Page 31 of The Voice We Find

My breath shallows at the crackling silence between us now, and I’m acutely aware of every curve my guitar hugs on Sophie’s figure. I’m so aware, in fact, that I’m waiting for her fingers to strum again and force me to answer when instead she closes her eyes and belts out a vocal run that causes every hair on my arms to stand and salute. My imagination hadn’t done her singing voice justice. It’s spectacular. Mesmerizing, even. Her vibrato, her control, her rising crescendo when she hits the high note and simultaneously forces the air from my lungs. With expert skill, she eases back the reins and opens her eyes.

“D-sharp,” I say breathlessly.

Gazes locked, she sings another.

“G.”

She launches into several scale sequences, and I answer them all without hesitation. She confirms my responses one by one as she plucks the corresponding notes on my Taylor.

A tiny curve lifts the corner of her lips. “Why, August Tate, you have perfect pitch.”

My nod is honest, yet subdued.

“You’re the real party trick,” she says with far too much pleasure.

“Actually, I’m just a career nerd who prefers to stay behind the scenes.”

She tilts her head in observation. “I’ve befriended a lot of stay-behind-the-scenes types over the years, and do you know what most of them have in common?”

“I’m sure you’re about to enlighten me.”

“Secrets.” She shrugs, but there is zero nonchalance about it. “Secret hopes, secret dreams, secret pasts.”

“Interesting,” I say, tapping my chin. “Especially since I don’t recall you volunteering much in the way of personal information over the last two weeks, either. I think you might need to expand your theory.”

If she’s surprised by my bluntness, her expression doesn’t show it. She walks toward the sofa, and my gaze climbs the length of her lean, shapely legs to where her elbows rest on the body of my guitar. She’s so close when she stops that if I didn’t tip my chin, I’d be smacked in the face by my Taylor’s ebony bridge.

“You want to know one of my secrets, August?”

I swallow. “I would.”

“I’ve always been envious of people with perfect pitch. Do you know how rare that is?” She doesn’t wait for my response. “One in ten thousand.”

“And your voice is one in ten million,” I say evenly, though my pulse is erratic. “It’s exquisite.”

She blinks down at me, the teasing in her gaze cleared by the time she manages to speak. “Thank you, August. That means ... a lot. It’s been a while since I’ve sang in front of anyone, much less someone with your skillset.”

I want to understand what she means bya while. Actually, I want to ask a hundred follow-up questions starting with,Why are you reading books when you should be performing on a stage?But before I can utter a word, Sophie has already turned back to the wall to hang up the guitar, and when she faces me again, it’s clear the spell has been broken. It’s also clear she broke it on purpose.

She picks up her work backpack near my sound table. “I have ashift at the winery this evening, so we should probably get started. There are some grueling, emotional scenes on the agenda today.” She sighs dramatically. “Chapter thirty-nine.” She clutches at her heart, which just so happens to be located directly under the badge I made her.

Before my mind even has a chance to fully reroute, she’s already hoofing it to the sound booth. Sophie may not be a behind-the-scenes type like me, but I have no doubt she has secrets, too. None as terrible as my own, I’m sure, but secrets nonetheless.

Despite the quick mood shift, Sophie’s performance in the booth is unmatched. Of the handful of completed projects voiced by the other narrators I’ve produced up to this point, it’s difficult not to compare the difference in talent level. There is such emotional tension in every scene Sophie reads that I find myself sitting on the edge of my seat as I follow along with her on my own iPad. In today’s four-hour session, she’s stopped three times—all of which were her asking to reread a section because she thought she could do it better a second time. She rarely skips or mispronounces a word or even has a tickle in her throat. She’s disciplined to drink her hot lemon tea even though I know it must be stifling in there. She’s the true prodigy among us.

It’s difficult not to let my eyes drift from the words on the screen I’m supposed to be following, but her animated storytelling could be a main attraction. I’d certainly buy a ticket. Even now, her ponytail swishes violently as she reads the end of a battle scene I can see perfectly in my mind. I would have cared far more about my English classes if I’d known fiction could read like this.

“‘Rayun! No!’” Sophie screams in character. “‘No, no, no! Please, don’t do this. You have to wake up—you hear me? You are not allowed to die. We’ve fought too hard together for you to leave me now.’” Sophie wails into her microphone and soon real tears streak her cheeks. I’m not going to lie, even with her earlier warning, I didnotsee the death of such a beloved character coming. Sophie’s voice cracks with raw emotion, and to my surprise, I have to blink away the heat building behind my eyes. “‘I’ll take you to the healer. You just have to stay alive until I can—’”

At the tap on my shoulder, I nearly jump out of my skin.

Gabby’s face is angled as she leans against my desk. She’s waving and speaking, and for a moment I’m so disoriented by the sound of Sophie’s grief in my ears that I can’t tell if my sister’s presence is real or imagined. The instant I tug off my headphones, the world around me slowly returns, and with it, my bearings.

“G-Gabby,” I stutter. “You’re here? You’re home?”

“Surprise!” My sister’s easy grin is familiar, and yet she looks different somehow—more mature, more like a woman than a teenager. How is that even possible in only four weeks’ time? It must be the new way she’s styling her hair.

I stand and throw my arms around her in an embrace that hides little and holds nothing back. I pick her up as she squeals and squirms, and I know she’s equal parts delighted and mortified by me. And I hope that never changes. It took us close to a year to get comfortable with physical affection after living apart for so long, but not anymore. Not after all we’ve been through together.

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