Page 14 of The Sound of Forever
He radios someone, stepping aside but keeping his watchful gaze on me. The alarm blares on, its relentless shriek setting my nerves on edge.
Minutes stretch into what feels like hours before he returns. “ID?”
I fumble with my bag, my fingers shaking as I pull out my wallet. He examines my driver’s license, his expression softening slightly. “So, you’re a Valencia?”
“Yes, that’s what I just said,” I argue, trying not to be upset. “I spent summers here. I know this house like the back of my hand.”
He nods, seemingly convinced, and punches a code into the alarm system. The silence that follows feels almost louder than the siren, a vacuum of sound that leaves me unsteady.
“You should call your father,” he says, his tone bordering on pity. “He updated the system. He didn’t mention family visiting—or that he has a grown daughter.”
I swallow hard, embarrassment burning in my chest. “I don’t have his number,” I admit, the words tasting bitter.
He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press, stepping back toward his SUV. “Good luck,” he says before driving off.
The driveway feels emptier now, the house looming in front of me, both inviting and forbidding. I pull out my phone, scrolling until I find Oscar’s name. I hit record, my voice trembling as I leave a message explaining what happened. At the end, I ask for our father’s number or a solution to this problem because it is obvious that we’re no longer welcome in this house.
As I end the message, my mind drifts to the past. This house was supposed to be ours—Mom’s, mine, Oscar’s, even Elena’s. After the divorce, after Dad left, it still felt like home. I believed this could be what would help Rayne when Oscar suggested it, but now . . . I should probably go to check with Nydia and see if she can help. I’m okay renting something around the area.
Promptly, Oscar sends me the number with the words,It’s going to be okay.
I want to believe him. I really do, but is it really going to be okay?
There’s a child who is counting on me to be her guardian and so far I’ve done a shitty job. As much as I tell her that we’re now a family, that she has to trust me, she just stares at me like I’m some kind of idiot who can’t understand her language.
I stare at the screen, the words blurring slightly as I reread them. I want to believe him, but my stomach twists with unease. My thumb hovers over the call button, trembling with hesitation. It feels like crossing a line I’ve spent years avoiding. I haven’t spoken to my father since I was a teenager. The idea of hearing his voice again, of him hearing mine, stirs something deep inside me that I’m not ready to face.
But what choice do I have?
I press the button.
The line rings, once, twice, a third time, the silence between each tone growing louder in my mind. And then, a voice—his voice comes over, “Gustavo Valencia, speaking.”
It’s like the past crashing through a door I thought was locked. My throat tightens, the words jamming together before I force them out.
“Hey,” I say, and my voice sounds small, unfamiliar even to me. “It’s me. Umm . . . Julianna.”
A pause. A long, suffocating pause.
“I . . . came to the lake house,” I manage, fumbling for words that feel just out of reach. “In Luna Harbor. We were . . . moving in temporarily. A few months, maybe a year, until Rayne and I figure things out. But the locks are changed, and there’s now an alarm system. It might be too much to ask, but if you could rent it to me?—”
“Julie, it’s your place too,” he interrupts, his voice gruff, but not cold. “You don’t need to pay me to stay there. Mind if I ask who Rayne is?”
His question lands like a misstep on a staircase—jarring and unexpected. My breath falters as I scramble for the right words. “Elena . . . she’s gone,” I say, each word feeling heavier than the last. “Apparently, she was a mother, and now I’m in charge of her daughter.”
The silence that follows stretches thin, brittle. When he speaks again, his voice sounds different, raspier, like gravel underfoot. “I’m sorry about your sister.”
The apology lingers between us, carrying the full force of his absence, his abandonment. I want to snap back, to tell him it’s too late for that—for everything. But I don’t.
“She’s six, her daughter,” I say instead. “Her name is Rayne, and . . . she barely talks to me. She’s grieving, and I . . . I don’t know how to help her.”
The words spill out, raw and uneven, like a wound I can’t hide. His silence feels like an invitation to keep going.
“Oscar said coming to Luna Harbor might help. Maybe this place could help her heal,” I continue, the desperation thick in my tone.
“And you?” he asks, cutting through my rambling like a blade. “Will it help you?”
I falter. “Me? I’m fine,” I lie, trying to sound casual. “I just need to get through this.”
