Page 54 of August Lane

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

A ugust wasn’t awake when Jojo’s text came.

She was dreaming about Birdie’s funeral.

Only it wasn’t her grandmother in the coffin.

It was August. She was staring at herself, lying peacefully with her arms folded, and thinking of how well everything had turned out.

How perfect. Then suddenly, she was dressed in satin, surrounded by roses, and she thought, I know this song .

She had just looked up, searching for rainbows, when the vibration of her phone startled her awake.

Happy belated birthday was the first message, followed by, I’m sorry .

She could hear Luke in the kitchen, making breakfast, and August was tempted to show the text to him.

Get his take on what it meant. But she couldn’t move.

Jojo had never apologized after one of their arguments, not spontaneously and unprompted.

The concert was in less than two weeks. Most likely, David had convinced her to extend a strategic olive branch to ensure things went smoothly.

Or maybe it was genuine. Perhaps for once, Jojo was experiencing sincere regret.

August texted her back. Can we talk? I’m sorry, too. Then she waited for a response.

Nothing.

She tried calling, but there was no answer. “I got your message,” August told her mother’s voicemail. “I’d like to talk before you get here.” She hesitated, tempted to end it there, but added, “Looking forward to seeing you.”

The seed of curiosity grew into anxiety as she went through her day.

It got worse when she went to the fairgrounds and saw the biggest crowd yet standing behind police caution tape.

The people protesting Jojo’s award exchanged insults with her fans while reporters narrated the chaos in front of large cameras.

Bill and two other deputies stood beside cruisers, flashing silent blue lights.

The scene felt ominous, like everyone involved was gearing up for a showdown.

Bill spotted her and waved her over. His cattleman sat farther back on his head than usual, which meant the situation was serious. “I’m gonna walk you in through the back,” he told her.

She followed him silently, keeping the crowd in the corner of her eye. The messages on their signs had devolved into veiled threats, with LEAVE WELL ENOUGH ALONE on one side and THIS IS WHAT YOU OWE on the other.

“Is this even about Jojo anymore?” August asked Bill.

He shrugged. “Was it ever?”

The mood was lighter backstage, but most of it was forced.

Everyone was eager to focus on the show instead of what was happening outside.

August was invited to film a dance for social media three times.

The audio engineer kept complimenting her dress during the sound check.

Luke’s name was whispered multiple times, in tones that reeked of judgment.

David’s directive to stay away from Luke had made August do the opposite.

Everyone knew they were together and apparently had strong opinions about her fraternizing with the guy who nearly derailed their show.

David had vouched for her. Luke had ruined his reputation to give her an opportunity. August owed them this performance, but nothing else. She loved Luke, but this was her future, her career. She wasn’t sure what it would look like, but she knew it would be on her own terms.

The longer August stood onstage, the more nervous she became.

There were more festival volunteers milling around than usual, and she kept wondering what they were saying about her, what they’d think of her voice.

It probably looked ridiculous to them, August Lane playing country star, pretending she belonged.

When it was time for August to sing, she grabbed the microphone head without thinking and feedback ricocheted through the speakers.

Then she missed her cue, forcing them to start over.

The last straw was her singing too close to the microphone, resulting in muffled, muddy vocals that made Jojo’s stand-in grimace.

August didn’t wait for the stage manager to stop her. She stepped away from the mic and signaled to the musicians. “I need a break.”

Everyone exchanged this was a mistake looks. She left them there, retreating to the greenroom, but stopped short when she saw David Henry sitting inside.

“That was interesting,” he said.

“I can’t deal with you right now.”

He splayed his hands to prove he was unarmed. “Nerves are normal.”

“Mine aren’t.” She sat heavily beside him. “I can’t do this. People look at me and I freeze.” She glanced at him. “I should have said something sooner.”

Instead of berating her for keeping secrets, David looked confused. “What are you afraid of?”

“It’s garden variety stage fright. I’m not reinventing any wheels.”

He laughed. “Specifically. What are you thinking about when you’re up there? First thing that springs to mind.”

August pictured herself three minutes ago. Her mind had gone blank and then flooded with one loud, persistent fear. “They know I don’t belong,” she said. “That I shouldn’t be here.”

