18. Braxton
Chapter 18
Braxton
I can’t contain my excitement as I jog up the steps to Christine’s front door. I’ve been awake since 5 am, wandering aimlessly around the house just waiting for it to be time to leave. I skipped my usual morning workout and coffee on the back deck because I couldn’t sit still long enough.
“Good morning, Christine,” I say, leaning forward to kiss her cheek when she answers the door.
“Good morning,” she replies beaming. “The happiness I see on my little girl’s face seems infectious.”
“I’m spending the day with her. You have no idea how happy that makes me.”
“I think I do,” she replies, rubbing her hand affectionately down my arm. “I’m glad you two seem to be working things out.”
“We still have a way to go, but we’re getting there slowly.”
She smiles as she moves aside to let me enter.
“Jemma!” she calls out from the bottom of the stairs. “Braxton’s here.”
“Coming!” Jemma yells in reply.
I try to stand still as I eagerly wait to see her. A few seconds later I inhale a sharp breath when she appears at the top of the staircase. The first thing I notice is that she has changed her hair. Her dark brown locks are now shorter and sit just above her shoulders. It’s different from how it has always been, but I like it.
A beautiful yet unsure smile graces her face as she descends the stairs. She’s wearing a pretty white sundress, which accentuates her lean body and tanned skin. My fingers are itching to reach out and touch her. She’s always had a bronzed glow—especially in summer when we spend so much time at the beach—but months have passed since she’s been in the sun.
I extend my hand to her when she’s within reach. “You look beautiful,” I say. “And I love your hair.”
“You do?” she asks as a pink tinge fills her cheeks. I find her bashfulness—which is something new I have learned about her—endearing.
“I do.”
She tucks a strand behind her ear as the smile on her face grows.
My eyes land on the jagged red scars that are now visible along her hairline. It takes nothing away from her beauty, but I get a pang in my heart nevertheless. They will serve as a constant reminder of everything we’ve lost.
“I had it cut yesterday while I was out. I bought this as well,” she says, fanning out the skirt of her dress.
“It’s lovely.”
“Thank you.”
I didn’t know she went out yesterday, but I’m no longer privy to what she gets up to during the day, apart from our daily trips to rehab. Christine told me she spends most of her time in her room, which saddens me. She was always an outdoorsy person and hated being locked away.
“I caught the bus into town.”
She did? “Wow. That’s great.” As much as I wish it was me she was spending her time with, I’m glad she’s getting out of the house and living again. “I’m proud of you.”
“I wanted to go back to that beach you took me to.”
“Ah, that explains your tan.”
“I didn’t go in the water, just sat in the sun watching the waves. I love it there,” she says, in a breathy kind of sigh.
“It was always your favourite place to be.”
“I wish you’d have something to eat before you leave, Jemma,” Christine says when we enter the kitchen. “I don’t like the idea of you going out with an empty stomach.”
“I’m fine,” Jemma says, placing a kiss on her mother’s cheek before scooping a basket off the kitchen table. “We have this, remember?” Her gaze moves to me. “I packed us a picnic lunch. Like we used to have by the river at Ma and Pa’s farm.”
I’m grinning as I take the basket out of her hand. Today already feels like old times.
“This place is beautiful,” Jemma says as we pass through the small town and head towards the rolling green hills of the countryside. It hasn’t changed in the past few years. “It’s so green … so picturesque. I can see why my grandparents chose to never leave.”
“They loved it here. This is where your grandfather grew up. Ma moved here after they were married.”
“Tell me about them, Braxton. I only know what you’ve told me in the letters. Christine never talks about them.”
“They were amazing people … truly amazing. I don’t know how they met, but I’m sure your mother can fill you in on that story. I know Ma was a city girl before she married. She loved her life here with Pa.”
“I wish I could remember them.” I wish she could remember me, and how much we loved each other. “What happened to them? How long ago did they die?”
I knew that question would come up today. There’s no good way to answer it.
“Your Pa died first,” I say, glancing her way. “It was unexpected and very sudden.”
She’s hesitant with her reply. “How?”
“He had a heart attack in the orchard. When he didn’t come up to the house for lunch Ma went searching for him and found him lying beneath one of the apple trees. She tried to resuscitate him. The coroner said he’d been dead for over an hour by the time she found him.”
I see her hand come up to cover her mouth, as her head turns away from me. “Poor Ma,” I hear her whisper. Poor Ma is right. Pa’s death broke her, and what happened in the days that followed proved that.
