19. Jemma
Chapter 19
Jemma
“ M orning,” Christine says as I enter the kitchen and take a seat at the table.
“Good morning.”
She leans down and kisses my head as she passes. “That smile on your face makes me so happy.”
“I had a great time yesterday.” I’m still on a high from my day with Braxton on the farm.
Without replying, she turns and walks towards the stove to make my breakfast. Even after all this time, I can tell she’s still hurting from her parents’ death.
She reacted strangely when I first told her Braxton and I were going there, and I found her crying in the kitchen a few minutes later. After what Braxton shared with me yesterday, I understand why she would feel that way.
I hear my phone ding with a message and I can’t help but smile. I get the occasional text from Rachel or Stephen, but I’m already hoping it’s from Braxton. A fluttery feeling settles in the pit of my stomach when I see his name on the screen.
Braxton: Morning. Hope you slept well. I just wanted to thank you for yesterday. I had a great time.
I reply straight away.
Me: I had an amazing day. Thank you. I’m still smiling.
My phone beeps again a few moments later.
Braxton: I’m happy to hear that. I’ve always loved to see you smile.
Christine interrupts my thoughts as she places a mug of coffee down in front of me.
Before I have time to reply, another message comes through.
Braxton: I did some research when I got home last night, regarding those crazy goats. They’re called myotonic ‘fainting’ goats. Apparently, they have a hereditary mutant gene, and when they’re excited or startled, their muscles stiffen temporarily, causing them to fall over.
Just thinking about that moment has me giggling. “What’s so funny?” Christine asks.
“Braxton,” I reply, glancing up from the screen. “He just reminded me of something funny that happened yesterday, that’s all.”
I don’t go into detail. Christine was quiet when I got home last night. She usually asks me for the details of my day, but not a single question was asked about my trip to the farm. Clearly, hearing anything about her parents is still too raw for her.
“It’s good to see you two getting on again.”
I nod my head and sip my coffee. I am enjoying my time with him. We’re still a long way from where we apparently used to be, but it’s easy to see how I once loved him.
Placing my mug down, I type my reply.
Me: That must’ve been what happened yesterday when you scared them.
Braxton: I only scared them because you made me.
His reply makes me laugh. I don’t know why I was so scared of those silly goats, but I was.
Me: Thank you for being my knight in shining armour.
His reply comes through almost instantly.
Braxton: It was my pleasure.
It’s quickly followed by another message.
Braxton: I’m about to head out, I have plans. Enjoy your day.
Me: You too.
I slide my phone back into the pocket of my jacket after replying, and although I’m still smiling, I’m wondering what his plans are. Apart from the times he takes me to my appointments or his occasional visits, I don’t know what he does in his own time.
Christine places two plates of scrambled eggs and toast on the table, before taking a seat beside me. “It was late when you got home last night.”
“It was. It was already dark by the time we left the farm.” I see her squirm in her seat. “The place looks great. Stephen … I mean Dad, has been paying someone to look after it.” The way her eyes widen tells me she knew nothing of this. “Braxton said Dad wants it to be perfect for you when you decide to go back.”
“That’s nice of him,” she says, in a clipped tone, “but he needn’t have bothered. I have no intention of going back there.”
Considering what Braxton told me yesterday about Ma’s death, I feel like I understand her so much better. Especially the mood swings.
“Can I ask what happened between you and Dad?”
Christine exhales a long breath before standing. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she snaps as she collects her plate and walks towards the sink. She didn’t even finish her breakfast.
Although her back is to me, I see her raise her hand to wipe her eyes, and I know she’s crying. It’s obvious that whatever happened between my parents, she’s still hurting because of it.
Rising from my chair, I make my way towards her. Her body stiffens when I slide my arms around her waist from behind.
“Whatever it was, I’m sorry, Mum.” I feel her relax when I rest my cheek against her back. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about Ma and Pa.” I feel a lump rise to my throat as I speak, I’m struggling to comprehend it all. I wish I could remember them; well, maybe not those parts, but the good times.
“The past is in the past, and that’s where it needs to stay,” she murmurs.
I sit out on the back patio enjoying the sunshine for much of the morning. There’s been a definite shift in me, and I now feel gratitude for being alive. I no longer want to lock myself away and hide from the world.
