She tops off her coffee and offers me the pot. I shake my head. She sits back down and looks up at me. I wait.

“I just… don’t want you to expect too much today,” she finally says.

I pretend not to know what she’s talking about. “What do you mean?”

“I’m just saying”—she pauses—“that Carter has been deaf his whole life. You can guess that he’s probably had plenty of opportunities to get an implant if he wanted one. This is just one morning. You can’t expect him to change his whole future because of one church performance.”

I look away and shrug. “I know.”

“As long as you know,” she says, but she doesn’t believe me. I don’t really believe me either.

I look straight at her. “I know, Mom,” I say more defiantly this time. It comes off too harsh. “But thanks,” I add to soften it. I give her a half smile and head up the stairs to my room, shaking my head.

The truth is, I don’t know. And I don’t want his life to change, but I want to change his life, you know?

His sister sings in a choir, for God’s sake. Denise talked with me. With her voice. He hasn’t used his voice since they left. I didn’t hear it once all day yesterday—not laughing, not talking, not anything.

This will be his first time ever seeing me play guitar. Ever. Me. We’ve been together for a month. I’ve never brought it up, and he’s never asked me to play.

“Don’t get your hopes up, don’t get your hopes up,” I mutter under my breath as I put on my makeup for church.

But they are up. Hopelessly up. Maybe this morning he’ll see—he’ll see that music can change your heart. Your soul. He’ll see me in my element, doing what I do best. Being my truest self. And after seeing all of that, how could he not want to hear? How could anybody really love me without loving music?

After I’m ready, I run down the stairs, tripping over my sandals on the last step. I look up to see him grinning at me from the kitchen table.

“I saw that,” he signs, and I stick my tongue out at him.

Mom and Dad are in the kitchen, too, finishing up breakfast. I took longer than usual to get ready, so Mom’s already cleaning everything up.

“You can have cereal,” she says over her shoulder as she loads dishes into the dishwasher. I grab a box and sit across from Carter, who’s finishing a cup of coffee. I never knew he drank coffee.

“You look cute,” he signs.

“You, too,” I sign back, smiling. And he does. Classy, as always, in jeans and a white button-down. The sleeves are rolled up and he’s wearing a tie in a very loose knot around his neck. He looks like he just came back from a dance. Or a runway.

We pile into my parents’ sedan and I hold his hand as we drive. Bender is seat belted between us, like a person.

Carter and I look out our windows on the drive and his foot jiggles, bouncing the seat. I squeeze his hand and he looks at me. He swallows.

“You okay?” I sign.

A smile flits across his face. “Yes,” he signs with his left hand, since his right is holding mine.

We arrive at church and mill around on the lawn with everybody else.

“Robin!” I hear, and I turn to see Jenni.

“Thank you for coming!” I say as I hug her.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she says. She turns to Carter. “Hi!” she signs.

He nods hello.

“How’s Trina?” she signs.

“She’s good, thanks,” he answers.

Since Jenni got the job at the ice-cream parlor, she and Trina have become best buds.

“Good,” she signs.

We find our seats near the front on an aisle while Pastor Mark plays background music on the piano, giving everybody a chance to settle in and giving the band a chance to get to the front. I’m not in the worship band today—just the special music—so I stay in the seat I’ve chosen.

I pull Bender out of her case and hold my head close, tuning. Of course I tuned before I left the house, but changes in humidity or even driving over the bumpy roads can put any wooden instrument out of tune.

My other ear hears the worship band play its opening chords, and I jump to my feet before even setting Bender down. I look over at Carter and he stands unhurriedly, smiling at me.

“You okay?” he signs, teasing me with his eyes.

“Nervous,” I sign back, laughing at my jumpiness. The signing makes me lose my spot in the song and I stutter my way back into it. Carter smiles and looks at the big screens where the words are projected. He watches the people around us.

After the song, we sit down and the head pastor comes up to the front and introduces himself. He welcomes guests and asks everyone to shake the hand of someone close to them. I half write–half sign this to Carter. By the time I’m done, I’m flustered and he’s grinning at me and everybody else is standing up, shaking each other’s hands. I stand and turn around, ready to shake the hand of the person behind me, when I hear Pastor Mark begin the opening chords of the next song and everybody faces front, ready to sing again. It’s exhausting.

