Song Above: LA Is Lonely

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BRODY

"Did you know about this?" I didn't miss a beat as I came charging into my father's office.

He was at his desk typing away at his laptop. He looked over the screen, his glasses balancing on the end of his nose and his relaxed expression instantly hardened at the sight of me.

He looked at the letter scrunched in my grip and sighed leaning back into his chair.

He pulled his glasses off and rubbed at his temple, "What is it now Brody? Was accusing me of killing your mother not enough?"

"These letters," I waved the papers in my hand ignoring his last comment, "Did you know about them? You must have when you packed moms things away or even before when she was alive?"

"Brody," He gave me a warning look, which I had chosen to ignore for better or worse, I wasn't too sure.

"Don't try to hide from the truth Dad,"

He let out an exasperated breath. If my father liked me before he sure as hell didn't now, "Will you please give up with these Sherlock Holmes antics, they found your mothers killer, leave it to rest,"

He wasn't as angry compared to the other night. He just looked exhausted. He let out a sigh and took a sip of his water. I noticed the way his hand shook as the glass reached his lips.

This wasn't my dad. He was normally calm and collected. He would never have let me see a weakness before.

This was bad, real bad.

"But you must have known surely?" I pushed, I was relentless I was my father's son after all. We'd never had left without answers.

"Is it your sole purpose to punish me?" He bristled, "Have I not done enough for you?"

"Answer the question," I said impatiently and watched as my father's attempt at a calm demeanor dissolved.

"I do not need to answer to you," he brushed me off and continued to tap at his screen ignoring me completely.

He was playing a child's game, well I could be just as childish.

I walked over and closed his laptop shut, "Dad for once in your life could you be honest and tell me the truth,"

"Yes, I did know," He said quickly his voice wavering, "I knew way before your mothers passing, I'd accidentally opened her mail one day,"

My eyes widened and I stared at him stunned. I took a couple of seconds to register his words and sunk into a chair.

"So you did know," I half-whispered to myself.

He knew and he had kept it to himself all these years. I'd always thought my mom was the victim but maybe she wasn't as innocent as I hoped or believed.

It was as if all the missing edges of the puzzle that is my life was finally coming together. Small moments were starting to make sense.

"Mom, I want ice cream," I pleaded with a toothless grin.

We were driving back from soccer practice and I'd seen a luminous sigh at an ice cream parlor.

The sound of music hummed in the background from the radio and usually, we didn't make any stops, but sometimes if I asked nicely enough she would.

She moved her eyes from the road and looked down at me, a smile causing the corner of her eyes to crinkle, "You sure you really want ice cream?"

"Yes, please," I quickly nodded, the thoughts of tasting delicious scoops causing my stomach to stir with excitement. Mom always let me choose a few flavors and toppings.

"Okay then," She said turning at the next traffic lights. We took a u-turn down a culdesac and found ourselves on the opposite side of the road towards the parlor. She pulled into the parking lot and switched off her engine, unbuttoning her seatbelt and turning towards me.

"This will be our little secret," She said, "We can't tell your dad or else he'll be jealous we didn't get him any,"

"Okay, I promise I won't tell him," As much as I liked my dad, I liked my mom more.

Dad wouldn't have turned around, he would have told me we had ice cream in the freezer at home and that I'd have to wait.

"Come on then," She said and I don't think I've ever gotten out of the car fast enough. As soon as my feet hit the pavement my mom held onto my hand and guided me towards the entrance of the parlor. Our hands together were such a contrast, mine being small and hers being twice the size. Even though all my friends wouldn't hold their mom's hand, I never got tired of holding mine.

We pushed through the double doors, I instantly let go, running over to the counter and standing with my hands spread over the chilled glass. I could see the condensation of my hot breath fogging up the glass. My head spun, there wasn't just all the flavors, but all the possible combinations.

I heard my mom laugh beside me, "You spoilt for choice champ?"

I nodded, my grin instant.

"How about a blackberry sorbet with raspberries on top?"

I looked up at her, she knew my favorite like the back of her hand. She took my smile as confirmation and stepped forward at the checkout, pulling out her purse from her bag.

