When Devils Sing(33)
“You hear that?” Neera asked, angling her head around, scanning the lot, then the lake’s shore.
Sam followed her gaze. “It’s probably from the Langley luncheon.”
“What’s that?”
Sam rolled her eyes, seemingly at the thought of it. “It’s basically a super exclusive, fancy pregame party for Clearwater’s finest.” She didn’t bother hiding the bitter edge in her tone. “But I really have no idea what those rich folks get up to. All I know is that it’s held to celebrate the arrival of the cicadas. Personally, I can’t stand the little buzzin’ fuckers.”
Neera couldn’t help but laugh at Sam’s blunt phrasing. “I didn’t think it was possible a bug could be so loud.”
Sam laughed with her, tilting her head back into the rays of the sun. Her skin shone with hundreds of freckles, while her red hair shimmered with streaks of gold and copper. Frizzy, tangled, in a loose braid down her back. She somehow looked how summer felt: warm and wild. But then Neera looked closer, noticing fresh cuts peeking out from beneath her shirt collar, scabs and bruises dotting her arms. Nicks and scrapes along her fingers and hands.
Neera pulled her eyes away.
Sam leaned in close again, wiggling her eyebrows. “Town legend says that the Clearwater folks owe their riches to the cicadas. That without them, all their good fortune would vanish. That’s why they damn near worship ’em.”
Neera wrinkled her nose at the thought. “You think there’s any truth to that?”
“I think small-town superstitions rot the brain,” Sam said, her gaze going distant. “Though I suppose anything’s possible around here.”
Sam didn’t need to elaborate for Neera to understand what she meant. There was a palpable strangeness to Carrion, felt especially during the summer months, even more so with the arrival of the thirteen-year cicadas. Everything, both wonderful and horrible, felt equally likely then. As if the sticky, muggy air buzzed with a sense of tremendous possibility.
“I know what you mean,” Neera murmured.
Sam looked up then. “Yeah?” They held each other’s gaze for a breath. The moment felt significant in a way Neera didn’t quite understand, but she didn’t let herself consider it further.
“I gotta get going,” Neera blurted, turning her attention to the car’s steering wheel.
“Wait one sec,” Sam said, still leaning through the Nissan’s window. She pulled a pen and napkin from her server’s apron, quickly scrawling something onto it. “Here, in case you think of backin’ out between now and the Cicada’s Song.”
Neera took the napkin, finding a phone number on it. “And I’m supposed to do what with this?”
“Call or text me whenever.” Sam smirked. “I’m volunteering my time as your number one hype person. I’ll be around if you need me.”
“Thanks,” Neera said as heat warmed her cheeks.
Sam gave her a dramatic salute and then she was off.
Once Sam was out of sight, Neera groaned, running her fingers through her thick hair, and pressed her forehead against the warm steering wheel. There was no way in hell she could perform in a matter of days, not in a room full of people like Jason and Grant goddamn Langley. It was obvious Grant had given her a chance just to see how she’d fare onstage, though it felt like more of a test than an opportunity. But he was right. She had to do more than sing a pretty song. Neera needed to win over a crowd of people who’d rather see someone else behind the mic.
But it was too hot to sit in her car doubting herself. Neera pulled out of the Tavern’s parking lot and onto the two-lane road that wound through Lake Clearwater. It was barely the start of summer and already the heat felt oppressive—too thick and wet for even the AC to contend with.
Neera put on her favorite Pearl Jam album, cranking up the volume as she drove along the smooth, manicured roads. Not a pothole in sight. The world was so different on this side of the gate. If Carrion was a dingy, sepia-toned old photograph, sun faded and creased, Lake Clearwater was like the set of a sitcom, all crisp lines and oversaturated color. Even the cicadas were somehow quieter.
While she sat idling at a stop sign, the sun flared off the lake and into Neera’s eyes. She lowered the sun visor, the picture of Ajay fluttering down from where she’d tucked it away, landing in her lap. Long-buried thoughts about her uncle resurfaced. And with them, her overwhelming grief.
Ajay had taught Neera everything: how to swim, how to drive, how to dream. But he hadn’t taught her the most crucial of life’s lessons—how to live without him. It never made sense to her that he’d done it, that he’d truly taken his own life. It was a truth she couldn’t seem to reconcile, even after three years.
A car’s horn blared behind her, shocking Neera to the present moment. She hit the gas, desperate to shake her thoughts away.
Ajay was gone, and he was never coming back. No amount of overthinking was going to change it.
CHAPTER 12SAM
Late that humid June night, the devil waited for Sam in the Tavern parking lot. She spotted him through the windows as she flipped the last table of chairs. She lingered as Jason counted out her meager tips for the evening, even asking him to count again, if only to avoid walking out the front door. She volunteered to mop and toss the trash in the dumpster, much to the busboys’ endorsement but not to Jason’s.