Maggie didn’t know what she was more excited about—meeting Cole’s new band or meeting the doctor he’d found for her. She asked him ten times how the doctor could fix her, but he didn’t know.
“Lots of different methods, I guess,” he said, and shrugged. “You’ll find out when we go this afternoon. You still up for it?”
“Yes,” she answered quickly.
“Hey, hand me that wire over there.”
She turned in a circle, looking along the floor for a wire. It was Saturday. They were in his basement setting up for practice. She was so used to going to her parents’ band practice sessions in a nice, fancy studio already set up for them. Cole had some amazing equipment down here, but the setup felt so . . . grunge. She wasn’t used to it at all. She found the wire he was talking about and dragged it to him. He plugged it into one of the amps and brushed off his hands.
“How many band members are there?” she asked, lowering herself into a huge beanbag chair in the corner. The basement wasn’t finished. There were different colored carpet remnants on the cement floor, pieced together like a jigsaw puzzle. The windows were covered with some blinds and old sheets. Maggie got the feeling this was the kind of thing she’d missed out on by not going to a regular high school, only without the booze. Not that she regretted missing out on underage drinking. She’d had her fair share of that during a tour once when she partied too hard with some teenage groupies. She supposed they thought if they got her drunk enough she would let them into her parents’ hotel room. She didn’t. All she did was get angry and throw up a lot. That was one of the reasons she never drank anything harder than beer and wine.
“Six altogether,” Cole answered. “I’ve known Justin since we were kids. His band was rolling pretty good until their drummer moved away a few months ago. They used his place to practice.”
“Ah, so they want you in the band so they can use your basement?”
Cole sat down at his set and twirled his drumsticks. “I hope I’m more valuable than that!”
He started playing. Maggie loved it when he played without holding back. He looked so happy, so relaxed. Closing her eyes, she focused on the beat he was pounding out. The sound was more intense in this little room than anywhere else. After a minute or so, it sounded jumbled and disastrous even though she was sure he was still playing perfectly.
The sound suddenly stopped.
“You okay, Maggie?”
Opening her eyes, she realized she had a hand to her forehead. “What? Sure. Why’d you stop?”
“Because you look like you’re in pain. Is it too loud in here? You want some earplugs?”
The drums were still echoing in her head. She nodded. Maybe he was right. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”
“Got some right here.” He stood and dug in his front pocket, producing two foam earplugs from a little plastic bag as he walked over to the beanbag and knelt in front of her. “Here you go. You don’t have to stay down here, you know.”
She took the earplugs and shoved them into her pocket. “I know, but I want to hear you guys.” She didn’t mention that she desperately wanted to sing with them too, but she was sure he already expected that at some point.
The doorbell rang and Cole stood up. “Okay, but if it’s too much, don’t be afraid to leave.”
“All right.” She watched him disappear upstairs. A minute later, he and three others walked into the room. She wiggled off the beanbag and stood.
“Hey, Maggie,” Cole said, leading all three over to her. “This is Krista. She’s vocals and guitar, and she’s incredible at both.”
Krista nodded and smiled. “Nice to meet you,” she said, popping her gum. She was young, but older than Maggie, with straight blonde hair. She wore black leggings and a neon green mini skirt, balancing in a pair of really high heels.
“This is Izanami,” Cole said, moving on to the next girl. “She’s fiddle and keyboard and mandolin and whatever else we want. We call her Iza for short.”
Iza rolled her almond eyes, but a faint blush appeared across her caramel-colored skin. She was less than five feet tall, but Maggie had a feeling her smallness, exaggerated by standing next to high-heeled Krista, packed a lot of punch.
“Yeah, yeah,” she said as she flipped her sleek black hair over her shoulder. It went all the way down to her hips. “Call me Iza. Short is my middle name.”
Maggie gave her a warm smile.
“And this is Justin. He’s lead vocals and guitar, and I suppose this is really his band, which is why we do our best to tolerate him, right, Justin?”
Justin laughed and held out his hand to shake Maggie’s. Beat-up boots, tight Wranglers, and a cowboy hat that looked like it was twelve years old. He probably slept with it over his face. His short hair and sideburns were reddish-brown. As she shook his hand, Maggie felt the thick, smooth calluses on his fingertips. That was a good sign.