Again, Carter stands with me and watches pleasantly as the people around him sing. His interest is waning, though. The lyrics to this particular song are just repeated over and over. I’ve always liked the repetition—it gives me a chance to experiment with harmonies or think of the words in a new or different way—but it’s probably pretty boring if you can’t join in the singing.

The song ends and the head pastor comes back up to pray. I squeeze Carter’s hand. “Time for me to go,” I sign, and he squeezes my hand back. I grab my guitar and tiptoe to the stage, and as I pick up Bender, a little electricity runs up my arm, connecting us. I caress the neck and kiss the bridge. Bender may not be the Dread Pirate Martin of my dreams, but we’ve been through a lot. “Let’s do this one more time, old girl,” I whisper.

I pull my stool around to the front as the choir shuffles onto the risers, and I take a deep breath to steady myself and my shaking hands. Jenni looks up from the prayer and gives me a thumbs-up. Carter has never stopped watching me. He signs something but I don’t know what it is. “I… you.” Not I love you or I like you. I admire you? I… ?

“Amen,” says the pastor, which shocks me back to my senses. The ushers are already starting to pass the offering basket.

When I look to Pastor Mark, he’s trying to catch my eye, smiling encouragement from his position behind the folk harp. I give him a shaky smile and turn to face the audience. I swallow and tell myself to start. Now I know what a bride must feel like as she’s walking down the aisle, exposing the deepest love of her soul to a well-meaning but staring audience.

The new patterns firmly engrained in my muscle memory, my fingers start to pick out the familiar minor chords and my voice cracks a little as I sing, “What wondrous love is this, o my soul, o my soul…” The first verse is just me and my guitar. We fit hand in glove, Bender supporting my floating soprano. We dance—her leading at times, then me taking over. We know each other’s moves so well, I’m almost surprised when the rest of the band joins us for the second verse.

Now it’s a group dance. A contra, all of us moving in intricate patterns, fitting like a puzzle. Each note drops down a sliding stair step into the start of the story. “When I was sinking down, sinking down, sinking down…” The choir joins in on an ooo as my backup for the second half of the verse. I look out into the audience. Some people are closing their eyes. Tears drip down a woman’s face. She wipes them away with a handkerchief. I glance up. Carter has switched from watching me to watching the people around him.

“To God and to the Lamb, I will sing, I will sing…” and my fingerpicking turns to strumming, the song growing stronger and stronger, the dance winding and stomping. Insistent. Almost tribal. The choir joins in dense harmony at the line, “While millions join the theme,” and one by one, the audience gets to its feet, singing along with the words projected on the screen. A chorus of love.

I can’t bring myself to look at Carter any more. I’m afraid my face will give me away—that I want him to hear more than anything. I want him to sing more than anything. I want him to join with me, adding his beautiful, musical laugh to the chorus.

A key change brings the stragglers to their feet and the fourth verse starts. It switches to a major key with the sopranos soaring above everybody and the bass thrumming out a beat that reverberates in my chest. Hands raise and all voices ring out loud and strong for the last verse: “And when from death I’m free, I’ll sing on, I’ll sing on…”

I’m engulfed in the sound. My fingers tingle, no longer simply hitting notes, but speaking the language of my heart. I give myself over and my throat sings raw, eyes closed, not to keep people out but to concentrate on the moment. Like they close while tasting delicious food or upon sinking into a hot tub or in the heat of a kiss.

The verse ends and I open my eyes. Light floods the stained glass window in the back. The congregation stops singing. The dance slows. The choir and band cut out, leaving just me and Bender to our intimate, reflective dance. I repeat the last stanza, finger picking the chords, turning it minor again. “Throughout eternity, I’ll sing on.”

The last note echoes for a minute in the silent building. I close my eyes once more to hang on to the moment, not ready to let it go. Then the congregation, already on their feet, explodes into applause. They lift their hands and close their eyes. I shoot a questioning look at Pastor Mark. He smiles broadly at me and raises his eyebrows, indicating that I should take a bow. I look at the mass of faces and duck my head, blushing and smiling. They clap louder. Maybe if I bow they’ll stop.