Nineteen Letters, page 11
“That’s understandable,” I say as I straighten his pillow. “You had a fall and hit your head.”
“Did I?” I hate the confused look he gets on his face when he can’t remember the things I tell him.
“You did. The doctors ran some tests earlier, and apart from a few stitches and some bruising, you’re going to be fine.”
“I’ve got stitches?” He lifts his shaky hand and runs it over his bandaged forehead.
“Just a few.”
I check my watch and see that it’s just after four. He had his last lot of pain medication just before midday. “I’m going to grab the nurse and get you something for the pain.”
The X-rays show his skull isn’t fractured, which is such a relief. He has a nasty concussion, though, as well as a large lump and six stitches in his forehead. The staff at the nursing home told me he’d tripped in the community dining room and hit his head on the table on his way down. I feel guilty for not being there, even though I know there’s nothing I could have done.
“You’re a good boy,” he says, softly patting my hand. “You were always such a good boy.”
I grinning again as I walk towards the nurses’ station. I’d give anything to have him back the way he was, but like Jemma, I’ll take him any way I can have him. He’s here, and for that I’m thankful.
Things were tough in the first few years after my mother’s death. I was only eleven when she died, but I tried to be there for my dad as much as I could. Seeing him so broken only intensified the guilt I felt. We never talked about what happened. At the time I was grateful, but there’s always been a part of me that wished we had. He never blamed me for my actions the night she died, but a part of me has always yearned for him to voice his forgiveness anyway. I know that’s never going to come now, so I’m left with a never-ending regret.
It’s around six when I leave the hospital. I hung around to make sure my father ate some of his dinner, but now that he’s fallen back to sleep, I quietly duck away.
I will spend the night at the hospital. The irony isn’t lost on me. It was only a few short months ago that I was doing this for Jem.
I need to head home to shower and change. But more importantly, I need to see Jemma. Even though Christine alerted me the moment she returned home safely from rehab, like I’d asked her to, I still have to see her with my own eyes. I feel like I let her down by not being there for her today.
“Hey, buddy,” I say as I place a fresh bowl of water inside Samson’s cage. Jumping down from his perch, he nibbles the tip of my finger. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much lately.” He bobs up and down when I lightly scratch between the feathers at the back of his neck. He has barely spoken a word over the past few weeks, and I know it’s because he’s missing Jemma. She became his lifeline when my father had to give him up. “I’m going to see pretty girl.” I taught him to call her that when we first got him.
“Pretty girl,” he repeats, bobbing up and down. “Pretty girl … squawk.” Just mentioning her name perks him up. We both know that this place is not the same without her.
As I climb the front steps to Christine’s house, my stomach is a combination of nerves and excitement. I never know how I’m going to be received when I knock on the front door.
“I’ll get it,” Jemma calls from the other side. Just hearing her voice calms me. Her face lights up when she opens the front door and sees me standing on the porch, and this has me grinning like a fool. I haven’t seen that reaction in a while. “Braxton.”
“Hey. I’m on my way back to the hospital, but I just wanted to check you were okay.”
“How’s your dad?”
“He’s doing okay.”
“I’m glad,” she says. “Are you coming in?”
“I can’t stay long, but sure, if you want me to.” I’d never pass up a chance to spend time with her.
“Of course I want you to come in, silly.”
I feel breathless when a playful smile forms on her lips. That smile has always been my weakness.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to take you to your appointment this morning. How did it go?”
“Don’t be. It did me good to stand on my own two feet for a change. I had an interesting day.” She briefly glances at me over her shoulder as I follow her down the hallway towards the kitchen.
“I should be able to take you tomorrow.”
“Oh.” She stops walking and turns to face me.
“What?” I ask, when her brow furrows. “Don’t you want me to?” The happiness I felt a few moments ago quickly evaporates.
“It’s just that Stephen called earlier and I’ve organised to go with him. I haven’t seen him since leaving rehab.”
“Sure, okay. I’m happy to hear you’re going to spend some time with your dad.” I force out a smile, trying to hide my disappointment. Taking her to rehab was my one guarantee of being able to see her.
“He’s only dropping me off. You can pick me up if you like.”
And just like that, my elation returns. I’m not sure what’s brought about this change in her, but I like it.
“I’d love to.”
“Great.”
“Look who’s here,” she says to Christine when we enter, and the tone of her voice makes my heart sing. She really is pleased to have me here. “Sit, and I’ll make you coffee. You like coffee, right? I can make you tea if you don’t.”
“Coffee’s fine,” I chuckle.
My gaze moves to Christine as she approaches me. She winks when my eyes widen in amazement. “She’s been like that all afternoon,” she whispers as I bend down slightly to kiss her cheek. I’m not sure what has happened in the past twenty-four hours, but I’m certainly not complaining. This is a small glimpse of my old Jem. “How’s your father?”
“He’s doing okay considering …”
Christine watches me for a moment and smiles softly; she understands I don’t want to get into this right now. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“Thank you,” I say.
