Page 40 of August Lane
“Okay, so I get that this is a big deal,” August said. Mavis looked annoyed, so to appease her, she added, “Ahugedeal. But neglecting the rest of the festival is a mistake. This is one concert for one woman. The showcase is so much more than that.”
Mavis gave her a long look. “Is there something going on with you and Jojo? This award is major, and you’re not remotely interested. I know you two have your differences, but it’s almost like you don’t want to see her.”
That was because August didn’t. Not like this. Not during Jojo’s big moment, cheering her on from the audience like some starry-eyed fan. That’s what Jojo would expect from her daughter: unwavering support and loyalty. August couldn’t give that to her after their last argument.
It had been about Birdie’s funeral. In hindsight, they’d both probably been too emotional to think rationally, but burying a body wasn’t something that could wait on the stages of grief. People kept asking when Jojo was coming home, and August had been tired of making excuses. Or maybe she’d just been tired of being expected to.
Jojo had answered the phone with a smile in her voice, like always. August recited a laundry list of decisions that had to be made in twenty-four hours. Jojo responded with variations of “That sounds fine” and “You choose” and “You care more about those things than I do” until August finally snapped.
“You’re not listening to me.”
“I am. I just don’t care.”
August had stopped breathing. Something sharp pricked her lungs. “What?”
“She’s dead, baby. Doubt she’ll be able to smell those lilies.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s true,” Jojo tossed back. “I’m paying a lot of money so everyone who claimed to love her can cry in public. But that’s all they’re getting from me. I’m not stressing over woodgrain options for a box that’s going in the damn ground.” She paused. “You know what I think.”
“Birdie didn’t want to be cremated.”
“And I don’t want the image of her dead body haunting me the rest of my life.”
“You mean like me? I’m the one who found her.”
Jojo swore under her breath. “Sweetie, I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t ask. Ever since she died, you’ve made it all about you. Which isn’t surprising, just more irritating than usual. I need you to think about Birdie for two seconds, Jojo. What she would want.”
“I did that already,” Jojo snapped. “She still called me a whore. Sacrificing yourself on someone’s altar won’t make you worthy, little girl. They’re going to die thinking the worst of you.”
“You’re wrong. Last thing she said was how grateful she was for a daughter to take care of her. She died thinking I was you.”
Jojo made a sound, a hitch of air that could have been tears. “You’re trying to hurt me.”
“Yes, I am. Crying would be something, at least. Effort on your part.”
“I’m not coming to that funeral.”
The pain in her lungs seized, replaced with stillness. A chilly nothing. “You’re a terrible person.”
“Yeah. Well, you get it from me.”
August disconnected. They hadn’t spoken to each other since.
“We’re not talking right now,” August admitted to Mavis, hoping it would make her drop the subject.
It worked. Mavis nodded curtly, aware of their history. While she admired her aunt, she’d always been the first to point out when Jojo was being selfish or unreasonable, probably because she’d been both while facing motherhood before she was ready. “It’s like, you’re not theproblem,” Mavis had told her once after too many margaritas. “But you also are.”
August had agreed. She still did, which was why being angry with Jojo had never changed how much she loved her. But love had limits.
“Oh no.” Mavis stared past August, then tried to hide behind her, which was ridiculous. August wasn’t short, but Mavis was a glamazonian giant. “Did he see me?”
“Who?” August tried to look, but Mavis hissed a warning to be still.
“David Henry. Your mother’s manager. Or handler. Or… Who’s the right-hand man in mafia movies?”