“Nice to finally meet you,” he said with genuine excitement. “Cole’s been talking about you for years. ’Bout time I got a peek at you in the flesh.” He licked his lips and ran his eyes over Maggie’s body. She didn’t feel violated. He was just teasing. She hoped. She snuck a glance at Cole, but he didn’t seem unsettled.
“Where’s Miles and Blake?” he asked Justin.
“On their way.” Justin let go of Maggie as Krista and Iza lugged the instrument cases off their backs and started setting up. For the first time, Maggie realized none of them seemed to care she was Todd and Sandy Roads’ daughter. She liked getting the attention sometimes, but other times it bothered her that people only cared about her parents, not her. Maybe Cole’s friends would care about her just for her.
Miles and Blake showed up a few minutes later. They were brothers, both with thick brown hair and full goatees, and she had a hard time keeping them apart until they pulled out their instruments. Miles played acoustic and Blake played bass. She eased back into the beanbag chair and discreetly stuffed the earplugs into her ears as the band discussed what to play first. Cole counted off the beat and they started one of their songs. It was a mess in her head at first, but she liked the energy of it. Iza grinned as she worked away on her fiddle like a pro. She played so naturally, Maggie was pretty sure she could master anything from Mozart to bluegrass.
Cole smiled too as he sang backup into his microphone. It was a song about leaving home and feeling out of place. Maggie smiled at that. She was into it at first, but after a while she started fiddling with the lyrics in her head. They seemed off the way they were written. Cole rested his attention on her, his smile falling. She guessed her frustration showed clearly on her face, so as fast as she could, she gave him a thumbs-up and smiled. He didn’t seem to buy it.
When they finished, Justin dove into what they needed to fix. Nobody said anything about the lyrics, and the band started in the middle of the song where they wanted to tweak the baseline. Maggie closed her eyes and put her hands behind her head, dreaming about when she would meet the doctor.
* * *
“So,” Cole said as they drove out of his neighborhood, “what’d you think?”
“Of your band?” She rubbed her hands together in front of the heater. “You guys are great! Iza is . . . wow.”
“Yeah, she’s something else, huh? She can play anything—any instrument, any song.”
“Your music is tight and catchy.”
He nodded. “I haven’t had a hand in writing any of it yet, but I will eventually.”
She kept her mouth closed, pushing her tongue against her teeth so she didn’t say anything she’d regret. She was dying to ask him who wrote their lyrics. She was used to helping her parents with stuff like that. Martin, their agent, bought some of their songs from writers, but a lot of them they wrote themselves. Her dad was a born lyricist, and she was glad she’d inherited some of his talent, as much as she resisted letting it take over every other desire.
“Spit it out,” Cole said with a laugh. “I can tell you’re holding back.”
She let out a puff of air. “Okay, okay. It’s the lyrics. I mean, ‘drinking away my sorrows under the harvest moon’? That’s so clichéd. It doesn’t even fit the meter—you guys had to slur it to fit. You know that’s not going to work.”
He nodded as he chewed on his bottom lip.
“Oh, and I think there were three songs that mentioned dirt roads and trucks. Nothing wrong with dirt roads and trucks, but I think you could do better.”
He snorted. “Um, yeah, you might have a point there. What do you suggest?”
“Rewrite your lyrics. Not hard.”
He snorted again. “Not hard for you, you mean!” Then his eyes shifted over to her. “You saying you’re up for something like that?”
“What?” She thought about what Grace had told her about all the skills she had that might come in handy for making money. “Um . . . maybe . . . if it’s a paying job.” She stared straight ahead. Cole was driving her to meet Dr. Hayes and she didn’t want to think about lyrics and all those things her parents said she should be doing.
“Well, I’m not sure the band would have money to pay you for that right now, but maybe later? We can keep it in mind. What are you doing with all those lyrics you’re always scribbling down in your little notebook?”
She turned her body away from him and stared out the window. “Nothing. I write them so I have new stuff to sing, that’s all. The singing is what I want.”
Cole was quiet. When she glanced at him, he was smiling softly to himself and humming a tune she recognized as one of his band’s songs. She leaned back in her seat and watched the road until they reached Littleton, where Dr. Hayes worked. Cole told her she could ride the light rail system on the days he couldn’t drive her. She asked him if he was willing to help her practice for her driver’s license, and he grinned.
