Page 6 of The Voice We Find

“Thank you” is all I can say as I stand to leave.

With a final glance in my direction, he nods. “Please close the door behind you.”

On the way out, I collect my cat and bags and trail down a new path to a pool house I hadn’t known existed until a few minutes ago. The tiny cottage-like structure sits twenty feet from a giant crater in the earth wrapped in neon orange fencing. If only I could protect the hollow center in my chest in a similar fashion.

As soon as I open the door and flick on the light inside my new living quarters, I take in the functional yet soulless outbuilding. I swallow back the raw emotion lodged in my throat and try to imagine what Dana would say if she were here with me. It’s not hard. I know she’d tell me to start by adding the colors and patterns I love to these blank walls while encouraging me tomake this space my own.

But Dana is three thousand miles away, and this space isn’t mine. Nothing here will ever be mine.

On a sigh, I unzip the cat backpack and reach for Phantom. Snuggling him close to my chest, I sit on the bed and fight back tears. “Welcome home.”

3

Sophie

It only took six quiet nights in the pool house and four deep cleaning shifts in the tasting room—under the supervision of Natalie, my aloof sister-in-law who has yet to speak more than fifteen total words in my presence—to motivate me to spend yesterday reinstating my California driver’s license. Considering there are one hundred and sixty-eight hours in any given week and only twenty of mine are accounted for at the winery, I’m left with a whole lot of soul-shriveling silence to fill. And this Saturday morning seemed like the perfect time to escape.

When I first signed out one of the twin black Escalades from the winery’s small fleet of vehicles, I was surprised by the vibrant 3-D wrap advertisement featuring a giant bottle of Chardonnay with our new wine logo. My brother certainly wasn’t going for the understated look when he ordered these. But once I started driving, it wasn’t long before I forgot all about the obnoxious exterior.

It also wasn’t long before I felt a familiar pull to a long-ago place of comfort for teenage Sophie. And while I can’t say my destination wasn’t planned, I can say I’ve had a theory I’ve wanted to test ever since the night I fell catatonic in front of an audience of twelve hundred people:Did what happened to me in New York stay in New York?

I sincerely hope so.

I stare at theSummer Showcase Auditions Happening Today!sign hanging on the front doors of the same community theater where I fell in love for the first time. Not with a person, but with a passion that had given me a purpose beyond the life constructed for me. It had also given me a family.

My fingers twitch for the phone in my purse. I want to call Dana, but then I remember the pictures she sent of the cast and crew party last night—all those happy faces I used to joke with, laugh with, run lines with, share a stage with.No, I think.It’s better if I do this on my own.Dana has met her lifetime quota of Sophie pep talks this year, and honestly, I can’t bear to let her down if I fail again.

On a shaky exhale, I approach the ornate door of the old community theater in Santa Rosa as if I’m expecting it to come to life, shrink me down to size, suck me through its keyhole, and label me an imposter. Before I decide to reach for the handle, the door creaks open.

I leap back just in time for a petite Latina woman—who looks to be around forty, with sleek dark hair and deep fuchsia lipstick—to peek her head outside.

She stares at me through round, apologetic eyes. “Well, this is embarrassing.” She pushes the door the rest of the way open. “I keep telling our handyman—who also happens to be my husband—that this door is cursed. It always decides to jam at the most inopportune times. Glad I checked to see if there was anyone else out here before we got started.” She beckons me closer. “Please, please, come in, and don’t hold our faulty hardware against us. We’re still getting things in order since the reopen.” She props the heavy door open with her hip and then looks from me to her watch. “Auditions forour One-Act Summer Showcase start in nine minutes. Am I right to assume that’s why you’re here?”

I start to shake my head no, but my mouth betrays me. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Great!” She beams and then drops her voice to a conspiratorial level. “Here’s a hot tip: The regulars usually come through the side door by the alley.” She points stage left and winks. “And they usually bring donuts and plenty of drama to keep us well entertained.”

“What’s not to love about donuts and drama?”

“Exactly.” Her smile broadens as she ushers me inside. “I’m Portia Pimentel.”

For a split second, I see a vision of myself tucking tail and running back to where I parked without taking a single step farther inside this theater. But instead, I remind myself why being here is absolutely critical to my mental health. I need to test my theory. If I succeed today, then I might just have a chance at keeping some form of the dream I’ve held for a decade and taking it with me to whatever and wherever comes next.

“I’m Sophie.” I extend my hand and work to find my professional side. “Sophie Wilder.”

“It’s so nice to meet you. Also, may I just say,you are stunning,” Portia adds appraisingly. “I’d kill for your height.”

Unexpected heat floods my face. Five foot nine may be on the taller side for the average American woman, but given that the top of Portia’s head barely reaches my shoulder, I can see how she might consider my height an impressive feat.

“I’d ask if this is your first time here, but seeing as we just purchased the Twilight Theater back in April,andseeing as I’m pretty much familiar with every thespian in the area currently gossiping inside that auditorium, I know that it is.” Her quirky laugh is followed by a wink, and I decide against telling her about the theater camp I attended here my junior year of high school or how it became a second home to me that summer.

“Just stick by me,” she says. “I’ll be happy to introduce you to your friendly competition today.”

I glance over her head into a dim lobby, and my heart double-taps against my ribs. “Wait, are theseopenauditions?” As in, everybody here will be watching me get up on stage for the first time since February?

She nods. “We’ve done it the same way since we were a tiny crew of drama nerds who used to meet in a church nursery over fifteen years ago now. But I promise, you’ll find this group to be super supportive. Our Summer Showcase is three different one-act plays that will run the last weekend in August—they’re a community favorite, and we’re thrilled to finally have a theater to perform at.” Her gaze drops to my hand. “Ooh, is that ... did you bring a portfolio with you? I’d love to take a look if you don’t mind?”

It’s not until she points to the yellow folder pinched between my fingers that I even remember I brought it with me, and I can’t be sure if I actually hand it over to Portia or if she coaxes it from my gummy fingers. But within two blinks, she’s scanning my headshots.

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