35. Braxton
Chapter 35
Braxton
I notice Jemma’s eyes constantly flickering towards the watch on my wrist as we eat breakfast at our home.
“Is that the watch you mentioned in the letter?” she finally asks.
“The one and only,” I answer, beaming. “Not a single day has passed that I haven’t worn it … except that week you stole it.”
“Hmm. Sorry about that,” she says with a cheeky smile, and I know by that look, she’s not sorry at all. She falls silent, shifting slightly in her seat. ‘What did I have engraved on the back?” she eventually asks. “You never mentioned that part in the letter.”
Her question has me grinning. I was hoping she’d ask. “You want to see it?”
“Please.”
The hopeful look on her face tugs at my heartstrings. As much as I hate what has become of us, reliving our past with her, and experiencing her reactions as she rediscovers everything for the first time, is priceless.
I unbuckle the watch from my wrist and pass it to her. She groans when she reads the inscription. ‘You are the tic in my toc’ .
“Oh god, that’s so cheesy. Did I actually write that crap?”
I have to stifle my laugh when her face turns bright red. “I think it’s sweet.”
“You do not. You’re just being polite. I’m surprised you even married me after that. I’m so lame.”
I bark out a laugh. “You’re far from lame. Every morning when I read it, it brings a smile to my face.”
“Probably one of humour.”
I chuckle as she passes the watch back to me, and I strap it to my wrist. “Not at all … I love being the tic in your toc.”
“Somebody kill me now,” she groans, throwing her head back and covering her face with her hands.
“Hey.” Reaching out, I uncover her pretty face. “If it’s any consolation, you’re the tic in my toc too. Always have been, and always will be,” I say with a wink, and I see the beginnings of a smile curve at her lips as she picks up her spoon.
“My father ended up staying over again last night,” she replies, changing the subject. “There’s no talk of him moving in yet, but I think it may be on the cards.”
“I hope so.”
“My mum has been practically floating around the house,” she adds, popping a spoonful of cereal into her mouth. What stands out for me in that sentence is she said, mum , not Christine. “I’ve never seen her so happy.”
“Love will do that to you.”
It’s around midday when I fold the piece of paper and place it in the envelope. I’m still in two minds about what I’ve included in the latter part of this letter, but in my heart, I think it’s something Jem would want to know. It was a terrible time for us both, but also a poignant moment in our relationship. I only hope that this memory doesn’t devastate her like it did in the past.
I add the small jewellery box and the tiny ring charm, and then carefully slide the image in alongside the letter.
Letter seventeen …
Dearest Jemma,
The sixth of July 2012. It was a Friday, and we’d both come home for the weekend. I kissed you goodbye in the driveway, as you headed inside to see your parents, and I went to my place to see my dad.
“I’m home, Pop!” I called out, walking through the front door.
A few seconds later, he came down the stairs and pulled me into a hug. “It’s good to see you, son. I wasn’t expecting you this weekend.”
“Jem and I thought we’d surprise you guys. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too. Come on, let me put the kettle on.”
“How have you been?” I asked as I sat at the kitchen table.
“I’m good. Really good. How’s school?”
“Great. I can’t believe I only have a few more months before I graduate.”
“Have you given any thought to where you want to work?”
“I’ve put in a few job applications already.”
I was torn. There was a huge part of me that wanted to work in my home town, but that meant I would have to leave you behind. You still had one more year of study to go.
“That’s great. I’m proud of how well you’re doing. I don’t think you’ll have any trouble finding a job.”
“How’s the shop going, Pop?” I asked as he placed a cup of coffee down in front of me before taking a seat.
He runs his fingers over his chin before he speaks. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. The council has rezoned the area as R4.”
“Oh, really? High-density residential.”
“I’ve already been approached by a few developers.”
“And what do you think? Are you interested in selling?”
Personally, I thought he’d given enough of his life to that store, but I knew I would support him if he decided not to sell.
“At first, I wasn’t interested, but the more I think about it, the more I’ve warmed to the idea. Mario’s already decided to sell the mechanic shop next door, and the garage across the road put a For Sale sign up a few days ago. Besides, I’ve got a lot more competition now, since that Bunnings went up in town.”
“What kind of money are you looking at? Have they made you an offer?”
