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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.”
