Finding You (20 page)

I embedded the sound of the song in my head. Even though I didn’t know how to play the guitar, I was adamant that one day I would learn that piece of music.

“Brandon!! I will cut the strings off that thing if you don’t go away!” Mom shouted from her office window.

“Yeah, I did. Didn’t I?” Mom laughed softly, pulling me back from the memory.

“Is it okay that I brought it with me?” I asked, I didn’t want to cause mom any more pain that she had already endured. She had been through enough.

“Of course I don’t mind sweetheart, but it wasn’t the guitar that concerned me.” she said as she raised an eyebrow at me.

“Can’t a daughter see her mother at the weekend?” I asked in mock horror.

“Sarcasm is so unbecoming of you, Neva.” She replied with a soft chuckle.

With that, I picked up my suitcase from the sidewalk and followed my mom into the house. Shutting the door behind me, the scent of cranberries hit me as I made my way down the hall. Mom was always lighting candles during the day, she said it helped with her designing.

Looking around the hallway, I smiled as I noticed all the family pictures hanging inside beautiful frames. Most of them were of Tate and me when we were kids but after every two photos of us there would be a photo of us all with dad. Somewhere we had been on our fishing vacation, mom had groaned at the idea while dad, Tate and I smiled.

Walking further down the hallway, I placed my suitcase and guitar at the bottom of the staircase before making my way into the kitchen where mom was making coffee.

“You look just like him, Neva.” Mom said while stirring her coffee.

“I don’t know if that is a good thing.” I replied as I took a seat at the dining table.

“What? Why?” She asked as she placed my coffee in front of me before taking a seat opposite, holding her cup in her hands.

I shrugged, I wanted so much to apologize for looking so much like the man she lost. I can’t imagine how she felt looking at me every day and seeing her dead husband.

“I am so grateful for it, Neva. I am grateful that a part of your father lives in you. I am grateful that you act so much like him without even knowing it and I am grateful that you didn’t go with him that night.” I watched as mom’s eyes glossed over with unshed tears, her face a picture of pain.

“Me too.” I said as I placed my hand in hers, squeezing it gently.

“So, are you going to tell me what brought you here?” She asked, changing the subject and eying me suspiciously.

“I just wanted to see you, mom.” I lied. It seemed I was doing a lot of that lately.

“Okay.” She replied, shaking her head slightly.

“What? You’re not going to even try and get it out of me?” I asked, shocked. Usually she would pry and pry until I broke and told her.

“No, you’ll tell me when you’re ready.” She said as the edge of her lip formed into a small smile.

“Who are you and what did you do with my mom?” I joked. This was so out of character for her. What was going on?

I watched as she threw her head back and released a hearty laugh; a laugh so pure that it took me a couple of minutes to remember the last time I had heard her laugh. It was before the accident.

“I’m still here, sweetheart, trust me, so don’t be getting any ideas of getting drunk and pregnant just because I’m not pushing you for information about your social life.” She chuckled.

“Yes, ma’am.” I saluted before dipping my hand into the cookie jar on the table.

After giving my mom a kiss good night I made my way up the staircase to my old bedroom. The house had three bedrooms, each having their own en-suite. Opening my door, I stepped inside finding it just as I had left it. The far wall in front of me was a deep scarlet while the other three were an off-white. My large, king sized bed sat against the scarlet wall. The metal frame was a brilliant black with matching black silk sheets. The bedroom furniture was a perfect dark tone of black, while my carpet was an off-white, matching the three other walls.

I had missed my room. Mom had decorated it for my birthday three years ago and I couldn’t have been happier with it. Making my way over to the bed, I placed my suitcase and guitar at my feet before running the palm of my hand against the silky soft sheets on the bed and smiling. Turning to face the wall behind me, tears filled my eyes as I stared at the photo of dad and me. He was cradling me in his arms. I was just hours old, but there was no doubt even then that I was a daddy’s girl. As my tiny hand wrapped around his index finger, you could see the love in my father’s eyes as he looked into the camera smiling.

Sighing, I turned to my guitar. Picking it up, I sat on my bed and cradled it in my lap. I remembered something my dad had once said about the perfect way to hold a guitar.

“You need to cradle it gently like a newborn baby, but strum it like you would a woman.” I laughed as I remembered my reaction.

“Ew, daddy!” I said as I crunched up my nose.

Taking my dad’s advice, I slowly started to strum the chords, wondering what to play; but before I could decide, my fingers did it for me. The unmistakable tune that my dad had once played to me on the porch swing all those years ago graced my ears. The tune brought back beautiful memories of my dad. How determined he was to teach me to play and how he taught me never to give up when I failed.

I quickly became frustrated like I did every time I played the chords that were forever embedded in my mind. I could never finish it nor could I put a name to it. Dad had never finished the song that day on the porch and I regretted every day that I never asked him to play it for me again. I regretted a lot of things when it came to my father.

Sighing in defeat, I placed my guitar by my bed before opening my case to change into some pajamas. I came across an envelope. It was folded down the middle and when I opened it up, I noticed it was addressed to me. It was the letter that I had stuffed into my pocket when I was here last. Curious as to who would send me a letter, I quickly sat on the bed and tore it open. As I pulled out the letter, I felt something drop into my lap. Fumbling on the bed, I searched for the mysterious object, wondering what the hell it was. Finally I managed to grasp it between my fingertips, bringing it up to eye level to inspect it.

