by Jodi Perry
‘We have a nice twenty-five-year-old bottle of Chivas Regal,’ the bartender says, placing it down in front of us. ‘It’s six hundred dollars.’ Lucas doesn’t even flinch. He wasn’t wrong when he said the good stuff. We splurged on a bottle that was a fraction of that price the day we opened our company, but we were just starting out then, so there wasn’t a lot of cash. We’d thrown everything we had into getting it up and running. The bottle went four ways because Jemma and Rachel were both there to help us celebrate. I chuckle to myself when I think of that night. Jemma is such a lightweight, and after two glasses she was drunk. She’s been by my side for every celebration, every milestone since we were kids. It seems unjust not having her here.
Lucas passes the bartender our company credit card and pours a small amount into each glass. ‘To our continued success,’ he says, holding his glass in the air.
I raise my glass and clink it with his before chugging down the smooth, ridiculously expensive amber liquid. Maybe a few more of these will help me get in the celebratory mood because right now it’s the last thing I feel like doing.
A few scotches in and I feel myself starting to relax, but my faux pas with Jemma is still at the forefront of my mind.
‘So, tell me,’ Lucas says, refilling my glass again, ‘what’s got you so down? Apart from the obvious, of course.’
I shrug, bringing the glass to my mouth so I don’t have to answer him. I don’t want to burden him with my worries. He’s got enough on his plate trying to single-handedly run our company.
‘Hey, this is me,’ he says, placing his hand on my shoulder. ‘There’s nothing you can’t say to me. I know how hard this is, and I’m worried about you. If you keep going on like this …’ His words drift off, but I already know what he was going to say, It’s only a matter of time before you break.
If I allowed myself to give in to the darkness that’s crying out to me from deep within, then yes, I would; but that’s the thing—I won’t let it take over. I refuse to let this beat me. To beat us.
I throw back my scotch before placing the glass back down on the bar. The truth is, I need to talk to someone. I’m struggling trying to be the strong one. I can’t be that person tonight. I feel like everything I hold dear is slipping through my fingers: my wife, my dad. My world is crumbling around me and I don’t know how to make it stop.
‘I’ve been writing Jem letters.’
I half expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t. He’s always given me a hard time about the depth of love I have for that woman. He doesn’t understand, not yet. One day someone’s going to come along and bring him to his knees. He won’t know what hit him.
‘What kind of letters? Like, love letters? Don’t you think that’s coming on pretty strong under the circumstances?’
‘They’re not really love letters. Well, they kind of are. They’re letters about our life. How we met. That kind of thing.’
‘Did she read them?’
‘I’ve only written her two so far, but yes she has.’
‘And? I feel like I’m missing something here. That’s a good thing, right?’
‘Yes, and I think they’re helping. She was starting to open up to me.’ I exhale a long breath before continuing. ‘But this morning I screwed up. I told her I loved her. And I think it freaked her out.’
‘Oh.’
‘“Oh” is right. She withdrew again after that. After her physio she said she was tired and wanted to go straight home. She didn’t say a word the whole way, she just stared out the window like she used to do.’
Lucas stares down into his drink, taking it all in before speaking again. ‘I get that it’s hard for you to hold back when you still feel so much, but put yourself in her shoes. She probably just felt awkward. What did you expect her to do, tell you she loved you too?’
‘No … Yes … I don’t know. I just want things to be the way they used to be.’
‘I know you do, you poor bastard. I want that for you too, but things may never be that way again. I hate to be the bad guy here, but you need to prepare yourself for that.’ I feel my shoulders slump as my gaze moves to the floorboards. Logically I know he’s right, but it’s still like a kick to the guts. I want to believe that one day everything will be the way it used to be. I have to believe that. ‘You just need to find your new normal.’
I want the old normal, I ache for it.
‘What if I don’t ever get her back? How am I supposed to deal with that?’
