Page 43 of The Sound of Forever
Julianna hesitates for a moment, her fingers tracing the rim of her iced tea glass. “Are you close to your . . . family?” she asks, her voice careful, like she’s testing the waters. She doesn’t want to pry, but there’s curiosity there.
I take a moment to answer, my gaze drifting to the blanket where Rayne is still engrossed in her drawing. “My brother and I are working on that,” I say finally, my words measured. Then, after a beat, I add, “My parents died a few years ago.”
Julianna’s expression shifts, her eyes softening they glance at the lake. “I’m sorry,” she says gently.
I nod, acknowledging the sentiment but not fully engaging with it. If she wanted to, she could look me up and find out about my life. The raise, the fall, the accident. How my parents died years after I . . . supposedly died. Yeah, there’s that too, the world believed I’m dead.
Maybe that’s why no one recognizes me, because even when I look familiar, why would they assume I’m him? Keane Stone is dead. His funeral was broadcasted on national television. No one’s expecting to see him wandering around a small town like Luna Harbor.
I shift slightly, trying to find my comfort again. Once I do, I clear my throat as I push those thoughts aside. “What about you?” I ask, redirecting the conversation. “Are you close to your family?”
Julianna’s gaze flickers, her fingers resuming their idle tracing of the glass. “It’s complicated,” she admits, her voice quieter now. “I mean, like I said, Oscar is always away. Dad and I are trying to mend our relationship.”
The atmosphere is thick, but thankfully, Rayne interrupts the moment with a triumphant shout, holding up her drawing for us to see. “Look. I finished it,” she says, her voice filled with pride.
Julianna’s face lights up, her smile warm and genuine as she leans forward to admire the picture. “Wow, Rayne. That’s amazing. Look at the little bunny’s ears—they’re perfect.”
Rayne beams.
“That’s . . . pretty awesome,” I say, and I mean it. “Fufu Floppy looks like he’s living his best life, flying a kite with their new friend.”
Rayne’s lips twitch into a small smile, and she ducks her head, pretending to focus on her drawing. But I catch the way her grip on the crayon loosens just slightly, her shoulders relaxing.
“She’s been obsessed with kites ever since you fixed hers,” Julianna says, her voice warm, teasing. “I think you might’ve created a monster.”
“Could be worse,” I reply, settling onto the blanket beside them. “At least it’s a wholesome obsession. We should probably get her a new kite though . . . something bigger, maybe shaped like an animal or something fun.”
Rayne’s head snaps up, her glare nearly setting me on fire. “But that’s not the one Mommy bought,” she declares.
“No, it’s not,” I agree, keeping my voice gentle. “But we don’t want that one to break again, do we?” I give her a tentative smile, silently pleading for her to see reason.
She squints at me, as if she’s weighing my argument. Finally, she huffs. “Fine. But it has to be pretty. Like a butterfly.”
“Done,” I say with a grin, relief washing over me. “We’ll find the prettiest butterfly kite in existence and have it here by tomorrow.”
“If you do,” Julianna chimes in, her gaze soft as she looks at Rayne, “we could try flying it again tomorrow. What do you think?”
Rayne’s eyes light up, and she nods eagerly. “Okay.”
“Then it’s a date,” I confirm, already wondering if Rowan can work his connections to make this kite thing happen in record time. It’s not like philanthropy is limited to soup kitchens, right? Supporting butterfly kite dreams seems just as important.
The conversation drifts as Rayne focuses on her drawing, the crayons moving quickly across the page. Julianna starts telling a story about one of her “yoga fails,” complete with dramatic hand gestures and an uncanny ability to mimic the sound of a collapsing yoga block.
Rayne giggles first, soft at first but quickly bubbling over. The sound is infectious, and before I know it, I’m laughing too.
“I can’t believe you tried a handstand in the middle of a crowded park,” I say, shaking my head. “What were you thinking?”
“That I could do it,” she says, grinning. “Spoiler alert: I couldn’t. I was just beginning my yoga journey.”
“Keane, can you help me?” Rayne asks, breaking the moment. She holds up her picture, pointing to the butterfly. “I’m not sure how to draw a pretty one.”
I take the crayon from her and start untangling the mess she’s made of the drawing, my hands moving carefully so I don’t smudge the rest of her work.
“You’re good at that,” Julianna says, watching me.
“It’s one of the things I used to do when my parents needed me to entertain myself,” I state, hoping there are no further questions.
We spend the rest of the afternoon like that, talking and laughing. By the time the sun starts dipping below the horizon, the air has cooled, and Rayne is curled up on the blanket, fast asleep with her bunny tucked under her arm.
