14. Jemma
Chapter 14
Jemma
“ I ’m glad to see your appetite is returning,” Christine says as she places a plate of scrambled eggs down in front of me. “You always loved your food.”
I bet if Rachel were here she would have made me make them myself. It’s not that I’m not willing to try new things. I can feel my confidence growing every day. I still have a long way to go, but for now, I have hope that I’ll find some sort of normality in time. I’d love to be able to go back to work one day, but doing what, who knows. I’m no longer sure if interior design is my thing.
I look up at Christine and smile. “Thank you.”
She rests her hand on my shoulder and leans down to place a soft kiss on the top of my head. It’s the first time she’s ever done anything like that, yet it’s an action that seems so natural.
I scoop some egg onto my fork as I slide the newspaper in my direction. I jump when the sudden ringing from the phone startles me. My eyes follow Christine’s every move as she wipes her hands on a tea towel before reaching for the receiver mounted on the wall.
“Hello,” she says as her eyes meet mine. I give her a brief smile before scooping more egg into my mouth. “Braxton.” The mere mention of his name has me on full alert. She falls silent and listens to whatever he’s saying. I find myself wishing I could hear as well. “Oh, sweetheart.” My stomach churns when I see her expression turn grim. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Is he going to be okay?” She goes quiet again and I have a strange compulsion to snatch the phone from her hands. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.” She pauses again, so I grab my plate and rise from the table. “Sure, I’ll put her on.” She holds the receiver out in front of her. “It’s Braxton. He wants to talk to you.”
“Okay.” Placing my plate on the countertop I take the phone out of her hand. “Hello.”
“Hey, Jem. I’m sorry, but I’m not won’t be able to take you to rehab today.”
“Oh.” I’m surprised by how disappointed I feel. I had so many things I wanted to ask him today. “Do you want me to see if I can make the appointment for later this afternoon?” I offer.
“I won’t make it later, either. I’ve organised a taxi to take you. It should be there in around fifteen minutes. The driver’s going to give you a card when you’re dropped off. The fare is already taken care of. All you need to do is give the card to Olivia at the front desk, and she’ll call him when you’re done so he can take you back home.”
“Is everything okay, Braxton? You sound … stressed out.”
I hear him sigh through the phone. “I’m at the hospital with my dad. He had a fall this morning and hit his head.”
“Your dad?” He has mentioned his parents in his letters, but other than that I know nothing about them. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is he okay?” I wonder why I haven’t met them. They never came to the hospital. Do they hate me? That thought doesn’t sit well with me at all.
“He’s as well as can be expected under the circumstances. Are you going to be all right on your own? I feel dreadful for letting you down, but my dad needs me. I’m all he has.”
“I’ll be fine, honestly,” I say, having no idea if I will be, but I want to ease his mind.
“How about I call your father instead? I know he’s at work already, but he might be able to duck away.”
“Don’t be silly, I’ll be fine.”
The line goes quiet briefly. “Will you at least take the phone I bought you? Did you charge it?”
“Yes. I’ve never used it, but it’s charged. If it will make you feel better, I’ll take it.”
“It will. You remember how to make a call, right?”
“Yes.” Well, I think I do. It seemed easy enough when he walked me through it.
“Call me if there’s a problem. I mean it, Jem.”
“Okay.” I already know I won’t. I’m an adult, and like Rachel continually reminds me, I need to start living like one. “I hope your father’s going to be okay.”
“Thank you, so do I.”
“Bye.”
“Bye, Jem. Good luck today.”
Christine takes the phone from my hand, hanging it back on the wall. “Braxton’s having a rough time lately,” she says. “I feel for him, and poor John. He was always such a lovely man. Life hasn’t been very kind to him.”
I know the rough time she mentioned includes what I’m putting him through. I’m sure she didn’t say that to hurt me, but her comment stings nevertheless.
“I’m going to run up to my room and get my phone. Braxton said the taxi will be here soon.”
“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll just finish packing the dishwasher. It will only take me a few minutes to change.”
“Why do you need to change?”
“I’m not wearing this old thing to your appointment.”