He watched me take a sip of my coffee before he replied. “That’s the thing, they’ve offered me one-point-five million.”
I inhaled so sharply my coffee went down the wrong pipe and made me cough so heavily it sprayed all over the table—and on my father.
“Dollars?” I asked when I finally caught my breath.
He chuckled as he wiped the coffee from his face. “I know. I think I’d be stupid not to consider it. That’s more money than I could earn in a lifetime.”
“If it’s something you want to do, you know I’ll support you all the way. That kind of money could set you up for life.”
“It could set us both up. I’d like to give half to you.”
My eyes widen in disbelief. “No, Pop. It’s your money, you earned it. I’ll be out in the workforce soon. I can forge my own living.”
He had that determined look in his eyes when he replied. It was a look I knew well. “My mind’s made up, son. I’m going to call the developers in the morning.”
The tenth of September 2012. My father was a stubborn man. No amount of protest from me could stop him from doing what he wanted. Once he paid off the loan on the house, and the business, he walked away with eight hundred thousand dollars, half of which he gave to me. It still didn’t sit well with me, but he insisted.
I kept this from you, but not because I didn’t want you to know about the money. I had big plans for it, and I wanted to surprise you.
We’d again been home visiting this weekend, and I had no classes that Monday, so when you headed back to uni on Sunday night, I stayed behind. I told you I was helping my dad move the last of his things out of the store. It was a lie. We’d finished doing that the previous day.
Instead, my father and I went house hunting. Beachside house hunting, to be precise. It was your dream to live by the ocean, and I was determined to see that happen. Or at the very least, die trying.
The first few beachfront properties the real estate agent showed us were well out of my price range. I was a student, and although I had a huge chunk of the deposit, I only had a part-time job. Even with your father being the bank manager, I knew there was no chance of me getting finance.
The agent and my father tried to talk me into looking at property away from the ocean, but I was insistent. I didn’t want the beach to be five minutes away, or something glimpsed in the distance. I wanted it to be smack bang in your face. A place where you could step out of your back door and be on the sand.
By the end of the day, I was feeling disillusioned. I headed back to my father’s place to pack up my things. It appeared my surprise for you would have to wait.
As I loaded my backpack into the car and shook my father’s hand, my phone rang in my pocket. I’d expected to see your name on the screen, but it was the real estate agent.
“I think I’ve found your beachside property. The house is small, more like a shack, but the location is perfect and in your price range … it’s exactly what you were looking for.”
“When can I come and look at it?” I asked in an excited voice.
“The property is vacant, so right now, if you like.”
My pulse was racing as I jotted down the address. As soon as she mentioned the house was situated at number nineteen, in my heart I knew it was a sign … it was destined to become ours.
I bundled my dad into the car, and off we went. She wasn’t lying when she said it was a shack. It was a one-bedroom fibro house that had been built in the early forties. It desperately needed some TLC, but in a way, it was perfect. It meant when we could afford to, we’d be able to knock it down and build your dream house. I had already started drawing the plans for it.
The old man who’d lived there had recently passed away and his two sons were looking for a quick sale. The asking price was more than the four hundred thousand I had, but my father agreed to give me an interest-free loan for the rest until I got on my feet.
Apart from planning to go on a cruise, he was going to bank the money he had left from the sale. I guess when you’ve struggled financially for as long as he had, you don’t part with your fortune easily.
It was further down the beach than I originally would have liked, but that view … it was breathtaking. My heart raced just thinking about your reaction. I knew you were going to love it.
The twenty-ninth of November 2012. I’d now graduated, and uni was over for you for the year. With my new purchase in mind, I had moved back home temporarily and was putting all my efforts into finding local employment.
You cried when I told you of my plans, because it meant that we would be separated again.
“I thought you were going to look for work closer to campus so we could still see each other every day.”
“This wasn’t an easy decision for me, Jem,” I told you. “It makes sense. I don’t want to get settled in a job and have to leave in a year’s time when you graduate. I want us both to eventually settle back home. I want our kids to grow up in that area, just like we did.”
“Our kids?”
As soon as I mentioned kids, the tears stopped, and your face lit up with a huge smile.
I pulled you into my arms. “Yes, our kids. I’m going to marry you one day, Jemma Robinson, so of course there are kids in our future.”
