Page 44 of Night Songs

He paused. “Lou, I like what you wrote as well. I think it’s clever and ambitious. But you can’t honestly think we’d be able to do that song. That’s not what our fans or the label expect from us.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. I’d heard it all before.

“Besides. You know we can’t have Tima on the record.”

“Why the hell not?”

He gave me a look like he shouldn’t have to say it, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction. I jutted my chin, spurring him on.

“Don’t play dumb with me. What would people think? And we couldn’t tour with her—half the venues we play wouldn’t let a Black woman onstage.”

“I don’t give a damn what they think. And if that’s the truth, we shouldn’t be playing those venues. You know I can’t stand people who act like they’re better than others. It makes no goddamn sense.” He was such a coward. It made my blood boil.

“Come on, Lou, the label would have a fit.”

“Isn’t part of becoming successful that we can start doing what we want? You told me money is freedom. So if we got the money, why can’t we have the freedom?”

He exhaled as if I was a petulant child. “Money gives you the freedom to not go hungry or have to work yourself to the bone for nothing. But to get that money, we have to do a job. We won’t have money for long if we go around half-cocked, doing the job however we want.”

I knew what he was doing. He was appealing to that fear in me, the one that worried at any moment it would all get snatched away, and I’d end up back in the holler, poor and forgotten, or worse.

It was true that he knew what people wanted to hear. He’d shown that in the way my star had risen steadily over the last few years. I had the fame I’d always dreamed of. People recognized me on the street now, and they all lined up to listen to me sing.

But the lyrics weren’t my words. It felt like I was wearing Clayton’s skin, singing with his throat, feeling with his heart when I was out there on that stage. None of it was my own.

I scowled at the floor, afraid of what I might say next. As angry as I could get, he was like a father to me, and I’d only defy him so much before I backed down. I still thought I’d be nothing without him.

He softened at my submission and put a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Next album. We’ll figure something out. I promise.”

He said this every time.

We finished recording that evening, and then Hess and I took off in her Mustang for a remote cabin in the mountains.

It was my first weekend off in months. I worked constantly, but when I got a few days off, Hess and I would always rent this one cabin and walk around naked and make love in the kitchen. It was far enough from the holler to be safe, but close enough that I could spend time among my trees, shielded from the rest of the world.

That morning, with Hess still asleep, I went out for a walk in the woods while the light was still coming up. I finally felt free, like my time was my own, and I could live in my true sound.

When the sun hit a certain point, the birds chanted all at once, raising their calls like a choir. My steps through the thick leaves added a rhythm, and the insect buzz added dimension. I became possessed by the music, breathless in the pure, early-morning chill.

But as the sun climbed higher and came into its power, I knew I’d have to go back. Hess would be worried something’d happened to me out here.She didn’t trust the woods like I did—to her, they only held mystery and monsters. She didn’t know where the true dangers waited.

When I got back, she was in a yellow apron frying bacon in the kitchen. I leaned over and kissed her neck, careful not to disturb her concentration. She looked up at me, and I saw relief in her face. She wouldn’t say anything, but she’d been holding her breath since she woke and saw me gone. Something in my chest tightened.

After breakfast, we sat in the living room and I practiced the new songs for the upcoming tour. It was the same mix of stuff I’d done for every album—two classic covers, one original about how much I loved my man, and another that warned my man that if he stepped too far out of line, there would be hell to pay, which in this case was “The Last Time.”

There was something foolish about the defiance in the song, like a child rebelling against her father. What used to feel daring now felt cheap and silly. I thought back to my time in the woods and the breathless inspiration. The wild cat thrashed in my chest.

I stopped playing and thought about smashing the guitar against the hearth.

Hess gently took the instrument out of my hands and suggested we take a break and hike to a little meadow.

Nature was its usual balm as we walked through the trees. In the meadow, she laid out a blanket and lazily trailed her fingers over my blouse-covered nipples until I couldn’t stand it any longer. We shed our clothes and made love in the stark sunshine. Our sensations were spotlit, made external by the light. Hess tasted like lemonade.

Afterward, we lay back in the soft plants and inhaled the mix of our citrus and the green of the wildflowers.

“What if we bought this place? Just for us?” Hess asked casually.

“With what money?”