‘You’ll deal with it the same way you always have. Just like you did when your mum died, or when your father got sick, or when Jem first had her accident. You just will. You’re not a quitter, Spencer. You know that just as much as I do. You’ll never give up.’
TWELVE
Jemma
‘You girls stacked the dishwasher, so let me do the rest of it,’ Christine says, gesturing with her hand for us to leave the kitchen. This place is still a long way from feeling like home, but I’m beginning to feel comfortable here.
‘You cooked us a lovely dinner, so it’s only fair that we clean up,’ Rachel replies. ‘It’s a few pots … Jemma and I can do them.’
I’m grateful that she’s always pushing me. Everyone else walks on eggshells when they’re around me, but not Rachel. Although she is no longer staying here at the house, she has been coming over daily.
She arrives early afternoon because she knows I have rehab in the mornings and a lie-down after lunch. She uses that time to catch up on her work, and then Christine always insists she stay for dinner. I’m starting to like having her around. I enjoy her company, and I can easily see how we were once friends.
‘I insist. Now go and watch some TV or something. You heard me, shoo.’ We both laugh when Christine flicks the tea towel at us. I’ve learned that there’s no point arguing with Christine when her mind is made up. I’ll never win. She’s as stubborn as all hell.
‘Do you want to go up to my room?’
‘Your room?’ Rachel’s eyes widen. ‘Of course.’ The pure elation I see on her face from a simple invitation to come and hang out in my bedroom has that ever-present guilt stirring inside me. I glance over my shoulder at Christine as we leave the kitchen, and find her smiling after us. I think in our own way, we’re all adjusting to this as best we can. ‘You seem to be managing these stairs well now.’
The first day I got here, Rachel and Christine had to practically carry me up to my room. Christine had initially wanted to set up a temporary bed for me in the lounge room, but I craved the sanctuary of my own room.
‘The physio and hydrotherapy have really helped.’
‘I’m glad.’
She follows me into my room, and I gesture for her to sit on my bed. There’s nowhere else. The lounge room probably would have been a better option, but I have my reasons for inviting her up here. I need someone to talk to, and Christine is too emotionally invested to give the kind of advice I need.
Rachel, on the other hand, seems like a straight shooter, and I’m yearning for an unbiased opinion on this awkward situation. I don’t know how to handle this without hurting Braxton more than I already have.
‘Braxton told me he loves me today,’ I say as we take a seat.
A sad expression crosses her face. ‘Really? And that made you feel …’
‘Uncomfortable.’
‘Poor guy. Oh, don’t get me wrong,’ she says, holding her hands up in front of her, ‘I feel for you as well … for both of you. I can understand how it would make you feel uncomfortable, but you’ve got to remember that those feelings are still well and truly alive for him. You were his life.’
‘I know.’ My gaze moves down to my lap. ‘Everything’s such a mess. Hopefully one day we’ll both find some normality again.’
‘You may not want to hear this, but you loved him just as deeply once. I envied what you guys had. I’m pretty sure everyone who knows you did. Together you were … spectacular.’ She ends her sentence with a sigh, which only enhances her word
s.
We fall quiet. I have no reply, and she probably doesn’t know what else to say.
‘Do you have a boyfriend?’ I ask, trying to divert the conversation away from me. She’s supposed to be my best friend, so it feels weird that I don’t know that already.
‘Nope. I don’t have time for relationships.’ My eyes scan her dark hair, her face; her almond-shaped hazel eyes, her delicate facial features, her flawless skin. I mean I really study it. I’ve done the same thing with Braxton, and my parents. I’m always on the lookout for a sign, a flicker … anything. Each time I experienced exactly what I’m feeling now: absolutely nothing. It’s like looking at a stranger, someone I might not even recognise if I passed them on the street. Will they ever feel familiar to me again?
‘That’s silly,’ I say with amusement in my voice. ‘You spend your days sitting around here, it’s not like you’re time poor.’