“You don’t have to come with me.”
“I’m not letting you go on your own.”
“Braxton said the taxi would drop me off and pick me back up. I’ll be fine. I’m not a child.”
I’m not a hundred per cent comfortable doing this on my own, but there’s also a part of me that wants to try. It’s the push I need. It’s time I stood on my own two feet. I can’t keep relying on everyone else for the rest of my life. I’ve disrupted their lives enough.
“Are you ready for your taxi, Mrs Spencer?” Olivia asks when I re-enter the reception area. “Your husband has already called twice. It’s sweet how much he cares about you.”
I smile courteously instead of replying. I’m not going to correct her; my personal business is my own. Technically, he is my husband, on paper anyway. She must presume we’re still a couple because he’s here with me every day.
But she’s right, he is sweet. Braxton, Christine, Stephen and Rachel have all been wonderful. Although I haven’t seen Stephen since I moved in with Christine. It’s clear my parents aren’t very fond of each other, and I’m curious to know why.
I glance towards the exit. Despite my initial misgivings, I’ve enjoyed the independence today has brought, and I want to make the most of the limited freedom I have.
It took all my strength to talk Christine out of coming with me. She can be very persistent. It’s not that I didn’t want her with me, it’s more that I wanted to challenge myself. I know Rachel will be proud of me for going it alone.
“Umm … I think I might have a look around town while I’m here. Is that okay?”
“Of course. Just come back when you’re ready and I’ll organise the taxi for you.”
“Thank you, Olivia.”
“It’s no problem, Mrs Spencer. Marcy’s Boutique has a great little sale on at the moment.”
I nod and smile at her as I sling my handbag over my shoulder. I feel a mixture of excitement and nerves as I walk through the automatic doors and out onto the street. The curious side of me has wanted to explore this area, I’m not even sure why. I guess every new experience is a discovery and a step towards finding the new me. The way I look at it, I have two choices: I can wallow away in self-pity, or I can start to live again.
I choose to live.
I’m scared for what my future holds, but I’ve been through too much to just give up.
I let the heat of the midday sun hit my skin. It’s an exquisite autumn day, and I suddenly feel grateful to be alive. That in itself says so much. Not that long ago, I wished I had perished in that accident. Those first few weeks were a dark time for me, but now I’m finally seeing the light.
I feel my lips curve into a smile as I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with air. Today would be a perfect day to sit on the beach, but it’s on the other side of town, and though my leg is improving every day, I’m in no shape to walk such a long distance. I’m confident that I will be in time.
When I round the corner to the main street, I mill in with the rest of the crowd. It doesn’t take long for the sea of faces heading towards me to get my blood pumping to where I have to keep telling myself not to panic, that I can do this. I have to do this .
I walk another ten or so metres before it almost becomes too much. What if I pass someone I should know but no longer do? What if they stop me? What do I say? All these questions and more swim around in my head. I thought I was ready to tackle this head-on, but I’m obviously not.
I weave through the mass of people until I emerge into a small clearing. Leaning my back against a wall, I take a few deep breaths. I was stupid to think that I could jump in head first. What I need is a plan of attack.
I dig through my bag, looking for my phone. After turning it on, I stare at the screen as I wait for it to come alive. When it does, I see it’s 12.17 pm. On cue, my stomach growls. All the hydrotherapy I do certainly works up my appetite, and Christine usually has a sandwich waiting for me when I arrive back from my physio. Ham, cheese and lettuce has been my sandwich of choice ever since I read Braxton’s letter.
My gaze moves to the left as I scope out the shops ahead. I see a small alfresco dining area further down, so I head in that direction. Christine stuffed a fifty-dollar note into my pocket before I left the house. “Just in case of an emergency , ” she’d said.
Like Braxton, she’s very good to me. I might not remember my life with them, but I appreciate the care they’ve shown me. I know how lucky I am to have them. I’d hate to think about where I’d be without their support.
When I reach the restaurant, I read the neon sign above the entryway: Callaghan’s Burger and Grill . I can’t remember what a burger even tastes like, or whether I even like them, but the delicious aroma coming from inside is enough to make my stomach growl again.
