sir.’ ‘Thank you,’ and ‘You’re welcome.’ That’s been the extent of my interactions. But I dreamed about you, before you ever came along.”
My eyebrows shot up, and I looked over at her, away from the road for half a second, trying to determine whether she was pulling my leg.
“You can laugh, if you want to. I know it’s silly. But it’s true. I swear it on Lee Otis’s life. I worried about it too. I worried because I couldn’t understand it. Dreamin’ about a big white man playing piano.” She laughed softly. “I’ve dreamed about you for years, but I never told anyone. Who was I gonna tell? Mama? She’d have beat some sense into me. Then you showed up at Shimmy’s, and I found out who you were. Benny Lament, the piano man. Big shot. Goin’ places. There you were, in the flesh, listening to me sing. I don’t put much stock in the Bible or in spiritual things. But I’m no fool either. When God holds up a sign that says ‘Pay attention, Esther,’ I’m gonna pay attention.” Her voice wobbled but her back got straighter, even as tears started to stream down her cheeks. She folded her arms, defensive, but the tears kept coming, like vulnerability was harder than pain.
I didn’t know what to say. The ache in my chest had shifted into something new. Something hopeful. Something sweet. I handed her a handkerchief. It was one of Pop’s. I hadn’t been able to part with his goddamn handkerchiefs, and I’d been carrying one in my pocket since the wake. She took it from my hand and pressed it to her face.
“That’s twice now,” she said, her voice ringing with aversion. “I don’t cry. Ever. I don’t cry, and I don’t fall asleep in the presence of strange men, even in a car, even when I’m tired. I don’t even know who I am anymore.” The irony of the statement struck her as funny, and she laughed as she mopped at her cheeks. I didn’t have to point out that for the first time in her life, she knew exactly who she was.
“You know, Benny. I went to your apartment yesterday to comfort you. I know I didn’t succeed. I said some ridiculous thing about needing to record our songs, but that wasn’t why I was there. I went to see if you were okay. To be your friend. But you’re so much better at it than I am.”
“At what?”
“Being a friend. Taking care of people.” She waved Pop’s handkerchief at me. “You do the mother hen thing really well.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yeah. You do.”
I didn’t argue further, but she was wrong. I took care of myself, and I always had. I looked out for Benny. For number one. I’d never been a good son, a good grandson, a good nephew, or a good friend. I was a good musician, and that was all.
When I didn’t protest, Esther folded up the white handkerchief; she kept it clutched in her hand, as though she thought she might need it again, but she abandoned the subject.
“I always wondered why Mama wasn’t the same with me. She never treated me bad. She wasn’t harsh. But she didn’t have the same affection for me as she did for my brothers. I thought it was all in my head. That I was sensitive. Needy. Now I feel like I’ve been the butt of a joke that everyone understood but me. I should have known. I see that now.
“Mama never said a bad word about my father. Never complained. The money helped, I’m sure,” she added, her voice wry. “She told me he left her with a sack of cash and a letter.” Esther shrugged like it didn’t matter anymore, but I knew better. It would always matter.
“I always thought it was kind of odd, how much she liked him and how well she spoke of him, especially since he didn’t stick around. It makes sense now, though. He didn’t leave her. He just left me.”
I wanted to defend Bo Johnson, but I didn’t. Esther’s voice was introspective, not self-pitying or accusatory, and I let her talk, uninterrupted.
“The money made her nervous, though. She never flashed it or called attention to the fact that we had enough to eat and the bills were paid. She took in ironing and alterations, but it wasn’t high-paying work. She’d worry that the money would stop, and there were months when it wouldn’t come. But the next month