Page 78 of Night Songs

She looked like she might say more, but then she stopped, and I swear I could see relief pass over her face before she settled into a motherly concern. “Never mind.” She paused. “I’m just sorry you’ve been going through that, honey.”

“Thanks.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“I lost a child once.” The words seemed to echo around us, rebounding against the rock. “And I was never the same after. Everyone has their own experience, so I won’t pretend I know what you are feeling, because I don’t.” She looked away and wiped a tear. “But for a long time, I also felt like I hadn’t deserved to be a mother. Like there was something deeply wrong with me, and maybe God was punishing me.” She looked out over the horizon. “It took me a lot of time, and therapy, to realize that wasn’t true.” She turned toward me. “So I promise you, it doesn’t mean there is something wrong with you, or you’re not ‘meant’ to be a mother.”

“Thank you,” I said, still shocked by her confession. “I can’t believe you went through that.”

She shook her head and smiled self-consciously. “It was a long time ago. Eventually, life grew around the loss into something totally unexpected, and I tried to embrace it.”

Since the night I met Hess, I had sensed a sort of loneliness in her, and it’d only added depth to her warmth; she was one of those people who cared for others close up, meeting their pain with hers, and not at a distance. I had always thought it came from her never having met the right person, and she’d decided to build a different kind of life instead of wallowing, and I’d respected her for it. But perhaps I’d been wrong—maybe her loneliness was a type of grief.

I waited to see if she would share more, but she just looked out over the parched horizon, lost in her own mind. Maybe one day she would tell me the whole story.

“Did my mom have a hard time getting pregnant?” I asked.

She broke from her reverie and shook her head. “No, she didn’t. I think it happened pretty easily, actually.”

I couldn’t help feeling jealous; of course Belle had been effortlessly fertile. “Did she ever want more kids?”

Hess thought for a moment. “There was some talk, but I think you were enough for her.”

Perhaps there was comfort in that—my mother had been grateful for what she had. She didn’t waste time yearning for what was not.

As we made our way down with the sun at our backs, chasing our shadows across the rocks, I thought of what she’d said—life grew around the loss.

Off the highway, Hess pulled over at a burger place styled like an old Western saloon. I studied the laminated menu, searching for any item made of plants. When the waiter came by, Hess ordered two double cheeseburgers, a basket of fries, and two beers. I ordered a salad and a water for myself, and Hess raised an eyebrow but conceded.

When our food came, the pile of mixed greens was soggy with balsamic. I looked over at Hess’s plate. It had been months since I’d let myself have anything resembling a cheeseburger with its dirty fats and preservatives. It looked so good it glistened.

“You don’t have to keep punishing yourself.”

“There’s nothing wrong with taking care of my body.”

“Of course not. I do the same. But we all need little pleasures.” She smiled slightly, picked up her knife and fork, and cut a piece of the burger. She put the small bite on the edge of my salad bowl, the red fat-sequined juices running into the mound of wet leaves. I stared at it, canines itching. Then I took the piece between my fingers and stuffed it in my mouth.

It was golden soft and fatty against my teeth. Salty and cheesy and tangy against my tongue. When it was gone, my mouth vibrated for more.

She pushed her beer toward me, and I took a furtive sip. It was cold and herbal sliding down my throat. I took another sip, the liquid flowing through my veins, and my body sighed.

She cut another piece, this one larger, and I stuffed that in as well. She cut bite after bite until the burger was finished, and I was forced to stop.

I leaned back in the chair, belly protruding and eyelids heavy. I yearned to lie down.

She flagged down the waiter and asked them to wrap up anothercheeseburger. “Let’s go,” she said, and I followed her out into the purple light.

I had not been living these past months—only retreating, hiding, starving all other parts of my being except for the one that loved to dig against the surface and uncover some other truth to bury myself in.

Hess’s words repeated once again in my head:

Life grew around the loss.

Back at the house, we found Micah eating a burrito alone at the kitchen table, and Hess said a quick hello and headed to her room.

“How was the hike?” he asked.

“Fine,” I answered blandly. We were so careful with one another now. “We can’t keep living like this,” I said before I could chicken out.

“Like what?” he asked, turning to face me. I could tell he knew what I meant, but he wanted me to say it.