Page 85 of August Lane
Screams continued to fill the room, but Luke didn’t acknowledge them. He turned inward, closing his eyes and pulling the words from a place so deep it looked painful. Every muscle popped and strained, like it took effort not to burst from his skin.
The song was nearly unrecognizable without the music: a haunting plea in a rough baritone that made it soulful and timeless. August remembered what Luke said about conjuring her during his performances. She pulled a pen from her pocket, grabbed a napkin, and wrote,You look like every moment that could have been better.
Someone knocked on the door. August stood, peering through the glass, and locked eyes with Ava Randall. It had been a long time since she’d seen Luke’s mother. The woman kept to herself, rarely leaving the farm. She looked thin and sallow. Undyed roots framed her face with dingy gray. Her eyes were the same, honey gold when the streetlights hit them. Beauty that masked her ugly. That was why Luke never told anyone how she abused him. “No one sees her that way,” he’d said. “They wouldn’t believe it.”
August unlocked the door and cracked it just wide enough to say, “We’re closed.”
“Five minutes.” Ava’s pupils were blown. Words dripped from her, like she was speaking in slow motion. “I need to talk to you about Luke.”
“Did you drive here?” August looked past her to the parking lot and spotted Luke’s old truck, rusted and peeling from neglect. Seeing it again triggered memories that made her want to slam the door in Ava’s face. “You shouldn’t be on the road like this.”
“I’m not—” Ava faltered, realizing that whatever story she told herselfabout her medication wasn’t fooling anyone. “I can make it home all right.”
August shoved the door open. “Come inside. I need to do a few more things, and then I’ll drive you home.”
Ava followed her and seemed to shrink now that she’d gotten her way. She watched August grab a broom and start sweeping. “I didn’t realize you still worked here.” She waved at the parking lot. “Noticed your car out front, so I stopped.”
August kept her eyes on the broom. “Is there something you want to say to me?”
Ava looked like a woman facing a short jump into a deep hole. “You love him,” she finally declared, and seemed irritated by it. “Don’t lie, I could tell from the pictures.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“I love him, too.” She swallowed hard once she said it, like she wasn’t used to the taste. “I don’t care if you believe me. It doesn’t look the same on everyone. But I know my heart, and I know his. He’s been coming to the farm out of obligation, but you know it’s not good for him. It’s not good for either of us.”
They locked eyes. Despite spending most of her life despising this woman, August suddenly understood her perfectly. “What should I tell him?”
Tears coated Ava’s eyes, turning them into liquid gold. “To forgive me. Or stay away.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
2009
Luke always left the keys to his truck in the living room next to the television. He’d done it so many times that when he went to retrieve them, and they weren’t there, he stared at the empty spot for a moment, waiting for them to materialize. Then he started looking everywhere—under the couch, between the couch cushions, inside drawers, with no success.
It was ten minutes till one. August would probably be late for his birthday surprise at Delta Blue, but he needed time to set everything up for her arrival. He’d bought her a stack of expensive journals with the kind of thick, grainy paper that made every word more important. He’d also bought her a copy of his favorite Ray Charles album, which he’d planned to present to her, wrapped and bowed, before revealing her last present, the reason they were celebrating at Delta Blue.
August wanted to be onstage. At the club, she’d stare at the black riser with obvious yearning, but brush Luke off when he suggested she sing at the open mic night. “People will recognize me” was all she’d say, which never made sense to Luke because she sang at church all the time.
Luke had a plan, though. Today, the club would be empty. He’d play “Proud Mary,” a song she could never resist belting at the top of her lungs. He’d offer his hand and lead her to the microphone. Once she got started, her nerves would vanish. She’d be eager to do it again.
The longer Luke searched for his keys, the more frantic he became. He started looking in random, unlikely places out of desperation. Ava walked into the kitchen and saw him sliding his hand beneath the refrigerator.
“It’s nasty under there,” she said, reaching for her purse. She retrieved a lipstick tube and moved to a mirror. “You lose something?”
“My keys. They’re not where I usually put them.”
“I have them.” She showed him the loop of his key ring on her finger. “Don is having my car detailed, so I’m using it for errands.”
Luke snapped, “I need it,” without thinking. Letting Ava know she had something you wanted only made her more possessive.
“For what?” She dismissed him with a flick of her hand before he could answer. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not sitting in this dirty house so you can run around town chasing pussy. Should be doing homework anyway. Your grades are shitty.”
She moved to the door. Luke followed, trying to think of ways to make her listen. “It’s my friend’s birthday.”
She pushed the screen door open, and humid air rushed in. The high temperatures had risen steadily all week, still clinging to summer even though it was technically fall. Ava paused on the porch to slip on shades. “Goddamn, this weather.”
“Ava.” Luke hovered in the doorway behind her. “Mom, wait. I need to be somewhere at one.”
