Page 116 of The Voice We Find

Agent Terrell shifts his attention to our side of the table and speaks Natalie’s name with a softness that both intrigues and surprises me.

Yet, she is not deterred.

“Here’s your evidence.” She pushes away from the table and teeters slightly on her feet. Every muscle in my body tenses as she smooths the sparkly red tulle around her midsection to reveal the half-melon bump underneath. “This baby is not a product of two consenting, committed adults in a loving marriage. He was conceived out of coercion and manipulation—all orchestrated by the same man who refused to give up his one-night stands.” There’s venom in her voice when she speaks again. “So no, Anita, the family trust did not provide everything I needed. I needed help. I needed support. I needed someone to tell me I wasn’t crazy and to stick around long enough to see the monster he really is behind closed doors.” She turns to my father now. “He used me and tried to make me an accomplice in his art scheme, and if not for the help of Agent Terrell, I, too, would be in a holding cell tonight.” She steels herself. “I will testify against your son in court, and I will pray for justice to be served. And if, after all of this, you still plan to defend him and throw your money at a lawyer who will partner with his deceptions, then please believe me when I say I will do everything in my power to keep my baby far away from his only set of grandparents.”

Head held high, Natalie yanks open the door and exits the room. Agent Terrell follows soon after. But I hesitate, momentarily torn by the shame and devastation that hovers over this table like a storm cloud. My father’s face falls slack and ashen while my mother weeps into her hands. But there is no muffling the sound of heartbreak.

For all the offenses committed against me in my youth, my earlier feelings of justification are sidestepped by empathy. I spent most of my childhood isolated in my pain, wishing I had someone to confide in, wishing my parents would see the truth. But perhaps the bigger truth is this: None of us have been spared from the tangled web of my brother’s sins.

“I’m sorry,” I say gently. “I’m sorry you’re both suffering fromthe choices Jasper’s made and the people he’s hurt. And I’m sorry he’s not the son you believed him to be.” My mother’s sobs rack her slender frame, and I want nothing more than to take away her pain. But instead, I pray that somehow God will use it. That He will bring purpose to this heartbreak in ways I cannot fathom. “This doesn’t have to be the end of your story—or our family’s story.” I swallow the climbing tears in my throat. “And I sincerely hope it isn’t.”

When neither of them replies, I slowly push away from the table. “I’m taking Natalie home so she can rest.”

And then I go in search of a woman who needs a family more now than ever before.

30

August

I’m standing outside Gabby’s bedroom, waiting as she wipes the stage makeup from her face and transforms back into the girl I know best—the one who rarely remembers to wear her retainer without a reminder and prefers to stay in her pjs till noon. But when she opens the door wearing sleep pants with big strawberries printed all over them, I feel a physical ache in the center of my chest.

Sophie wore those pants the night she stayed over. She was up half the night eating chocolate and talking to me in those pants. She made me her famous scramble in those pants. And she’d finished narrating the last hours ofMistletoe Matrimonyin those pants.

Gabby touches my arm, pulling me out of one memory and asking me to follow her into another. “You ready for this?”

The rush of nerves her question scatters throughout my body screams a resoundingno, but I nod anyway. Because the persistent nudge I’ve felt since her performance overpowers this temporary discomfort. If Sophie could fight against her fear of the stage andGabby could fight against the ignorance of her brother ... then isn’t it time I fought against my fears, too?

Gabby stops at the end of the hall, and though I know she’s entered this bedroom a hundred times before now, she steps aside for me to lead the way tonight. The doorknob is cold against my palm, and I feel every millimeter of its rotation.

We’re a few steps inside when I realize I’ve been holding my breath. My first intake of air confirms every reason I’ve done my best to keep out of this space. I don’t understand the chemistry behind a scent lingering for two and a half years, but it’s here. The earthy aroma of two people who worked outdoors—Mom in the soil, Dad with fresh lumber.

As if it’s the most comfortable place for her to be, Gabby climbs onto their king-size bed and wraps the worn quilt folded at the end of the footboard around her shoulders.

“I love this quilt. It still smells like Mom,” she says, snuggling her face into the well-loved blanket. The colors and floral prints have faded with time, and there’s a finger-length tear in one of the corners where a puff of cotton pokes out of the seam, but Gabby has never cared about the blemishes on this old blanket. She cares about what’s been sewn into the layers: a blessing of unconditional love. The quilt is an heirloom that’s been passed down from bride to bride in my father’s family. From my grandmother to Aunt Judy and then to my mother on her wedding day to my father. My throat thickens as I imagine Gabby as the next recipient one day, as a bride. And then as I imagine my role in giving her away to a man I hope will possess the same depth of unconditional love we were shown in the example of our parents.

She looks up at me then, her expression soft and yielding. “Did you want me to get the box for you?” She slips off the bed and crosses to the closet, but I grip her elbow to stop her. When she grants me her full attention, I say the words that have taken me far too long to admit.

“I should have talked to you about the surgery. I should have asked you what you wanted ... and what you didn’t want. I’m sorry.”

Her eyes shimmer. “I’m sorry, too. I know I shouldn’t have run away to Aunt Judy’s without talking to you first. I was angry—not only for the surgery stuff but also for what happened between you and Sophie.”

Guilt charges through me like an electrical current, and I drop my hand. “What happened between Sophie and me is not your fault in any way.”

“It felt like it was. Everything changed for the worse after that night.”

I don’t have to wonder which night she refers to. It’s seared into my frontal lobe. “The blame lies solely on me, Gabs. No one else.”

“But Sophie loves you, and I know you love her,” she pleads. “There’s still some time, you know? You can still fix this before—”

“No, Gabs. Stop.” I shake my head. “I need you to let this go, okay? This is not your problem to solve. Promise me?”

“Fine,” she huffs, “I promise, even though I think you made a big mistake.”

“I’ve made a lot of big mistakes.”

She gives me a resigned sigh. “Anyway ... that’s why I left without telling you and went to Aunt Judy’s.”

“I get it,” I say. “Aunt Judy is a lot more nurturing than I am.”

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