Chapter 17
1 7
August
F ew things cause me to forget myself the way music can. From my earliest memories of sitting at that old upright piano in my parents’ garage, to working on a client’s album for sixteen hours straight ... time seems to suspend altogether when I’m composing. And for the first time in years, exercising the muscle memory of creation doesn’t feel stiff or forced. It feels natural. Which is why I’m struggling to reorient myself when I stop the recording of my latest attempt at the score for Mistletoe Matrimony to find the many texts awaiting me—starting at 12:13 p.m.
The current time: 4:04 p.m.
12:13
Sophie:
Hey, I just finished up inventory with my sister-in-law, but there’s a bit of a vehicle issue. Both Escalades are out for the evening. I’m currently trying to locate the keys for the utility van. If I find them, are you still good with me coming out tonight? I’m hoping we can finish things up.
12:15
Gabby:
School is letting out early today because of the coming storm. I guess it’s supposed to get bad. Can you come get me?
12:26
Gabby:
Okay, I’m guessing you’re recording or something so I just called Tyler. You good if I go to his house? Yes, his mom will be home with us the whole time. And no, we won’t do anything stupid. And yes, I’ll be home before dinner.
12:29
Gabby:
Hello?
12:30
Missed call from Gabby.
12:31
Missed call from Gabby.
12:44
Gabby:
This is a perfect example of how nice it would be to get my license. Instead, I’m still at school like a loser waiting to give Tyler an answer on if he can pick me up or not.
12:46
Gabby:
And now it’s raining. I’m going with Tyler. Portia said I can stay through dinner.
3:1 9
Sophie:
FINALLY found the stupid keys for this van! I’m not sure what’s worse—driving the Wine-Calade or this van that looks like it belongs to a seriel killer.
Sophie:
Just saw the storm alert out your way. Please don’t think about climbing onto any rooftops until a certified buddy is there to secure you with a rope. Be there in twenty-ish.
My brain short-circuits at all that I’ve missed in the last few hours, but I quickly deduce my first priority of business and scramble to video call Gabby. No answer. Instead she fires back an immediate text.
Gabby:
Sorry, Gabby can’t come to the phone right now because you left her to drown outside a locked school building alone. Please try your call again later.
I groan and close my eyes.
I’m sorry. I was working on a music project and my phone was set to DND.
Gabby:
And I was trying to get ahold of my only emergency contact in the area ... and he didn’t answer.
This I feel deep in my gut.
She’s right to be mad. I’m an idiot for putting my phone on DND when I’m somebody’s sole guardian. Such a rookie mistake for being two years in. I make the fix to my phone setting immediately, al l owing two contacts the ability to break through my sacred focus mode: Gabby and Sophie.
I stare at the second name for longer than I should, considering the friend zone she put me in weeks ago.
I text my sister again.
Your brother says he’s VERY sorry for missing your texts and calls. He promises to do his best to never let that happen again and hopes you can forgive him?
An entire minute goes by before Gabby responds.
Gabby:
That depends. Do you promise to keep ALL the Christmas decorations I put up in your studio until your project with Sophie is finished?
I groan again. This time for a very different reason.
I glance around at the “festive surprise” Gabby created in my studio last night after I went to bed. Her little holiday prank consisted of Christmas throw pillows tossed on the sofa, a cotton ball–like substance adorning my shelves and windowsills, and every remaining available surface overwhelmed with miniature fir trees, snow globes, or something plaid and ridiculous. But the worst of it is—
Gabby:
And that means you’ll keep the mistletoe in the sound booth, too.
I grit my teeth. Before I got lost in my music time warp, I’d planned on taking it all down before Sophie arrived this afternoon—starting with the hideous plastic mistletoe sprig my parents used to hang above their bedroom door every holiday season since I was a boy.
I release a heavy sigh.
Fine. But you will be on clean-up duty as soon as my project is finished.
Gab by:
Gabby the Elf agrees to that.
So I’m forgiven?
Gabby:
If Christ can forgive you, then I guess I can, too.
Despite myself, I smile at her wit.
Gabby:
Also, will you show me the music you’ve been working on sometime?
