Page 92 of The Voice We Find

Gabby Tate

16 months, 3 weeks, 3 days after the accident

Tonight was my youth group’s outdoor praise and worship night. It’s fall, which is usually my favorite weather as far as temperature goes, but as the lead guitarist began to strum and sing on stage, the sky grew dark, and in less than a minute, it started to rain.

My friends started shrieking and laughing and pulling their sweatshirt hoods up over their heads, but none of them left to find shelter. They all just kept singing and clapping as the rain soaked them through. But I couldn’t stay.

I didn’t know Tyler followed me to the big oak tree at the far end of the church property, but when I turned around, he was there. He asked me if I was okay, and all I could do was run into his arms.

I think it must have been the mix of music and rain that brought the memory of my parents back to me so strongly. It poured the night before the accident. It wasn’t like any kind of rain I’d ever seen—more like an upended river pouring out of the sky.

We’d been gathered together under a shelter with open walls and a metal roof, sharing about the day’s events the same way we’d done all week. I’d spent most of my time playing games with the little children while Mom served their mothers and Dad framed the buildings that would soon become educational centers. We’d been told June was the start of India’s monsoon season, but we’d yet to see it in action for ourselves. As soon as it started, Pastor Bedi tried to dismiss our team back to our sleeping quarters, but none of us were ready to leave.

One of the guys picked up his guitar, and even though we couldn’t hear a single chord he played, we lifted our voices above the sound of the storm and sang with our whole hearts. At one point, my chest felt overfilled, like a balloon ready to pop. The sensation was so crazy that I stopped singing to look around and see if anybody else felt it. But instead, I saw my parents. Even though the rain had blown through the open walls and soaked their clothes all the way through, their arms were stretched to the heavens and they looked ... well, they looked joyful.

That’s how I remember them. Not the perfect beach day pictures that were shown in a slideshow at their funerals, with Mom’s hair all pretty and Dad in a shirt that wasn’t stained or ripped from work. But like this. Like two people who didn’t let a storm keep them from worshiping God.

23

August

Isee my ransom note worked as planned.” Chip’s tone borders on cocky when he stands to greet me from the corner booth of Golden Gate Subs and Sandwiches.

He texted me a pin to this hole-in-the-wall deli yesterday, along with the ransom-style instructions that if I wanted the current metrics onMistletoe Matrimony’s performance, then I shouldn’t be late. And seeing as that bonus is the only thing keeping me from scheduling Gabby’s consultation with the surgeon, I didn’t balk at the demand. The multimedia audiobook went live on Fog Harbor’s website November first, a little more than two weeks ago now.

“Withholding payment for work rendered is a crime in the state of California, Chip.” My joke sounds drier than I intend, but I’m using all my willpower to keep the coiling tension from leaking out. My two-year search might be over in a matter of minutes.

He chuckles and slaps me on the back before we take our seats on opposite sides of the booth. He slides a plate with a hot pastramisandwich on rye toward me, complete with an extra dill pickle spear. I’d ask how he knows my lunch order, but my sandwich preference ranks low on the scale of weird facts we’ve retained about each other over the years. The pros and cons of meeting your best friend at fifteen.

It’s been at least a month since I helped Chip move apartment complexes, and though it’s hardly the longest gap we’ve had between our in-person meet-ups, a lot has transpired since the day he convinced me that audiobook production could be a viable side hustle. He wasn’t wrong. So far, the paychecks have been decent and far more consistent than the work I was picking up on my own.

“You want the good news or the bad news first?” Chip asks after swallowing a huge bite of his French dip.

I narrow my eyes. “If you made me drive all the way here so you could tell me the audiobook was a huge flop, then–”

“Good or bad,” he repeats with a jester’s grin.

“Bad.”

“Ya know, I was really hoping Sophie would change that pessimistic outlook of yours.”

“She’s my girlfriend, not a miracle worker.”

Chip laughs. “I suppose the fact that she even agreed to be your girlfriend in the first place is miracle enough.”

“I won’t argue with that.” Chip doesn’t need to tell me what I already know: I could never deserve Sophie. Not in a hundred lifetimes. Not with a thousand of her journaled prayers for me. I push my plate away, leaving only a quarter of a spear of pickle and a smear of Dijon mustard behind.

I stare him down and throw out the scenario I’ve feared most. “Is Fog Harbor Audio pulling the plug?” I know firsthand how brutal the first six months of any new business venture can be, including the make-or-break financial pressures. And if the sales and downloads haven’t met Fog Harbor’s expectations, it’d make the most sense for them to cut their losses as early as possible.

He gives a firm shake of his head. “No plug-pulling here. But I do think you should know that the whole of publishing slows downthis time of year, which will affect contract negotiations between authors and narrators and will ultimately bring in less raw audio to master and produce until roughly mid-January.”

The pastrami I ingested turns to granite in the pit of my stomach. Guess I shouldn’t have been so quick to cross studio musician work off my schedule.

“But the good news is, you won’t need those audio contracts during this holiday season because you are ... hang on.” He holds up a finger. “Let me get the wording exactly right.” He picks up his phone and scrolls for what feels like twenty years. “‘The sexiest voice in entertainment since the Hemsworth brothers.’”

I stare at him as if he’s lost his mind.

“You’ve become a viral sensation, August.You.” He slaps the table and gut laughs. “I knew Sophie’s talent would secure a loyal following, but nobody expected the frenzied manhunt your voice would cause in the audiobook community. Also, you might want to think about locking down your old social media accounts.”

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