Her mom knelt in the small garden to the left of the house, digging in the dirt with the same stained, floral-print gloves she’d worn when Emma was a child. Those gloves, with the tiny rosebuds once red and now faded pink, had been a fixture in the house for as long as Emma could remember. Lying on the counter by the sink where she’d washed her hands after gardening. Lying on the floor by her Bible in the living room, where she’d shucked them before having her evening quiet time. Lying on the porch swing where she’d taken her last tea break.
Emma watched her work for a moment, allowing the warmth of the sun on her shoulders to ease the chill of her conversation with Max. She’d almost bought her mother a new pair of gloves during her last Christmas at home, back before she left for college. Back before her father died. Back before she’d gotten involved with Max and changed her entire course of life.
Maybe familiar wasn’t always so bad, after all.
She shoved her keys in her pocket and crossed the front yard to stand behind her mother.
“Emma?” Mom turned with a slight smile—or was it a grimace—and lifted one hand to shade her eyes from the late-afternoon sun. “What are you doing here?”
The question was innocent enough, as was the tone accompanying it, but it still dug in like a burr. She fought off a wave of frustration. Couldn’t she just be visiting her mother while in town? Why did she need an explanation? She drew a deep breath, trying to convince herself it wasn’t that bad, that her defenses were just up because of Max’s probing.
But it felt like more than that. Her mom had never treated her the same way after she’d gotten pregnant.
Or maybe she’d never treated her mom the same way after.
“Just taking a break.” She folded her arms against her chest, then recognized the vibe the body language gave and forced herself to lower her hands to her sides. “Max said I could.”
No idea why she added that last part. As if she needed Max Ringgold’s permission for anything. He’d been the reason she’d wound up where she was—and Cody, too. She hadn’t asked Max for permission or help thirteen years ago, and the thought of starting now made the indignant, self-sufficient woman inside her cringe in her high-heeled career shoes.
And made the counselor inside her realize just how many issues she still had with various factors of Broken Bend.
Her mom rocked back, eyes narrowed, except this time it wasn’t because of the sunshine. Guess Emma’s intuition and knack for probing into others lives came from somewhere honest. “Let’s go have tea.”
“No, Mom. You’re gardening.” She wasn’t about to interrupt her mother’s routine, or she’d never hear the end of it—whether from her family or herself. Besides, despite Mom’s strong belief, tea didn’t cure everything. She dropped to her knees in the grass instead and gestured toward the rows of seeds. “Carry on.”
Mom adjusted one of her gloves, hesitated with another sharp glance and then obeyed, continuing to pluck weeds from the stubborn patch of earth surrounding her meticulous lines of soon-to-be-vegetables.
Emma tentatively reached for another section of weeds, in spite of her lack of gloves, and tore the skinny green intruders from the earth. She hated to sit and do nothing, and maybe if she worked, they wouldn’t talk as much.
No such luck.
“How’s Cody?”
Wasn’t that the question of the hour? She schooled her expression into an indifferent mask, not willing to let her mom know just how much was riding on the next couple weeks. “He’s as good as he can be. Making progress.”
Mom nodded as she shifted over to the next row, the pile of discarded weeds beside her growing taller as she worked. “And the girls you’re counseling?”
Why was everyone shooting questions from the hip today? “Doing okay.” She ripped out another, surprised at the level of stress relief the simple action brought. She might not be able to make a difference where it counted, but she could make a difference to this garden. In both appearance and substance.
“So everyone is okay.”
Her mom’s tone hinted at her disbelief, and Emma couldn’t blame her. But that didn’t mean she wanted to open the floodgates of confession, either. Because once the words—and the tears—started, they might not stop.
“It’s a good thing you’re there, then.”
Emma sat back and stretched her shoulders, bracing herself for something else hard to hear. “Why’s that?”
Her mother continued working as if the tension between them didn’t exist. And for her, maybe it didn’t. She’d always leaned toward being oblivious. “You have a gift for making ‘okay’ turn out better than okay.”
A compliment. From her mother. And it wasn’t even Christmas.
Emma stared at the tiny rows of seeds, eagerly waiting to sprout. They had no idea the danger they’d been in from the weeds, no idea the death they’d be sure to experience had the gardener not come and tended them.
Just like Cody had yet to fully grasp the ramifications of his actions. Like Max had no idea the bomb she would eventually drop on his carefully reformed world.
Oblivious. Like she’d been before trading her innocence for a short-lived ride with rebellion. And all for the sake of what? Proving a point? Testing her limits? Escaping the supersticky label of “Good Girl”? All she’d done is trade it for another label she couldn’t tear off.
Tears pricked her eyes, and her chest tightened. The floral print on her mom’s gloves blurred into a pastel jumble. Suddenly, she wasn’t a grown woman anymore with a successful practice in a big city. She was eighteen again, and scared, and alone—and overcome with feelings she couldn’t identify or ignore.
