When Devils Sing(14)

But reality was never that simple, and he knew it as best as anyone.

Everyone broke off in pairs, with Keisha and Isaiah assigned to pick the green peas. His cousin worked the lower part of the trellises, while Isaiah reached for the higher ones. Before long, they’d filled two crates’ worth. As a team, they hauled the full crates onto the pickup truck, chasing each other around the wire trellises, laughing and carrying on as they worked.

Once they were done, Keisha ran off to help Aunt Tamera with the tomato vines, while Isaiah joined his uncle Cedric and grandparents as they harvested the eggplants.

Grandma Bee smiled as Isaiah approached, making a dramatic show to hug Cedric’s arm. “Look here, Isaiah. Ced just told us he was up fightin’ fires all night, yet he still made it to the harvest. That’s my boy.”

Uncle Cedric was the youngest of his father’s siblings, Laurence being the oldest, Tamera in the middle, and then Ced, Grandma Bee’s favorite. A fact she was incredibly vocal about. Papa Charles chuckled at Bee’s dramatics, while Ced playfully rolled his eyes, then planted a kiss on the top of Grandma Bee’s head. “It’s nothing, Ma. I was only doing my job.”

Papa Charles snorted as he wiped sweat from his forehead. “Your night didn’t sound like nothin’ to me.”

“What happened?” Isaiah asked as he helped pluck plump eggplant from leafy, overgrown bushes. “Did the burnings get out of control?”

“It was a wild night,” Ced said casually. He took a long swig from his water bottle before continuing. “Everythin’ from unruly fires to a couple bad car accidents. One thing after another. Never seen a night quite like it.”

Papa Charles and Grandma Bee exchanged a curious look, something unspoken passing between them.

Ced continued, oblivious to the looks of his parents, “There was even a fire at that motel off the highway. Y’all know the one?”

Papa Charles grunted. “That’s the Singhs’ motel still, ain’t it? They all right?”

Isaiah froze, nearly dropping his basket of eggplants on the ground. “What?”

Ced nodded. “They’re fine. Their car caught on fire. Nasty business, but no one was hurt.”

“Thank the Lord.” Grandma Bee frowned. “That poor family. They keep goin’ through it.” Her dark eyes flitted to Isaiah. “You should go pay ’em a visit after harvest. Take a crate of produce over.”

Papa Charles nodded in agreement. “That’d be real nice. Let ’em know we’re here if they need anything.”

“I’ll do that,” Isaiah said slowly. He wasn’t excited about the idea, but it was the right thing to do. He and Neera Singh had once been best friends, but that was firmly in the past. After what happened three years ago, the possibility of seeing her again felt heavy inside his chest.

Once the eggplant bushes were picked clean, Isaiah wandered to the tree line and squatted in the dirt, yawning into his elbow.

Isaiah couldn’t help but smile at the land, at how different life was below the fault line. He’d spent most of his life in gated Atlanta suburbs, the environment sterile and cookie-cutter, with the people to match, but summers spent down at the farm were where he truly felt like himself. Even if he was still figuring out exactly who that was.

Ginger, the farm’s cat, strolled over, weaving between Isaiah’s legs. He scratched her ear, dusting fresh dirt off her pink nose. Ginger was the only stray allowed inside Grandma Bee’s house and she knew it. The farm was her dominion. She nuzzled Isaiah’s hand and flopped onto her back, purring loudly.

A gust of wind picked up around them, rustling the trees.

Ginger was on her feet in an instant, eyes locked on the tree line with pupils blown wide. She hissed, every bit of fur along her back standing straight up. Isaiah grabbed for her, but she swatted at his hand.

“Ow!” Isaiah recoiled, pulling his hand back to his chest. Ginger took off at a sprint, back toward the house. Isaiah inspected the cut. She had left three bright red slashes across the back of his wrist.

“What’d you do to my cat?” Papa Charles called, his tone playful.

Isaiah shook his head. “Nothing. She was just acting strange.”

Papa Charles opened his mouth to respond, but something made him pause. He turned slowly toward the wood, his head canted to one side. Listening. His usual smile faded from his sun-worn face. “You hear that?”

Isaiah strained to listen, too. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly,” Papa Charles said, his voice coming out low.

He was right. There was no sound at all. No birds chirping or frogs croaking. Even the roosters and hens were silent. The wind moved through the trees, but it seemed to have taken sound away with it—not even a rustle of branches.

“Pop,” Isaiah whispered. “What’s going on?”

Papa Charles shook his head. “We need to get inside. Come on.”

They walked quickly back toward the house, their footsteps strangely muted. Isaiah had never heard such silence before. A total absence of sound. The farm’s attendees all shuffled inside, their movements quiet and hurried.

Grandma Bee was already on the porch when they reached it.

“Where’s Keisha?” Papa Charles asked, a little breathless.

“Inside with everybody else.” Grandma Bee looked past them, out to the forest.