Page 27 of August Lane
Silas frowned at something to her right. Mavis glided into the room dressed in a formfitting red power suit that probably cost more than August paid for her apartment.
“What’s the point of having a phone if you never answer it?” She dropped festival flyers on Silas’s desk. “When was the last time you spoke to August? We need to figure out how to tell her that Luke—” Mavis straightened and spun around, finally sensing another person in the room. “Oh. Hi.”
August stood. “You’re too late. He showed up at King’s earlier and made me take his order.”
Her face hardened. “Asshole.”
“Right?”
“Hold up now,” Silas said, lifting a hand. “He tried to apologize.”
“There’s a sell-by date on those things.” Mavis looked at August. “I hope you told him where to go.”
“Poured hot coffee on his dick.”
Mavis’s mouth fell open. “How hot?”
“It was at King’s.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “Oh. Okay.”
“Ain’t nothing wrong with that coffeepot,” Silas grumbled. He glanced at the flyers. “And I’m not putting those in my window until you put that money back into the showcase budget. If not, thanks for stopping by.”
August looked at Mavis. “What money? What’s he talking about?”
Mavis glared at Silas and then forced a smile for August’s benefit. “Your mother’s concert is a huge opportunity for the city, so we revised the festival budget to capitalize on it.” Her voice had a CEO edge to it, which always happened when her cousin was in charge of something. Her competitive nature hadn’t subsided once she stopped playing volleyball. If there was a brass ring to win, Mavis wanted it. Now she’d decided that Jojo’s concert was the key.
“Revised meaning gutted,” Silas said. “I’ve got no support for the showcase. No ads. No signage. Word of mouth won’t work, either. All anyone’s talking about is Jojo.” He waved Mavis away. “Cancel it.”
“No!” August moved to block Mavis from his view. “Your showcase is the festival. Everyone knows it. The other shows are just cash grabs and publicity. The real music gets played here.” August thought about the previous showcases she’d attended. The event had a reputation that bordered on myth. People used to say that performing there brought good luck, as evidenced by the number of people who’d signed with publishers and producers after the show.
That ended with the pandemic, when the festival was canceled and later downsized out of caution. This year was supposed to be their big comeback, a return to how things were before. But the showcase wasn’t on people’s radar anymore. After the Black Lives Matter protests, larger festivals committed to being more inclusive. The musicians that would have normally flocked to Delta Blue were booking gigs at higher-profile events instead.
“I think your mother would take issue with you calling her Hall of Fame celebration a cash grab.” Mavis gave August the same concerned look she did yesterday while banning her from church. “When was the last time you spoke to her?”
August ignored the question. If she admitted that she and Jojo weren’tspeaking, they would want to know why, and she wasn’t ready to discuss that with anyone. “He’s right.” She grabbed a flyer advertising Jojo’s show and waved it around. “You need to focus on the showcase instead of—” Her eyes caught on a list of names beneath Jojo’s photo. “What the hell is this?”
Silas grabbed a copy. He read it, then gave August a warning look that told her to calm down. She swallowed hard and did her best to comply. “Is Luke opening for my mother?”
Mavis looked like she’d been asked to swallow a frog. “This is what I was trying to figure out how to tell you. He’s not just opening. They’re performing a song together.”
August kept her eyes on the flyer. She had to ask. But she didn’t want them to see her face when she heard the answer. “Which song?”
Hey, it’s Ethan. Leave me a message, and I’ll get back to you. Promise.
Luke listened to his brother’s voicemail with the weight of ten bricks on his chest. He tried to focus on the road, keep both hands on the wheel until the feeling subsided. It always did once he accepted that Ethan’s promise applied to everyone but him.
“It’s me,” Luke said, elevating his voice for the speakerphone. “You won’t believe where I am right now.” He scanned his surroundings, taking in the sprawl of his family’s land on either side of his truck. “You’ve probably already seen the news. Or maybe not. Big-time doctors don’t have much time to waste scrolling online. I’m back in Arcadia. Doing a concert with Jojo Lane.”
He tried to gather his thoughts. If he wasn’t careful, the message would devolve into a messy stream of consciousness, things he wanted to tell his brother in person instead of through a recording. But it had been six years since Ethan returned his calls. Six years since his brother said he was done watching Luke kill himself slowly.
Luke had been in denial at first. He would send unanswered texts and tell himself that while Ethan was angry now, he’d eventually relent the way he always did. Then a year went by, and Luke panicked. He showed up unannounced at Ethan’s house and was met by his apologetichusband, who gently suggested he wait to be invited before showing up for a visit.
When Luke finished rehab, he’d immediately called Ethan and left a message announcing his sobriety with the smugness of someone who had no idea what it meant. He received no congratulations. No acknowledgment that he’d slain the dragon that had destroyed their relationship. But Ethan hadn’t blocked or changed his number, either, so Luke became caught in a painful loop. Something good would happen and he’d immediately think this was it. This was the thing that would make a difference. Today, it was the concert. He thought Ethan might be proud of him for coming home.
“On my way out to the farm right now. Wish you were here,” Luke said. “You’re still better at handling Mom than me.”
He cleared his throat. “I’ll have some tickets on hold for you if you want to come down to the festival.” He glanced at the clock and realized how long he’d been talking. “Love you,” he mumbled, then disconnected.
