Willa says, “The song is so good. And it just died on the vine? No one ever heard it?”
“Zubow wanted to sell it to someone else to record. John Hiatt was interested. But I didn’t want to sell the song. I didn’t want to hear John Hiatt or John Fogerty sing a song I’d written for Vivi.” Brett laughs. “In addition to managing the Holiday Inn, I play guitar on Friday nights in the bar there during happy hour. It gets pretty rowdy on football weekends with all the Vols fans. I play cover songs mostly, but I always slip in ‘Golden Girl,’ and some folks think they’ve heard it before and are shocked when I tell them I wrote it. I made CDs of it that I sell out of a box for three bucks apiece. I’ve sold six hundred and twenty-four copies to date. I tell myself one of these days, it’s going to get into the right hands.”
“Do you resent my mother for ruining your big chance?” Willa says.
“Aw, gosh, I didn’t back then. I figured she didn’t get pregnant by herself,” Brett says. “And now? Listen, I’ve always believed things work out the way they’re supposed to. If I was meant to be a big rock star, someone else would have discovered me along the way. Tennessee is filled with music people, even Knoxville.” He shakes his head. “Please don’t feel sorry for me, if that’s what you’re doing. I have a good life, Willa, and very few regrets.” He puts his guitar away like he’s tucking a child into bed. “I do wish I’d gotten to see your mom again.” He smiles at Willa. “But meeting you has been a sweet surprise.”
They drive back to town in silence. If Willa were her normal self, she would be bright and clever, asking about life in Knoxville or some other safe topic. But she’s completely preoccupied with the news that Vivi got pregnant as a teenager and then miscarried.
Brett seems to notice something is wrong. He says, “Are you okay? Did I throw your world into a tailspin by showing up?”
“That’s not it,” Willa says. “It’s just that…I’ve miscarried three times.”
“Oh, hey, Willa, I’m so sorry.”
“I’m pregnant now.” Willa presses her lips together. Did she just say that out loud? Did she tell Brett Caspian, a man she’s known for four hours, that she’s pregnant before telling her own family?
“Congratulations,” Brett says cautiously. “How far along?”
“Eleven weeks,” Willa says. “So I’m still not out of the woods. I’ve been as far along as fifteen weeks and then…”
“Oh, Willa.”
“When I miscarried the first time, I asked my mother if she’d ever been through it,” Willa says. “And she told me no.”
“Ah,” Brett says.
“I was looking for commiseration, of course,” Willa says. “But I was also looking for a reason. Was there a family history of spontaneous miscarriages? My mother lied. She told me no. When the answer was yes.” They’ve arrived at the ferry. Willa parks in the lot; there’s still a little time before Brett has to go.
“Well,” Brett says. He sighs and Willa feels bad for plopping him right in the middle of their family drama just as he’s about to leave. “One of the things that crossed my mind when I read your mom’s book…”
Willa winces.
“You didn’t read the book, did you?” Brett says.
“I’m only on page thirty-eight,” Willa admits.
Brett inhales. “Well, in the book, the situation is the same as it was with your mom and me.” He laughs. “It’s definitely me, I’m Stott Macklemore to a T. But anyway, in the book, the girl, Alison, calls Stott out in California to say she’s pregnant—and she’s lying. She’s…faking it because she’s afraid she’s going to lose Stott to the rock-and-roll life. So he flies home from California, and a week or two later, she tells him she’s miscarried.”
Willa gasps. “So you think my mom was…faking it? She wasn’t pregnant at all? She didn’t miscarry? She lied to you?”
Brett moves his palms like he’s weighing something on a scale. “I’m not sure what to think. Looking back, I think she could have lied about being pregnant. She was still emotionally raw from losing her dad, and then suddenly I was off starting a new life without her, and she was lonely and sad and…desperate, just like Alison in the book.” Brett looks out the window and shakes his head. “And just like Alison, as soon as I flew home, she lost