It’s Sunday, so I have no place to be. It’s weird no longer having a career at my age. I often wonder about it, and what my life was like prior to the accident.
I have left Christine to herself; it’s clear she needs some time alone. Braxton had plans, so I will be on my own until Rachel visits this afternoon.
My mind drifts to Braxton. He has occupied my thoughts a lot lately. I was surprised at my need to drag out our visit to the farm for as long as I could. I definitely felt a connection to that place, it was beautiful, but I think it had more to do with the company.
Placing my coffee cup down on the small table beside me, I pick up the pile of Braxton’s letters and untie the ribbon I’ve been using to keep them together. I open the first one, starting at the very beginning. I reread them every chance I get. It’s all that I have left of my past, and I’m hoping if I read them enough, the memories will become permanently engrained in my mind. They have become my lifeline.
Once the last letter is read, I carefully fold it and place it back in the envelope. A contented sigh falls from my lips as I settle back into my chair. My eyes are focused on the large tree in the backyard. It’s the only one, so it must be the one that Braxton fell out of. Suddenly I’m curious.
I walk towards it and look up into the branches above. It’s far too high for me to climb. Without thinking, I turn and head straight for the garage. I remember seeing a large extendable ladder resting up against the wall one day when I wandered in there. I carefully lift it and lay it down on the concrete floor. It’s much heavier than I expected.
I try to be quiet as I pick it up and carry it to the yard. If Christine discovers what I’m doing, she’s likely to blow a gasket. Her overprotectiveness isn’t lost on me. In all fairness, I’d probably be the same if it was my child.
Laying it out on the grass, I take a few minutes to figure out how to extend it to full height, before locking it into place. A small groan escapes me as I haul it up and manoeuvre it against the trunk of the tree.
I make sure it’s securely fixed in place before I start to climb. I feel none of the crippling fear that Braxton mentioned in his letter. Heights obviously aren’t something I’m afraid of. The higher I get, the more disappointed I become. So far I’ve seen nothing engraved into the trunk. There’s still a lot of tree above, and I’ve almost reached the top of the ladder.
That’s when I notice the broken branch. It’s about a metre above my head. Butterflies flutter in my stomach as I climb one more step and slowly make the transition from the ladder to the large branch that sits below the broken one. I hope it can hold my weight.
It would have made more sense to just ask Braxton what he carved into the tree, but I feel compelled to see it with my own eyes. “I was carving my heart into that trunk. My deepest, darkest secret.” I need to know what that was.
My fingernails dig into the bark as I get my footing right before stretching my body upwards. At first, I don’t see it, but then I notice a heart that has blended into the bark over the years. Engraved within this heart are letters and a word: BS loves JR . The sight of it touches me deeply.
He voiced it out loud not long after I got out of the hospital, which made me feel extremely uncomfortable, but things have changed between us since then. Our renewed friendship is blossoming.
I’m not sure if it’s because the young Braxton took the time to do this despite his crippling fear of heights. Or maybe I’m just scared that I’ll never feel the things I once did, and won’t get to experience that once-in-a-lifetime love again. I’m completely overcome with emotion as I slide my arms around the tree, hugging it with all my might. I then I do something I haven’t done since I woke from my coma … I sob my heart out.
“Hi, Dad,” I say when he rises from his chair and kisses my cheek. He called me last night and invited me to lunch. It worked out well because Braxton dropped me off after my physio and I didn’t have to hurt Stephen’s feelings by telling him Christine doesn’t want him anywhere near the house.
“Hi, pumpkin. You look well.”
I find myself smiling at his pet name for me. I wouldn’t have known that if it wasn’t for the letters.
“Thank you. I feel great.”
Well, a lot better than I used to feel, anyway. I have the will to live now, and as much as I yearn to be the person I once was, I’m coming to terms with the fact that may never happen. But it doesn’t mean I have to stop living, or that I can’t enjoy the future that lies ahead. I’m already making new memories.
“How’s rehab going?”
“Really well. Starting next week, I only have to go two days instead of five.”
“That’s wonderful news.”
It is wonderful news, but there is a part of me that’s disappointed because it means I might not get to see Braxton every day.
“How are things going at the bank?”
“Great … busy.”
I smile before speaking again. “Can I ask you a favour?”
“Sure. Anything,” he replies.
