Nineteen Letters, page 19
Yours always,
Braxton
I stare down at the tiny ice-cream charm in my hand, and I do something I haven’t done all week … I smile.
Chapter 22
Jemma
Ilook at the clock beside my bed and see it’s only 5.15 am. I hardly slept last night. My head is all over the place. I’m restless and can’t seem to find peace.
Throwing back the covers, I get up and head to the bathroom. I can’t stand being cooped up in this house anymore. I need to get out and get some fresh air into my lungs.
Leaning over the vanity, I splash water onto my face. When I look in the mirror, I see dark circles under my eyes.
After brushing my teeth and running a comb through my hair, I head back into my room. Pulling my nightgown over my head, I toss it on the bed. I’m getting out of here for the day, and I know exactly where to go. The place where I feel most at peace … the beach.
The sun hasn’t even risen by the time I leave a note on the kitchen table for Christine and close the front door behind me. It’s getting lighter, though, as I make my way to the bus stop.
The bus pulls up as I approach the stop, and I have to jog the last ten metres so I don’t miss it. I still have a slight limp, but I can live with that.
I hope to be at the beach before the sun rises. According to my phone, today’s sunrise should be around 6.30 am. I should make it in time.
I zip up the front of my jacket and pull the hood over my head as I make my way across the sand. There’s a nip in the air this morning.
The bus stops further down the beach, but just like my last visit I find myself drawn towards my favourite house; the pretty white one with the sky-blue shutters and trim around the windows.
Once I reach my destination, I stand and stare at the house for a few seconds, before turning to face the ocean. I’m just in time: the sun is rising. I fill my lungs with the fresh sea air and sit down on the sand.
I pull out my phone when the sun appears on the horizon and snap a few shots. It’s just as beautiful as I imagined it would be.
Dragging my hood further down over my head and sighing, I stare out at the ocean. I knew coming here was what I needed; I’m already feeling calmer.
I draw my legs towards my chest and wrap my arms around them, resting my chin on my knees. I close my eyes, letting the sound of the waves soothe my soul. I’m so lost in the moment that I don’t even hear the footsteps approach until I’m almost barrelled over. My eyes spring open when a cute little dog jumps onto my lap and licks the side of my face.
“Hello there,” I say, giggling at its excitement.
“Bella-Rose!” I hear someone call from the distance, and my body instantly tenses. I not only recognise that name but the voice that accompanies it. I quickly stand and reach for my bag just as the dog jumps against my leg. “Bella-Rose,” he says again in a breathless tone. The voice is coming from behind me now, but I can’t bring myself to turn around. “Come here, girl.” He reaches down, scoops up the dog, and I’m compelled to turn and run. “I’m so sorry about that, she’s never done that before.”
My hood is up and my back is to him, so he can’t see my face. But it’s no use, there’s no escape.
When I turn, the first thing I see is the surprise on his face. “Jemma.”
“Hey.” My gaze moves to the left of him, and then to the right. He’s on his own. Then I look at the dog in his arms and it dawns on me. I feel like such an idiot.
“What are you doing here?” he asks as a smile spreads across his face.
“I just needed some air. I’ve been cooped up in Christine’s place all week.”
“I know. I came around the other day. You haven’t been answering my calls or texts. I was starting to worry. I thought maybe you were avoiding me.”
I lift one shoulder. I’m certainly not going to admit that I thought his dog was his damn girlfriend. “I needed some space from the world. I was feeling overwhelmed by … everything.”
“That’s understandable,” he says, reaching out and rubbing his hand down my arm. It leaves a tingly feeling in its wake. “You are dealing with some huge changes in your life.”
He’s always so kind and understanding. It makes me feel shitty about how I’ve been behaving lately.
“I’m sorry I didn’t return your messages.”
“You don’t need to apologise.”
“So, is this your dog?” I ask, trying to sound casual but probably failing. “I remember you mentioning you wanted to get one.”
“Yes, this is Bella-Rose.” He runs his hand affectionately over her fur. “I’d originally planned to get a puppy, but when I saw her, I knew she’d be coming home with me.”
“Love at first sight, hey?”
He smiles before answering. “Not exactly.”
He tells me how he felt when he learned that Bella-Rose’s owner had died; he couldn’t not take her home. I reach out to scratch the dog under the chin. “Poor girl.” I move my gaze back to Braxton. “You’re a good guy, Braxton Spencer.”
“I have my faults,” he admits, with a shrug.
“Well, I’m yet to see any of them.”
This brings a smile to his face. “I was just about to grab a coffee. Would you like to join me?”
“I should get going. I left Christine a note to say I’d be home in time for breakfast, and my bus will probably be here shortly.”
“Just a quick one, then I’ll drop you home on my way to see my dad.”
“Okay.” The truth is, I’ve missed him.
He turns and gestures for me to follow, but to my surprise, he doesn’t head in the direction I expected. He walks straight towards my favourite house.
“Where are you going?”
“To the house. This is where I live … where you used to live.”
I release a small gasp. “This is our house? I lived here?”
“Yep. I built it for you.”