The tyres crunch as I turn off the main road and head down the long gravel driveway that leads to the farmhouse. The branches of the large jacaranda trees that line both sides of the driveway overlap in the middle forming a kind of archway. It’s such a shame they aren’t in bloom; the sea of purple flowers that cover the trees when they are, and the blanket they create on the ground when the flowers fall, really is a sight to see. Jemma loved that so much. I hope I get the chance to bring her back in spring so she can experience it again.
When we reach the end of the driveway, the farmhouse comes into view. It’s been three years since I’ve been back here, but the place hasn’t changed much. The gardens aren’t as colourful and lush as they once were, but just being here makes me smile. Ma loved her garden and would potter around out here for hours while Pa was working the land out back. This place holds so many wonderful memories for me, as it once did for Jemma.
“Are you okay?” I ask, placing my hand on Jemma’s leg as I turn off the ignition.
“Yes,” she replies, turning her face towards me. She smiles, but I can tell it’s forced.
“Losing them both was a terrible time for us all.”
“I can imagine.”
“This is their farmhouse,” I say, pointing out the front windscreen. “Do you want to have a look around?”
“Are we allowed? Does someone else live here?”
“No. Your grandparents left this place to your mother in their will.”
Christine hasn’t been back since Ma’s death, but she won’t sell it. She’s scarred by what happened the last time she was here, but this place was her home once. It’s all she has left of her parents, and I know she’ll never part with it.
I thought about asking Christine for the keys to get inside, but I didn’t want to push my luck. Just having Jem here is an enormous step forward. I tried for months to get Jemma to come back here after Ma’s death, but she flat out refused.
We walk down the front path towards the house—her eyes are everywhere as we step onto the wide wraparound veranda. Ma and Pa always sat out here of an evening. In the summer months, they would sit side by side drinking iced tea, and Ma would make homemade lemonade for me and Jem. On colder nights, they would sit under the multi-coloured blankets Ma crocheted. Jem and I had our own blankets as well.
“They were Ma’s and Pa’s rocking chairs,” I say as she runs her hand over the back of one. “We used to sit on that swinging chair down there.” I turn my body slightly and point to the far end of the veranda where the long wooden bench seat hangs from the roof by large chains. “Or occasionally we’d lie out on the grass and look up at the stars.” I give her a moment to absorb it all before I speak again. “Come check out the view from the back of the house. You can see over the entire orchard from up here.”
“Okay.”
She smiles when I place my hand on the small of her back and guide her in that direction. When we reach the rear of the house, she comes to a sudden stop.
“Wow.” I’m pretty sure I wore the same look of amazement the first time I came here. She takes a few steps forward and her hands grip the rail as her eyes take it all in. Not only can you see the rows of perfectly aligned apple trees, but also the rolling green hills nestled in the distance behind them. The view from up here is nothing short of postcard-worthy. “It’s breathtaking.”
“It is,” I reply, but unlike her, I’m not talking about the landscape. My eyes are firmly fixed on her.
When I hear her stomach growl, I look down at my watch and see it’s almost midday. “Shall we have our picnic down by the river? It’s only a five-minute walk from here, it’ll be just like old times.”
She smiles. “I’d like that. I was hoping we’d get to see the river.”
I have so much to show her. I’m going to drag this day out as long as I can. Who knows when I’ll get this opportunity again?
I leave her standing on the back veranda while I collect the picnic basket and a blanket from the car.
As we head across the grassed area towards the apple trees, she points to the large wooden barn. “What’s in there?”
“That’s where Pa used to store his machinery and the apples after harvest.”
“It’s big.”
Although the trees haven’t been tended to for some years now, they’re in surprisingly good condition. I’m saddened to see all the rotten apples scattered on the ground beneath the trees though, it’s such a waste.
“What was that?” Jemma asks, grabbing hold of my arm.
“What was what?”
“That rustling noise.” Coming to an abrupt stop, I listen. When I hear the noise she’s referring to, I turn my head in that direction. “Do you think it’s a snake?” she asks, moving closer to my side.
“Not this time of year, it’s not warm enough,” I answer, chuckling. “Stay here. I’ll go check it out.”
“I’m coming with you.” The way she latches onto my arm tells me she’s frightened.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“I’m not afraid,” she says, straightening her shoulders.
“Right.” I chuckle again because I know damn well she is.
We make our way down a few rows and the noise gets louder. Placing my hand out, I halt her. Crouching down slightly, I smile when I see a baby goat feasting on the apples that have fallen from a tree.
