Page 69 of The Voice We Find

“Didn’t realize tornado could be used as a verb.”

Still upside down, she twists her neck to peek up at me through one eye. “It’s a new world, August. Anything can be made into a verb.” She flings upright, and I’m momentarily paralyzed by whatever spell she’s just cast. My throat feels like it’s actively trying to swallow a handful of sand. Seemingly oblivious to her magical powers, Sophie glances out the window in the direction of the house. “Wait—is Gabby home? I hope she’s not out in this. The sky was nearly black behind me. I think it’s gonna pour soon.”

The concern in her voice is both endearing and irritating. Endearing that she’d think of Gabby so quickly after arriving and irritating that I all but forgot I even had a sister.

“She’s actually staying at Portia’s for dinner. I’ll grab her after the storm blows over.” It’s still easier for me to pretend Portia is the reason for Gabby’s request and not a certain boy who can’t take his eyes off her whenever she’s near.

Sophie laughs. “Ah, so she’s hanging out with Tyler tonight.”

“I’m told he’s present, yes.”

She rolls her eyes, which makes me smile.

“That boy is such a sweetheart to her. Do you know that every Tuesday night he buys her a root beer and a bag of peanut M&Ms from the vending machine and has it waiting for her on her seat? Not even you can deny that they’re adorable together.”

“They’re too young is what they are.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Adolescent hormones are hardly a case for long-term compatibility.”

She frowns. “Well, hello, Mr. Cynical. It sounds like Blake is rubbing off on you.”

“Blake who?”

She gives me eyes that call into question my mental acumen.

Oh, right.Blake. From the script. “Forgive me if I don’t use fictional characters as references in my daily conversations.”

Shetosses her backpack on the sofa. “You’re forgiven.” And then she freezes, her eyes scanning the room in slow motion. “Um, why does it look like Christmas threw up in here?”

“Because it did,” I say flatly. “Gabby the Elf decided my studio needed an aesthetic change after I went to bed last night. Apparently, she also read the script.” I reach for the marked-up paper copy I keep on my desk.

Sophie presses her lips together and picks up a glittery battery-operated candle with the wordsSweater Weatherscrolled across the center in red-and-black plaid. “But where did it all come from?”

I stuff my hands into my jean pockets and shift on my feet. “From our mom’s holiday tub in the attic. She loved Christmas.”

Immediately, her grin sobers, and I rush in to fill the void as there’s nothing quite like killing the mood with dead parents at Christmastime. “It’s fine.”

“How did you and Gabby spend your last two Christmases?” she asks softly.

“Uh ...” It’s an effort to reroute my thoughts. “The first we spent at home. It was ... quiet. I tried to make it special, but I’m not sure I succeeded. We were both pretty shell-shocked still.” I clear my throat. “The second we spent at Aunt Judy’s house.”

Sophie picks up an angel figurine from the shelf I built and turns it in her hand. “Does Gabby usually decorate?”

I frown, trying to recall. “I remember bringing the box down last year, but I can’t remember if she put anything out.”

Sophie makes a contemplative sound. “I wonder if seeing these decorations up is a comfort to her.” She touches the tiny gold cross she wears around her neck. “It’s fascinating how much sentimentality a tradition or item can hold.”

Unbidden, a list of the many holiday traditions my parents kept over the years scrolls through my mind. The candlelight services. The pjs on Christmas Eve. The Christmas story in the morning. The best homemade cinnamon rolls and fresh-squeezed orange juice for breakfast. The round-robin present opening. Dad’s intermission fora second pour of coffee. Mom’s famous molasses cookie drop-offs to neighbors and friends.

I tug at the back of my neck. “And here I thought she did all this as a prank.”

She touches my arm. “Maybe it’s a bit of both. Pranking her big brother and a safe space to create some needed nostalgia.”

In moments like this, it’s hard not to openly stare at Sophie. I never would have made that connection, not in a hundred years. And at the same time, I’m grateful she did. I’m even more grateful that Gabby has Sophie in her life.

The thought rubs against a raw nerve as I watch her handle several more decorations with care. Despite my resolve to be her friend and nothing more since that night on the beach, it has not become easier with time. If anything, time has worked against me. Her commitment to this project and to my sister has only exacerbated the fissure in my chest.

Sophie places a set of silver bells on the table next to the sofa and then begins to make her way to the sound booth. “I guess we should probably get moving if we’re going to meet today’s quota before we pick up Gabby.”

I don’t know if herwein that sentence is intentional or accidental. Either way, it registers with far more meaning than I should allow.

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