"I'll get the blackberry sorbet with-" Her order was cut short when something or someone from across the room caught her attention. The color drained from her face and she looked down at her hands, which began to fumble with her purse. She sucked in a deep breath and placed her purse back into her bag.

"We have to go, Brody," She grabbed hold of my hand, a little too tightly and began to drag me towards the exit.

"But what about the ice cream?" I wined struggling against her grip. I was confused by the sudden change of heart.

"We will get some another day, and besides there's probably some in the freezer," She said, the frustration evident because I wasn't complying.

I could feel the tears hot on my face and I hated whatever had made her change her mind. Just as I passed the double doors, I turned back to whatever had scared my mom away and frowned.

A couple and a young girl, that must have been the same age as myself sat in the corner of the room. The girl had long brown hair and freckles that covered her cheeks, her lips were stained with chocolate and she was laughing at something the man had said. The man wore a brown leather jacket and I couldn't see his face, just his deep set of dark curls on his head.

That must have been him.

I'd seen him years ago and I hadn't even realized, hadn't even cared because all I wanted was ice cream.

"I never once mentioned it to her," My dad said through the silence and I'd almost forgotten where I was and who I was with, "I thought this was karma for all the things I had did,"  Like sleeping with her best friend and whoever else looked your way I wanted to say.

But I didn't.

Instead, I sucked in a deep breath and exhaled. My eyes flickered to the picture frames on his desk. My stomach lurched. He had one of him and my stepmom and another one of him and my mom on their wedding days. I'd never noticed before.

His eyes followed mine and the corner of his lips curled downwards. He picked up the frame of my mom and looked at it for a couple of seconds. I couldn't work out what he was thinking but I could tell it was sad thoughts by the look in his eyes.

"She sure was beautiful," He said almost to himself.

"She was," I agreed.

He gently put the frame back onto his desk and sighed, "Brody, I've realized you won't let this go or listen to me but please understand that you may think you know what's going on, but you are far from the truth. This is a dangerous game you are playing,"

"I don't understand why no one is doing anything to stop the person who paid for mom's death," I exclaimed, frustrated, angry and tired.

"People are doing things Brody but they can't if you keep interfering,"

"Who?" I questioned and almost laughed, "The guy mom was having an affair with?"

"No," He paled and shook his head, "I still to this day do not know who he is,"

"You don't?" I didn't believe him, I'd been close to him. So surely my dad had?

"No," He repeated sterner this time, "I knew they went to school together and were together then, but I didn't know who he was. I went to school in a different town and was a few years older. He never signed the letters with his full name,"

"So you never caught them together?"

"No," He said.

"Okay," I said slowly retaining all the information I was given. It was a lot. A lot more than I think my brain could take at once.

Had he been to the house?

I tried to rack my brain and disappointingly found nothing. If I hadn't read that letter I wouldn't have put two and two together and would have never known my mom was having an affair.

"I and your mom may have had our differences but we did love each other Brody, don't ever think we didn't,"

"It's really hard not to," I mumbled rubbing at my temple. I suddenly had a headache.

He reached out and grabbed the hand that was holding my head. I paused. His grip wasn't aggressive or assertive it was surprisingly soft, comforting even.

This was not a good sign. My dad never held my hand, even at the funeral and afterward.

I slowly looked up and could see his eyes filling with tears waiting to overspill.

"I know you don't trust me, or even like me but I need you to know that I will find the person responsible for your mom's death and I will make them pay. One way or another,"

And for once in my life, I genuinely believed he would. I could see the love he had for my mom in his eyes, a love that would never extinguish or falter. He may not show it or talk about it but I knew it was there.

•*•*•

I'd been to every library in and around town searching for this specific book. I wasn't keen on knocking on randoms' doors to ask if they had a copy, so I thought a library would at least have one.  My last hope would be our school's library, I don't know why I didn't go there in the first place but I guess I was scared I'd see her. I'd done so well at avoiding her so far.