For the time being, I seemed to have dodged a bullet, but I knew once you found out the real reason, you’d forgive me completely.
You’d spent the morning at the beautician with your mother, which gave me time to set everything up. Of course, your parents and my father were all in on this. They’d helped me immensely over the past few weeks.
Later that afternoon, I asked you if you wanted to go for a walk along the beach. I held your hand as we strolled along the shore.
“There’s something I want to show you,” I said, once we were close.
I led you across the sand towards the shack. Your parents and my father had helped me clean the place up. We’d given the interior and exterior a fresh coat of paint; the outside was now white, with blue trim around the windowsills. It was a long way from your dream house, but at least the colours and the location weren’t.
My dad had sanded back the wooden floors inside, before re-staining them. He’d even retiled some of the bathroom. He no longer had the store to go to, so he was grateful for something to do.
Your parents bought us a small sofa, a television, a bedroom suite, and all new appliances for our kitchen. Your mum had taken you shopping a few weeks earlier, under the false pretence of redecorating your bedroom at their house. She got you to pick out the colour scheme, as well as a rug, new linen and curtains.
“What are you doing?” you asked as we reached the back door.
“I said I had something to show you.”
“I know, but you can’t break into somebody’s house.”
“I have a key,” I said, pulling it out of my pocket and dangling it in front of you. “So, technically, I’m not breaking in.” Your face screwed up into a cute little frown as I unlocked the door. “Ladies first.”
Your head darted around to see if anyone was watching us, and I chuckled at the fact that you thought we were doing something illegal. I reached for your hand, guiding you through the doorway.
The place was tiny, so we only had to take a few steps down the hallway, past the kitchen on the right and laundry on the left, before entering the small lounge room. I’d organised for your mum to come to the house as soon as we’d left to go for our walk, to light the thirty-odd candles I’d placed strategically throughout the room.
“Braxton,” you gasped, halting. “What’s all this?”
“This is our new home. I bought it for you, Jem. It’s not much, but I promise you when I can afford it, I’ll build you your dream house.”
Your eyes widened, and your mouth gaped open, but before you had a chance to reply, I got down on one knee. “Almost seventeen years ago, I met an angel when she moved in next door. Over the months and years that followed, you became my life … the reason I look forward to waking up every day. I love you Jemma Isabella Rosalie Robinson. I always have, and I always will. You own my heart, my body and my soul … I wouldn’t be complete if you weren’t by my side. Say you’ll be my forever girl, Jem … marry me?”
You didn’t answer straight away, and although tears were streaming down your face, you were smiling. I saw you pinch yourself a few times as I waited for your reply.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m making sure I’m not dreaming.”
I chuckled. “You’re not dreaming Jem. This is all real. Now, are you going to answer me, or leave me hanging?”
You leaped towards me with such enthusiasm; you knocked me off balance and sent me tumbling to the floor. You landed on top of me and started raining kisses all over my face. “Of course I’ll marry you! There’s nobody else … there’ll never be anyone else but you.”
We spent our first night in the house together. I gave you a key but told you there was no pressure for you to move in straightaway.
“Are you going to live here?” you asked.
“Yes.”
“Then so am I. I want to be wherever my fiancé is.”
My heart swelled at your words.
The next morning we sat on the back step drinking our coffees. “I can’t believe this will be my view for the rest of my life,” you said.
“When I have enough money, I’m going to put a big deck off the back. We can sit out here every morning and have breakfast together.”
“That sounds magical,” you replied, resting your head on my shoulder. “I can’t believe you did all this for me.”
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make you happy, Jem.”
The eleventh of January 2013. I debated about whether to add this into the letter, but it’s a moment in your life that, although tragic, I’m pretty sure you’d want to know about.
It’s something you didn’t talk about a lot, but I found the image that I’ve enclosed with this letter taped inside the lid of the treasure box I made for you, so I know you looked at it often.
The previous six weeks had been perfect. We’d done more work to the interior and fixed up the yard. You’d added a small garden out the front. The place wasn’t much, but it was ours, and we loved it.
You still had another month before uni started back, and I’d finally landed a job—it was with a small architectural firm just outside of town—which I would start the following week.
I’d woken up this particular morning to find you vomiting in the bathroom. “Jem. Are you okay?”