“Shh.” I place my finger against my mouth, and gesture for Jemma to follow me with my other hand. “Come,” I whisper.
All sign of fear disappears the moment the baby goat comes into view. “Oh my god, it’s so cute,” she says in a soft voice. “It’s so tiny.”
A loud bleating sound comes from behind us, making Jemma scream and jump behind me. I throw back my head and laugh when I see two larger goats standing a few metres away.
“It’s not funny,” she says, slapping my arm. I beg to differ; I find it hilarious. When the larger goat takes a step closer and releases another bleating sound, Jemma’s fingers dig into my flesh. “Shoo them away. Please shoo them away.”
“You’re not afraid of goats, are you?”
“No! Umm, yes. Crap, Braxton, do they bite?”
“They must be wild goats. They’re probably trying to get to their baby.”
She pops her head out from behind me. “That one has horns.” We hear another bleating sound and see a few more goats approaching from the other direction. “Crap, there’s more. They’re surrounding us ready to attack.” I can hear the strain in her voice, but I still can’t help but laugh.
“They’re not going to attack us,” I say, trying to calm her.
“Get them away!” She’s panicking now, so I snap into action.
“Scram!” I yell, taking a step forward and flicking my free hand out in front of me.
I expect them to run, but that’s not what happens. Instead, to my amazement they all fall onto their sides like a pack of dominoes, their stiffened legs protruding from underneath them. It’s such a comical sight, I have no control over the loud laugh that spills from my mouth. That is until Jemma speaks.
“Oh my god, you killed them,” she cries. For a split second, I think I have as well, until a few of them move, thrashing their bodies around trying to stand. The rest quickly follow. It’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. Have I just been punked by a small tribe of goats?
“What the hell just happened?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” I turn to face Jemma and see the same stunned look on her face.
“You saw that, right?” If she wasn’t here to witness it, I could have sworn I was hallucinating. “Did they fake their own deaths?”
“I think they fainted,” she says. A grin tugs at her lips moments before she covers her mouth with her hand and laughs.
It begins as a giggle, but soon turns into a full-on belly laugh. It’s infectious. When she snorts, I lose it to where tears fill my eyes and my sides hurt. It feels so good to truly laugh again, but more importantly, to hear Jem laugh.
We’re both still chuckling as we continue down to the river and hear the trickling of the water as we approach.
“Wow,” she says when the river comes into view. “It’s even more beautiful than I imagined.”
“It’s pretty special,” I agree as I lay out the blanket and picnic basket and follow her towards the water’s edge.
“I love that about your letters,” she says as I stop beside her. “The way you describe things … I swear if I close my eyes, I can almost picture everything.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying them. Do you want to hear something interesting?”
“Sure.”
“I did some research on the human brain after the accident and found out that we only remember twenty per cent of our lives. And out of that, it’s usually the poignant moments from our past that stick with us … things that stood out at the time. You’ve been such an important part of my life, Jem, so it’s only natural that my poignant moments involved you.”
“Only twenty per cent? I thought it would’ve been more.”
“Me too.”
I bend down and pick up a pebble from near my feet, then skim it across the water. As kids, Jem and I had competitions to see who could get the most bounces. I usually won, but there were times I purposely threw a bad one so she could beat me. I would never admit that to her, though. She used to have a fierce competitive streak, and she would have hated it if she knew she hadn’t won legitimately.
She bends down and picks up a pebble as well. “Can you teach me how to do that?”
“Sure. Hold it in between your forefinger and thumb.” I try to ignore the feelings that well up when I wrap my fingers around her hand to reposition the pebble. My eyes flick to hers and I find her staring at me, but I look away. It’s so easy for me to get lost in those big brown eyes of hers, and I’m worried I’ll do something stupid, like try to kiss her. “Keep it at that angle when you throw it, so it skims across the surface of the water, instead of sinking.”
Her first throw is a flop, and the pebble sinks straight to the bottom, but the steely determination of my old Jem shines through as she picks up pebble after pebble until she masters it. I love that although she’s a different person from the one she once was, there are still some characteristics of the old her present.
“Are you hungry?” she asks, leading me back to the picnic blanket.
“Starved.”
“Good. I’ve packed plenty.” She reaches into the basket and pulls out a container that’s filled to the brim with sandwiches cut into triangles. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I went with ham, cheese and lettuce.” I see a grin form on her face.
“I love that my letters have given you back a piece of your past.”
“I’ve read them so many times I’ve lost count.” She sighs as her gaze moves down to the container on her lap. “I don’t want them to be just words on a piece of paper … I want them to be memories so familiar they almost seem real.”
