He cradled it respectfully in his long hands, with a reverence that Annelise clearly relished and that Eden appreciated.
“Wow, she’s really pretty,” he told her.
“My guitar is agirl?” Annelise breathed. “How do you know?”
“I can just tell. I know a lot about girls.”
He shot a mischievous look in Eden’s direction. Which she didn’t reward with anything like a smile. He didn’t need the encouragement.
“I write all my songs on this guitar,” Annelise pronounced as grandly as if she were Adele. “I wrote ‘Invisible Dad’ on this guitar. I know Glory Greenleaf. She’s super great. She taught me to play C and G and then she went away to be famous. Play A minor now, okay?”
Jasper obligingly strummed an A minor chord, and then, thrillingly, sang.
“Annelise... oh Annelise...
The wind in the trees whispers sweet Annelise...
The trees
say to the bees
have you seen Annelise?
She’s as pretty as the spring
And she’ll make you want to sing
... Annelise...”
Eden and Annelise listened, motionless, utterly enchanted.
That was Jasper’s power. He could whip out a silly song just like that and sing it with enormous soul and have a stadium eating out of his hand.
He smiled at Annelise, pleased with himself, charmed by, and probably relieved by, Annelise’s rapt silence and glowing eyes.
“Maybe something about breeze next,” she suggested shyly. “Or grilled cheese. And maybe you could really whisper one of the sentences.”
“Those are all excellent suggestions. I’ll work on it. Did you name her?” He gestured with the guitar.
“Guitars havenames?” Annelise was fascinated.
“Oh, yeah. For example, the two guitars I play the most are named Arrow and, um, Veronica.”
“How come those names?”
He hesitated again.
Eden was pretty sure there was some prurient reason for both of them.
“They just seemed to fit,” he said diplomatically, apparently catching on how easy it was to get lost in a conversational labyrinth with a ten-year-old, where one question never led out of it; it just led to another and another and another.
“Maybe you should name a guitar Annelise.”
“Maybe I should.”
“It would be so cool if you could sing at my school,” Annelise said with great wistfulness.
“Why, does Principal Caldera sing?” he asked, with startling, almost comical bitterness. “I could totally sing at your school.”