“Ugh, I feel dreadful,” you replied.
You had a strong immune system and rarely got sick, so I was immediately concerned. When I found you like this, again, the following morning, I put you in the shower and once you were dressed, I took you straight to the doctor.
He said you’d probably picked up a virus, but took some blood just to be sure.
By the time we arrived back home, you said you were feeling a lot better, but I still made you go back to bed.
The next morning, I found you vomiting again. I called the doctor, and he said the results of your bloodwork should be back later that morning, and he would call us as soon as he had them.
The call came in just before midday. I sat on the side of the bed while you spoke with the doctor. I knew it wasn’t just a virus when I saw all the colour drain out of your face.
“What did he say?” I asked the minute you’d ended the call.
Your stunned eyes met mine. “He said I’m pregnant, Brax.”
I don’t know how long I sat there and stared at you, unable to speak, but I eventually reached out, pulling you into my arms. “You’re pregnant?” I could hear the shock in my voice when I spoke.
“It appears so.”
I drew back so I could see your face. “How do you feel about that?”
“Shocked … happy … shocked.” When I saw a smile tug at your lips, I smiled too.
“We’re going to be parents,” I stated in disbelief. This news would change everything, but I knew we could find a way to make it work.
“Yes,” you whispered as your smile widened.
We wanted this child because it was a product of our love.
The next day, we went back in to see the doctor. He gave us our options, but we assured him we wanted this baby, so he booked you in for an ultrasound later that afternoon to find out how far along you were.
You were almost seven weeks. They even gave us a small printout of the fetus, which was more like a tiny dot at that stage. There was a huge smile on your face as you stared at that image all the way home.
We decided to keep the news between us for a while, as we adjusted to the thought of becoming parents. I started looking around for weekend work because we were going to need the extra money.
Five days later, you woke me in the middle of the night. “Braxton, I don’t feel so good. I have bad cramps in my stomach.”
I sat up, turning on the lamp beside my bed. “What do you mean, you have cramps? Is that normal?”
“No. I think I need to go to the hospital.”
I jumped up in a panic and threw on a T-shirt and some sweatpants before moving to your side of the bed. When I pulled back the covers to help you up, I froze when I saw you were lying in a pool of blood.
I scooped you into my arms and practically ran to the car. You moaned loudly as I placed you down gently in the passenger seat. “You’re going to be okay, Jem,” I said. “I’ve got you.”
I tried to remain strong, but inside I was anything but. All I could think about was my mum, and how she’d gone to the hospital and never returned. I was scared for our baby, but I was terrified I was going to lose you.
When we arrived at the emergency department, they performed another ultrasound, and then gave us the devastating news: you had miscarried. An hour later, they wheeled you down the long corridor, towards the operating theatre for a curette.
I held myself together right until the very end, but the moment you disappeared through those doors, I completely broke down.
The next day, the doctor discharged you. You didn’t speak a single word from the time you woke that morning, nor on the drive home. I was so concerned. It was like a part of you had died along with our child. In a way, I guess it had.
You didn’t even protest when I carried you from the car into the house. There was no fight left in you, which only worried me more.
When we reached the bathroom, I helped you undress, then turned on the shower. I left you in there while I stripped and remade the bed. I put your bloodied pyjamas and the sheets straight into the washing machine.
You were out of the shower by the time I came back, so I helped dry you before slipping a nightgown over your head. I pulled back the covers on our bed, and you climbed in. You still hadn’t spoken a word, and I didn’t know what to say to you.
“Is there anything I can get you, Jem?”
“No,” you whispered.
I sat down on the side of the bed. “Are you sure you’re okay?” It was a stupid question, of course you weren’t.
You just shook your head, and as soon as I saw the tears rise to your eyes, I pulled my T-shirt over my head, slipped out of my sweats and climbed in beside you.
I pulled you into my arms. “When you’re ready, we can try again.”
The moment those words were out of my mouth, you began to sob. It made my already broken heart break a little more.
We stayed in bed for the rest of the day. We cried, we talked, and we cried some more. We shed tears for our loss, and for our child. For the first breath they would never take. For the long, full life they would never get to live. For the undying love we had to offer, that they’d never get to feel.
What we had is far too beautiful to be forgotten.
Yours always,
Braxton