Page 26 of August Lane

CHAPTER TEN

B irdie stood at the kitchen counter with a line of baking ingredients in front of her, frowning at an open cabinet.

There was no cookbook or recipe card. She made everything from memory, even the complicated desserts she was known for.

Every major event in Arcadia had been blessed with one of her triple-layer cakes.

“What are you making?” August plopped her strategically heavy book bag on the kitchen table. It was filled with thick textbooks she hadn’t opened in months. “Is that for Aunt Carrie’s birthday?”

Birdie’s eyes cleared. She snatched a can of evaporated milk from the shelf. “Yes. Caramel is her favorite.” Birdie looked August over, noting her new outfit. “Why’d you change clothes? Didn’t you just get home?”

“I’m going to the library with Mavis.”

Birdie’s suspicion faded just as August knew it would.

No one thought her cousin would lie or make mistakes.

Once, when August had brought home a first-place ribbon from the third-grade spelling bee, she’d been accused of stealing it from Mavis, who was in the same class.

“How could I have known?” was all Birdie said when Mavis confirmed August had beaten her that year.

To drive home her point, Birdie had hung the ribbon on the bottom corner of the refrigerator surrounded by coupons and old Polaroids, confident that it would be August’s lone academic award.

She’d been right. But still.

If Birdie knew where August was actually taking Mavis that afternoon, it would break her heart.

The women’s clinic was an hour away, and Mavis needed someone to drive her home after the procedure.

August had offered to stay with her, but Mavis refused.

“Everyone knows we don’t hang out anymore,” she’d said, looking mildly ashamed of that fact for the first time in years.

“I’d never be able to explain it to my mom. ”

Caroline shared Birdie’s views about abortion and would guilt her into canceling the appointment. “Plus, Chris is Catholic,” Mavis added. Her boyfriend was a sweet but restless six-foot-four center with dreams of playing in the NBA. “He’d be ring shopping by the end of the week.”

“I’ll pay for it,” August told her, offering her Nashville money. “I’ll drive you, too. Whatever you need.”

Mavis had started crying again. “Why would you do this for me? I feel like I’ve been neglecting you.”

“Jojo,” August said, which told Mavis everything she needed to know.

This wasn’t just for Mavis, even though part of her hoped it would bring them closer, make her cousin less ashamed of her.

It was for her mother. It was for every teenage girl forced to become a woman after making a childish mistake.

It was for all the unwanted kids who never stopped paying for it.

Today, as August watched Birdie retrieve a tub of sour cream from the refrigerator, she felt a lot less panicked about the situation. No one knew she was helping Mavis. All she had to do was get out the door without making her grandmother suspicious.

“Why are you all dressed up to study with your cousin?”

It was a fair question, one that August had asked herself when she’d burned her neck with a curling iron.

The new hairstyle and cute clothes weren’t for Mavis’s benefit.

Later that night, she had her first songwriting lesson with Luke.

Even though she’d sworn to stay single until she could legally buy enough whiskey to face dating again, there was nothing wrong with wanting the hottest social pariah in school to find you pretty.

She was aiming for that moment in the movies when the mousy girl took off her glasses and became more than anyone imagined. She wanted his earth to shift a little.

“Mavis always dresses like this,” August said. She wore a ruffled top and bootcut jeans. “I’m trying to bond.”

“By copying her clothes?”

“She’s not that deep, Grandma.”

Birdie pursed her lips. “Watch your mouth while you’re over there.”

Her plan was working. Birdie wasn’t suspicious anymore, just irritated by August’s attitude, as usual. “I will,” August said. “That was a joke. Mavis is smart. We’re just different.”

“Oh, I know,” Birdie said. She grabbed a measuring cup and scooped out cake flour. “You’re more like your mother.”

August glanced at the clock. She didn’t have time to be pulled into one of Birdie’s anti-Jojo rants. If she didn’t leave now, she’d be late. “Well, I should—”

“Love was always a test with that girl. She’d figure out the worst thing you could imagine, hand it to you on a silver platter, and resent you for not gulping it down.” She blinked at the mixing bowl. “Always testing my tolerance for pain.”

Birdie’s eyes shifted to August and then hurried away.

She knew her grandmother didn’t consider her one of Jojo’s painful tests.

But she also knew that Birdie blamed Jojo for bringing Theo King into their lives.

If Jojo had been Birdie’s version of a better, obedient daughter, August wouldn’t exist.