I gasped. It was a guitar pick, my dad’s guitar pick. It was an electric blue with inscriptions on both sides in cursive script. On one side, it read Brandon and when I flipped it over, it read James. Gripping it in my palm I turned to the letter, why had I been sent dad’s guitar pick? I slowly opened the letter. My hands were shaking and my breathing loud as I started to read it.

My sweet baby girl,

If this letter has reached you then I am so sorry, I could only hope that it doesn’t come to much of a shock.

First I want to explain. I know that you’re wondering what is going on, so I will try my best to tell you what this is all about.

Do you remember Mrs. Scott? She was the sweet lady down the street that used to have the biggest apple tree we had ever seen. We used to ask her for some of those delicious apples so we could eat them when we had picnics. Well, she had a son named Khai, he was such a fearless little boy, a boy any father would be proud of. But one summer, he was too fearless. He had climbed the same apple tree in their backyard and fell. He died right there in his mother’s arms. It broke her heart into millions of pieces and all we could do was watch as she grieved.

After watching Mrs. Scott grieve so hard for the loss of her son, I started writing this letter. I decided after I had written it that I would send it to my solicitor should anything happen to me. Should this letter find its way to you then it means you are nearing the beautiful age of twenty one and I am not with you to celebrate, I’m sorry.

In life, tragedy and loss happen every single day and nobody is immune. There are only two certainties in this world. You are born into this life and you will also be taken from it too. Some will be taken without warning and some will be taken slowly. It is the cruelest of certainties and also the most powerful. You will grieve for the loss but you will also become a stronger person for the gift of love and memories that you received.

I didn’t want to leave this life without giving you that gift, the gift of love and memories. My guitar pick is the gift of memories. It is our memories of playing my guitar. This letter is the gift of love. It is my love for you my sweet baby girl.

Neva, I love you unconditionally and I always will. You are sweet, kindhearted, and an absolute breath of fresh air. Don’t let anyone tell you different. Life is hard and complicated and sometimes we want to give up, but just remember, you are loved and cherished. Don’t let life slip you by, take hold of it and never let go.

Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s learning to dance in the rain.

Dance in the rain, Neva.

Love, Daddy.

My tears were a constant stream of emotions as I re-read my father’s words over and over again. I must have read that letter another twenty times before I felt another sheet of paper sitting behind it. Placing the letter carefully on the bed, a sob broke from my mouth when I took in what was in my hands.

It was a music sheet, with chords and lyrics. It was the song I could never finish or name. But now, it had a name and lyrics, but most of all, it had an ending.

I scanned the lyrics until my eyes found the chorus, my heart breaking as the words sunk in.

I will find you in the rain,

I will break through any storm

Just to be with you always, to keep you safe and warm.

In my arms may you stay,

So close to my heart

Holding on forever until the day we are ripped apart.

I am yours forever, don’t you see?

That I’m a stronger man for finding you,

For finding me.

He had titled it ‘Finding You.’

I gently folded the letters back into the envelope. Placing it in one hand and holding the pick with the other, I silently I cried myself to sleep, clutching onto three of life’s most important things.

The gift of love, the gift of memories and the gift of music.

The next morning I found myself at the mercy of my guitar, softly strumming the beautiful tune with my father’s pick trying to play the song that was once an enigma for so long. I played slowly, as if trying to make the chords seep into my skin. I tried to absorb it, like a sponge soaking up every last drop of liquid.

The more I played, the more I stared at the picture of my father and me on the opposite wall. But this time, I didn’t cry nor did I want too. Instead, I smiled, knowing that while I played, I remembered. I held onto those sweet memories of a man who was truly a hero.

Sometime later, I finally pried my aching hands from the guitar and walked down the staircase, my step faltering as I stood outside the kitchen door. It wasn’t the voice of my mother and a stranger talking that stopped me mid stride, it was the hearty laugh that erupted from my mother’s mouth. It seemed something or someone had finally managed to bring back something neither Tate or I could, laughter.

“It will be fine Lorena, I promise.” I overhead the stranger’s voice saying as I leaned my head closer to the door, it was a man’s voice.

“I know, I just don’t want to upset her, Marcus. I had it all planned out to tell her and this was not how I imagined it going.” Mom replied.

Who was Marcus? I decided to stop eavesdropping on my mom and make my way into the kitchen. But when I opened the door I was not prepared for the sight that greeted me, really not prepared. Mom’s chest pressed against a man’s body while her hands ran through his hair, his hands resting on her waist. Mom was sucking face, I may need to bleach my eyes after this. As if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, the moan that escaped my mom’s lips certainly was. Yeah, I will definitely need to bleach my eyes.

Not wanting to witness anymore, I coughed hard before walking into the kitchen. Taking my usual seat at the table, I placed my elbows on the table and interlocked my fingers together before resting my chin on top. I watched as they jumped apart, like teenagers caught making out by their parents; funny how roles switch in the blink of an eye.

From the corner of my eye, I took in the stranger who was looking just as shocked as my mother was, but it wasn’t his expression that took me by surprise. It was his handsome good looks, short blond hair matched with a chiseled jaw. Deep gray eyes and his skin a perfect sun kissed glow, he was probably in his mid-forties but could easily pass off being in his mid-thirties.

“Good morning.” Mom whispered, clearly horrified as she tried to hide the blush that was currently spreading across her cheeks.

“Good morning, momma.” I said with a smile on my face before turning to Marcus with an eyebrow raised. “Good morning, Marcus.”

The look of pure shock registered on Marcus’s face at the realization I had used his name, clearly understanding I had overheard them talking.