Nineteen Letters, page 8
Chapter 11
Braxton
The questions start the moment Jemma is seated in my car. “Did you really make Larry Wilson eat mud?” Without even looking at her, I can hear the amusement in her voice.
“I did. He spent the rest of the day in the sick bay. Rumour has it he vomited on the principal’s shoes.”
“Oh my god,” she says, covering her mouth with her hand to muffle her giggle. Just hearing her laugh again makes me happier than I have felt in weeks. “Did he stop bullying after that?”
“For a while,” I answer, glancing in her direction. “Old habits die hard, I guess. He left you alone, though, which was all that mattered to me.”
A sweet smile forms on her face as she looks over at me from the passenger seat. “Thank you for sticking up for me, and for sharing your sandwich.”
“I’ll always be here for you, Jem, no matter what.”
I love the letters are opening up a line of communication for us. I think in her own small way she’s coming to terms with what has happened. It may not be as fast as I’d like, but I hope these letters will help her to eventually get back to where she once was.
She goes quiet for a while, and I’m relieved when she finally speaks again. “Did we go to the beach much when we were kids?”
“Yes,” I answer as I steer the car into a parking spot at the rehab centre. “It was one of your favourite places to go. Your parents took us often when we were kids, and once we were old enough, we’d go on our own. That’s why we built our house near the beach. You ran along the sand every morning.”
“Really?” she asks, turning her head in my direction. When I see her brow furrow, I know she’s trying to remember.
As much as I would like to show her our place, I’m not sure if she’s ready for that. I can already see the tiny shift she’s made since I started writing her the letters, and I don’t want to do anything that might jeopardise her progress.
“I can drive you past your favourite beach on the way home if you like. It’s not that far out of our way.”
“I’d like that,” she replies with a smile.
She reaches for the door handle. “Let me get that for you.”
Pulling the keys out of the ignition, I step out of the car and round the vehicle. Opening the passenger-side door, I extend my hand to her. She smiles up at me as her dainty fingers wrap around mine. Seeing her smile has always been my undoing. In this split second, everything seems perfect, just the way it used to be. So much so that I actually forget that things aren’t.
“I love you, Jem,” I say without thinking. They’re words that have come naturally for me—for us both—for so long.
I don’t even realise what I’ve said until her face drops, and she pulls her hand from mine. With just three little words I undo all the progress we’ve made over the past week.
“Hey,” Lucas says as he enters my office and takes the chair in front of me. “You okay, bro? You don’t seem yourself today.”
“I haven’t been myself since Jemma’s accident,” I reply dryly, slumping back in my chair.
“I know. How are things going with you two?”
I shrug. “It’s all over the place. Every time we make a bit of progress, something happens and we end up right back where we started.”
The air feels thick as I silently berate myself. Things had shifted dramatically after those three words. She withdrew back into herself and became cold and aloof.
“You know what?” Lucas says, slapping the palm of his hand down onto my desk, startling me from my thoughts.
My attention moves back to him. “What?”
“We’re shutting shop early today. I’m taking you out for a few drinks, and if you’re lucky, I might even buy you dinner.”
I appreciate what he’s trying to do, but going out is the last thing I want. “I can’t—”
He cuts me off before I have time to tell him how far behind I am. I’ve barely accomplished anything today.
“No excuses.” He looks down at his watch as he rises from his chair. “Finish up what you’re working on, we’re leaving in ten.” I open my mouth to protest again, but he raises his hand to stop me. “Tonight’s happening, no ifs or buts. I miss my friend. Besides, we never got a chance to celebrate our big deal. We worked our arses off to land that contract.”
I can’t argue with that. He’s right on all counts. “Okay.”
“Good. You need this just as much as I do.” He gives me a satisfied nod before he turns to leave.
“Lucas,” I say when he reaches the doorway. “Thank you.”
“A bottle of your finest scotch, and two glasses,” Lucas says to the bartender before gesturing for me to take a seat on one of the black leather stools that line the long white granite bar.
This is my first time here, so my eyes are everywhere. The floor-to-ceiling bright yellow splashback behind the bar, paired with the lines of the black boxed shelves that adorn the wall, is striking. The perfectly positioned downlights make it all pop.
My first thought is that Jem would love this place, and that I must bring her here. Then reality hits. I used to love watching her eyes light up when we walked into somewhere new. She would have a notepad at the ready so she could sketch or take down notes of things that caught her eye. She was so passionate about her work and everything to do with design.
“How’d you find this place?” I ask Lucas.
It’s an enormous step up from where we usually go for drinks. It makes me wonder if he purposely avoided our usual haunt because of the memories it holds; or perhaps he chose this place because it’s more fitting for such a momentous celebration.
We’d dreamed of this moment for so long, and our hard work had finally paid off. Our relatively small architectural firm has suddenly been catapulted into the big league. It’s a shame that even now as I think of what this means for us, and our company, the excitement is lost on me. The axis of my world is no longer aligned, and until that’s rectified everything is going to feel out of kilter.
