her son.
“Mom!”
She got down on her knees and he flew into her arms. Emma scrunched her face as she fought tears, and I looked away, a lump in my throat. She held her son for as long as he allowed before pulling away to fire questions at her.
“What do you do here, Mom? Is it hard?”
“Give her a minute,” I said. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk to her.”
When she stood up, I wrapped her in a hug and felt her relax against me.
“I told him I’m going to start charging him a quarter per question,” I cracked.
She laughed as she pulled back and looked at me. “Good luck with that.”
My sister looked very different than she had the day she arrived at my apartment. Her hair was clean, pulled back in a simple ponytail, and her face was a little fuller. She looked rested, wearing jeans, a gray T-shirt, and tennis shoes.
“Mom, what are those for?” Joey asked, pointing at the canvases.
“Those are for us to paint pictures.”
His jaw dropped. “We get to paint on those?”
“Yep. And whatever you paint, I’ll hang it up at our new place when I’m done here.”
He grinned and looked at me. “Can I paint now?”
A flash of hurt passed over Emma’s face, probably because he’d asked me instead of her. I put an arm around her and gave her an encouraging squeeze.
“Whenever your mom wants to,” I said.
“Can I, Mom?” Joey begged. “Please?”
“Sure.”
We all put on smocks and Emma showed us how to squeeze out paint onto our boards. Joey immediately dove into his painting, looking over at his mom every minute or so to make sure she was still there.
“You paint a lot here?” I asked her.
“Sometimes. It depends on the day. They actually keep us really busy with sessions. I only have about two hours of free time a day. But I have a painting class twice a week, too.”
“How’s it going? Overall?”
She lowered her brush and looked at me. “It’s really good. It’s hard, though, you know? Taking a hard look at yourself and seeing where you messed up.”
“Yeah. We all do, though.”
I’d never heard Emma admit she’d messed up before. Hopefully she was focused on moving forward because getting hung up on past wrongs could lead to a bad spiral. I’d just watched my teammate Sawyer kick his drinking habit, and it was something he admitted struggling with at times.
“How’s Andy?” she asked.
“Almost done with his last round of chemo for this treatment. He’ll get scans soon to see how it worked.”
She nodded, her expression echoing my worries about our brother. “And he’s feeling okay?”
“He’s hanging in there. He’s lost weight. But you know Andy; he’s a fighter.”
Emma smiled. “I want to take Joey home when I’m done here. I have a lot of amends to make.”
I paused, then said, “Are you sure you’re ready for that?”
She kept her gaze focused on the canvas, where she was layering on coats of blue and white paint. “It’s part of my program. I don’t know if Joey and I will stay there, but I need to go there in person to see them.”
I nodded, holding my brush in front of the blank canvas in front of me. I hadn’t painted in years. What the hell was I supposed to paint a picture of?
“You know you guys can stay with me, right?” I said. “For as long as you need.”
She gave me a grateful look. “I’ll probably take you up on that.”
I looked over both shoulders to make sure no one was within earshot, then spoke in a low tone.
“Just between us, I’m moving home at the end of my season.”
Emma’s brows shot up. “You mean like a trade?”
“I hope so. But either way, I’m going.”
She smiled, looking hopeful. “Then that’s where we’ll be, too. I hope Mom and Andy will forgive me and we can all spend time together.”
Before his cancer diagnosis, Andy was deeply protective of our mom. He resented Emma for her lies and bad treatment of our mom. He was a lot mellower now, though. More focused on what truly mattered.