I reach into my bag and pull out the envelope that contains my memory bracelet and charms. “Could you attach these for me?” I open the flap and tip them out into the palm of my hand to show him. “I don’t have the tools to do it myself.”
“I can certainly do that for you,” he says.
I had thought about asking Braxton to do it, but I want to see the look on his face when he notices it on my wrist.
“There’s a list inside the envelope with the order I need them in. Hopefully, I’ll have more to add to it. Can we leave room for them?”
“Anything you want, pumpkin.” Again, I smile when he calls me that. “Where are these charms from?”
“Braxton.”
He nods his head as he takes the envelope from me, placing it in the pocket of his suit jacket. “Are you ready to order?”
“I am. I’m starved.”
“Me too,” he says smiling. “I’ve taken an extended lunch break, so there’s no rush. Spending time with my little girl is more important.”
I pick up the menu off the table, and suddenly the number of choices makes me anxious.
“The club sandwiches here are delicious.” Does he notice my apprehension?
“That sounds great.” I place the menu down on the table. “I’ll have one of those.” I have no idea what a club sandwich is, but I’ll take my chances.
“Braxton took me out to the farm on the weekend,” I say once our order is placed. “Thank you for keeping up with the maintenance on the property, that’s nice of you.”
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for your mother,” he replies simply. “Or for you.”
I look down at the white linen tablecloth as I ponder my next words. This seems like the perfect opportunity to ask what I’ve been dying to know. “You can tell me to mind my own business, but what happened between you two?”
My father clears his throat, as his gaze moves to stare at something in the distance. I’m suddenly unsure if I’m ready for his response, but there’s a part of me that needs to know. I don’t understand how all this bitterness can have come from what was once a wonderful marriage.
“There’s no easy way to say it, I suppose.” He pauses, then sighs. “I cheated on your mother.”
I have no control over the gasp that falls from my lips. “You what ?” I feel my eyes widen as I speak.
“I’m sorry you have to go through all this again. It was bad enough I broke your mother’s heart, but I broke yours as well. You didn’t speak to me for more than a month afterwards. The past few years have been tough on us all.”
“What happened?”
“I have no excuse for what I did, but for you to fully understand, I should start at the beginning.”
My head is spinning as I wait for him to continue. Poor Christine .
He tugs at the tie around his neck, loosening it slightly. “Your mum was devastated after her father died, and rightly so, but to lose both her parents in such a close proximity was unimaginable.” I slide my hands off the table and place them on my lap, wringing my fingers together. “When we arrived at the farm after her mother’s death, she was inconsolable. To the point, she was admitted into hospital and sedated.” I watch him, unsure what to say. “Seeing the woman I love like that was hard,” he continued. “So hard.”
“If you loved her so much, how could you cheat on her?”
He bows his head before answering. “The weeks, months—and year that followed were hard. The death of your grandparents changed her. She fell into a deep depression. She no longer smiled, she hardly ate or slept for that matter, and over time she shut me out completely. She shut us all out.” He pauses and scrubs his hand over his face. “She refused to get help. I never stopped loving her, but you need to understand that it was hard for me too. You were already living with Braxton. I felt incredibly alone.”
“So, you found someone else to give you what you weren’t getting at home?” My words come out more aggressively than intended, but it appears he abandoned my mother when she needed him most.
“No. It wasn’t like that. Karen was my secretary. She’d been working for me for over fifteen years. She noticed the shift in me … I think everyone did, I was miserable. After a lot of persuasion, she finally convinced me to open up. Truth is, I needed someone to talk to … I certainly couldn’t talk to your mother. We ended up developing a close friendship. That’s all it was. That is until one night we went out for drinks after work.” He exhales, and I don’t like where this is heading. “We shared a cab home. The driver dropped her off first, so I walked her to the door … I ended up kissing her goodnight. It wasn’t just a peck, either.”
“I see.” I can’t seem to hide my disappointment. “And?”
“And that’s it. She invited me in, and I told her no. That kiss was a mistake. I loved your mother, and I still do. I left immediately and the guilt I felt on the way home ate away at me. Your mother had moved out of our bedroom a few months earlier. She’d been sleeping in your old room. That night I tossed and turned, and in the morning I confessed everything. Your mother was upset, with good reason. She slapped me across the face and then told me to leave.”
