When Devils Sing(66)
Any further thought was lost to the squeal of a microphone. Onstage, Jason the asshole tapped the mic aggressively. He bellowed, “Is this thing on?” Cheers and whistles erupted in response. “We’re beginning the Cicada’s Song in twenty minutes!”
CHAPTER 26REID
The Langley siblings sat in a crescent-shaped booth near the Tavern’s stage, front and center for the night’s events. Flanked on either side by a cadre of their friends, the group was packed together like sardines. Under the table, Reid’s leg bounced in an anxious rhythm. He scanned the crowd once more, looking for Isaiah. He had replayed the conversation between them over a dozen times in his head, dissecting every word.
What does Isaiah know about Dawson? About my mother?
“Did you forget to take your Adderall this morning, bro?” Jonah asked pointedly. “Chill out.”
Reid scowled. “Fuck you.”
“Ooh, scary words,” Jonah taunted.
Farris laughed on the other side of him. “Seriously, Reid. What’s gotten into you? You’ve had your whole sad puppy schtick going on the past few days. Now this?”
Reid shrugged, feigning ignorance, hoping his siblings would drop it. That night, he hoped whatever Isaiah had to say would provide him answers and, ideally, closure.
A microphone’s squeal reverberated through the Tavern, interrupting the buzz of voices. Jason, the Tavern’s manager, stood on the stage near where Reid and his group sat. He tapped the microphone a few times, gathering the attention of the audience. The room slowly fell quiet.
“Good evenin’, everyone,” Jason said, grinning. “How y’all doing tonight?” The restaurant erupted in cheers and claps. “Beautiful,” he continued. “As y’all know, this is a very special night. Not only because it’s the night of the Cicada’s Song hosted by yours truly…” A few men in the crowd playfully booed. Jason pointed to them. “I heard that, Rob. Corey. You’re cut off for the night. No more free booze for you.” The crowd laughed. “But also, because it’s the beginning of the Cicada Festival. Our seventh one! Can y’all believe it?”
The crowd cheered once more, louder than before. People hooted and hollered. If Reid didn’t know any better, he’d think he was transported to a dive bar on the other side of town. But Lake Clearwater residents were cut from a different cloth than average wealth. During the Cicada Festival, their usual Southern decorum flew out the window, replaced by a weekend of decadent, unbridled celebration.
“All right, all right.” Jason waved his hand, taming the crowd. “Since it’s the first night, and in the spirit of fairness, I thought we’d kick the Cicada’s Song off with a newcomer.” The crowd whispered among themselves. “Welcome up to the stage: Neera Singh.”
At the sound of the name, Reid sat up straight. His eyes fixed on Neera walking onto the stage, a shining acoustic guitar slung over her shoulder. Though when Reid had last seen her, she’d been covered in blood and dirt, crying over a mutilated deer. The glossy version of Neera that stood onstage was nearly unrecognizable from the person he’d seen last night.
The microphone squealed again as Neera adjusted it to her height. “I’m Neera,” she said softly. “Thank you for having me. Tonight, I’ll be—”
Jonah cupped his hands around his mouth, then yelled, “Speak up! We can’t hear you!” The demand was followed by several agreeing cheers and laughter across the audience. His brother snickered while Farris yawned.
“They always put the bad ones up first,” she commented dryly. “Poor thing.”
Everyone at their table turned their heads to watch Neera Singh play, their gazes hungry for entertainment. Reid held his breath.
Clearing her throat, Neera continued, this time louder, “I was told y’all like music that reminds you of sweet summer days.” A few people cheered yeahhh in response. “So, I hope you enjoy this song. Don’t be afraid to sing along if you know the words.”
Reid winced a little as she adjusted herself onstage, settling onto a stool. There was a stillness to her that was at odds with the energy of the Tavern. She was a far cry from the usual musicians that gathered onstage: bearded white guys with banjos and harmonicas, or doe-eyed girls in cowgirl boots singing pop-country.
As Neera began to strum her guitar, Reid’s muscles tensed.
“Almost heaven, West Virginia,” she crooned. “Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River.”
The room fell silent as Neera sang. Everyone’s attention was fixed squarely on her, in a way Reid didn’t expect. The voice that came from her was so beautiful it bordered on uncomfortable. She sang “Country Roads” with its usual rhythm, but coming from her, it was somehow even more dreamy and melancholic.
“Country roads, take me home. To the place I belong.”
Reid didn’t know if it was the night’s energy that had gone to his head, but the room slanted a little. With every swell and dip of Neera’s voice, the bodies in the Tavern shifted with her. He had the sensation of being in the back seat of a car with his parents as a child, riding through the dizzying Smoky Mountains in the early morning. Whether it was true, or simply a sensation the music made him feel, he truly didn’t know.
He closed his eyes, allowing himself to be shepherded away by Neera’s voice. By the soft twang of the guitar’s strings. By the stillness of the Tavern, wholly enraptured in the story of the song. Reid’s mind’s eye conjured images of ancient trees and rivers winding through the mountains. He felt the caress of his mother’s hand on his shoulder as they looked out onto the valley stretching below them, a pastel sun rising at the edge of the world.