“One of our clients brought me here. It was when …” He flicks his hand to dismiss whatever he was going to say. “Never mind.”
I know whatever it was it had something to do with Jemma. I don’t blame him for not wanting to go there tonight. It’s been hard on all of us.
“We have a nice twenty-five-year-old bottle of Chivas Regal,” the bartender says, placing it down in front of us. “It’s six hundred dollars.” Lucas doesn’t even flinch.
He wasn’t wrong when he said the good stuff. We splurged on a bottle that was a fraction of that price the day we opened our company, but we were just starting out then, so there wasn’t a lot of cash. We’d thrown everything we had into getting it up and running. The bottle went four ways because Jemma and Rachel were both there to help us celebrate. I chuckle to myself when I think of that night. Jemma is such a lightweight, and after two glasses she was drunk.
She’s been by my side for every celebration, and every milestone since we were kids. It seems unjust not having her here.
Lucas passes the bartender our company credit card and pours a small amount into each glass. “To our continued success,” he says, holding his drink in the air.
I raise my glass and clink it with his before chugging down the smooth, ridiculously expensive amber liquid. Maybe a few more of these will help me get in the celebratory mood because right now it’s the last thing I feel like doing.
A few scotches in and I feel myself relaxing, but my faux pas with Jemma is still at the forefront of my mind.
“So, tell me,” Lucas says, refilling my glass, “what’s got you so down? Apart from the obvious, of course.”
I shrug, bringing the drink to my mouth so I don’t have to answer him. I don’t want to burden him with my worries. He’s got enough on his plate trying to single-handedly run our company.
“Hey, this is me,” he says, placing his hand on my shoulder. “There’s nothing you can’t say to me. I know how hard this is, and I’m worried about you. If you keep going on like this …” His words drift off, but I already know what he was going to say, “It’s only a matter of time before you break.”
If I allowed myself to give in to the darkness that’s crying out to me from deep within, then yes, I would; but that’s the thing—I won’t let it take over. I refuse to let this beat me. To beat us.
I throw back my scotch before placing the glass back down on the bar. I need to talk to someone. It’s a struggle trying to be the strong one. I can’t be that person tonight. I feel like everything I hold dear is slipping through my fingers: my wife, my dad. My world is crumbling around me and I don’t know how to make it stop.
“I’ve been writing Jem letters.”
I half expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t. He’s always given me a hard time about the depth of love I have for that woman. He doesn’t understand, not yet. Someone’s going to come along when he’s least expecting it and bring him to his knees. When that day comes, he won’t know what hit him.
“What kind of letters? Like, love letters? Don’t you think that’s coming on pretty strong under the circumstances?”
“They’re not exactly love letters. Well, they kind of are. They’re letters about our life. How we met. That kind of thing.”
“Did she read them?”
“I’ve only written her two so far, but yes she has.”
“And? I feel like I’m missing something here. That’s a good thing, right?”
“Yes, and I think they’re helping. She was starting to open up to me.” I exhale a long breath before continuing. “But this morning I screwed up. I told her I loved her. And I think it freaked her out.”
“Oh.”
“She withdrew again after that. After her physio, she said she was tired and wanted to go straight home. She didn’t say a word the whole way, she just stared out the window like she used to do in the beginning.”
Lucas stares down into his drink, taking it all in before speaking again. “I get that it’s hard for you to hold back when you still feel so much, but put yourself in her shoes. She probably just felt awkward. What did you expect her to do, tell you she loved you too?”
“No … Yes … I don’t know. I just want things to be the way they used to be.”
“I know you do, you poor bastard. I want that for you too, but things may never be that way again. I hate to be the bad guy here, but you need to prepare yourself for that.” I feel my shoulders slump as my gaze moves to the floorboards. Logically I know he’s right, but it’s still like a kick to the guts. I want to believe that one day everything will be the way it used to be. I have to believe that. “You just need to find your new normal.”
I want the old normal, I ache for it.
“What if I never get her back? How am I supposed to deal with that?”
“You’ll deal with it the same way you always have. Just like you did when your mum died, or when your father got sick, or when Jem first had her accident. You just will. You’re not a quitter, Spencer. You know that just as much as I do. You’ll never give up.”
Chapter 12
Jemma
“You girls stacked the dishwasher, so let me do the rest of it,” Christine says, gesturing with her hand for us to leave the kitchen. This place is still a long way from feeling like home, but I’m beginning to feel comfortable here at least.
“You cooked us a lovely dinner, so it’s only fair that we clean up,” Rachel replies. “It’s a few pots … Jemma and I can do them.”
I’m grateful that she’s always pushing me. Everyone else walks on eggshells when they’re around me, but not Rachel. Although she is no longer staying here at the house, she has been coming over daily.
She arrives early afternoon because she knows I have rehab in the mornings and a lie-down after lunch. She uses that time to catch up on her work, and then Christine always insists she stay for dinner. I’m liking having her around. I enjoy her company, and I can easily see how we were once friends.