“You built this house?” I stop walking and stare at him in wonderment.
“Well, not technically, I designed it. It was your dream house when you were a kid.”
“Wow,” I whisper as my gaze moves down to the sand around my feet. No wonder I felt so drawn to this place.
We climb the steps that lead to the back deck, and suddenly I’m feeling anxious about being here. It’s too soon. I’m not ready. I pause when he wipes his bare feet on the mat by the large glass sliding doors.
“Are you coming in?”
I shake my head. His shoulders slump slightly, but he tries to cover it up with a smile. “Well … umm … make yourself comfortable out here, I’ll just go grab the coffee.” He gestures towards the outdoor setting, before disappearing inside.
There’s a part of me that wants to go in and look around, but I’m scared to do that. I feel weird about all these things that should be familiar to me but aren’t.
I walk across the deck, towards the long white wooden bench seat. It holds a mixture of cushions: some are blue-and-white striped, the blue is the same shade as the window trim, and some are plain blue with white piping around the edges. I like them. It helps tie this space in with the rest of the house. Taking in my surroundings has me pondering my old career. It makes me wonder if that passion I once held for design will ever return.
The bench seat has been placed close to the house, under the only covered part of the deck. It makes sense, I suppose, because it’s sheltered from the weather there. Off to the left is a large white six-seater wooden table; in the centre are three white box lanterns, each containing a half-burned candle. My eyes are then drawn to the string of fairy lights that span the perimeter of the deck. I wish it was dark so I could see what they looked like when turned on, imagining how lovely it would be to dine out here by candlelight.
On the far right-hand side of the deck sits a barbecue, complete with a small outdoor kitchen, bordered on either side by palms in tall sky-blue pots. I see a large decorative anchor mounted on the wall.
As I sit, I take in the small white coffee table in front of me. There’s a rectangular wicker basket as a centrepiece, and within it sits a blue candle surrounded by shells and an ornamental blue starfish. I love the attention to detail everywhere I look; it’s all very simple, yet effective. Did I decorate it? The thought has my stomach flipping. I wish I could remember.
I settle back in the chair and try not to over-analyse everything. I still can’t believe this is my home … or rather was my home. The fact that I was drawn to it from the moment I first saw it gives me hope. I pray that one day it will all come back. I’m not sure how I’ll cope if it doesn’t. Apart from Braxton’s letters, there’s a huge chunk of my life missing.
“Here you go,” Braxton says, breaking my train of thought. He places a tray down on the coffee table, and my gaze gravitates towards his hands. He has beautiful hands, so strong and masculine. I find myself wondering what they would feel like against my body, and that thought shocks me.
My eyes quickly dart up to his face, and I find him grinning. I love it when he smiles like that because it shows off his cute dimple. His blue eyes sparkle in the morning sunlight as he passes me my coffee.
“I made it just the way you like it.”
“Thanks.” I take a sip and it tastes amazing. “What’s in this?”
“Caramel syrup. You usually used it instead of sugar.”
“It tastes divine. I must get some of this for Christine’s.”
“You can take the bottle I have here. I can buy some more.”
He picks up his coffee and takes the seat beside me, and Bella-Rose comes and lies by his feet. I try to ignore the fact that he’s so close I can feel the heat generating off his body. I also try to ignore how good he smells.
“It’s so pretty here,” I say.
“It is. We used to sit out here every morning and have our coffee.” I don’t reply because again, I hate that I don’t remember any of this. My old life seems like it was a good one, but it’s worlds away. “Are you hungry?” He leans forward and picks up a plate that has two muffins on it. “They’re blueberry, one of your favourites.”
“Did you make these?”
“Hardly,” he scoffs. “Unless you count defrosting them in the microwave. I couldn’t cook to save my life. You were the chef in this house. I’d sometimes help with the prep, but basically, I was the washer-upper. I always left the cooking to you … it was safer.”
I wonder how he gets by now that I’m not here to look after him. This situation is totally out of my control, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling bad for him.
My eyes flicker to the mug in his hand. The one he gave me looks new and stylish, but his is clearly old. There’s writing on it, but I can’t make out what it says, because his hand is in the way.
I eye the liquid inside. “Your coffee is black. Did I get the last of the milk?”
“This is how I usually drink it,” he says, chuckling.
“I put milk in your coffee at Christine’s.”
“I know.”
“You should have said something.”
“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“You wouldn’t have, silly,” I say, bumping my leg with his. “At least now I know for next time.”
We sit in silence and drink. It’s not awkward or uncomfortable—surprisingly, it feels natural … right.
I’m not sure how much time passes, but Braxton eventually looks down at his watch. “Well, as much as I’m enjoying having you here, I guess I better get you home. I have a meeting at ten, and I still need to see my dad.”
An idea pops into my head and the words are out of my mouth before I even realise. “Can I come with you?”
“To see my dad?”
“Yes, I’d love to see him again.”
His face lights up. “Of course. I’d like that.”
We’re both smiling as we leave.
“Let me take those,” I say to Christine as we unload the shopping bags from the taxi.