Christine is the closest thing I have to a mother. She really stepped up and cared for me after my mum died. She’s always been there for me, and I truly love her for that.
I take a seat at the kitchen table I have sat at thousands of times over the years. “Oh my god, you’ll never guess who I ran into today!” Jemma says with excitement as she places the coffee in front of me before taking the seat beside me. I prefer my coffee black, but there’s no way I will complain about the milk she put in it.
I’m momentarily stunned by the enthusiasm I hear in her voice. This is my Jem, the happy-go-lucky, chatty, full-of-life woman I fell hopelessly in love with all those years ago. Just watching her has my heart racing. It’s moments like these that make me truly believe the real her is buried in there somewhere.
“Who?”
“The Looter,” she laughs. “Larry Wilson.”
“No way,” I say, sitting forward in my chair. “Where?”
“He works at the burger place in town. Callaghan’s. He hasn’t changed much. He’s still as rude as ever.”
I stare at her. “You remember him?”
“Only from your letters,” she replies. “He’s still fat, and he’s going bald.”
“Jemma,” Christine scolds. She looks at her mother briefly before focusing her attention back on me.
“Obviously, I don’t remember what his teeth were like at school, but they’re all rotten now. There are horrible dark brown lines between each one,” she says, leaning forward in her seat, bringing her body closer. “You’re never going to believe what I said to him.”
I smile again when she places her hand over her mouth to muffle her laugh.
“What did you say?” I take a sip of my milky coffee, trying to mask my amusement.
“I told him he had mud in between his teeth,” she whispers.
I throw my head back and roar with laughter. That’s something I haven’t done in a very long time. It feels good.
“How’s your dad?” Jemma asks as I help her into the car.
“He’s a little better today. He’s improved enough that the doctors are talking about discharging him tomorrow.”
My night was spent by his bedside, and it was déjà vu at its worst. It was only recently that I did the same thing with Jem. It really messed with my head … my world is slipping through my fingers and I’m powerless to stop it.
“How come I’ve never met your parents?” she asks as soon as I’m seated in the driver’s side. “When did they move?”
“The house was sold a few years ago.”
“Oh.”
I hope that’s enough to quell her curiosity because I’m tired and frazzled with everything that’s going on. No good can come from dredging this up.
“Where did they move to?” she asks innocently. “Is it far away?”
I breathe out slowly as I reverse out of my parking spot at the rehab centre. I guess we’re going to dredge it all up. “My mum died when I was eleven.”
I keep my eyes trained on the road ahead, as I put on my indicator and turn into the street. It’s times like this that I need my old Jem the most. She always knew the right thing to say to comfort me. I never felt alone with her by my side because we faced everything together.
“Oh, Braxton,” she says, briefly placing her hand on my thigh. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you.”
I lean forward and turn up the volume on the radio. She takes the hint because she falls silent, but I can sense her eyes on me as we drive.
As we near Christine’s place Jemma finally speaks again. “What do you know about my time in the country? Did I ever go back there?”
Reaching over, I turn down the radio, relieved and keen to re-engage with her. “Yes, you went back often. Your grandparents lived in the same town until they passed away. Your grandfather was a farmer. They owned an apple orchard.”
“My grandparents died?” she asks in a shocked tone.
“Yes.”
Suddenly I have to think about where this conversation might lead. It was such a dark period in all our lives. Her grandparents were great people, and a huge part of my life growing up. Their sudden deaths were a shock to us all. Part of me is glad that Jemma doesn’t remember. She took their deaths hard, but not as hard as Christine. This was a turning point for her, which created a huge domino effect in her life. Things were never the same after that.
Chapter 16
Jemma
My head is spinning by the time I get out of Braxton’s car. The questions I asked only seemed to create more questions. He is usually the one initiating the conversation, but not today. Well, I hope that’s all it is. We seemed to be in a good place when he left last night, but there was definitely a shift in him this morning.
I’m feeling somewhat flat when I enter the kitchen. Maybe Christine can answer some questions I have. What happened to his mum? And what about my grandparents?
“I’m back,” I say when I see her bent over retrieving something out of the fridge.
Straightening, she stands to full height. The moment she turns to face me, I can tell that something is off with her as well. The smile that usually greets me is gone.
“I didn’t know your father was taking you to your appointment today.”
I’m confused, is this an issue? “He called me yesterday,” I start, but then pause when I see the frown working its way across her face. “I … umm … mentioned I’d caught a taxi, so he offered to drop me off today.”
“Huh,” she scoffs. “Well, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t invite him to come to this house. He’s not welcome here.”
“Sure … umm, okay.”
I’m taken aback by the venom in her voice. It’s obvious they have had problems. They’re no longer together, but I don’t know why. Stephen seems like a lovely man. I really like him. He’s gentle and kind, though he looked sad when he asked how Christine was this morning.
I’ve seen her go through ups and downs since I’ve been living here, but this is the first time she’s ever been angry with me. Yesterday was a good day, and I felt better than I have since waking from my coma, but now I feel downright shitty.
