Page 99 of The Voice We Find

I turn away from Sophie, needing movement. Needing space.

I rip open the sliding glass door at the far end of the dining room, hoping she won’t follow me.

I cross over the dead grass looking for some wood to chop or perhaps a hole to dig with my bare hands, but the only thing close is the rotting, overgrown garden beds I’d planned to rebuild next spring. No time like the present.

I don’t bother with gloves or even a hammer as I begin the dismantling process by kicking one board in the framed rectangle loose with my heel and then flattening it under my weight. I toss the weathered wood into the burn pile several yards from the greenhouse. By the fourth board, I’m huffing something fierce, and my heel is on fire.

Sophie moves into my periphery. Because of course she followed me. “If you would have discussed this possibility of surgery with her months ago, she would have told you she didn’t want it.” Each word Sophie speaks is evenly spaced and carefully devoid of emotion, but I’m an expert at plucking out even the smallest hint of judgment when it comes to my sister.

“She can’t possibly know what she wants.” I tear another board from a box with nails so rusted they break in half. “She’s sixteen.”

“So is your plan to strong-arm her into having brain surgery? Be reasonable, August.”

I pause mid-kick to wipe my brow. “Oh? The same way I shouldbe reasonableand allow her to date an eighteen-year-old who’s likely filling her head with all sorts of nonsense right this second? I think it’s fair to say you and I have two very different definitions of that word.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, and I can’t help but notice she didn’t bother to grab a jacket on her way out. The thin thermal she’s in might have long sleeves, but there’s zero chance she’s not freezing in this weather. “If you’re insinuating I’m somehow to blame for encouraging her relationship with a guy who can understand her in a way neither one of us can, I don’t buy it. You don’t believe that any more than you believe Tyler’s the enemy.”

I jump to flatten another board under my weight, then bring my hands to my hips. “Gabby is my sister. I can handle her on my own.”

“And was that back there—” she twists to point toward the dining room—“an example of you handling it? You cutting her off without listening to a thing she said? You confiscating her phone? You grounding her because she refuses to be a tally mark on some surgeon’s chance at a medical breakthrough?” She marches toward me. “You told her what she was going to do without asking her a single question. And honestly, even if you had asked her, I doubt she would have felt safe enough to share her real feelings with you in that hostile environment.”

I lift my gaze to her tense face. “And I suppose she’s shared all thosereal feelingswith you?”

Sophie hesitates a beat too long before she simply says, “Yes, she has.”

This shouldn’t rub me the wrong way—I have enough working brain cells to know that much—and yet the twisting sensation in my gut can’t be ignored. Five months ago I was thrilled Gabby had a trusted female to confide in other than Aunt Judy and Tyler’s mother. Back then, Sophie and I had felt like two players on the same team, a united front with the same goal: Gabby’s best. But Gabby’s best, as it turns out, is far more ambiguous than I realized before tonight.

I think about everything Gabby could have told Sophie in confidence—all the hours they’ve spent together carpooling from one place to another, taking ASL classes at the theater and attending church on Sunday mornings. Not to mention all the days Sophie has been here with me. With us.

Because in every way that matters, Sophie’s become a part of us.

The revelation comes unbidden, and it’s enough of a blow to my ego for me to launch the last plank of wood to the burn pile and shrug out of my flannel.

“Here,” I say, extending it out to her. “Take this.”

“I don’t need your—”

“You’re shivering.” I don’t lower my offering. “Please, just put it on.” There are few things I can control at the moment, and regulating Sophie’s body temperature so I can vent outside like an angry fool is one of them.

Our stare-down doesn’t last long.

She takes the flannel.

I bend at the waist, hands on my knees as I catch my breath and fight to calm my racing thoughts when I hear her tug it on. “I know you’re not the person I’m most angry at, Sophie—I’m sorry. I...” I make a study of my boots and release a frustrated growl that comes from somewhere deep. Somewhere dark. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

When she says nothing in reply, I lift my chin. And for the first time, the compassion I find in her gaze scares me.

“Maybe you need to ask yourself what you’re really trying to fix, August.”

“My sister’s hearing,” I retort immediately.

She wraps my shirt tighter around herself. “I think it’s much more than that.”

We’re in a standoff again, only this time, I’m not sure which one of us will break first.

It’s her.

“Are you going to burn that tonight?” She points to my pile of random, haggard wood. “It’s supposed to rain most of next week, so tonight might be your only chance.”

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