Page 44 of The Voice We Find

Before I can ask anything further, he’s pushing open the lobby door, waiting for me to follow. A cacophony of voices hum in the large, open space, and I wonder how difficult this environment must be on Gabby’s ears. On anyone with impaired hearing, for that matter.

For as many people who have vacated the sanctuary after the service, it’s clear the majority of them haven’t made it out to the parking lot. They’re talking, laughing, sipping on coffees, making lunch plans with friends. And a few mingle around the kiosk where Gabby and Tyler are handing out sign-up sheets and answering questions.

And where Portia Pimentel is staring directly at me, the same way she did when she was on stage earlier.

My knees go a bit rubbery.

Whatever illusion I was under to hope she may have forgotten my face—much less the mortifying moment of me fleeing her theater last month without explanation—dies the instant recognition shines from her gaze. As she steps away from the kiosk, I’m braced for the worst. Even if Portia is the type of person who can overlook a grown woman using her wine wallpapered SUV as a getaway car, it’s clear from her first word that this will be no simple reintroduction.

“Sophie,” Portia calls to my shame. “What a small world. I had no idea that theSophieGabby’s told me about was you.”

“Yes, um.” I half laugh, half cringe. “Small world.”

“I was hoping our paths would cross again.”

Confused,I rub my lips together, the need to apologize for my awkward disappearing act as strong as the espresso wafting through the cafe. But I’m not quite sure how to bring it up when she’s smiling at me like she’s legitimately happy to see me again.

August glances between us. “How is it you two know each other?”

Here we go, I think, cringing inwardly as I wait for her to spill my secret.

“I met Sophie a few weeks ago.” Portia’s attention steadies on me. “She’s the most experienced actress we’ve had inside our little theater to date.”

August rotates to face me. “I thought you said you haven’t acted since New York.”

“I haven’t,” I confirm, while pinpricks of perspiration break out on the back of my neck. “But I ... I...”

Portia touches my arm as if to pause whatever pitiful excuse I’m about to offer. “We’re hopeful she’ll audition for one of our shows some day.” She gives me a knowing smile, and relief floods my system. “In the meantime, I’m thrilled you’ve become friends with the Tates.” She presses a hand to her chest. “Gabby’s been a precious gift to our family this last year, and I’m thrilled she’s so excited about helping with this class in the fall. It’s nothing short of miraculous how quickly she’s picked up ASL since she began tutoring with me. Her passion certainly goes beyond her own needs.” Portia regards Gabby’s big brother then, her face softening. “I hope you’ll consider joining us, too, August. I know you hold a foundational understanding of ASL, but being able to practice new signs and vocabulary at home will expedite your learning, as well as Gabby’s. And since your sister is volunteering so much of her time, I’ll insist on waiving your class fees and materials costs.”

I’m expecting August to jump at this unique opportunity with a resoundingyes; after all, what isn’t there to love about Portia’s generous offer? But instead, he simply shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I’m afraid Tuesday evenings aren’t good for me, sorry.”

I nearly object at such a flippant response because one, what the heck does “not good for me” mean? And two, he’s the boss of his own schedule, and I simply can’t imagine him not being able to take two hours a week for something so important to his sister. I glance over Portia’s head, grateful that Gabby is busy having a conversation with an elderly woman pushing a walker where she can’t overhear her brother’s reply.

“Could I get some information on the class?” I ask. “I’d love to learn.”

“Oh, absolutely.” She beams. “Here’s the initial sign-up info.” She hands me an orange flyer. “And registration can be done online through our website. Oh, and I can take that visitor card you’re holding. Doyou know which gift you’d like?” She moves to the other side of the kiosk. “Looks like we’re out of the water bottles here, but I do have a Seaside Fellowship pen and a Bible plan journal.”

“Oh, great, thanks.” In truth, I’ve never even heard of a Bible plan journal, but it sounds nice.

“I’ve loved this tool for my daily reading. I use it often.” She hands it to me, and I flip through it, noting the date and Scripture reference near the top of each page.

Over the years I’ve read some portions of the Bible, and I know most of the key stories, but I’ve never studied it. If I’m being honest, I don’t really know how.

“What would you say to a coffee date sometime?” Portia asks. “I’d love to hear more about your experience in theater arts.”

Surprisingly, I don’t feel a twinge of panic at her request. I feel ... hopeful. “I’d love to go to coffee with you.”

“Here’s my number.” She writes on the back of my ASL class flyer. “My schedule is pretty flexible now that the Summer Showcase is over and we’re heading into fall.”

“Sophie!” I spin at the sound of her voice, and then Gabby is all but leaping toward me. She throws her arms around me in a hug that feels as if we’ve known each other for much longer than a day. She pulls back and looks at the journal and flyer in my hand. “Are you gonna come to our class?”

She watches my lips.

“I’d like to, yes. I loved everything about this morning. Thank you for inviting me. I needed this today.” Gabby beams at my praise, and I gently squeeze her arms. “Also, you and Tyler did an incredible job—I was so, so proud of you.”

“She’s a natural on stage,” Portia agrees, rubbing a maternal hand over Gabby’s back.

The three of us fall into an easy conversation about stage presence and future opportunities for exposure and promotion of their class in the community, but when I turn to ask August a question, he’s no longer standing behind me. He doesn’t appear to be anywhere.

---