“They are real,” I say, reaching for her hand. When she lifts her face to meet mine again, the sadness I see in her eyes tugs at my heart. “Everything we shared was real, Jem.” I blow out a long breath and force my voice to remain steady. “It was real,” I repeat, squeezing her hand.
We eat our lunch in silence, just enjoying the scenery, the sunshine, and each other’s company.
“I made you something special,” she says when we’ve finished eating the sandwiches. She reaches into the basket again and pulls out a dish wrapped in a red-and-white cloth.
“I asked Christine for Ma’s recipe …” She removes the cloth and reveals a delicious-looking apple pie.
“It’s Ma’s recipe?” I ask, sitting forward and rubbing my hands together.
“The apples might not be as good as the ones here on the farm, but I followed the recipe to a tee. Christine helped me with the pastry, though. I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure it’s delicious.” I smile from the pie to her. “Thank you for going to all this trouble.”
“You’ve been so good to me, I wanted to do something nice for you.”
I watch as she cuts a large piece and places it on one of the red plastic plates she brought with us. “Hold on, let me get you a fork,” she says, rummaging around in the bottom of the basket.
“Thank you.” I don’t know if it’s because it’s Ma’s recipe, or that Jemma made it, but I find myself moaning as soon as the first bite is in my mouth. “Mmm.”
A sweet grin tugs at her lips as we eat, which makes me even happier.
Once I’ve had a second helping of pie, we pack everything back into the basket.
“Would you like to go for a walk along the river bank? Like we did when we were kids?”
“I’d like that.”
Standing, I help her to her feet.
“See that tyre on the ground under the tree?” I ask. “That used to be our swing. The rope must’ve eroded in the weather.”
“That’s a shame. It’s a beautiful tree, though.”
“It’s a willow.”
“It would be a great tree to climb … well, maybe not for you.” I can’t help but chuckle at her comment, and at myself. “I love that I know things about you that the old me didn’t know.”
“It’s a lot easier to confess your fears on a piece of paper, I suppose.”
She stops walking and points towards the water. “I think I just saw a fish come up to the surface.” My eyes follow her hand. “There it is again.”
The excitement in her voice has me grinning. A fish? That’s a long way off from what she thought, the first time she saw the same thing when we were kids.
“It’s a platypus, not a fish, or the Loch Ness Monster.” I smile to myself as I think back to that day, all those years ago.
Her eyes are trained on the river, waiting for it to reappear. “The Loch Ness Monster?” she asks.
“Just a myth,” I reply with a smile. “Keep your eye out along the water’s edge and you may see one out of the water. They usually make their burrows along the river bank.”
“Okay.” She looks at me and matches my smile before moving her gaze back to the river.
We walk along in silence for a few minutes until she asks me the question I’ve been dreading. “Braxton … what happened to Ma?”
I know my reply is going to upset her, but I have to tell her. “Pa’s death broke her.” I tug at the collar of my shirt just thinking about it. “The funeral was the worst. Your father and I had to help her into the church. She could barely walk.”
“How heartbreaking,” Jemma says, placing her flattened palm on her chest.
“It was. I’d never seen her so distraught. She was always such a happy person. At the burial, when it was time to lower the coffin into the ground …” I exhale a long breath before continuing. “She threw herself on top of it, begging him to take her too.”
“Oh my god.”
“Your mum stayed with her on the farm for a while. She tried to get Ma to come back to the city and live with them, but she refused to leave. The farm was her home, and her connection to Pa.”
“That’s so sad.”
“We travelled back to the city that night with your father. I held you in my arms while you cried yourself to sleep.” She stops walking and turns to face me, giving me her full attention. “Later that week, we got a call from your mother.” I fall silent. That morning still haunts me.
Stephen was in a meeting at work, so Christine called us. Jem was in the shower, so I was the one who took the call. I’m grateful for that because Christine was screaming hysterically into the phone. I could barely make out what she was saying. I’d never heard her so distressed. “She won’t wake up … she won’t wake up , ” she cried down the line. “Oh god! Somebody please help me … she won’t wake up.”
I’d never felt as helpless as I did in that moment. We collected Stephen, and the three of us drove straight out to the farm.
“What did she say?”
“She’d gone in to wake Ma up that morning, and she’d …” Jem can already tell where I’m heading with this because her hand comes up to cover her mouth again. “She’d … umm … passed away in her sleep. The coroner said she’d had a heart attack, just like Pa. She wanted to be with her husband, and she got her wish.” I swallow hard, and when I see Jemma wipe the tears from her eyes, I instinctively pull her into my arms, resting my chin on the top of her head. “Your mum was never the same after that day.”
