Page 101 of August Lane
August didn’t speak to anyone for days. There was no point. Luke had ruined their future with that phone call. When she’d asked why he did it, all he’d said was “I love you. And there’s a right way to do that.”
It was too much. She couldn’t handle declarations of love while being cut off at the knees.
A text from Silas ended her self-imposed exile.Luke’s singing tonight. Thought you’d want to know.The protests had doubled in size since the story broke. Performing so soon after his confession would make it worse. Provoking an angry mob was out of character for him. Maybe it was a cry for help. Luke had been facing a mountain of backlash alone, while she’d been hiding, wallowing in slipper socks and a supersize jug of cheese puffs.
The customers were sparse for a Delta Blue open mic night. Silas spotted her immediately when she walked inside. He hugged her, which he rarely did anymore, and said “Good to see you” in a way that made her feel pathetic. Silas usually took bad news with his chin out, daring it to do real damage. Today he looked defeated. “He’s warming up in the back.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Silas fidgeted. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you love him.”
“I love you both.” He rubbed her back. “Y’all still fighting?”
She answered honestly. “I don’t know.” Mavis was the only one who’d yelled at Luke. August had asked for space so she could disintegrate privately. Meanwhile, their fragile relationship had been left in limbo.
The lights flickered a five-minute warning. Silas led her to a table in the corner. She sat down as Luke walked onstage. He wore a T-shirt and jeans, with a black cap pulled low, obscuring the top of his face. Paired with his beard, which was fuller than when she last saw him, he was nearly unrecognizable.
“He’s been practicing for weeks,” Silas said. “Signed up with a fake name so he could sing what he wants.”
That explained the small crowd. Only a few of the audience members were paying attention. Most were chatting over food and drinks.
“He asked me about a job,” Silas said.
“Here?” August gaped at him. “He lives in Memphis.”
“I know. I was just as surprised as you. He offered to book talent. Clean the place. Even said he would serve drinks, like he has any business—” He glanced at her. “Did he talk to you about that?”
“Being in recovery? He told me.”
“Well, I’m looking after him, just so you know. He’s been going to meetings. Working the program.”
“That’s good to hear.” Luke had seemed confident about his sobriety, but that was before everyone knew he’d been lying for years. She was grateful he had help.
Silas left her to emcee the show. He called Luke “Jason,” as in Jason Randall. His father’s name. Luke started singing “If I Could Only Fly,” the first song he’d learned to play on his own. It was perfect for the distracted crowd, the solemn simplicity demanding stillness to be heard. Slowly, he drew everyone’s attention to the stage.
Luke’s voice was deep and melancholic, with only a hint of the drawl he overused on his albums. It grew louder during the chorus but also felt quieter somehow. The wish to fly was a prayer he was afraid to utter, a held breath he wouldn’t release because he knew it was foolish to want things when you’re broken. By the time he moved into the second verse, August was fighting tears.
“Doesn’t this piss you off?”
David Henry stood behind her, cradling a highball glass. He raised it to his lips and frowned when he realized it was empty. “Why does club soda go so fast?”
“Could you stand somewhere else? I’m trying to listen.”
“Why don’t I sit instead?” He sat across from her, folded his arms, and settled in.
“What are you—”
He shushed her but focused on the crowd instead of Luke. The applause began before the song ended. A few people whistled. David grumbled under his breath, “Talented little shit.” He glanced at August. “Heard there was an open mic night and got nostalgic for my scouting days.” He looked around. “It’s more depressing than I remembered. How do places like this stay in business?”
“It’s not usually this empty.”
“And why did Luke use a fake name? People pay good money to watch natural disasters.”
“Because this isn’t a publicity stunt.” She gestured to the stage, where Luke had started singing Rissi Palmer’s “Seeds.” “He wants to sing in peace.”
“He’s still got a few die-hard fans,” David said. “More than this sad little showing.”