Before she could stop herself, she reached out and grabbed her mother’s arm.
Mom immediately stopped and turned, covering Emma’s bare hand with her dirty gloved one, and raised her eyebrows without speaking. The acceptance in her gaze was nearly Emma’s undoing, and she blurted out the truth for the first time in thirteen years.
“Max is Cody’s father.”
* * *
Max wasn’t sure if the art expression project Emma created had been pure genius or pure torture.
He squinted at the rows of easels before him, set up in the early-morning sunshine near the barn. They didn’t have an indoor spot in the camp big enough to house all the campers and easels at one time that wouldn’t suffer from paint splatters, so Luke and Tim spread some tarp on the grass, lined up folding chairs and let them go.
Max paced absently behind the rows of folding chairs, hanging back to give the teens room to create while keeping an eye out for Emma. He hadn’t seen her return to Camp Hope yesterday, though he’d kept a subtle watch for her. She’d shown up at dinner as expected last night, though, relieving Faith to go home to her family. But after dinner, she’d taken the girls on to their next activity without giving him more than a passing nod. Breakfast had gone pretty much the same way.
He didn’t know exactly how to smooth things over between them, but ignoring it didn’t seem the best way to go. He wasn’t sure which was worse—her avoiding him, or the awkward tension that hovered when they had to be in the same room. How was he going to meet his new goal if she refused to speak to him? Somehow, he had to show her he was legit. That she could trust him. Maybe she was right not to when they were younger. He hadn’t been ready for a heart like hers.
But now...
He wanted the chance to earn it back. To show her that nothing was lost forever. That she and Cody would find their way out of this, with God at their side—and hopefully with him right there, too.
“That’s beautiful, Katie.”
Emma’s sudden voice to his left both warmed him and created shivers on the back of his neck, all at once. Max drew a deep breath to resist rushing to her side and slowly adjusted his cowboy hat so he wouldn’t do something stupid—like sweep her in his arms.
Emma stood behind Katie’s easel, where the perky redhead sat with paintbrush poised, sweatshirt sleeves pushed up to her elbows. She’d painted the barn beside them, complete with rolling golden hills of pasture. A dark blob on the farthest hilltop hinted at a horse. Or maybe a cow.
Max squinted. Maybe a rhino.
“I love the barn. Nice detail.”
Katie beamed under Emma’s praise, and Max had the sudden urge to earn her compliments, as well. He joined them, hesitantly, as one would approach a startled stallion. “Emma’s right. Very nice job.” With the exception of the unidentified hilltop creature, but hey. They weren’t giving lessons here. They were letting the kids express themselves. Speaking of...he had the perfect excuse to talk to Emma.
Alone.
“Join me?” He touched her elbow, trying to ignore the hurt that radiated when she stiffened in response, and led her several yards away where they could talk quietly without being overheard. “What do you think so far?”
Panic laced her eyes before her gaze settled on the easels. “You mean about the paintings.”
“What else would I mean—” Max cut himself off. “Emma. Are we going to ignore the elephant here or go ahead and take care of him one bite at a time?”
A tiny smile teased the corners of her lips. Man, she was beautiful. “I think you’re mixing metaphors.” A spark lit her eyes and ignited his stomach with memories.
“Some things never change.” He grinned. “Remember when I meant to say pretty as a picture, and I said pretty as a catcher?” He’d had a few in him at the time, but he clearly remembered the confused expression on Emma’s face as they sat on the tailgate of his truck, stargazing. And the embarrassment that had flooded afterward. At least she’d thought his blunder was cute.
Or he’d thought she thought so.
Emma snorted, shoulder bumping him like old times. “You do realize by now that it’s picture, not pitcher?”
“Come on, now. I’m not that hopeless.”
Her eyes met his and held for a moment before she directed her attention back to the teens.
Oops. Now what? The sadness in her expression nearly stole his breath. “What is it?” Did she still believe him that far gone, even after all he’d done in her absence? After all he’d cleaned up and changed and accomplished?
A light breeze brushed strands of hair over her eyes, blocking his view of her stoic profile. She didn’t reach up to brush them back, so he did.
“Just...thinking.” She fluttered her hand to wave off the topic, as though it was as easily shooed as a summer bee. At least she didn’t dodge his touch this time.
He turned so he faced her, giving her his full attention. She deserved nothing less. “Elephant, remember? Here’s a fork.”
“That’s seriously gross.” But the smile was back, and the sadness slightly dissipated. Mission accomplished—even if she still kept her profile to him. Then she sobered. “You’re not hopeless, Max.”
Well, at least there was that. “You do realize the same is true for you?” He wanted to touch her again but knew she’d spook. Not to mention they stood behind ten teenagers all eager for gossip and rumors—including Emma’s own son.