She doesn’t reply but her grip on me tightens.
“I can’t believe how many stars are in the sky tonight,” Jemma says as we lie on the blanket staring up into the darkness. She seems in no rush to leave, and I’m enjoying my time with her too much to even suggest it.
“I know. You never see this many stars in the city.”
The serene trickling sound of the running river fills my ears, and crickets chirp in the distance. This is the most relaxed I’ve felt in months.
“Oh, did you see that?” she says, pointing up above.
“A shooting star.” It’s quickly followed by another one. “You need to make a wish.”
“Why?”
“It’s custom to wish on a shooting star.”
“Oh.”
I turn my face in her direction and in the moonlight I see her eyes clenched shut. It makes me think back to the first time she saw a shooting star when we were kids. The only difference is that she voiced her wish out loud that day—I’d give anything to know what she’s wishing for now.
Sadness washes over me when we finally decide to pack up and head home. I’ve missed this place, and being back here with Jemma has given me some peace, and I think it has done the same for her. I can only hope she allows me to bring her back again one day. I know in my heart Ma and Pa would want us here.
“It’s a good thing that it’s a full moon tonight,” I say as we walk back up towards the farmhouse.
“Why?”
“Otherwise we wouldn’t be able to see. I didn’t even think to bring a torch. I wouldn’t make a great boy scout.”
She doesn’t even flinch at my response. The joke is lost on her, but maybe one day I can share that memory with her.
One day.
“What are you doing?” she asks as I pull over to the side of the road and position the car so the headlights shine into the paddock ahead. I had hoped to bring her here before it got dark, but our time together by the river was too perfect to rush.
“I have one more thing to show you before we head out of town.”
She doesn’t reply, but she climbs out of the car and allows me to lead her to the barbed-wire fence.
“What do you want to show me?”
It’s dark out, but with the moonlight and the high beams from the vehicle, we should be able to see. I hope this goes to plan.
“Can you do me a favour?”
“Sure …”
“Place your hands on either side of your mouth … like this.” I move my hands up towards my face, mimicking what I want her to do. She hesitantly does exactly as I ask, but I can tell she’s confused by my request. “Perfect. Now, call out ‘Tilly-Girl’ in the loudest voice you can.”
I smile when her eyes widen. “She’s still alive?” she asks as her head snaps in my direction. “I’ve been too afraid to ask you what happened to her.”
“She’s old, but most definitely alive. The couple who own this farm, Mr and Mrs Talbot, were friends of your grandparents. They offered to care for Tilly-Girl until you were ready to come back.”
Her hands drop by her side. “I abandoned her?”
“No, you didn’t. You rang them almost daily to check on her. You had every intention of coming back for her when you were ready.”
Her gaze moves down to the grass below. “I can’t believe I did that to her.”
“Hey, it’s okay.” I reach for her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. Every fibre of my being wants to pull her into my arms again, but I don’t. I don’t want to risk spoiling her day by overstepping the mark. “It wasn’t like that. You never stopped loving her, Jem. There was no way we could’ve brought her back to our place. You did what was best for her, she has room to run around here.”
She shrugs, but I can tell she’s not convinced. It was one of the hardest decisions she ever made.
“Call out to her,” I encourage.
She lifts her hands to her mouth again. “Tilly-Girl!” she screams at the top of her lungs.
We hear her before we see her. The sound of hooves pounding against the hard ground fills the air. Moments later she comes bounding over a small hill, heading straight towards us. Jemma’s eyes are fixed on the horse, and mine are fixed on her. I’m grinning from ear to ear at the delight I see on her face.
“My Tilly-Girl,” she whispers, her smile bright.
The horse comes to a stop a few metres away from us, and stares at Jemma briefly before reverting to her familiar dance of leaping and spinning around all at once. It’s amusing to watch, and I hear Jemma giggle beside me. Tilly-Girl doesn’t have the youthful energy she once had, but I love that she still does this.
The horse finally stills before slowly walking towards the fence. Jemma does the same, that ever-present pull drawing them together. I hear her sweet laugh when the horse rubs her face up against the side of Jem’s. When she’s finished with her greeting, Jemma throws her arms around the horse’s neck, kissing the side of her face. Just like she used to do.
“Tilly-Girl.” I see a lone tear roll down Jem’s cheek as she speaks. “My Tilly-Girl.”