Page 10 of All of You

Rita had a beat on this. She shook her head even before the other woman had finished talking.

“Nope. No, I heard she’s from Kentucky. But no one knows where. And it’s really strange she’s shrouded in all this mystery.” Her gaze jerked to me. “Where’s she from, do you know?”

I cleared my throat, buying myself time and likely revealing my lowborn manners to the table of wealthy Nashvillians. “Well, seeing as how we just met a few weeks ago, I’m not acquainted with her biography.”

I took a sip of water and watched them all smile, though Rita and Janelle were clearly unimpressed with my response.

“But do you?—”

Fortunately, the announcer cut Janelle off before she could grill me for details I didn’t have.

The performances were all impressive, especially considering most of them were from elementary-aged kids. The high school’s closing number could have been a professional orchestra and choral group. My heart beat a little faster knowing soon, Whit would take the stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I know you’ve been eager for this, so here you have it, Music City Charter’s kindergarten class, and the lovely and talented, Whit Grantham.”

A guitar strummed, and fifteen five-year-olds scampered on stage. Then came Whit, heading up the line and taking her seat on a stool spotlighted to the left of the crowd of kids. She looked over at them, their attention pinned anxiously on her, and I could see her ask “Ready?” in a whisper, and then, all of the kids wagged their heads, signaling they were.

Her face lit up with a delighted smile, and a pulse of warning shot through me.

Danger.

Whit sang along periodically, but mostly, she accompanied the kids on her guitar. When the song ended, the whole crowd stood, including Whit, and clapped for the kindergarteners. She was beaming at them, and if I was reading her right, she’d genuinely enjoyed the interaction.

The kids filed off, and Whit pulled her guitar over her head and held it by the neck. As she turned to go, the emcee leaned his head toward hers, and they had a short conversation, then she turned and sat back on the stool and adjusted the guitar strap over her head once again.

“A special treat, everyone. Miss Whit Grantham.”

Applause and a few whistles filled the room, and Whit smiled easily.

“I wasn’t expecting to play by myself for ya’ll, so I’m hoping you’ll forgive me. Those kids are a tough act to follow.” A few chuckles and scattered claps filled the air. “How about we do something seasoned, huh?”

I thought I’d heard the chords to one of the songs from her first album, but then came the bouncing strum of old Country, and there they came, the lyrics about chasing big wheels all over Nashville while waiting for a big break to come.

After a rumble of unintelligible exclamations, a few laughs, and some quiet applause, Whit continued. And my heart downright thudded in my chest, like it beat in time to her guitar.

Her guitar, strumming the tunes of a song by my all-time favorite Country artist, the late great Waylon Jennings. The song? “Nashville Bum,” and it was all I could do not to whistle and clap and shout at her. It left me floored.

Who was this woman?

She had the attention of everyone in the room, a crowd so full of people who loved her and wanted to hear her sing, and she sang an old, obscure Waylon song?

Danger, indeed.

“…I’m a Nashville bum.”

She smiled with one last strum, and everyone cheered as she stood, nodded slightly as a bow, and turned to head off stage with only an inaudible thank you.

I sat down in my seat and reached for my glass of water, my hand shaking from the adrenaline racing through me.

She sang Waylon.

That might not seem like a big deal, but it was. To me, anyway. She could have sung anything—anything—and clearly, everyone had expected her to sing one of her own songs. It would have been appropriate and enjoyable.

Instead, she’d showed humor and wit and depth when she chose an old favorite, a song about the city, and though it was coincidence, my feeble little mind was taking it personally, a song by my favorite Country artist.

Next up came Colton Danes, and as soon as he stepped up to the mic, I pitied him. Following Whit, especially after she’d played with the kids, would be tough, but following her playing a song by one of the greats… Brutal. Danes didn’t look fazed, and in the end, his song turned out fine.

And by fine, I mean it embodied everything I hated about contemporary Country music.

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