We usually sit down and eat lunch together, but I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.
“I’ll be up in my room if you need me,” I say, turning and heading towards the staircase. I wish I knew why she dislikes Stephen so much, but maybe it’s better if I don’t know.
I’ve been locked away in my room for the better part of the day. My head is pounding as I lie on my bed and stare up at the ceiling. I think it’s a combination of stress and hunger, but I can’t seem to find the courage to venture downstairs to get something to eat.
Logically I know I can’t stay up here forever; I’ve got to eat eventually. I just hope Christine has calmed down by then.
I’m pulled from my thoughts by a knock on the door. “Jemma, it’s me.” Her tone is softer than before. “Can I come in?”
“Yes,” I reply, slowly sitting up.
Part of me feels bad for walking away like I did. There’s more to this situation than I know, but I’m yet to find the courage to ask her what happened between them.
She opens my bedroom door and I’m relieved when I see a smile on her face.
“I thought you might be hungry since you missed lunch. I’m sorry about earlier.” She approaches the bed and passes me a plate with a sandwich on it. “A lot went on between me and your father.” I shift over slightly when she sits down beside me. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry with you. I know you don’t remember any of it.”
“It’s okay,” I say, placing my hand on her leg. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have brought him here if I knew it was going to upset you. What happened between you two? You obviously loved each other once.”
Her whole body seems to shrink at my question, and sadness washes over me. “Your father was the love of my life … I thought I was his as well.”
“What changed that?” I ask tentatively.
“He broke my heart.” I see tears rise to her eyes before she turns her face away.
“I’m sorry he did that to you.”
There’s so much more I want to ask … want to know, but I feel like now is not the time.
“Eat your sandwich,” she says, rising from the bed. “You must be starving.” She pauses when she gets to the doorway. “Oh, I almost forgot, this just arrived for you.”
A smile tugs at my lips when she removes a letter from the pocket of her trousers.
Letter four …
Dearest Jemma,
The first portion of this letter is more of a confession than a memory. This is something I’ve never spoken about, not even to you. It’s a burden I’ve carried for almost fifteen years, and maybe it’s time I come clean.
The sixteenth of July 2000. I don’t remember a lot of what had gone on during that day, but I recall my mum hadn’t been feeling well. When she tucked me into bed that night, she bent over to kiss me.
“Sweet dreams,” she whispered as she ran her hand over my forehead. It was something she said to me every night.
“Night, Mumma,” I replied. “I love you.”
“I love you too, sweet boy.”
She smiled briefly, but then her face screwed up like she was in pain. I quickly sat up when she placed her hand on her lower abdomen.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Are you okay?”
“It’s just a little pain,” she replied, brushing it off. “I’m fine, sweetheart.”
Her words were enough to ease my worry, and I quickly drifted off to sleep. It was just after midnight when my father came into my room to wake me.
“Braxton,” he said. “You need to get up, son.” I was so sleepy, I groaned and rolled over onto my side. “Braxton,” he repeated, sterner this time. “Your mother isn’t well. I’m going to take her to the hospital.”
“I don’t want to get up,” I whined. “I’m tired.”
“Please, son. Your mother’s in a lot of pain.” My father was a very patient man and rarely lost his temper with me. “If you don’t want to come to the hospital, I can phone the Robinsons and see if they’ll watch you until we return. Come downstairs once you’re dressed.”
He left the room, and I did something incredibly selfish: I fell back to sleep. I’m not sure how much time had passed, but I was woken by my father screaming. “Braxton, get out of bed now!” He threw back the covers and tugged on my arm. “I told you to get up and get dressed. Your poor mother’s in agony.”
This time I didn’t hesitate. I could tell by the tone of my father’s voice that he was very concerned for my mother.
When I got downstairs, I found her doubled over in pain. She was moaning loudly, and that’s when the panic set in. I’d never seen her like this before.
“Mumma!” I cried as I ran over to her where she was standing by the front door. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine, baby,” she replied breathlessly, forcing out a smile. But the terrified look in her eyes told me she was far from fine. It was the middle of winter, but her blonde curls were glued to her forehead from the perspiration.
“Come, Grace,” my father said sweetly, placing his arm around her. “Let me get you in the car.” She only made it down the first step when a blood-curdling moan ripped from her mouth. “Oh dear god,” my father muttered as he scooped her into his arms and dashed towards the car. “Go next door, son; the Robinsons are expecting you. They’ll take care of you until we get home.”
Just as my father said that, the porch light came on at your house. Your father emerged wearing a striped robe over his pyjamas, but I just stood there, paralysed with fear.
The next few minutes were a blur.
“I love you, Mumma!” I called out, as my father bundled her into the vehicle.
“She’s going to be okay,” your father said from beside me, placing his hand on my shoulder. It startled me because I hadn’t realised he was standing there. My eyes were fixed on the car as my dad screeched out of the driveway and sped down the street. I remember I was fighting back the tears as your father led me towards your house. “Christine is making you up a bed on the couch.”
