Page 21 of Night Songs

“Why isn’t Belle in any of these?” I asked. I was still too shy to call her “Lou” like they did.

Hess frowned. “I think she was always taking the pictures. And when she wasn’t working, she didn’t like to be photographed.”

I could hear something false in the words, but perhaps it was my own disbelief. When I looked at the pictures, the yearning I felt to know my mother went even deeper, into that tender place where I ached to be close to her, to touch her, to be wrapped in her arms.

“What was she like?” I asked.

They all looked to Hess, and I knew then that she had been my mother’sbestfriend.

“Well.” She smiled. “She was very brave, and hardworking, and kind. And exceptionally talented, of course.”

There was a beat of silence in the room.

“She could also be rough, and selfish, and secretive,” Phoebe added good-naturedly. Hess frowned at her, and she said, “What? She should know that Lou wasn’t perfect. That was part of who she was.”

“She wasvoracious,” Tima added. “That girl could eat four double cheeseburgers and four fries in one sitting. I have never seen such a little thing put it away.” The women laughed, including Hess. “She was like that with a lot of things—the way she worked, and the way she loved.”

“She knew music like it was her first language,” Martha added from the corner. They all nodded, as if still in awe of their friend. “If you really want to know Lou, you should listen to her music. That’s where you’ll find her.” Martha gestured dismissively at the room. “Not here.”

Spirits were high as we made our way back to Hess’s house and out to her screened-in porch. Martha and Hess picked up guitars, and Phoebe pulled me onto a couch with her so we could play the audience.

“Let’s do some of the early stuff,” Tima suggested.

“How early?” Hess asked.

“I’m talkingearly early. Rhea, did you know your mama and Hess used to be in a singing group together?”

“For a very brief time,” Hess clarified.

“How about ‘Let Me Out’?” Martha suggested.

Hess hesitated. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh, come on, let’s do it,” Tima cajoled.

Hess exhaled. “All right.”

In the moment before they began to play, I listened to the chirp of crickets out in the grass beyond the screens, and I remembered what Hess had said about peace. Here was a place you could explore whatever inspired you, and you didn’t have to be afraid.

Then they began to strum, and as the music formed in my mind, I could feel its tightness, like someone squeezing at my throat. I wondered if I was the only one feeling it, but I could see Phoebe grimacing slightly next to me.

Tima sang in a rich, deep twang,

She sat in the room, watchin’ the tree,

Waitin’ for someone to set her free

The lyrics wound around me like smoke, choking off my air. That strange, claustrophobic feeling came over me, and the music faded to the background as I closed my eyes and focused on breathing.

In and out.

In and out.

The music stopped, and I heard a thud, then Hess was hunched over me asking, “Are you okay?” Her face was drained of color.

I nodded and tried to look normal. “Of course. I’m fine.”

She handed me a glass of water, and I drank a few sips as if to appease her, though I couldn’t deny the relief of the cold washing through my insides.