Page 66 of The Voice We Find

“No.” August both vocalizesandaggressively signs the word. “Don’t even think about decorating in here.”

Gabby’s expression says this idea is well past the thinking stage and fully in the add-to-cart stage.

I exhale a weary breath and pick up my purse and water bottle, then give Gabby a gentle arm squeeze and tell her I’ll see her at church on Sunday.

She signs that she’ll save me a seat, and I answer back without having to think through my reply.

She cheers. “You’re doing so good! Isn’t she doing good, August? Portia says Sophie’s her most dedicated student in class.”

August gives his sister a distracted nod as he eyes me, and I can tell he’s waiting to walk me to my car so he can ask more about New York. Only I don’t think I’m strong enough to handle giving him more, not with how intently he’s watching me. Not when New York barely scratches the surface of what happened only a handful of miles from where I stand.

Dana is the only soul I’ve trusted that particular tale to—or rather, she’s the only soul who believes me.

So before August can make a break from his sister to walk me to my car, I tell them I’m running late for work and take the coward’s way out.

Voice Memo

Gabby Tate

9 months, 1 week, 3 days after the accident

Today is my ninth Gotcha Day.

I decided not to remind August about it. It’s not like it’s my birthday or a federal holiday or anything, and I guess I just don’t want him to feel bad that he’s not Mom.

I woke up thinking about how she always made this day feel special, though. Every year was a little different, but it always started with the same tradition. First, she’d pull me out of school for the day and make me a huge pancake breakfast with fresh blueberries and a candle sticking in the center of the stack. She’d tell me to think of a happy memory from the previous year before I blew it out.

And then while we ate, she’d tell me the same story about the night she asked August his thoughts about becoming a summer host family through a church program that connect orphaned children with forever families. She was worried August might feel slighted since it was his senior year of high school. She knew that hosting a younger child might change some of the plans they made with him.

But as Mom told it, August turned the conversation around completely and asked her what she knew about the child they’d be hosting. She pulled up the email from the program director at church and showed him my picture on her computer—big cheesy grin, no front teeth, frizzy, out-of-control hair.

Mom said August studied the screen for a whole minute without saying a word. And then, when he finally spoke, the first thing he said was, “What’s keeping us from being her forever family?”

Momsaid that was the moment she stopped praying about being my host family and started praying about being my forever family.

I suppose in a way, August chose me even before my parents did. I’ve always—

“Gabby? You awake? I have breakfast on the table for you.”

Oh, hang on.

Okay, I’m back. That was August.

He made me a stack of blueberry pancakes, and he even remembered the candle. Next year’s happy memory won’t be hard to come up with.

17

August

Few things cause me to forget myself the way music can. From my earliest memories of sitting at that old upright piano in my parents’ garage, to working on a client’s album for sixteen hours straight ... time seems to suspend altogether when I’m composing. And for the first time in years, exercising the muscle memory of creation doesn’t feel stiff or forced. It feels natural. Which is why I’m struggling to reorient myself when I stop the recording of my latest attempt at the score forMistletoe Matrimonyto find the many texts awaiting me—starting at 12:13 p.m.

The current time: 4:04 p.m.

12:13

Sophie:

Hey, I just finished up inventory with my sister-in-law, but there’s a bit of a vehicle issue. Both Escalades are out for the evening. I’m currently trying to locate the keys for the utility van. If I find them, are you still good with me coming out tonight? I’m hoping we can finish things up.

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