“So, garden variety impostor syndrome?”

She cut her eyes at him. “Don’t get insightful all of a sudden.”

“This is my job. I am occasionally good at it.” He threw his arm behind the couch, looking smug. “Want to hear the solution?”

“Please.”

“Stop asking permission.”

August immediately remembered Jojo telling her the same thing years ago. Stop asking permission. Don’t wait to be saved. David must have given her that advice.

“You’re looking out instead of in,” David continued.

“External validation is an old trap that’s easy for artists to fall into.

Ask your boyfriend. But it’s only meaningful if you let it be.

” He pointed to her chest. “Why do you want to do this? Not the concert. Forget that. Why do you want to make music? What’s the point? ”

The answer came to her immediately. “I love it,” she said. “It’s who I am. And I think hiding it was slowly killing me.”

He nodded. “So do that onstage then. Love it. Live. And fuck everything else.”

It was so simple. So true. “Okay, maybe you could be slightly useful to me.”

He threw back his head and laughed. Then he reached into his suit jacket and handed her a flyer. “Consider this a job application.”

It was for the Delta Blue Showcase. The simple flyer was covered with names and booking fees written in blue ink. “What is this?”

“Me getting angry about the right things.” He tapped the flyer. “There’s a Black touring revue down in Biloxi. Noir Root. They do a little of everything. Country. Blues. Folk. These are the acts they could confirm. They’re working on adding more.”

She recognized a few names, but most she hadn’t heard of, which was exactly what the showcase was for. Introducing new voices to the festival audience. “We can’t pay them,” she said, pointing to the fees. “All the money was used for Jojo’s concert.”

“I also lined up a sponsor,” he said. “A patron eager to make amends for her role in some of your bad press.”

August drew a blank. “I don’t know anyone with that kind of money.” Then it hit her. Bad press. “Charlotte Turner?”

“Luke’s ex,” David said. “She’s looking to invest more. Fund an indie label. Maybe a publishing company. All more inclusive than what’s on mainstream radio.”

August stared at the list of performers, more than the showcase had featured in years. Delta Blue would reap the benefits, maybe even turn a profit this year. Even David looked eager, more optimistic than she’d ever seen him. “Indie? You?”

“I know. It’s less money. But working with you is a much bigger reward.”

The door swung open, and Mavis rushed in, breathless. “David, we need you,” she sputtered. “Something is going on with Jojo’s flight. I got this email from the driver we sent that she never boarded. I’m afraid there’s been some mix-up with the airline.”

David pulled out his phone and started texting. “That doesn’t make sense. I confirmed it myself.”

“She won’t answer anyone’s calls. I’m afraid something’s happened to her.”

Panic snaked through August. She retrieved her phone and opened her messages. Still no response. Just the original apology with no explanation.

“Pick up, Johanna,” David barked at her voicemail. “Everyone’s worried about you.”

I’m sorry . For missing her birthday? No. For something else.

Oh.

Of course.

“Hang up,” August said quietly. “David, hang up the phone. She’s not coming.”

He looked startled. Mavis tried to laugh. “Of course she is. We have a week of photo ops and school visits—”

“She won’t come,” August interrupted. “It’s my fault. I know everyone put a lot of time and money into this, and I’m really sorry.”

She could tell they didn’t believe her. David left the room with his phone in his ear, shouting at someone. Mavis looked nauseous. “She wouldn’t do that.” She spun around, staring out at the expensive stage. “Not to all these people.”

Sometimes it took hearing your despair in someone else’s voice to recognize it for what it was.

Before Mavis spoke, before her voice shattered over that final whisper, August had been cloaked in the usual numbness she felt when Jojo disappointed her.

Fine, like always. Always fine. Only she wasn’t.

She was the girl it hurt to love. Jojo’s trauma in the flesh.

She never should have believed her mother could face all that in front of the world.

“You should go,” August said. The voices outside were growing high-pitched and frantic. “They need you.”

Mavis hesitated and then rushed out of the room. August closed the door, sat on the couch, and cried hard enough to lose her voice.