“I know.”
But did she really? Her lips pressed together in a thin line, and she wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her forearms with her hands. He started to shrug out of his zip-up hoodie, but she shook her head to stop him. “It wouldn’t look right.”
“What? Teaching these guys how to act like a gentleman?” But he zipped it back up at the stubborn glint in her eye. Time to change the subject before he pushed her any farther into a corner. He’d gotten two smiles out of her and broken the iceberg that had risen between them last night. That’d have to be enough for now. “So, what do you think?” He gestured to the easels.
This time she launched right into her opinions, saving them from any more painful banter. “Katie’s painting is detailed, like you said, which I feel lends to her personality. She likes things neat, together and orderly. But it’s also bright and happy—how she feels right now. She’s in a good place.”
He nodded, absorbing the picture. Maybe too good a place. Was anyone that happy at a camp for troubled teens? It wasn’t like they were here for s’mores and Monopoly. He still felt as if something was missing from Katie’s file, but he couldn’t read information that wasn’t there. Maybe he was just paranoid.
“What about Stacy’s?” The abstract swirls of blues, greens and purples sort of lent to a teenaged version of van Gogh’s Starry Night—Max’s favorite painting for its cryptic beauty. He hoped Emma picked up a good impression from it, too. He worried about Stacy. Of all his students, she’d been the most blocked in their One4One talks.
“To me, it looks like twilight. And I think those splotches at the top are supposed to represent stars.” She tilted her head to get a better view. “But the important part to realize about hers is the color choice. The blue color family represents peace, relaxation and tranquility. That hints at how she’s not nearly as hardened inside as she appears on the outside. There’s a wall up, for sure—but the foundation of it doesn’t go deep.” She hesitated. “Maybe one of us will reach her.”
“If anyone can, it’s you.”
Emma winced at the compliment, as if she didn’t fully believe it, but he didn’t care. He’d keep sprinkling the truth on her until her confidence grew. He’d seen her with the girls and knew what she had already accomplished with them. She might not see it, but he did. So did God. Nothing was being wasted, however small it might seem on the surface.
Hopefully that same principle would remain true as he pursued her.
He wanted to ask about Cody’s painting next but didn’t dare. Then Emma’s gaze lingered on it, and he knew from her quick intake of breath the diagnosis wasn’t as favorable as the others. The painting in front of the boy contained a careful red circle that took up nearly the entire canvas. A thick black slant slashed across the center of the circle diagonally, the universal symbol for no.
Max frowned. No...no what?
One glance at Emma’s crestfallen expression determined she wasn’t sure, either. No to Camp Hope? No to authority? No to rules? Or was it a more positive portrayal, as in, no more fighting? No more crimes? No more misbehaving?
He couldn’t be sure. But he didn’t need a course in symbolism to conclude that the dripping red and black paint spoke of intense feelings, likely anger. Maybe even hatred. Cody was dealing with something hard-core, and until their next One4One chat, he wouldn’t get a chance to find out. He couldn’t exactly march over and demand an explanation. The last thing they needed was to judge the kids based on their project. This was supposed to be a safe exercise, a chance for them to express themselves, though he did caution them ahead of time about keeping the paintings PG—no nudity or curse words, or they’d lose recreation time for a week.
“What about Tonya’s?” He couldn’t see the girl’s entire canvas from here, but it had to be more encouraging than Cody’s—and right now, the best gift he could give Emma was distraction as well as prompting her to use her training productively. He hated the helpless gleam in her eye and sent up a quick prayer that God would redeem their situation ASAP. Something would give, soon.
It had to.
Emma straightened her shoulders, and he wanted to applaud the way she gathered herself together, despite the trauma still lingering in her eyes as she focused on Tonya’s project. “I’m not sure. I can’t tell.”
They both eased sideways several paces until they could see around her bent head, still hunched over her painting as she did detail work at the bottom. The top of Tonya’s easel was covered in pastel stripes, representing a sunset or sunrise.
“I still can’t see the rest. It looks like a self-portrait, maybe? Those look like her black braids.” Emma craned her neck as she spoke.
Max did the same. The painting held promise, what he could see of it—much less amateur in style than the others. Tonya was either a natural or had taken classes at some point. The eyes on the figure she was painting appeared nearly alive, while the cheery background hinted at a lighthearted mood that well complemented the young girl in the drawing.
Then Tonya leaned back, paintbrush lowering, and studied the portrait, allowing Max and Emma a full view—of a beautiful, African-American girl with braids, vivid eyes...
And a distorted, wide-open jaw that yawned and swirled off her face.
He shot a startled glance at Emma, whose eyes widened in recognition. When she finally spoke, it was to confirm what Max already knew.
“Tonya has a secret.”