I take a few moments to let his words settle in. “So, you only kissed her? It never went further than that?”
“No. But that was bad enough.” When his voice cracks, it makes my heart hurt. I don’t condone what he did, but in a way, I understand it. “I made the biggest mistake of my life and lost the best thing that had ever happened to me in the process.”
“Oh, Dad.” Reaching across the table, I cover his hand with mine.
“I miss her so much,” he confesses, bowing his head and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
He’s hurting just as much as she is. I may not know a lot about either of them, but any fool can see that they’re miserable without each other.
My father offers to drive me home after our long lunch, but I opt to take the bus. One, because I don’t want to upset Christine by having him near the house, and two, because I need time to digest everything he told me. I don’t know how, but I’m going to find a way for my parents to at least communicate. Stephen said after she kicked him out she refused to talk to him. I’m not taking sides—I sympathise with them both—but I think it’s time for them to forgive and move forward. Life is too short.
By the time I step off the bus, I decide not to say anything yet. I need time to think it through and come up with a plan.
“You’re home late,” Christine says when I walk through the front door.
“I stayed in town for a while.”
“That’s good. Would you like a sandwich?”
“No, I’ve already eaten,” I reply as I follow her into the kitchen.
“This came for you earlier,” she says with a smile, picking up a letter and passing it to me.
Leaning forward, I kiss her cheek. Surprise lights her eyes. I feel for her even more after my lunch with Stephen today. She’s been through some hard times. First losing her parents, then her husband … in a way, she probably feels like she’s lost her only child as well.
“Thank you,” I say, holding up the letter, but my gratitude for her runs far deeper than just that.
Letter six …
Dearest Jemma,
The fourth of July 2004. It was school holidays, and this would mark our last extended stay at your grandparents’ house. By the time the next school holidays rolled around later that year, you would be working in your first part-time job. But we didn’t know that then.
July meant it was winter, and the first few days of our holiday at the farm brought rain. We spent it mostly playing board games and helping Ma bake sweets. She made us her official taste testers, and she had no complaints from me. You could say I’ve always had a sweet tooth.
The rain finally eased by day three, so we got up early and spent an hour out in the garden catching worms. When we were done, we grabbed our fishing rods—Ma and Pa had given them to us the previous Christmas—and headed to the river. I always loved that you weren’t afraid to pick up the worms and bait your own hook like most girls were. Actually, there wasn’t much that frightened you.
The ground was muddy that day from all the rain, so Pa advised us not to take Tilly-Girl with us. You were disappointed because you’d been eager to ride her, so we took the long way down to the river, via her paddock, so you could see her.
Pa would leave his white wooden rowboat down by the bank for us during our stay. It was far too cold to swim, so we got plenty of use out of it during the winter months. You would help me overturn it and push it into the river. I would roll up my pants before stepping into the near-freezing water, and piggyback you from the shore to the boat so you didn’t get wet.
We would row to our usual spot and drop the anchor. Some days we sat there for hours and didn’t catch a thing, but other times we did really well. If we brought home some trout, Pa would clean up our catch, and Ma would cook them up in a scrumptious lemon butter sauce for our dinner.
This particular day proved to be one of the slower ones. We’d been down there for a few hours and hadn’t even got a bite.
“Holy crap,” you blurted out suddenly, jumping to your feet. “Did you see that?”
“Easy there,” I replied, trying to settle the boat as it rocked violently from side to side.
“Pass me the net!”
“Have you caught something?”
“No, but I think I just saw the Loch Ness Monster.”
I laughed when you squealed with excitement. “You’re crazy. There’s no such thing.”
“I’m not lying, Braxton. I saw it.”
“You might have seen something, but it wasn’t that.”
“I saw it, goddamn you,” you snapped, flicking your foot out, connecting it with my shin. Your tone made me chuckle, which only seemed to annoy you more. “Oh my god, we’re going to be famous. We’ll be on the news and everything.”
I hadn’t doubted that you saw something, but I knew it wasn’t what you thought.
“There it is again!” you squealed. This time you didn’t bother asking me for the net, you turned in haste and grabbed it for yourself. How you possibly thought you could catch a giant creature of the deep in such a small net was beyond me, but I let you go. You were as stubborn as hell when you set your mind to something, and you wouldn’t have listened to me anyway.
