His Father's Voice

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Scott caught himself staring at the bare wood and web-cluttered beams of his late aunt’s attic instead of packing, but he found it hard to concentrate. Ten days ago, Scott hadn’t even known who his biological parents were. Now, his search for his heritage had led to a dusty cardboard box in this dusty attic, filled with faded and broken moments of the long dead hopes of a father and mother he’d never known. Carlo Valdez had been a poor man with a little talent who had tried so hard to be more than a cog in the universal machine, and Theresa Rodriguez a plain girl who had once upon a time seen the light of his father’s soul and been momentarily blinded.

Theresa, it turned out, had died years ago, but her sister Maria had lived in this house they shared, increasingly frail, saving everything for “someone, someday, to make amends.” Scott’s arrival seemed to have completed something for her; he’d known her only a week, but in hours of talk, they’d begun to be friends.

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