We had an enjoyable morning together. After we shopped, we had lunch at a cafe, where I ordered caramel syrup in my coffee. I feel like we need to do normal things like this. Christine has helped me start to live again, and I want to help her do the same.
Christine checks the mailbox as I walk towards the house and place the groceries down on the front porch. “I must get you a key cut for the front door,” she says, climbing the stairs.
“I’d like that.”
It would be nice to come and go as I please. Now that my rehab is only a couple of days a week, I have so much spare time on my hands. I no longer have a job, and with no memory of my design skills or tastes, there’s no way I could go back to doing that. Maybe I should think about finding a new career.
Christine unlocks the door, and I gather the grocery bags and carry them into the kitchen.
“This came for you,” she says, passing me a letter and a small parcel. My pulse quickens. They’re from Braxton.
I place them down beside me and quickly unpack the groceries, eager to get this done so I can read my letter.
“Let me do that,” Christine says. “Go.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I slide my arms around her waist, hugging her tight. “Thank you for today … it was nice.”
“It was just like old times,” she replies with a smile.
Letter eight …
Dearest Jemma,
The twenty-fourth of December 2004. The ice-cream parlour was closed over the Christmas period, so I was looking forward to spending the next two days with you. You’d worked almost every day of the school holidays leading up to Christmas, and I was missing you so much. I spent a lot of time at the hardware store with my dad. He didn’t expect me to be there, but I was happy to help him and, to be honest, I was completely lost without you around.
Your shift finished at 4 pm, so I made sure I left the hardware store in plenty of time to pick you up. I did this every day, and we’d catch the bus home together. It was summer, so the ice-cream business was booming and you were run off your feet. You always looked so tired when I’d collect you from work, which I hated, but the way your face would light up as soon as you saw me melted my heart.
“Promise me you won’t leave my side for the next two days,” you said once we’d taken our seats on the bus. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’ve missed you too.” If only you knew how much.
“Promise me, Braxton.”
“I promise I won’t leave your side.” I used my fingertip to cross my heart for added effect. “Except when I go to the bathroom, of course. Unless you insist on coming in there with me as well.”
“Eww, gross. No way!” you screeched, bumping your shoulder with mine. “Solo bathroom breaks are definitely allowed.”
Ma and Pa had arrived at your place by the time we got home. They’d always come down at Christmas time. We’d spend Christmas Eve decorating your tree, while your mother and Ma were busy in the kitchen getting a start on our Christmas feast for the next day.
This holiday was no longer celebrated in our house. Since my mother’s death, my father had lost interest. He always had a wrapped gift for me on Christmas morning, and joined us at your place for Christmas lunch—your parents insisted on it—but that was the extent of it. For him, it wasn’t Christmas without her.
It was around 10 pm when we finished decorating the tree. Your parents and grandparents gathered in the main room for the official turning-on of the Christmas lights. It’s a job that your father usually did, being the man of the house, but this particular year I was bestowed with the honours. You have no idea how much that meant to me.
I stood beside the tree while carols played softly in the background. The moment your father gave me the nod, I flicked the switch and watched as all your faces lit up with smiles. I loved my time with your family, I truly did, but it was also a constant reminder of everything I’d lost.
I smiled along with you all, but the entire time I was fighting back tears. Seeing you all together and so happy made me think of my mum, and how much I missed her. It also made my heart ache for my dad. We both lost so much the day she died.
My mum loved Christmas; it was her favourite time of the year. My dad’s store would close for a few days, and we would be together as a family. She would decorate the entire house in the weeks leading up to it, and when she was home, she would play Christmas carols and sing along. If I was in close proximity, she would grab me and make me dance with her.
I can still picture the smile on her face as we waltzed around the room. I loved seeing her smile like that. On Christmas Eve, she would stay up late making Christmas cake for the following day, along with her special custard; she’d make it from scratch because she hated that powdered stuff. Her honey-glazed ham was to die for.
“I can’t wait to give you your present in the morning,” you said, linking your arm through mine as you walked me to the door. You were practically bouncing with excitement. “I hope you like it.”
“I’ll love it.”
You’d worked hard to earn the money for that gift, and that alone was enough. It meant so much that you’d go to such lengths for me.
Christmas morning I woke to a loud banging on my front door. “Braxton,” I heard my father call out a few minutes later. “Jemma’s here.”
Jumping out of bed I rummaged through my top drawer for the small wrapped present I’d stowed inside. My father had given me fifty dollars for all the work I’d done at the hardware store in the weeks prior. I didn’t want his money, but he insisted.
I used it to buy you a gift.
My father was standing at the base of the staircase as I descended, but my gaze was firmly fixed on you. You were standing just inside the doorway, still dressed in your pink pyjamas. Your hair was sticking up all over the place, but to me, you’d never looked more beautiful.
“Merry Christmas, Pop,” I said to him when he pulled me into a one-armed hug.
“Merry Christmas, son.”
The smile on your face grew as I walked towards you. I was only wearing a pair of pyjama bottoms, and I had to suppress my grin when your eyes slowly travelled the length of my body before making their way back to my face.