With that in mind, I make a conscious decision to go in. Today is a day of discovery, so I’m going to try a burger and find out for myself.
Once inside, I scan the décor. This place isn’t fancy, but it appears to be clean. The bright lime-green walls are the first thing to draw my attention. It’s not the greatest colour, but with the large strategically placed black-and-white prints, and the black wooden tables and chairs, it works well.
The uncertainty creeps in again as I look around the restaurant for some kind of clue what to do. There are some people already seated, but there’s also a woman and a young couple standing in front of the counter. Relief floods me when I spot a sign that says, ‘Please order and pay before being seated’.
I come to a stop behind the couple ordering. The menu board stretches across the back wall, and the vast array of choices overwhelms me. I’m so engrossed in deciding that I don’t notice when the couple pays for their order and take a seat at one of the tables.
“Next,” the male server says in an abrupt tone.
My eyes meet his briefly as I step towards the counter, and I’m surprised by the annoyance I see on his face. When my gaze fixes on the menu once more, the panic I felt earlier rushes back and grows as I desperately try to make a decision. When he impatiently clears his throat, my eyes dart back to him.
“Umm …”
“Come on, lady, I don’t have all day.”
“Can I … umm … get …” My words drift off.
“Can you … umm … get what ?” he repeats mockingly.
His rudeness has me on the verge of tears. I open my mouth to tell him I’ve changed my mind about placing an order, when an elderly gentleman approaches. The friendly smile on his face has a slight calming effect on me.
“Is there a problem here, Mr Wilson?” The mention of that name sparks something within me, and now I find myself staring at the man before me.
“Nope, no problem,” the server replies with a smile. This must be his boss because his bad attitude instantly vanishes.
The elderly gentleman nods his head in approval and smiles at me once more before walking away. I want to call out that everything isn’t okay, and his employee is a rude jerk, but I don’t. Instead, I focus again on Mr Wilson. That name is so familiar. Why? And then it hits me. Larry ‘The Looter’ Wilson. It couldn’t be. I seek out the name badge on his shirt and can’t help but stare when I see the name ‘LARRY’ engraved in bold black letters.
My eyes scan his face as my mind races. How many twenty-something Larry Wilsons with a bad attitude can there be? He’s tall, just like Braxton had said, and around my age; it has to be him . That thought has my pulse racing. I see nothing recognisable as I study his chubby face. His receding hairline only makes his face look even rounder.
He opens his mouth to speak and I notice his teeth are stained brown and appear to be rotting. This guy has nothing going for him in the looks department, and his personality certainly leaves a lot to be desired.
Braxton’s story gives me the courage to lean forward into Larry’s space. It may be around twenty years too late, but I presume I never got the chance to wreak my revenge for what he did to me, and for the trouble he caused Braxton. I feel compelled to put him in his place.
I raise my hand towards my mouth and glide my fingertip over my front teeth. “You have some mud stuck between your teeth,” I whisper, trying my hardest to remain serious. His eyes narrow as he looks hard at me, clearly confused. “Just there.” I run my finger over my teeth once more. “Mud … in your teeth.”
His eyes widen, and his face turns a bright shade of red. “It’s not mud,” he snaps.
I stop fighting my smile now. It’s funny, a few minutes ago I was on the verge of tears and now I’m struggling to contain my laughter. If it weren’t for the letters from Braxton, I never would have known the significance of this moment. Words can’t even express how grateful I am for that, or how satisfying this moment feels.
“Crazy bitch,” he mumbles under his breath as I turn and head towards the exit. His nasty comment doesn’t get under my skin, even though that word— crazy —is pretty close to home for me right now.
I feel enlightened and extremely proud of myself. It’s clear the hate Larry Wilson carried around when he was a kid has followed him into adulthood. It’s sad, but in a way, it’s a huge wake-up call for me. It only reiterates everything I’ve been feeling lately. I need to let go of this anger and resentment I’m carrying around. I don’t want it to destroy me.
I may have lost my past, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a wonderful future ahead. I have the power to not only reinvent myself, but to write my own ending.