Page 74 of Night Songs

The funeral was a big Nashville affair—not the type you might see for a star, but everyone in the industry was there. I saw Hess from afar fielding visitors and playing the good hostess as usual. Micah and I gave her quick hugs, and though her words were warm, she avoided meeting my eye. I tried to ask how she was doing, but then she was pulled aside by another mourner, and I moved along.

I had seen Hess many times over the last six years. She had apologized to me and Micah, and she was always especially nice to him, as if perpetually making up for the past. She called frequently and sent us Christmas gifts, and on the surface, we kept in touch.

But she and I had never gotten back to where we were that summer. I had forgiven her, of course; I could see now that her intentions had been good. And yet, there was still this wall between us, and I didn’t know howto bring it down. She was the closest I’d ever come to having something resembling family besides Micah—and I couldn’t help feeling I’d ruined it.

During the service, as people recounted stories of Martha guiding their careers as young musicians, I remembered how Martha had made me feel like a person worthy of respect over the years, especially when it felt like no one else did, and at the thought, my eyes welled. I realizedthiswas true mourning, like I’d never been able to feel for my parents. Holding the singular beauty of someone in your mind and realizing you would never witness it again.

The reception was held at Tima’s house, where Micah and I mostly kept to ourselves in the corner, eating the Southern foods that only tasted this way in Nashville. We lingered after everyone left, and Tima asked me to take a plate to Hess upstairs where she’d gone to freshen up.

I didn’t find her in any of the second-floor rooms, and so I searched the rest of the house, the paper plate going limp in my hand. I finally found her in the garage, curled up in the backseat of Martha’s black Gran Torino with her face pressed into the leather.

I opened the door and got in next to her, but she didn’t stir.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered to the thick, hot air of the garage, and I wasn’t just talking about Martha.

She turned over and faced me, and I saw most of her makeup had rubbed off, leaving her face gray and drawn. “Oh, honey. Don’t be.”

God, I felt so ashamed. “I’m sorry, this isn’t about me. This is about Martha.”

She smiled tearily. “I think Martha would have loved for us to have a real talk.” She heaved herself up and leaned back against the seat.

“I know it’s been years, but I feel like there’s still this distance between us. And I don’t know what to do about it. I know it’s my fault.”

“No, honey, it’s not.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I wanted to respect your boundaries like you asked, but I think I went a little overboard.” She patted my leg. “I’ve been thinking about how Martha wanted me to be honest with you that summer, and I didn’t listen to her.”

I gestured for her to go on.

She folded her hands in her lap. “I didn’t talk to you about your father back then because I didn’t want to color your perception of him, or make you think badly of Lou. Part of me blames him for a lot of things I shouldn’t.” She paused for a long moment, then continued, “Tate got Lou into drugs when they first met—she was on them when she wroteThe Cursed Womanand throughout the time she spent with him, until the end when they both got clean. And I blamed him for bringing that kind of suffering into her life—still do, in a way, if I’m honest. It’s hard to let go of.”

The beautiful dope-fiend version of my mother I’d crafted as a child reappeared in my mind like the memory of an old enemy. “So there was some truth to what my aunt told me after all.”

Hess’s eyes hardened, and I tensed against the soft leather seat. “Every word that woman ever told you about your mother was alie. Do you understand me?”

I nodded, afraid to say anything more, and Hess softened. “I’m sorry, honey. I just… I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about her.”

“Is that why you and mom had the falling out? Over the drugs?”

“No, it happened before that. But we didn’t become friends again until she was sober.”

Something else popped into my mind then—the image of my mother with bloodshot eyes and chapped lips from my mushroom vision. I had never asked Hess about it, partly because it seemed too strange to articulate, but now it was cast in a new light.

“Did my mom have a cabin when I was little? I think I might have a memory of us going to a cabin and her being scared and wanting to tell me something important.”

Hess’s face paled for a moment, then righted. “That was probably my cabin. She used to bring you to visit quite a bit, though I’m not sure of the time you’re talking about. What do you remember?”

I told her, and she nodded absently, looking off into the distance.“Could she have been on drugs then?” I asked. There had clearly been something off about her in the memory.

Hess’s brow furrowed. “No, she stayed clean once she had you.” For a moment it seemed she wanted to say more, but then she stopped. I waited, but she remained quiet, and I was lost to my own thoughts. I remember thinking,At least there was a cabin. Perhaps it wasn’t just a fever dream, but a fragment of something larger, filtered through a child’s perception.

“Micah seems like a wonderful person,” Hess said to fill the silence.

“He’s the best person I know,” I said, and Hess smiled.

“Thank the Lord forthat.”

There was another beat of silence, and I noticed Martha’s signature aviators still clipped to the visor up front. “This car is so cool.”

“Martha left it to you in her will.”