David and Sophie
1965
We are in the news again. Triophonics is featured in the business section of the San Jose Mercury. The headline reads Trio of Entrepreneurs Making a Big Sound. The inaccuracies in the headline alone spark lively conversation in the family.
The news writer dubs David, Danny and Sophie as the Peter, Paul and Mary of sound technology, attractive young folk with a hot new acoustics detection product that draws musicians to their door, checkbooks in hand. Posed in a group hug for a publicity photo, they look like kids from the neighborhood who just found gold under a rock. Here’s the problem. They aren’t a trio. I’m not even sure I could identify the duo in this mix. Would it be David and Sophie or David and Danny? Sophie enlivens the photo and makes for good copy, but her passion is elsewhere. David is the heart and soul of the business, but Danny is the magician who can sell it. And that’s the second problem. It turns out that a methodology for automatically adjusting sound levels and reverb in a performance space is not that marketable to musicians, who don’t own checkbooks. It is, however, highly attractive to the well-funded military. This is a fact that won’t make headlines and could cause division between David and Danny.
Roger and I discuss the news article while he is dressing to go to work. David has talked him into taking on the role of CFO. Roger assures me his job is temporary; that he’s just there to set up accounting systems and lines of credit for the boys; that he’s out of there as soon as they find an experienced replacement. I have no high card to play. Valerie is starting to complain that I’m not available enough to help her with Miren because I’m so involved with Elinor and her foundation. My art supplies languish under layers of dust in my studio. How did we get to this place?
Sunday dinner is our only constant. This afternoon, the kids finally open up about their plans.
“I have a decision to make.” Sophie’s eyes sparkle. She reaches for David’s hand. Nothing sparkles on her finger though, so this might not be the announcement I’ve been waiting for.
“David has offered me studio space in his building.”
I look around the table to see how the others are taking this news. Only Valerie sets her fork down and leans forward.
“And, Santa Clara University has offered me a dance scholarship and a chance to direct student productions.”
My eyes travel from Sophie’s shining face to David’s composed features. His eyes are on Sophie. He knows she has already made her decision.
Sophie takes a deep breath and squeezes David’s hand. “Triophonics needs all of David’s attention right now. I’ll be around to attend the parties and schmooze the investors with David, but while he’s getting the business off the ground, I will be launching my own career.”
David pats her hand. “We think this is the smart way to approach our future.”
While the others pepper David and Sophie with questions, I lean back in my chair. Obviously this young couple doesn’t subscribe to the “love is all you need,” philosophy. They are planners. I look over at Danny. Where does he fits into the plan?
R
Working with Elinor on her mental health foundation has proved more challenging than I imagined. I sit at my art counter where I should be working on a new set of collages. Instead, I’m tapping a pencil on a fat notebook stuffed with research on the effects of the Community Mental Health Act. My heart pounds, my stomach jumps rope off rhythm, and my skin itches. This is not what I want to be doing.
I walk out on the patio and try to slow my breathing by taking the brisk morning air into my lungs. Drawing my sweater tight around my shoulders, I walk down to a bench Roger has installed under the plum tree. Carved on the seat back are words from Psalm 91: He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty.
How I’ve wrestled with the state of Scott’s soul, the burden of mental illness he carried, the pain he caused so many people, mostly himself. Compassion packed in a tiny seed in my heart has broken through its hard shell and struggles for light. I cultivate the thought that Scott found some shelter with us, even as we failed. I pray for redemption, for God to provide shelter for Scott now.
Light teases new buds that appear on the tips of branches we forgot to prune this year. I sit in silence, and I hear God’s voice. It’s time to move.