I stuck my head over the side of the boat and saw that your so-called monster was a platypus skimming along the surface of the water.
You lunged forward in an attempt to scoop it into your net. It wasn’t your wisest move. It not only sent the boat toppling over, but it also threw us both into the freezing water below.
I broke the surface first, and my head darted from side to side as I searched for you.
“Jemma!” I called out at the top of my voice. “Jemma, where are you?”
I was about to dive back under to search for you when you emerged. You were gasping for air and your lips had already turned a light shade of blue.
I swam the few strokes to reach you, sliding my arm around your waist. “The rods!” you cried as I manoeuvred you towards the bank.
“I’ll go back for them.” My first priority was you. Your entire body was shivering when we finally made it to dry land. I’m sure I was as well, but I can’t remember because I was too worried about you. “You need to get up to the house and out of these wet clothes. I’ll come back for the rods.”
“Okay.”
Your teeth were chattering and your movements were slow, so I scooped you into my arms and started to jog. I only made it a few metres when I slipped in some mud, sending us both tumbling to the ground.
Under any other circumstances, we both would have laughed our heads off, but the icy wind wasn’t doing us any favours. My concern for you was only escalating.
Surprisingly, there was no stern lecture from your grandparents when we finally made it back to the farmhouse. Only concern. They took us into separate rooms and ordered us to strip out of our wet, muddy clothes before wrapping us up in blankets. Pa sat us down in front of the open fireplace in the main room, while Ma rushed to the kitchen to make us large mugs of hot cocoa.
Pa went down to the river and retrieved the boat and fished out our rods, which he found further downstream.
Not a word was spoken about it again, but Ma made us stay indoors for the next few days to make sure we hadn’t caught a cold from our misadventure. My admiration for them only grew stronger after that day. They were amazing people.
The night before we were due to go home, Ma cooked us up a huge feast. I could tell she loved having us stay there. She always got a little teary when it was time for us to leave.
Afterwards, we moved out to the front veranda. Ma placed Pa’s colourful crocheted blanket over his lap before taking a seat beside him. I watched on with a smile as he reached for her hand and wrapped it in his own. When she smiled back at him, I could see the love reflecting in her eyes.
It was a chilly night, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, so we opted to lie on the grass instead. Well, actually, in winter we lay on a tarp because the ground was cold and damp. You had your pink crocheted blanket, and I had my blue one.
“There’s so many stars in the sky tonight,” you said.
“Mmm. You don’t see this many in the city.”
“Oh my god, did you see that light that just flashed across the sky?” you said, suddenly more alert.
“Yep, a shooting star.”
“Oh. I always wondered what a shooting star would look like.”
“You need to make a wish,” I said. “You always wish on a shooting star.”
“I wish …” You paused briefly, and I wanted to tell you that you couldn’t say aloud what you wish for, otherwise it won’t come true. At the time I didn’t believe that anyway, but now I’m not so sure. “I wish you were my forever boy, Braxton Spencer.”
You slid your hand under my blanket and laced your fingers through mine as you spoke. When you turned your face in my direction, our eyes locked, and the way you looked at me was different from all the other times. It made my heart race because if I wasn’t mistaken, it was the same look that Ma had given Pa minutes earlier.
For me, it was a moment that held more questions than answers. Was it possible that we could ever be more than just best friends? I knew you loved me because you’d told me, but it gave me hope that maybe, just maybe, you loved me in the way I secretly loved you.
I tightened my grip on your hand, as a ray of hope ignited within me. “I wish that too, Jem.”
What we had is far too beautiful to be forgotten.
Your forever boy,
Braxton
I sigh as I clutch the letter to my chest. Does he even realise how wonderful these letters are? I love how he signed this one with your forever boy. I’m not sure what lies ahead for us, but I know I need him to be a part of my life.
My wish may have ignited a ray of hope in his heart on that day, and that’s exactly what his words seem to do for me. My wish on my first falling star had similarities to my most recent one. You’d think I would have wished for my memory to return, but I didn’t. I wished that I could love Braxton again, as deeply as I once did.
I pull out my phone and search for Stephen’s number, so I can send him a text.
Me: Can we meet for lunch again tomorrow, or one day this week? I have two more charms for you to add to my bracelet.
I open my palm and smile down at the tiny fisherman in a boat, and the silver shooting star.