The sound gets easier for her to make the more times Quinn tries it.
“That’s it!” I cheer proudly. I wish Everett were here to see how well she’s doing.
Sue breaks her focus from Quinn to me. “That’s how you can help her at home. The more practice, the better. Talk your way through daily tasks: ‘I’m putting on your shirt. Look, it’s pink. It has a kitty on it.’ It will feel silly since we don’t annotate our day like that, but exposure to sounds is what will help her vocabulary grow.”
“Okay.” I can do that.
At the end of the session, Sue holds out a prize basket. Quinn fishes through Kit Kat bars and stretchy bracelets, pulling out a ladybug sticker.
“I put those in there just for you.” Sue winks at her. “I’ll see you next week, okay?”
“Otay.” Quinn peels off the back and sticks it to her purple shirt.
“It looks great on you!” I tell her as I thank her speech therapist and follow her lead to the front door.
“Show Da-ee?” Quinn asks as we step outside into the sunshine.
“Yes,” I say. But what I’m really thinking is,just wait for the day, little Quinny, when you have even more to show your daddy from this place than a sticker.
24
EVERETT
“How’d therapy go?” My thumb peels up the edge of the ladybug sticker stuck to my chest before flattening it for the fifth time. Quinn couldn’t wait to show it to me, so they picked me up, and we’re carpooling to talent show practice.
“She did amazing!” Summer beams, pulling her eyes briefly from the road.
Grass and sky blur to a smeared shade of seafoam out the window. “That’s good.”
She clears her throat. “Her therapist wanted me to ask if you’d like to fill out this form?”
A piece of paper flutters from her visor when she opens it and I snag it from midair.
“Sue said it would be helpful for Quinn’s teacher.”
I glance at it while she’s stopped at a stoplight, recalling the release form. I opted not to complete it. That was before I promised myself that Quinn would be okay. That I’d help her in any way that I can. “I’ll sign it when we get home.”
Summer clings to the steering wheel. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”I thought I was.
She nods, doing her best not to look obvious that she’s trying to read me.
I got the email I’ve been waiting for. The one from the label executive. They love the new tracks and reinstated my tour. It’s everything I’ve been wanting. All I’ve been working for. Hours in the studio coming to what should have been a pinnacle of relief. Instead, reality sunk in. The fantasy’s been stripped away. I’ll be touring with songs too personal to sing without breaking down. How am I supposed to perform without raising speculations? How will I guarantee there’s no repeat of last time?
I’m reeling, and that isn’t even the worst part. Shortly after the email came through, Todd called to discuss the new contract they drafted. A detailed document spanning dozens of pages laying out my new term length, advance, and breach clause. Stakes so high that career and financial ruin will be what I face if I screw this up again. I’m lucky they didn’t sue for lost profit damages when I failed to fulfill my contractual obligations last time. That leniency won’t be shown again.
“How was your time in the studio?”
Summer knows by now that opening up has never been easy for me. Doesn’t stop her from trying.
“It was fine.”
“Fine?” she pries.
“It was stressful, okay?”Painful too.My studio used to be the place I’d go and retreat from my problems. Now they fester through music.
“If you need more time…”
