Page 53 of Night Songs

“I was actually headed to the trailhead in Maine when I stopped here. I didn’t mean to stay this long, but I’m glad I did.” He grabbed my hand and kissed my knuckles, but I could barely feel it.

“Right.”

This was what I’d been worrying about all summer, that one day he was going to realize I was nothing special, that I was damaged, even, and he would leave me, and I would never see him again. There was a pathetic relief in it, like it was finally happening, and I could just be done with it now. I could stop pretending I was a person he could love.

He sat up and looked into my eyes. “Why don’t you come with me?”

I pulled my hand from his. “What? No. I can’t just leave.”

“The trail goes through Tennessee—you could see the place your mom grew up and wrote about in her music.” He tried to pull me back toward him, but I shrugged out of his grasp.

His mouth flattened, and he turned away from me. “The truth is, I don’t want to live in the past anymore. I don’t want to keep reliving the bad feelings. It’s not good for me, and I don’t think it’s good for you, either.”

He didn’t understand. “I’m not ready.”

He scowled. “Well, I don’t have a choice. I’m out of money. I’ll have just enough for the trail if I sell my brother’s car in Maine. I’m not like you—someone didn’t just show up at my house one day and give me millions of dollars.”

I glared at the ground, my cheeks burning in shame.

He exhaled, and his voice softened. “I can’t stay here any longer. I have to keep moving. But I want to be with you.”

“And I’m supposed to just follow you?”

He sighed in frustration and stood up from the couch. “I’m not going to beg.”

“Then don’t.” I could feel the meanness in it, like they weren’t my words. He stared at me, and I’d never seen him so hurt, the mirth in his eyes extinguished.

As he moved toward the door, I called out to him, but he kept going, and then he was gone.

Around two a.m. that night, Hess and Martha found me in Hess’s kitchen eating leftover fried chicken in the dark.

I’d left Martha’s without telling her and walked all the way back through the city to Hess’s house, imagining the woods from the album—this magical place where my mother had once heard music in the trees and where she’d discovered the thing that made her want to keep living.

“Where have you been?” Hess demanded sharply.

I glared at her, allowing all of the resentment of the last few weeks to rise to the surface. Even Lorraine and Carl had never tried to control me like this; for all of their indifference, at least in that house I’d had a bit of freedom.

“We were just worried,” Martha said gently. “Tell us what happened.”

So I told them about my fight with Micah. “The thing is,” I explained, “I actually think he’s right. I want to see the mountains where my mom grew up and be in those woods. Maybe I’ll understand her better than I have being here, or maybe I’ll find something of my own. I just felt like he was pressuring me.”

“It’s a nice idea,” Hess said softly, as if I wasn’t being serious.

“I mean it. I think it’s what I need.”

“But where is this coming from?” she asked.

“I’ve been thinking about ‘Mountain Girl,’ and—”

Hess turned to Martha. “You let her listen to that? You know how I feel—” She stopped, clearly unwilling to finish the sentence in front of me.

“Hess, you don’t get to decide—” Martha shot back.

“Yes, I do—”

“Excuse me?” I interjected. “Can you please not talk about me as if I’m not here?”

Hess’s face softened again. “I’m sorry, but—”