Page 39 of August Lane
“August. Stop! I can’t do this if you—” She gulped down air. “I’m pregnant,” she said, then covered her face and cried.
CHAPTER SEVEN
2023
August took the long way home from work so she could stop at the fairgrounds. It felt silly, but after her encounter with Luke the day before, she wanted to see where the festival would happen, maybe even stand on the stage where he’d perform the new song. After their argument, she’d gone home shaken, convinced she’d made a mistake by blackmailing him into working with her. She hadn’t written new lyrics in years. But the next morning, she woke up calmer and clear-headed about her plan. This would be like the Writers’ Round in Nashville she’d heard about, where people performed their music on a shared stage hoping to find a collaborator or convince some A&R rep to offer them a publishing deal. Instead of pitching to a small crowd, she’d be doing it to the entire industry at once, courtesy of Luke’s “fairy-tale comeback,” as they were already calling it on the MusicRow website.
Things were about to change for her. Exactly how, she wasn’t sure, but people said luck was preparation meeting opportunity, didn’t they? She’d been preparing for this her whole life.
The grounds were on the sparsely inhabited south side of town. When August turned onto the dusty road that led to the even dustier parking lot, she was greeted by a billboard advertising her mother’s show. Jojo cradled a carbon microphone, her face hidden by a teal cowboy hat that matched her boots. Her first name was written in novelty Western font dotted with reflective lights that made the letters shimmer in the sun. The other performers were listed in smaller, less shimmery letters beneath it. Luke was one of Jojo’s five opening acts, a roster of mostly white men with progressive reputations and multiple top-ten hits. It made Luke’s inclusion even more of a Cinderella story guaranteed to revive his career.
The grounds were already crowded, which was unexpected. In past years, most of the setup wouldn’t happen until a few weeks before the event. A white tent advertised festival jobs. Sweaty applicants stretched in front of two women August recognized from church. Both looked tired and overwhelmed. One of them, a choir member named Fiona who occasionally chatted with her during practice, spotted August and waved. Her older companion leaned over and whispered in her ear. Fiona’s tentative smile vanished.
Luke’s return had made August forget it wasn’t safe to be out in public. Her social media feed was filled with people sharing Shirley Dixon’s posts. Terry’s wife had posted a barrage of Bible memes and old wedding photos she claimed to have found while cleaning out her phone. The commenters encouraged her to “keep going high” because “some folks only want what they can’t have.”
Meanwhile, Terry kept sending August text messages, begging to talk. She’d finally blocked his number but screenshot everything in case she was accused of trying to wreck his marriage again. She’d have to be careful around Luke, too. His wife had a doxx-friendly fan base that reveled in rumors of Luke’s infidelity. August didn’t want to be their next target. Her sidepiece era was officially over.
She moved past the employment tent, wandered a bit, then stopped short at the sight of a massive steel stage she’d never seen at prior festivals. It looked like something from CMA Fest. The logo of a brewing company was on a banner waiting to be hung. Silas used to complain about how hard it was to convince major beverage companies to sponsor the festival. “It’s a visibility issue,” he’d told her. “They called our audience niche.”
Mavis stood near the stage, speaking rapidly to a man in dirty coveralls. She wore a navy-blue suit, another relic from her law firm days. The man stared at her blankly, fidgeting like he wanted to escape. He looked relieved when August approached them.
“What you’ve done is going to set us back two days,” Mavis told him. “Tell your crew to pay closer attention to their instructions. Can you do that?”
The man drawled, “Yes, ma’am,” in a robotic tone that said we’vedone this dance before. August touched Mavis’s shoulder. Her cousin spun around, irritated by the interruption.
“Oh. Hi.” Mavis turned to face the man, but he’d vanished. She flung her hands up and sighed. “Thanks for that.”
“It was an act of mercy. How long have you been chewing him out?”
“Not long enough.” She hitched up her chin. “This was his second mistake, and we’re already behind schedule.”
“Whose schedule? My mother’s?”
Mavis tensed, which confirmed August’s suspicions.
“Don’t let her stress you out,” August told her. “Award or no award, she’s just your auntie.”
“It’s not Jojo,” Mavis insisted. “Or I don’t think it is. It’s the sponsors. They’ve given us money, but we’re still footing most of the bill. They’ve threatened to pull out and take the concert somewhere else if we can’t meet their expectations.”
“Then let them,” August said. “This isn’t Coachella. We barely have enough people to run this thing most years.”
“We’ve already invested more than we can afford to lose. And the festival needs this after so much time away. Thetownneeds this.” She looked around. “All our businesses are closing. We’re losing our people.”
Mavis was right. Just last week, August heard rumors that Kroger, the only grocery store within city limits, would shut down next year. That meant people would have to drive to Walmart, thirty minutes away, to buy a loaf of bread. What was the point of living in a town that couldn’t sustain you?
Still, hitching their hopes to Jojo’s career was foolish. A single concert wasn’t a new factory offering livable wages. And August knew firsthand how risky it was to depend on her mother for anything. That’s why Luke needed to trade his duet for a solo that would stand out in a sea of flashier opening acts.
“Is this where the money for Silas’s showcase went?” August gestured at the stage. Mavis grimaced and nodded.
“We’ll do modular for everyone else,” she said. “They’re cheaper. But the streaming service insisted on steel for Jojo’s concert because of how it looks on camera.”
“Streaming service?”
Mavis named one of the few streaming apps August spent money to access. “They’re going to debut it in theaters first. Then make it available everywhere. Even internationally.”
No wonder Luke was so determined to appease her mother. All he had to do was perform the same song he’d been singing for years and millions of new fans would be born, all of them with Spotify accounts and YouTube playlists.
She didn’t feel guilty about threatening him. But the amount of power she was taking for herself was frightening. She wasn’t sure what to do with it.