‘When I’m in New York working, I am. My job is demanding and doesn’t really allow time for a personal life.’
‘That’s sad. Braxton mentioned you worked overseas. What is it you do again?’
I see sadness and disappointment flash through her eyes before her gaze moves down to the comforter on my bed. I study her hands as she traces a figure-eight pattern with her finger. It’s the same look I get from everyone when I simply can’t remember. ‘I’m a fashion designer. We used to joke that when we were finished uni you would make the interior of people’s homes beautiful, and I was going to do the same for the occupants …’
Her words drift off when she realises that the joke is now lost on me.
‘Tell me about us—about our friendship. How did we meet?’
Her gloomy expression is quickly replaced with a smile. If I can’t remember these people, maybe it’s time I let them remind me.
‘We met through the university. We’d both applied for off-campus accommodation, and we were assigned as roommates. We clicked from day one …’
Just because I’ve been stand-offish with Braxton the past few days doesn’t mean I haven’t been eager to ask him more questions, or enthusiastic to receive another letter. I really hope there’s one on its way. They’ve sparked a curiosity in me. A thirst for knowledge. I wasn’t sure I would like being reminded of my past, but the more I find out, the more I need to know. Who is the real me? What was I like? All I know is the shell I’ve become.
Things have been off with Braxton. He’s still his sweet, gentlemanly self, but he has pulled back from me. It’s funny, because there were times in the beginning that I wished he would stop trying to communicate with me, but now that he’s not, I don’t like it. I miss his meaningless chatter.
‘Your splint?’ I bet the smile I see on Braxton’s face is mirrored in my own. He stands from where he was seated in the reception area, and closes the distance between us. My slight limp is still present, but the physio said in time it should go.
‘I’m so glad to be rid of it,’ I say as I look down at my feet. I’ve been carrying my spare sandal in my handbag all week, hoping each time I come here it would be the day I was rid of that damn thing for good.
My right leg appears to be slightly thinner than my left one, or maybe it just looks that way because it’s lighter in colour. I’m glad the dress I’m wearing is long enough to cover the hideous scars. My body is riddled with them. My arm, my hip … the side of my face. They’re a constant reminder of the accident. An accident I don’t even remember having.
I can deal with those, though. It’s the scars on the inside that I’m not sure about.
‘He said my leg has healed well, so I don’t need it anymore. I’ll still need ongoing physio, but it feels good to be finally free of it.’
‘That’s great news.’ His arms reach towards me before pausing mid-air. When he takes a step back and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, I know he was about to hug me but thought better of it.
‘I was wondering,’ I say as we walk towards his car, ‘does your offer to show me the beach still stand? I’d love to go when you have time.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
The happiness I see on his face makes my heart smile. I don’t want things to be so weird between us. The last thing I want to do is hurt him. I’d like to work at being friends, but that’s all I can offer him at this stage.
‘Do you feel up to going now?’
‘Yes! I’d love to.’
When I see the sand dunes between some of the properties we pass, I feel a tinge of excitement, knowing we’re so close.
‘All the houses on your side of the street back onto the ocean,’ he says, like he just read my train of thought.
‘They’re beautiful.’
He slows down and I use the opportunity to eye off each property as we pass. I can tell by the sheer size of some of the houses that it would cost a pretty penny to live in this area. They feel too fancy for my taste, which is ridiculous because I don’t even know what my taste is.
Further down the street, a white two-storey weatherboard house catches my eye. It’s not as opulent as some of the other houses in the street, but I’ve already decided it’s my favourite so far. It has character and an old-world charm, but a modern feel to it as well. The contrast of the white weatherboard and the sky-blue shutters and trim around the windowpanes suits the beach location beautifully, and the whole thing is topped off by a white picket fence along the front of the property.
All thoughts of that house are soon forgotten when Braxton pulls over to the side of the road in front of a small wooded area.
