He was silent.
She knew he’d never been hit this hard, certainly not by her. And it enraged her further that the hurt blooming on his face only made her want to reach out and grab him, hold him, cry with him. Jesus Christ, what was it with the two of them?
She didn’t have time for this. She had to get to the Audies. She had to get to Brock. She left Henry standing there while she gathered her purse, her phone, her control, all while saying, “If you keep at this, I will never let you near me ever again. Ever again.” She went back to him, grabbed the Mallomars out of his hands. “And don’t eat her fucking Mallomars!” She walked over to Blah and handed them to her.
Blah smiled as though seeing a photo of a long-lost friend. “I knew they were around here somewhere.”
“I love you, Blah, see you tomorrow.” She walked past her father without acknowledging him. As she reached the door, he said her name and his voice cracked. She stopped. She wanted to face him once more, but was afraid if she did, she would lose it. So she said, to the hallway, “This isn’t one of the bad decisions, Dad.”
As she left the room, she heard BlahBlah say shakily, in the strongest Tennessee twang she’d ever heard from her, “Well. Ain’t we just blue-ribbon people?”
THE AUDIES CEREMONY was being held at a five-hundred-seat theater less than a mile from Seasons and yet Henry had deactivated Sewanee’s sense of direction. Fuming, muttering to herself, she fast-walked to the event only to look up twenty minutes later and find herself in a neighborhood. She dug her phone out of the ballgown’s pocket and brought up a map. After one more misdirection, landing her in a grocery store parking lot, she arrived at the theater.
She had missed cocktail hour. She really hadn’t wanted to miss cocktail hour. A double vodka soda would have definitely helped numb the throb of her feet in her heels and the Henry-sized pain in her ass. But people were already being ushered into the auditorium and she was swept into the current of hugs, cheek-kisses, and hand-squeezes. Once inside, she was plucked out of the crowd and ushered to the front row where the other presenters were sitting.
She couldn’t focus on the ceremony. No idea what was going on, who was speaking, who was winning, nothing. She heard her name being read as a nominee in her category and numbly clapped when someone else won. About halfway through the ceremony （as far as she could tell, anyway）， Alice, who was sitting next to her, leaned over and whispered, “I think you’re up,” and inclined her head toward an event coordinator standing in the wings waving at Sewanee.
“Thanks,” Sewanee muttered, but continued to sit there for a few more seconds. Then, as the coordinator’s waving grew more frantic, it registered, and Sewanee was instantly up, tripping on the front hem of her gown. Alice reached out a steadying hand, but Sewanee stabilized and bombed backstage.
Once there, her training kicked in. She took a few quick huffs of breath. Watched the coordinator give her the five-finger countdown.
She walked to the podium like a beauty pageant contestant, held momentarily for applause, and read with graceful authority from the clear teleprompter to her left, making sure to address the right side of the room whenever possible. A total professional.
“Every year, this body recognizes one person’s contribution to the world of audio storytelling. This year, I am deeply honored–bittersweet though it may be–to present the lifetime achievement award, posthumously, to June French.” The audience applauded and Sewanee joined in at the podium.
“June was a USA Today bestselling author and RITA winner many times over. She sold her first novel to Harlequin at twenty-seven. Last year, sadly, she passed away at the too-young age of sixty-six. During those years she was one of our most prolific writers, having penned seventy-eight novels and sold over fifty-six million copies worldwide in twenty-three languages. In the last seven years of her life, June became a pioneer in the audiobook industry. She was a producer, an entrepreneur, and a creative force who broke down barriers of genre, production, and, yes, sales. Many of the people in this room have benefitted from her work in our industry.
“In a now canonical interview with Cosmopolitan magazine, when asked about her work in audio, June said, ‘The human voice is the thread that connects one soul to another. It’s as innate as the murmur of your mother’s voice as you nursed at her breast and as potent as your father’s words of approval. It is the conduit of all human expression. It is as elemental as life itself because it helps us love and be loved.’ She loved audiobooks, she loved us, and tonight we honor her. Accepting this award on her behalf is the person who knew her best, her nephew. So, let’s welcome him here tonight, into our community, with the same love June showed us.”