Page 13 of The Sound of Forever
“Have you thought about getting some help?” he asks.
“That’s why I’m calling,” I say, the words tumbling out. “I thought maybe you could take her for a while. She might like you better. Listen to you more.”
“Jules,” he says, and I already know what’s coming. “I wish I could be there for you, but I’m traveling constantly right now. You know that. I’m barely home as it is.”
I close my eyes, the rejection hitting harder than it should. I should’ve known. I should’ve expected it. “Right. Of course. Sorry for asking.”
“Hey, don’t do that,” he says quickly. “You’re not alone in this, okay? Have you thought about heading to Luna Harbor? Nydia’s there. She might be able to help.”
Luna Harbor. The name stirs something in me—a vague memory of summers spent by the lake, of Nydia’s laughter carrying on the breeze. It feels like another lifetime. “I don’t know,” I say, unsure.
“Just think about it,” Oscar urges. “You’re doing the best you can, Jules. Don’t be so hard on yourself. If not, there are options, like just telling the social workers you can’t take care of her anymore.”
The words hit me like a slap. “She’s family and I’m not our father. I can’t just abandon her,” I try to keep my voice calm, but I can’t hide the edge. Sure I thought about it a little ago, but now . . . I can’t believe I even toyed with the idea of letting her go.
“I’m just saying, it’s an option,” he says.
“Sure,” I murmur, though it feels like I’m agreeing to something I can’t fathom. “Thanks, Oscar.”
We hang up, and I set the phone down, staring at it like it might offer more answers if I wait long enough. The apartment feels too quiet, too stifling. I glance at Rayne’s door again, and for a moment, I consider going in. But instead, I sit back at the table and pick up my pen, circling FIND HELP one more time.
Maybe Luna Harbor is the answer. Or maybe it’s just another way to fail.
ChapterTwenty-One
Julianna
As I pullinto the driveway, the house by the lake rises into view, an image suspended somewhere between memory and reality. The familiar wraparound porch is still there, hugging the house like a tentative embrace, but I’m curious as to why it looks like new. The pristine white paint is fresh, too fresh for such an old house. My gaze catches on the flower boxes. The ones that used to hold Mom’s geraniums—her pride, her joy. Now they’re empty, cracked at the edges, after so many seasons of abandonment.
It’s like the house itself is unsure whether to welcome me back or shut me out entirely.
Rayne shifts in the back seat, her arms crossed so tight it looks like she’s trying to hold herself together. She hasn’t spoken since we left, aside from the heated exchange that ended with her declaring I don’t understand her and she hates me. If I could only bring back her mom, she’d leave me forever.
The words still sting, even though I know they’re born of anger and exhaustion. I glance at her reflection in the rearview mirror, her face twisted in silent rebellion. It’s clear that this move is just another failure in the long list of ways I’ve let her down.
The lake glimmers through the trees, its surface deceptively calm. It’s too still, too perfect, as though mocking the churning storm inside me. My fingers tighten around the steering wheel until my knuckles ache. I don’t move right away, letting the engine idle like a heartbeat I can’t quiet.
When I finally step out, the air smells of pine and damp earth, a scent I used to find comforting. Now, it feels foreign, almost invasive. I walk toward the porch with hesitant steps, every creak of the wooden boards beneath my feet amplifying my unease. The door is different, more modern with cut glass and squiggly accents. The lock is different. A keypad now sits where the old brass lock used to be. My stomach knots as I pull out the key that’s been on my chain since I was a teenager.
It used to fit perfectly. Now it doesn’t. I try again, jiggling it, but it’s useless.
A lump swells in my throat as I step back, scanning the windows. The curtains are drawn tight, the house giving nothing away. Did my father sell the house and not tell us? Well, how can he when we haven’t spoken in years. Maybe he has a new life, a wife and children who come every summer to enjoy this town. A new family to erase the one he didn’t want anymore.
I understand divorces happen, but abandoning your children because your romantic relationship didn’t work out? I don’t understand and I don’t think I’ll ever forgive him for doing that to us.
I crouch, lifting the new welcome mat. There’s a key underneath, unfamiliar and foreign, but it fits. The door unlocks with a soft click, but before I can exhale, a piercing chime cuts through the silence. An alarm. My pulse spikes, panic flaring hot in my chest. Seconds later, the siren wails, a sound so loud and shrill it seems to slice through the trees, echoing across the lake. I freeze, the idea of running flashing through my mind, but why would I have to go?
This is supposed to be my house.
Gravel crunches behind me, and I turn to see flashing lights and a police cruiser pulling into the driveway. My stomach twists as a tall, broad-shouldered man steps out, his hand hovering near his holstered weapon.
“Ma’am, step away from the house,” he orders, his voice firm but cautious. “You’re breaking and entering.”
I raise my hands, my breath hitching. “This is my father’s house,” I say, forcing my voice to remain calm despite the way my heart hammers against my ribs.
His eyes narrow. “Name?”
“Julianna Valencia. I’m Daniel Valencia’s daughter,” I reply, my tone clipped and defensive. “My cousin, Nydia, she can vouch for me.”