‘There’s a narrow track through the bush that leads to the beach. That’s how we used to get down there when we were kids. Do you want to check it out?’
My seatbelt is off and my fingers are already wrapped around the door handle before he’s finished speaking. ‘Yes.’
‘Let me get the door for you,’ he says, quickly removing his own seatbelt. I’m quite capable of opening my own door, but at the same time I find it sweet that he always insists on doing it. I’ve noticed he does it for Christine when she’s in the car as well.
My eyes follow him as he walks around the front of the vehicle. Dare I say he really is handsome? His good looks stood out to me the moment I opened my eyes in the hospital. There is something about his big blue eyes, and the way he looks at me that’s just … comforting.
I grab hold of his hand as he helps me out of the car. I like the way my hand fits inside his; it feels safe.
His mood has lifted since I suggested coming here, and that pleases me. ‘This way,’ he says. He lets go of my hand and gestures towards the walking track that has been worn into the grassy dune. I’ll admit, I felt a twinge of disappointment the moment he let go.
We walk quietly beside each other; the only sounds are the crunch of the dry leaves under the weight of our shoes, and the distant echo of the ocean. I use this time to take a deep breath, inhaling the salty freshness in the air. I look up to watch the green foliage of the trees above, as the leaves dance in the breeze. I can already feel myself relaxing.
The ground becomes softer, and the track widens slightly as we reach the end. The sudden brightness from the sun reflecting off the sand has me squinting.
We come to a stop and I give my vision a moment to adjust to the wide open space now before us. ‘Here we go,’ Braxton says.
I find myself holding my breath as my gaze travels across the sand towards the crashing waves. An unfamiliar warm feeling bubbles up inside me as my eyes take it all in. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I whisper. I’m not even sure if beautiful does it justice, but I already know I love this place.
I’m not sure how long I stand there and stare, mesmerised, out at the horizon but it’s a while. Eventually I manage to tear my eyes away from the beauty before me and seek out Braxton. There’s a huge smile on his face as he watches me. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it again. ‘No reas
on,’ he says with a shrug. My eyes focus on the cute dimple that forms on his left cheek when he gives me a nervous grin. ‘It’s just nice to see you smile.’
I know there was more to that look, but I don’t push it. The last thing I want is to make things awkward between us again.
‘Can we walk down towards the water?’
He usually goes to work after he drops me back at Christine’s, but I’m not ready to leave this place yet. I like how it makes me feel.
‘Of course.’ He lifts one leg up and slides the shoe from his foot, followed by his sock. I can’t help but notice that he has lovely feet. He goes about removing his other shoe and sock, so I slowly lower myself until I’m sitting on the sand. I’m grinning as I pull my leg back towards my chest. It shows how far I’ve come since the accident. I couldn’t do this a month ago.
Once I’ve removed my sandals, I place them beside me and wriggle my toes in the sand. Braxton bends over and rolls up the bottom of his jeans before helping me to my feet.
‘Thank you.’ I go to retrieve my shoes, but he stops me.
‘Just leave them there. We can collect them on our way back to the car.’
We make our way down to the water and I gasp when a small wave rolls in and the cold water laps over my feet. I love how the wet sand feels squished between my toes.
‘Do you feel up to a walk along the beach?’
‘Yes,’ I reply eagerly. I want to drag out my time here as long as I can. For a woman who doesn’t know where she belongs, a part of me feels at home here.
‘Great. There’s a rock pool a little further down that I’d love to show you.’
‘Lead the way.’
We walk in silence, but it’s in no way uncomfortable. In fact, it feels totally natural to be here with him.
I watch as he reaches down and picks up a stick from the sand. A few seconds later he tosses it out into the water. ‘I’m thinking of getting a dog,’ he says. ‘It gets lonely in the house on my own. I think it’ll be good company for me.’
‘That’s a great idea.’ I don’t know what else I can say. I feel sad for him, but I can’t live with him. Not now.