Page 7 of The Voice We Find

She whistles. “These are next level. Did you get them done around here?”

I try to swallow, but the roof of my mouth is drier than the outside of a cotton ball. “I, um, no. I had them taken in—”

“New York?” She’s perusing my resume now, and I go from hot to cold to hot again. In New York, its second nature to bring a portfolio everywhere ... but I’m realizing only now just how overkill it was for me to bring it to a small community theater.

“Wait.” Her eyes narrow and then promptly widen as she looks from the thin piece of paper where I’ve conveniently left off my most recent show. “You’ve been on Broadway?”

“Minor roles only.” For four years straight, until I landed my big break.

Which I’d promptly destroyed in the first act.

“Still, that’s...” She shakes her head and gives one of those breathy laughs as if she doesn’t quite know which emotion she should be displaying at the moment. “It’s an honor to have someone of your caliber auditioning with us. I’m positive there’s so much we can lean from you and your experiences. Don’t let our size foolyou—there’s a lot of talent here. And wouldn’t you know it, but we’re short on female leads who can sing and dance.”

Mutely, I open my mouth, uncertain of what I should say to assure her that I’m actually a total failure of an actress, and that my name is likely blacklisted with every major director back east, and that I’d be thrilled to walk away from her cast as a bleating goat if it means I’m not completely broken. “I’m actually not looking to land any kind of lead role, I really only came to—”

But she’s looped my arm through hers and is practically skipping us toward the auditorium doors. “I absolutely cannot wait to introduce you to everyone, Sophie! You are an answer to prayer.”

With a strength that doesn’t match her stature, Portia flings open the auditorium doors, and every happily mingling thespian down below cranes their neck to stare back at us. I feel my body temperature rise as they assess my threat level. I’m about to attempt my meekest win-them-over smile when I catch sight of the stagehand flicking the giant spotlight on and off on center stage.

I can’t look away.

And just like that, the memory is here in present tense, clawing at my peripheral vision and scratching away the surrounding detail of this room until I’m forced to revisit a scene I’ve tried to forget since February. A wide-eyed audience. A wildly gesturing director. And a pair of lungs too frozen from fear to utter even a single word after the curtain opens.

Myfrozen lungs.

Even now I can’t make them inflate.

I can barely make myself do anything except for the one thing I want to do most.Escape.

Before Portia even has a chance to ask me if I’m okay, I’ve unhooked my arm from hers, muttered an intelligible apology, and stumbled my way back through the dark lobby and out the theater doors.

My theory was wrong: What happened in New York didn’t stay in New York.

Likely because New York isn’t where my nightmare originated.

California is.

When I get home later that afternoon, after driving aimlessly for hours, I head directly to my living quarters on the far side of the construction pit surrounded by heavy equipment. Jasper wasn’t exaggerating when he said the workers started at six in the morning to allow for peace during the hours when the tasting room is open. From what I could eke out of Natalie, the luxury pool and spa project should be finished in four weeks’ time. But by the looks of it, construction time seems to be on par with God’s time.

As soon as I’m inside the pool house, I call for Phantom and hear his quiet purr in response. Naturally, he’s been hiding under the bed. He’s about as big a fan of the construction zone as I am. My black, long-haired rescue cat with the white patch of fur around his blind eye circles my ankles. I bend to scoop him up and snuggle him close.

“It was awful,” I whisper in answer to his unasked question about my day, something I’ve been doing more and more of since I moved back. I take a seat in the small desk chair and proceed to nuzzle my face into his fur. Yet another thing I’ve been doing as of late. Somehow, it keeps the tears from falling. “I should probably add the wordscowardandfraudto my résumé after today.” A thick ache builds in my throat. “And maybeaimless, too, while I’m at it.”

Apart from working as a waitress on and off over the last few years, I’ve had the same dream since the summer I found a way to be a million other people besides the one person I didn’t want to be. I suppose that’s the hardest thing about dreams coming true at a young age: Once you’ve lost them, it’s impossible not to wonder if you’ve also lost yourself.

My phone rings, and I let it go to voicemail.

When it rings a second time, I know that if I ignore it again, my night could end with a wellness check from the local police, courtesy of Dana.

I answer and try my best to sound like I haven’t been facedown in cat fur. “Hey,” I say with forced cheeriness. “How are you?”

She doesn’t respond.

“Dana?” I pull the phone away. Check to see the call is still connected. It is. “Hello?”

“What’s wrong with your voice?” Her tone is calm, but I hear the suspicion behind it.

I quickly set Phantom on the floor as if he’s the thing responsible for giving me away. “Nothing, just a long day.” Thank goodness we’re not on video call.

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