15. Braxton
Chapter 15
Braxton
“ S on,” my father says when he opens his eyes and sees me sitting beside his bed. As crappy as I’m feeling right now, that one word has me smiling. He remembers me . Even if they only last a few minutes, I treasure these moments. As time wears on they seem less frequent, which saddens me more than I care to admit, especially with what’s going on with Jem.
“Hi, Pop. How are you feeling?”
“A little sore.”
When he tries to sit up, I quickly stand from my seat and help him. The ugly bruising on his forehead has darkened over the course of the day, and the swelling has yet to subside.
“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.