12. Jemma
Chapter 12
Jemma
“ Y ou 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.
I can deal with those, though. It’s the scars on the inside that I’m not sure about.
“He said my leg has healed well, so I don’t need it anymore. I’ll still need ongoing physio, but it feels good to be finally free of it.”
“That’s great news.” His arms reach towards me before pausing mid-air. When he takes a step back and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, I know he was about to hug me but thought better of it.
“I was wondering,” I say as we walk towards his car, “does your offer to show me the beach still stand? I’d love to go when you have time.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
The happiness I see on his face makes my heart smile. I don’t want things to be so weird between us. I’d like to work at being friends, but that’s all I can offer him at this stage.
“Do you feel up to going now?”
“Yes! I’d love to.”
When I see the dunes between some properties we pass, I feel a tinge of excitement, knowing we’re so close.
“All the houses on your side of the street back onto the ocean,” he says, like he just read my train of thought.
“They’re beautiful.”
He slows down and I use the opportunity to eye off each property as we pass. I can tell by the sheer size of some of the houses that it would cost a pretty penny to live in this area. They feel too fancy for my taste, which is ridiculous because I don’t even know what my taste is.
Further down the street, a white two-storey weatherboard house catches my eye. It’s not as opulent as some of the other houses in the street, but I’ve already decided it’s my favourite so far. It has character and an old-world charm, but a modern feel to it as well. The contrast of the white weatherboard and the sky-blue shutters and trim around the windowpanes suits the beach location beautifully, and the whole thing is topped off by a white picket fence along the front of the property.
All thoughts of that house are soon forgotten when Braxton pulls over to the side of the road in front of a small wooded area.
“There’s a narrow track through the bush that leads to the beach. That’s how we used to get down there when we were kids. Do you want to check it out?”
My seatbelt is off and my fingers are already wrapped around the door handle before he’s finished speaking. “Yes.”
“Let me get the door for you,” he says, quickly removing his seatbelt.
I’m quite capable of opening my door, but I find it sweet that he always insists on doing it. I’ve noticed he does it for Christine when she’s in the car as well.
My eyes follow him as he walks around the front of the vehicle. Dare I say he’s handsome? His good looks stood out to me the moment I opened my eyes in the hospital. There is something about his big blue eyes, and the way he looks at me that’s just … comforting .
I grab hold of his hand as he helps me out of the car. I like the way my hand fits inside his; it feels safe.
His mood has lifted since I suggested coming here, and that pleases me.
“This way,” he says. He lets go of my hand and gestures towards the walking track that has been worn into the grassy dune. I’ll admit, I felt a twinge of disappointment the moment he released his hold on me.
We walk quietly beside each other; the only sounds are the crunch of the dry leaves under the weight of our shoes and the distant echo of the ocean. I use this time to take a deep breath, inhaling the salty freshness in the air. I look up to watch the green foliage of the trees above, as the leaves dance in the breeze. I can already feel myself relaxing.
The ground becomes softer, and the track widens slightly as we reach the end. The sudden brightness from the sun reflecting off the sand has me squinting.
We come to a stop and I give my vision a moment to adjust to the wide open space now before us. “Here we go,” Braxton says.
I hold my breath as my gaze travels across the sand towards the crashing waves. An unfamiliar warm feeling bubbles up inside me as my eyes take it all in. “It’s beautiful,” I whisper. I’m not even sure if beautiful does it justice, but I already know I love this place.
I’m not sure how long I stand there and stare, mesmerised, out at the horizon, but it’s a while. Eventually, I tear my eyes away from the beauty before me and seek out Braxton. There’s a huge smile on his face as he watches me. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask.
He opens his mouth to say something but then closes it again. “No reason,” he says with a shrug. My eyes focus on the cute dimple that forms on his left cheek when he gives me a nervous grin. “It’s just nice to see you smiling again.”
I know there was more to that look, but I don’t push it. The last thing I want is to make things awkward between us again.
“Can we walk down towards the water?”
He usually goes to work after he drops me back at Christine’s, but I’m not ready to leave this place yet. I like how it makes me feel.
“Of course.” He lifts one leg and slides the shoe from his foot, followed by his sock. I can’t help but notice that he has lovely feet. He goes about removing his other shoe and sock, so I slowly lower myself until I’m sitting on the sand. I’m grinning as I pull my leg back towards my chest. It shows how far I’ve come since the accident. I couldn’t do this a month ago.
Once I’ve removed my sandals, I place them beside me and wriggle my toes in the sand. Braxton bends over and rolls up the bottom of his jeans before helping me to my feet.
“Thank you.” I go to retrieve my shoes, but he stops me.
“Just leave them there. We can collect them on our way back to the car.”
We make our way down to the water and I gasp when a small wave rolls in and the cold water laps over my feet. I love how the wet sand feels squished between my toes.
“Do you feel up to a walk along the beach?”
“Yes,” I reply eagerly. I want to drag out my time here as long as I can. For a woman who doesn’t know where she belongs, a part of me feels at home here.
“Great. There’s a rock pool a little further down that I’d love to show you.”
“Lead the way.”
We walk in silence, but it’s not uncomfortable or awkward. It feels completely natural to be here with him.
I watch as he reaches down and picks up a stick from the sand. A few seconds later he tosses it out into the water. “I’m thinking of getting a dog,” he says. “It gets lonely in the house on my own. I think it’ll be good company for me.”
“That’s a great idea.” I don’t know what else I can say. I feel sad for him, but I can’t live with him. Not now.
“I thought a dog would be better than a cat. I don’t think Samson would be pleased if I brought home a feline.”
“Samson?”
“Our bird. He’s a rainbow lorikeet. We inherited him.”
“Oh.”
He stops walking and faces me. “I don’t want to, but I need to accept that there’s a chance you may never come back home.”
I smile at him sympathetically. “I don’t think any of us can predict what lies ahead, Braxton.”
I can’t give him hope when there’s still no hope to give.