Page 53 of The Voice We Find

Eight sent auto rejection emails.

And one responded with a secure link to submit Gabby’s medical file through a confidential portal for official review.

I exit Chip’s attachment and click into the digital folder in my inbox.

Dear Mr. Tate,

Thank you for submitting your request through our secured medical portal. After careful examination of Gabriella Tate’s case by our trained staff, we’ve determined her eligibility to participate in the next steps ofour experimental procedure (please see attached waivers for detailed liabilities and explanations) to restore hearing after traumatic nerve damage.

Due to the high demand of this advanced, groundbreaking surgery, our next available appointment to meet with the surgeon would be in the December/January timeframe. As mentioned in our extensive terms and conditions policy, we require a 50 percent deposit at the set appointment time. Please refer to the cost breakdown and payment plan attached to this email, and call our office at your earliest convenience to schedule her appointment.

Kindest regards,

Julie Lox

Medical Administrative Staff

Doctor Susan Johnston Otolaryngology MD

Refiner’s Pediatrics

San Francisco, CA

I open the secure attachment for what is likely the tenth time since I received the email at the start of June. No big surprise that the cost breakdown looks the same—an exorbitant, untouchable figure no insurance coverage plan will even look at due to the key word:experimental. And up until now, I’ve had no way to even imagine covering the deposit, much less the proposed post-surgery payment plan.

Until this multimedia Christmas production.

After a second scan through the proposed contract from Chip, I don’t care how creatively numb I feel regarding writing an original score. I send back an affirmative reply and then pick up my phone to text the talent.

Looks like the dream team will be fa-la-la-ing together come September.

Voice Memo

Gabby Tate

6 months after the accident

Tyler is picking me up for church tomorrow! Tyler!!!

Technically, Tyler and I are only seventeen months apart—I did the math. And when I think about the majority of couples in the world, that really isn’t much of an age gap. Of course, we’re not an actual couple. We’re just friends, but I’m only a couple weeks away from fifteen now, and who knows what might happen in the future? I like him so, so much.

When we met three months ago during one of my tutoring sessions in his mom’s office, I seriously thought he was one of the cutest boys I’ve ever seen in real life. But the thing about Tyler is, he’s also one of the nicest people, too. He was bringing his mom a mug of hot tea because she was recovering from a sore throat. She didn’t even ask him to, either. He just did it for her on his own! Tyler is always helping somebody. He volunteers after church every Sunday to put away chairs and help with cleanup. I started staying after, too. Tyler has introduced me to so many friends. Most of them know at least a little ASL, but he’s also crazy good at lipreading. I hope I can do that someday, too. I really love this church. I wish August will come with me someday. I’m still praying about that.

Tomorrow morning Portia has to be at the church super early because of the Christmas production, so she asked August if Tyler could pick me up and take me to the first service so I could help with greeting. I was freaking out inside when he said yes. Maybe I should pray that those twelve minutes to church feel like an hour.

Christmas is only two weeks away. August keeps asking me what I’d like todo, but I don’t really know. It’s hard to think about having Christmas without Mom and Dad. I asked him to bring down the plastic tub of holiday stuff from the attic, and he did. But I haven’t been ready to open it yet. Maybe this is how August feels about the box in my parents’ closet. It’s hard to open something you know will make you sad. For now, we just have a Christmas tree with a string of colored lights on it.

Aunt Judy always says grief is complicated. I’m sure she’s right about that; she’s a lot smarter than me. But sometimes I think grief is pretty simple. Right now it looks like an unopened tub of Christmas decorations sitting on the floor of my bedroom.

13

Sophie

Gabby:

Text me when you get here! I saved you a seat.

I exhale an uneven breath as I approach the ornate doors of the Twilight Theater for the second time in as many months. Never in a hundred years did I think I’d return. Granted, the feat feels a tiny bit easier considering Portia’s graciousness and the fact that this is an introductory ASL class I’m attending and not an audition.

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