by Jodi Perry
Well, I think I do. It seemed easy enough when he walked me through it.
‘Call me if there’s a problem. I mean it, Jem.’
‘Okay.’ I already know I won’t. I’m an adult, and like Rachel continually reminds me, I need to start living like one. ‘I hope your father’s going to be okay.’
‘Thank you, so do I.’
‘Bye.’
‘Bye, Jem. Good luck today.’
Christine takes the phone from my hand, hanging it back on the wall. ‘Braxton’s really having a rough time lately. I feel for him, and poor John. He was always such a lovely man. Life hasn’t been very kind to him.’
I know the rough time she mentioned includes what I’m putting him through. I’m sure she didn’t say that to hurt me, but her comment stings nevertheless.
‘I’m going to run up to my room and get my phone. Braxton said the taxi will be here soon.’
‘Okay, sweetheart. I’ll just finish packing the dishwasher. It will only take me a few minutes to change.’
‘Why do you need to change?’
‘I’m not wearing this old thing to your appointment.’
‘You don’t have to come with me.’
‘I’m not letting you go on your own.’
‘Braxton said the taxi will drop me off and pick me back up. I’ll be fine. I’m not a child.’
I’m not a hundred per cent comfortable with the idea of doing this on my own, but there’s also a part of me that wants to try. It’s the push I need. It’s time I started to stand on my own two feet. I can’t keep relying on everyone else for the rest of my life. I’ve disrupted their lives enough.
‘Are you ready for your taxi, Mrs Spencer?’ Olivia asks when I re-enter the reception area. ‘Your husband has already called twice. It’s sweet how much he cares about you.’
I smile courteously instead of replying. I’m not going to correct her; my personal business is my own. Technically he is my husband, on paper anyway. She must presume we’re still a couple because he’s here with me every day.
But she’s right, he is sweet. Braxton, Christine, Stephen and Rachel have all been wonderful. Although I haven’t seen Stephen since I moved in with Christine. It’s clear my parents aren’t very fond of each other, and I’m curious to know why.
I glance towards the exit. Despite my initial misgivings, I’ve enjoyed the independence today has brought, and I want to make the most of the limited freedom I have. It took all my strength to talk Christine out of coming with me. She can be very persistent. It’s not that I didn’t want her with me, it’s more that I wanted to challenge myself. I know Rachel will be proud of me for going it alone.
‘Umm … I think I might have a look around town while I’m here. