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It was Finn, his face a mixture of unbridled enthusiasm and amazement. Grace is with Mom and Dad in the greenroom, he signed feverishly.

I pulled the guitar strap off my shoulder and handed the instrument to him, then clasped his head between my hands and kissed him. Blow them away, I told him, and I could tell he had every intention of doing just that.

As I left the stage, I felt a dozen hands grabbing my shirt like I had messianic powers. I wanted to ask them if they’d missed the bit about me being deaf, or the fact that I hadn’t played a single note. Only I knew the answer to both questions, which is how I also knew that in some indefinable way I was partially responsible for what was happening. Maybe my moment of air guitar glory was over, but I was still the mover and shaker, the one who made it all happen. I was Dumb’s manager, and I was freaking good at it too.

I passed GBH on the way to the greenroom, all four members standing in the doorway, as transfixed as the fans on the floor. They looked as unlikely to commit grievous bodily harm as any quartet in history. Joby, the lead singer, stepped forward, but before I could apologize for what had happened with Josh he stretched out his arms and bowed down before me. I was speechless, although he probably wouldn’t have been able to hear me even if I had known what to say. And then they were all grinning, thumbs raised in wholehearted approval of Dumb’s performance. I had to take a deep breath to keep from crying.

I turned the corner and found Mom and Dad, looking much more comfortable in the gritty surroundings of the greenroom than I figured they would. They’d even let Grace sit on the floor beside them, where she played with a bottle of water, rolling it back and forth.

Is Kallie usually like that? asked Mom.

I shook my head. Mom looked somewhat reassured.

It’s loud, signed Dad deliberately, and I could tell he approved of this particular quality of Dumb’s performance.

I noticed Grace peering up, evidently less enamored by the Showbox than the rest of us. When she had our attention she cupped her right hand and drew it down her chest.

I guess she’s hungry, I signed.

Mom laughed. No. She just finished nursing. She just wants attention.

I laughed too, admiring Grace’s cunning. And then I felt my stomach flip. She signed. I watched Grace reprise her party trick. She signed “hungry.”

Mom nodded. Dad says she’s a natural. Best in the class.

Ed’s words came back with the subtlety of a thunderclap. You mean ... she’s been going to the classes as well?

Dad was having trouble following the conversation, but he obviously got the gist of it because he turned away self-consciously. Mom wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him close.

We thought it would be unfair if Grace was the only person in the family who couldn’t sign. She leaned forward and wiped the tear from my eye. No one should feel ignored, right?

I was about to start bawling, and I think Dad knew it too. And whatever else had passed between us recently, that was something he didn’t want to stick around for.

“Do you, uh, mind if we go watch Dumb?” he asked hopefully.

Although I couldn’t hear a word, I read his lips just fine. “Actually, I’d like that very much!” I shouted. “That’s my band out there.”

Mom pushed her lips together in a thin smile and regarded me from the corner of her eye. I got the feeling she was deciding what she most wanted to say, like this was one of those moments when parents tell their kid they’re proud, or disappointed, or confused. But Dad was pulling her away.

“You’re one tough cookie, you know that?” she said as she was dragged through the door. Although I felt anything but tough at that moment, I knew exactly what she meant.

And then it was just Grace and me, the unstoppable Vaughan sisters, alone in a dark room with industrial carpet and vinyl furniture. It wasn’t the right place to pull her close and rub noses and shower her in kisses and say over and