I read the sentence over twice and have to swallow against the thickening in my throat. Outside from sharing the same parents, music was once the strongest bond we shared, a tie that kept us connected during the years we lived apart. I would send her early tracks of songs I’d yet to master, and she would provide feedback sure to make me laugh.
It’s been a long time since she’s asked to hear anything of mine—longer still since I wrote anything new, I suppose—and I want to give that to her. I want to give her so much more than that. Hopefully, after this project, that will be a reality.
Anytime.
Just then, the studio door bursts open with gusto, revealing a windblown, rain-speckled Sophie on the threshold looking like she just walked here from the winery. Anything not nailed down scatters from my desk and cyclones in the center of the studio. Sophie’s hair whips in every direction. By the time I pull her inside and shut the door behind her, her thin sweater has slipped off her shoulders, exposing a lace-trimmed tank I can’t blink away fast enough.
Without warning, she flips her head upside down and rakes her fingers through the tangled mass of chestnut locks.
“It is insane outside,” she says from behind the curtain of hair. “Pretty sure I could have brought Phantom with me under our natural disaster clause. I was almost tornadoed to Oz.”
“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 an entirely new level of darkness and disorientation.
“Sophie, you alright?”
When the only response I hear is the sound of rapid, erratic breaths, my pulse accelerates.
“Sophie?” Despite the unexplainable sense of urgency I feel, I soften my voice. “Where are you?”
“August.” The strained, choked sound of my name sends a flash of fear through my core.
Something’s very wrong. The revelation nearly swallows me whole as I struggle to move through the darkness until I reach the cool metal of the empty recording stool. Did she fall? Did she hit her head? “Talk to me, sweetheart. Where are you?”
“H-h-here,” she says through short, sharp pants.
Carefully, I lower to my knees to crawl along the floor. I don’t want to hurt her, but I can sense her panic even from a distance. The instant my fingers brush the hem of her long sweater, I’m reaching for her and pulling her limp body into mine.
I rub my palms along her shuddering back.
“You’re okay,” I whisper in her ear, willing myself to believe it as truth. “You’re okay, Sophie. I’m here now, and I’m not going to let you go. Breathe with me.” I take in a long slow inhale. She tries to follow, but her struggle for air is gut-wrenching. “You’re doing great,” I say calmly. “Let’s try it again. Good. Nice and slow.” Chest to chest, we breathe together. Again and again until I feel some of the rigidity in her body begin to relax.
It’s only then that her arms tighten around me. She holds on like I might disappear, and something inside me breaks at the thought. Her breaths are still too shallow to be okay, and I know with unshakable conviction that I need to get her out of this room. Out of this darkness.
I cradle the back of her head as my lips skim her temple. “Do you have your phone on you?”
She shakes her head no. “In . . . my . . . backpack.”
It’s what I figured. “I’m gonna help you stand, and then we’re going to walk down the hall together, okay? Do you remember the candle you found next to the sofa? We’ll turn it on.”
She nods into my shirt, and I count to three and pull her to her feet, making sure to keep a strong hold on her waist.
She’s far from stable, but I’m encouraged when she puts one foot in front of the other. It’s progress.
“Here we go.” I feel for the sofa and ease her onto it as I fumble for that flameless holiday candle. If it works, I’ll tell Gabby she can keep this Christmas decor up for the rest of the year if she wants to. I click the button on the bottom, and the room illuminates with a golden hue.
I’ve never been so thankful for a candle in all my life.
I pull the piano bench directly in front of Sophie and set the light there. I want to get it as close to her as humanly possible.
Outside, the wind and rain battle for attention, but inside, the only sounds I’m focused on are the slowing exhales of the woman nestled beside me. Panic attacks are not my area of expertise. I don’t know what is helpful or harmful in situations like this, but much like the candle I set before her a moment ago, I want to be as close to Sophie as humanly possible.
I open my arms to her in silent invitation, and without speaking a word, she curls into me. I don’t know how long we stay huddled together in the stormy dark, or when she finally feels safe enough to drift off to sleep, but I do know that whatever past experience brought Sophie to the panicked state I found her in is far more significant than she’s let on.
And I hold her all the closer for it.