When Devils Sing(79)
“Long story,” she said, self-consciously tucking wet strands of hair behind her ear. She wasn’t prepared to see him like this, looking like a mutt without a home. “You?”
Grant made a flippant gesture toward the sky. “Damn storm caught me on my run. I thought I’d wait here until it lightens up.” He eyed the Yamaha’s case and her own sodden clothes. “I suppose the storm caught you, too.”
“I’m waiting on a friend,” Neera lied, looking away. “Just waiting here until they pick me up.”
Grant nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. “You mind some company?”
“Fine by me.”
“Fantastic.” Grant stepped farther into the gazebo, wringing out water from his baseball cap. The color of his surfer-style hair reminded Neera of dirty dishwater. He moved to the railing across from her, leaning against it just enough to not be pelted by the rain. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Why don’t you play me somethin’?”
Neera blinked. “Right now?”
“Now’s as good a time as any,” Grant said with a shrug.
Thunder boomed, briefly rattling her bones, followed by a flash of lightning across the water.
“Okay,” Neera said. With hesitant hands, she pulled the Yamaha from its case. It felt awkward resting against her wet clothes, but she brushed the insecurities away. The only thing that mattered right now was how well she played. “Anything particular you wanna hear?”
Grant rubbed his chin. With easy, Southern charm he said, “I’d like to hear a song that matters to you. Something special.”
Special? Neera considered for a breath, then the perfect song came to mind. “I suppose I’ll play one of my favorites. ‘Cross Road Blues’ by Robert Johnson.”
Grant folded his arms across his chest. “Let’s hear it.”
Once the thunder had subsided and the rain fell in a steady rhythm, Neera began to strum the Yamaha’s strings. It took over a minute for her to get the tune right. The song was difficult to perform, requiring a unique sliding technique that most musicians could only dream of mastering. It was awkward and uncomfortable, but she figured she didn’t sell her soul to play easy songs.
I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees
The song was a legendary blues ballad, shown to Neera at a young age. Ajay had been enamored with not only the song, but the man behind it. Robert Johnson was a musical icon, inspiring the likes of Hendrix and Clapton, and all the burgeoning musicians that followed, including Ajay.
I believe I’m sinkin’ down
When the song finally came to an end, Neera’s gaze lingered on her toes. Heat warmed her neck as she noticed flecks of mud caked to her feet. She was too afraid to look at Grant, fearing disappointment in his eyes. After everything with her family, she couldn’t handle more rejection. Softly, she asked, “What’d you think?”
“Neera Singh,” Grant began, stepping forward. He knelt before her, his gray eyes bright and gleaming. “You’re like lightnin’ in a goddamn bottle.”
Neera let out a heavy sigh of relief. Slowly, a genuine smile crept across her face. “You don’t know how much it means to hear that.”
Grant returned the smile, his straight teeth white as pearls. “Anytime, kid.” He then canted his head to the side, looking up. “Hear that? Sounds like the storm is subsidin’. For now.”
Past the gazebo, the world began to reveal itself. In a strange way, she wished the storm would stay, and she could remain wrapped up within it. She wasn’t yet ready to face her uncertain reality just yet. “I guess you better head back before it picks up again.”
“That’s wise,” Grant said, rising from his place on the floor. He stretched out his leg muscles, then tapped something on his fitness watch. “Is your friend coming by soon? I’d hate to leave you out here in this kind of weather. Tornado season and all that.”
Neera pulled out her phone, hoping to see a text or call from Isaiah. But there weren’t any notifications. It hadn’t been long since she called, but she feared what she’d do once the sun began to set, and she truly had nowhere else to go. “Yeah,” she lied. “Should be here any minute.”
Grant looked her over again, studying her with an unreadable gaze. “I know it’s not my place to say. And I say this with no judgment, but … I’m afraid I’m familiar with what being kicked out of the house looks like.”
Neera bristled, heat warming her cheeks. “I haven’t—I’m not—I’m fine.”
“Hey, now,” Grant said, holding up his hands. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’ve been there before. Many times.”
“You’ve been kicked out of the house?” Neera arched an eyebrow.
Grant smirked. “Oh yeah. Plenty of times when I was about your age. I didn’t come from a family of musicians if that’s what you’re thinkin’. No, ma’am. Born and raised to strict Southern Baptists. They wanted my life to go a certain way, and I wanted it to go another. I came out on top in the end, but the road to get here wasn’t always pretty.”
Neera eyed him. “Was that when you knew Ajay? In the band?”
“It was.” Grant’s gaze turned thoughtful. “He was a good friend to me back then. Helped me out of a couple tough spots.”