When Birdie got like this, August usually apologized on her mother’s behalf.

I’m sorry Jojo left the way she did. I’m sorry she never speaks to you.

I’m sorry she didn’t love me enough to stay.

But today was different. Maybe it was the thrill of finally wearing clothes that fit.

Or that Mavis had chosen her of all people as a savior.

Maybe it was Luke Randall looking at her like he’d stumbled across a diamond.

August faced Birdie with all those possibilities lengthening her spine and said, “I don’t want to talk about Jojo anymore. ”

Birdie whirled around, ready to argue, but saw something in August that changed her mind. She straightened her apron and said, “No point in complaining, is there?” Then she returned to the cake bowl and started measuring.

Luke sat in his truck, wishing he owned a smaller vehicle.

The minute he’d parked his F-150 at Delta Blue, a man glowered at him through the window, daring him to get out of it.

It had to be Silas King, someone Luke only knew through stories, most of which began with his rap sheet.

Silas was rumored to greet unwelcome strangers with a double-barrel shotgun.

Luke wouldn’t be surprised if it was trained on his windshield.

August was forty minutes late, which meant she probably wasn’t coming.

Luke glanced at his guitar, the dreadnought taunting him with its large size, which took up the entire passenger seat.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

If August didn’t show, that meant this was over—whatever this was.

Someone tapped on his window, and Luke’s eyes flew open. The man who had been watching him earlier motioned for him to roll it down. Luke briefly considered driving away, but the man’s hands were hidden. His old Ford couldn’t outrun a bullet.

“I’m Silas. Are you Jason’s boy?”

“Yes, sir. Luke. Lucas. I’m waiting for August. She told me to meet her here.”

“Why? You not welcome at Birdie’s house?”

Luke pictured August’s grandmother, the formidable woman who always seemed to be wielding a cake knife. “I don’t know. Sir.”

Silas leaned back, the bottom of his jaw jutting with chew. “Mmmm. Sounds about right. August is hard to read sometimes.”

Luke thought about his interactions with her. How easy she was to talk to. “Not to me.”

Silas raised his eyebrows. He glanced at the guitar. “What do you play? Blues? R&B?”

“Sometimes.” Luke hesitated, then said, “Country.” He braced himself for ridicule.

“Country?” Silas’s eyebrows shot higher. “What do you know about country? Ain’t no trap beats or Lil John shoutin’ in the microphone.”

Luke smiled. “Been listening to it all my life. Hank. Johnny. It’s what I was raised on.”

“Johnny’s good.” Silas leaned an arm against the truck. “I can’t hang with Hank, though. Something about his voice. You listen to Patsy?”

“Cline? Yeah, I…” Luke spotted August’s blue Focus kicking dirt up at high speed. She turned into the lot with too much gas and nearly spun out before she parked.

Silas watched it all, unconcerned. He tapped the roof of Luke’s truck. “Your date’s here.”

“She’s my tutor,” Luke said quickly. He was paying her. There were too many gross implications to calling it a date.

“Tutor?” Silas frowned. “Are we talking about the same girl?”

Luke tried to open the door, but Silas pushed it shut again. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Luke realized the music conversation was a test he hadn’t passed yet. Failing meant he’d never step foot on this man’s property. “I don’t want to greet her sitting down like this,” Luke said. “It’s disrespectful.”

Silas stared, silently assessing him, before a wide grin spread over his face. He stepped back, pulled Luke’s door open, and waved his permission to exit.

Even though it wasn’t a date, Luke had put more effort into his appearance than usual.

He wore a blue button-down and the newest pair of jeans he owned, but he had resisted aftershave because something about altering his scent felt like shouting, “I’d like to fuck you!

” Which was fine, if that was your goal, but it wasn’t his with August. After what happened with Richard, he wanted to prove he could be her friend without an ulterior motive.

The minute Luke got a good look at her, he saw the flaw in his logic.

He could act like some pious monk all day long, but in reality, he was just a boring sinner.

August wore a frilly red top with a lower neckline than usual.

She’d curled her hair, and it spilled over her shoulders, framing the most magnificent pair of breasts he’d never see.

Good Lord, he thought he’d wanted something before. He thought he knew what it felt like.

“I’m late,” August announced, in a matter-of-fact tone that told him to get used to it.

Luke said, “You’re fine,” in a way he hoped didn’t reveal the rest. That he’d wait all day if she asked.