I walked through the double doors and my heart sank. There she was in the corner. She was effortlessly beautiful, it stole my breath. I tried to not focus on the way her hair covered her face and draped onto the table as she leaned onto her textbook. Her cheeks, sprinkled with freckles a red blush and her lips turned down in thought. Her forehead creased and I wanted to run my fingers against her skin to smooth out the creases.

Stop.

I tried to keep my head forward, I couldn't look at her or else I'd break and I walked towards the librarian with determination. She was old with wispy grey hair and a thick lense of glasses balanced on her nose. I leaned forward, and she looked up from the computer screen.

"Can I help you?" She said with a strong southern accent.

I spoke low and loud enough so only she could hear, "Where would I find old yearbooks?"

She blinked at me, her face blank and unimpressed, "Over there," She pointed towards the old record section of the library and I nodded my head at her.

As I walked across the library I could feel her eyes burning into my skin. It made the hairs on my arms stand and a shiver run from my toes all the way up to the top of my head.

God, I missed her.

I let out a sigh when I reached the rows of yearbooks, this was going to take ages, and began to search based on year. I figured that the guy from the letter would be in my mom's yearbook, I knew his name started with a J and they were in the same class. Maybe they wrote a note for each other? Oh, how sickly sweet that would be. I'd tried to calculate from my mom's age and when she would have most likely graduated. I knew she was smart, very smart, which meant she wouldn't have been held back. Just delving into my mom's past made my chest ache with the familiar mourning sensation I'd tried to avoid for so long.

I'd always put my mom on this pedestal. She could do no wrong but after the last couple of days, I'd realized that my mom's past was a lot darker than I cared to believe and the deeper I found myself the harder it was to get out. After getting countless papercuts, dust in my nostrils and god knows how many germs I finally found what I was looking for.

Class of 1970

I scooped up the book and placed it under my arm. I dared one last look in her direction and felt the heat rise to my cheeks and anger boiled deep in my system, as hot as lava. Before I could produce a rational response I was already charging towards her table.

"Oh look what we have here,"

I looked between her and Ryan. He'd somehow had managed to silver over to her table like the snake he was. I didn't like how close he sat beside her. Give her some space, I wanted to yell. He would take any opportunity he could get when it came to Ivy. He'd had heard we were no longer together and thought he'd take his chances. He didn't give a shit as to whether Ivy was hurting. He'd see her vulnerability as a way to mold her towards him.

I'd be dammed if I ever let him.

I felt my whole body tense and I realised I was gripping hold of the textbook.

Ryan matched my demeanor and looked down at his hands before looking back at me with his eyes hardened, "Brody, you love to appear at the best of moments, don't you?"

"You were having a moment?" I laughed bitterly, trying to disguise the fact that they talking hurt like hell, "You could never take a hint could you man? She is never going to be interested in you,"

Ryan lurched forward and I watched as Ivy's arm flung out to prevent him from moving. Her hand was spread across his chest and it made me internally shrink. I didn't want her to touch him, I wanted her to touch me. Ryan sucked in a deep breath, avoiding my stare and relaxed against her hand. She didn't dare to look at me and I didn't blame her. I was sick.

A disease.

A smile had spread against my lips at the fact I'd managed to stir Ryan in a way no one else could. I wanted him mad, I wanted him to feel as mad as I felt.

Because if I couldn't have her then why the hell could he?

Ivy looked at me, smoldering underneath her stony expression, "Please just go,"

I would have rathered her take a knife to my skin than speaks those words so cold. I could feel the hurt on my face, which meant she could see it. I sucked in a harsh breath and tried to steady my breathing, I wouldn't let them see me crumble.

"This is a Library Ivy," He name felt like sand in my mouth, "I'm entitled to be here just as much as you are,"

"Why are you making this difficult?" She said and I could hear the exhaustion in her words. I almost comforted her, focusing on the almost.

"I never wanted to see you-"My phone vibrating in my pocket stopped me short. I was glad in a way because I was about to admit something I didn't even want to admit to myself. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, looked down at the screen and almost threw up.

I felt all the color drain from my face and my heart thumped rapidly in my ears. I couldn't think straight, I needed to leave, I needed to go home.

My father was missing.