“Sure, we can practice tonight if you want.”
She looked at his hand as he shifted gears. “Thanks.”
He navigated down a back road until he reached the address. Then he parked the truck on the street and got out while she stared out her window at a yellow-brick apartment building. Cole opened her door. “You ready?” he asked.
“Yeah, I think so.”
She was a little nervous, but she tried to shake it from her system as she climbed out of the truck.
“This isn’t a doctor’s office,” she said stupidly as Cole double-checked the address he’d written down.
“He works from his apartment.” He nudged her elbow. “Come on.”
When they were inside, they rode the elevator to the fifth floor and walked down the hallway until they found apartment 42B. Cole knocked loudly as Maggie shifted behind him in an attempt to hide. She didn’t know why she was so scared. She guessed it was because she felt like her life was about to change even more than it already had. But what if Cole was wrong and the doctor couldn’t fix her voice? What did fixing her voice really mean?
The door opened and her jaw dropped.
The man standing in front of them was . . . was . . . wow. There was no way he could be a doctor, not the kind she was expecting, anyway. He was as tall as Cole, maybe an inch taller, and looked about the same age—twenty-five-ish. Doctors were supposed to be older, weren’t they? With glasses and tired eyes from all the work they had to do in medical school? That wasn’t this guy at all. He was thin but muscular, dressed in jeans and a blue T-shirt that brought out the color of his eyes. They were a grayish blue and filled with patience. His hair was the color of bright cornhusks, cut short and messy in that yeah, I’m too lazy to brush it, but it still looks good kind of way.
“Maggie?” he asked in a velvety voice as he looked right at her even though she was half hidden behind Cole. It occurred to her, a lot later than it should have, that he was not a medical doctor at all. For some reason, she’d thought he was going to fix her vocal chords on a surgery table. Now that she was looking at him, she could see it was more likely he had a PhD in music. Doctorate. Duh. She wondered why Cole hadn’t been more specific.
Stepping around Cole, she came into full view and reached out to take Dr. Hayes’ hand. He had a nice grip. Unwavering, like the rest of him.
“Yes,” she answered.
“You can call me Nathan. Cole’s told me a bit about you.”
It hit her that Cole hadn’t told her anything about how they’d met. Her guess was it had to do with the Big Huge Secret she was dying to drag out of him. Maybe Hot Doctor Nathan would tell her what it was. Then again, it felt wrong to go behind Cole’s back. Staying close to him, she gave Nathan a smile in return as he gestured them into his apartment.
“So, what’s he told you?” she asked as he invited them to sit down in his perfectly arranged living room. The whole place felt professional, like a doctor’s office should feel, but it wasn’t a doctor’s office. The furniture was modern with clean lines and colors. Crisp grays, whites, and creams. It was masculine and artistic. Not country at all.
Nathan laughed, but in a delicate, polite sort of way as he sat across from them on a gray sofa and rested one ankle on his knee. He looked so comfortable and natural, so she guessed it was where he always sat when he talked to his patients. Was she a patient? She supposed she was about to be, as soon as she found out how he was going to try to fix her. The thought of him getting close to her made her warm. She shifted next to Cole, barely aware he was beside her.
“He’s told me who you are, of course. Your parents are Down Sugar Road, right?”
It was normal for people to refer to her parents by their band name, as if it encapsulated who they were. It was fine, but she hoped he didn’t go all fan-boy on her. He didn’t seem like a country music buff.
“Yeah, that’s right,” she answered.
“That’s wonderful. Cole said you want to sing too, but he seems to think you have amusia.” He folded his arms and smiled at Cole. “I told him that’s quite the claim.”
Yes, it was quite the claim. She was paralyzed by it.
“It has to be true,” Cole interjected. “I’ve read a lot of research about it. Once you hear her, you’ll—”
Nathan raised a hand, gently, and Cole went quiet. “I want to stress amusia isn’t a disease, Maggie.” He turned back to her. “How much do you know about it?”
She shrugged. “I guess it’s just another term for tone-deaf? Cole keeps telling me it’s more than that, though. I’ve tried reading about it, but nobody seems to agree on anything. A lot of it is research I don’t understand.”
“Nobody understands amusia completely.” He used air quotes for the term. “In my own research, I’ve found about only five percent of the population is what I’d term amusic—where a person literally cannot recognize tones. Amusia is true, absolute tone-deafness.”