“I insist. Now watch some TV or something. You heard me, shoo.”
We both laugh when Christine flicks the tea towel at us. I’ve learned that there’s no point arguing with that woman when her mind is made up. I’ll never win. She’s as stubborn as all hell.
“Do you want to go up to my room?”
“Your room?” Rachel’s eyes widen. “Of course.” The pure elation I see on her face from a simple invitation to come and hang out in my bedroom has that ever-present guilt stirring inside me. I glance over my shoulder at Christine as we leave the kitchen, and find her smiling after us. I think in our own way, we’re all adjusting to this as best we can. “You seem to manage these stairs well now.”
The first day I got here, Rachel and Christine had to practically carry me up to my room. Christine had initially wanted to set up a temporary bed for me in the lounge room, but I craved the sanctuary of my own space. Somewhere where I could lock myself away from the rest of the world.
“The physio and hydrotherapy have helped,” I tell her.
“I’m glad.”
She follows me into my room, and I gesture for her to sit on my bed. There’s nowhere else. The lounge room probably would have been a better option, but I have my reasons for inviting her up here. I need someone to talk to, and Christine is too emotionally invested to give the advice I need.
Rachel seems like a straight shooter, and I’m yearning for an unbiased opinion about this awkward situation. I don’t know how to handle this without hurting Braxton more than I already have.
“Braxton told me he loves me today,” I say as we take a seat.
A sad expression crosses her face. “Really? And that made you feel …”
“Uncomfortable.”
“Poor guy. Oh, don’t get me wrong,” she says, holding her hands up in front of her, “I feel for you as well … for both of you. I can understand how it would make you feel uncomfortable, but you’ve got to remember that those feelings are still well and truly alive for him. You were his life.”
“I know.” My gaze moves down to my lap. “Everything’s such a mess. Hopefully one day we’ll both find some normality again.”
“You may not want to hear this, but you loved him just as deeply once. I envied what you guys had. I’m pretty sure everyone who knows you did. Together you were … spectacular.” She ends her sentence with a sigh, which only enhances her words.
We fall quiet. I have no reply, and she probably doesn’t know what else to say.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” I ask, trying to divert the conversation away from me. She’s supposed to be my best friend, so it feels weird that I don’t know that already.
“Nope. I don’t have time for relationships.” My eyes scan her dark hair, her face; her almond-shaped hazel eyes, her delicate facial features, her flawless skin. I really study it. I’ve done the same thing with Braxton, and my parents. I’m always on the lookout for a sign, a flicker … anything. Each time I experienced exactly what I’m feeling now: absolutely nothing. It’s like looking at a stranger, someone I might not even recognise if I passed them on the street. Will they ever feel familiar to me again?
“That’s silly,” I say with amusement in my voice. “You spend your days sitting around here. It’s not like you are time poor.”
“When I’m in New York working, I am. My job is demanding and doesn’t allow time for a personal life.”
“That’s sad. Braxton mentioned you worked overseas. What is it you do again?”
I see sadness and disappointment flash through her eyes before her gaze moves down to the comforter on my bed. I study her hands as she traces a figure-eight pattern with her finger. It’s the same look I get from everyone when I simply can’t remember.
“I’m a fashion designer. We used to joke that when we were finished uni, you would make the interior of people’s homes beautiful, and I was going to do the same for the occupants …” Her words drift off when she realises the joke is now lost on me.
“Tell me about us—about our friendship. How did we meet?”
Her gloomy expression is quickly replaced with a smile. If I can’t remember these people, maybe it’s time I let them remind me.
“We met through the university. We’d both applied for off-campus accommodation, and we were assigned as roommates. We clicked from day one …”
Just because I’ve been stand-offish with Braxton the past few days doesn’t mean I haven’t been eager to ask him more questions, or enthusiastic to receive another letter. I hope there’s one on its way. They’ve sparked a curiosity in me. A thirst for knowledge. I wasn’t sure I would like to be reminded of my past, but the more I find out, the more I need to know. Who is the real me? What was I like? All I know is the shell I’ve become.
Things have been off with Braxton. He’s still his sweet, gentlemanly self, but he has pulled back from me. It’s funny because sometimes in the beginning that I wished he would stop trying to communicate with me, but now that he’s not, I don’t like it. I miss his meaningless chatter.
“Your splint?”
I bet the smile I see on Braxton’s face is mirrored in my own. He stands from where he was seated in the reception area and closes the distance between us. My slight limp is still present, but the physio said in time it should go.
“I’m so glad to be rid of it,” I say as I look down at my feet. I’ve been carrying my spare sandal in my handbag all week, hoping each time I come here it would be the day I was rid of that damn thing for good.
My right leg appears to be slightly thinner than my left one, or maybe it just looks that way because it’s lighter in colour. I’m glad the dress I’m wearing is long enough to cover the hideous scars. My body is riddled with them. My arm, my hip … the side of my face. They’re a constant reminder of the accident. An accident I don’t even remember having.