That didn’t sound like her at all. That had to be a good sign.
“I can hear music and notes,” she said loudly. All of a sudden, she couldn’t care less how attractive Nathan was. She was more interested in what he could tell her about what had plagued her since she was a child.
“Can you?” he asked.
Was that a challenge?
“Of course I can. I know when someone’s singing or an instrument’s being played.”
“What does it sound like to you?”
She opened her mouth and then closed it again. “What do you mean?”
He had a faint smile on his lips. It made her wonder how much he could deduce just by observing and listening to her. It was unnerving.
“Explain to me how music sounds to you, the best way you can.”
She wanted to blurt out a perfect answer to satisfy him. Or did she? What she really wanted was for him to understand what was wrong so he could fix her. She dug deep inside herself, trying to figure out how to explain such a complex thing on the spot.
“There’s a certain rhythm with music,” she started slowly. “It’s different than talking, usually faster and blending all together.” She glanced at Cole. There was understanding in his eyes, urging her on. “If there’s lyrics, the voices move with the instruments. When I play my guitar, I feel the notes through my fingers. The vibrations, you know? Each one feels different to me even though they don’t always sound different.”
Nathan watched her carefully, following every word like he was picking up breadcrumbs.
“Fascinating,” he breathed. “When you listen to your parents’ music, can you separate the instruments and their different sounds in your head? Can you hear the mandolin separate from the fiddle, for instance?”
She looked at Cole, but he couldn’t help her. The truth was it took everything she had to separate instruments in her head when they were all playing at the same time. But didn’t everyone have that problem? The way Nathan had phrased his question, she was starting to believe it wasn’t supposed to be a problem. That set her on edge, so she tried not to concentrate on it.
“Yeah, I can separate them out,” she answered, remembering Iza’s fiddle playing an hour earlier. Maggie could see she was amazing, so she worked harder to hear it as well. Maybe it wasn’t notes she heard, though. Maybe it was because she had seen and heard so many other fiddle players that she knew what a good one looked like when they played. She had grown up around people who knew what constituted quality playing and what didn’t. She just knew.
“You seem hesitant with your answer,” Nathan noted. “Are you sure?”
“I know what a fiddle sounds like,” she answered quickly. “And drums, and a guitar and a flute. Every instrument. But when they’re playing together, it’s hard to hear each one separately unless I’m watching them.” For some reason, that felt significant. She watched Nathan for his reaction.
He put two fingers to his lips. “Well,” he finally said after a long pause, “I certainly didn’t mean to launch into a grilling session right off the bat. We haven’t decided whether or not you want me to work with you.” He stood and gave them both a warm smile. “I’d like to show you around my office area so you can get a feel for how things work. We’ll need to discuss payment options as well, if you want to go ahead with the voice lessons.”
Voice lessons. Why hadn’t Cole told her that was what this was going to be? She guessed he hadn’t known, but that seemed odd. She hoped the lessons weren’t too expensive. Between rent and food and now lessons, she was surprised how much she was spending in big chunks.
She nodded and stood, Cole rising beside her. “Okay.”
They followed Nathan out of the living room and down a hallway to several open rooms. “This is where I’ll work with you on your voice,” he explained as they stopped in the doorway of the first room. Several guitars were on stands next to a piano and a microphone. There was an open closet full of instrument cases. It made Maggie wonder if Nathan was like Iza and could play anything. They walked to the next room where Nathan motioned them to sit on a small sofa in front of the window overlooking the street. She could see Cole’s truck.
Nathan sat near a desk with three computer monitors, some microphones, and some speakers. The room was filled with filing cabinets and bookshelves. He smiled when they were settled.
“Would you like to hear some success stories first?” he asked. “It might help ground you with my work and what I aim to achieve.”
She nodded. “Sure.”
He started sharing his stories, and in a few minutes her deductions about the PhD in music were confirmed. Apparently, it was in music therapy, which made her wonder once again where he and Cole had met. He used terms she wasn’t familiar with at all, even though she had grown up immersed in music. Listening to him was the same as listening to a song, but since it was speech, her brain latched on to it like candy. There were no complex sounds to sort through. It was easy and comfortable to listen to him.
Until Cole slipped his hand in hers.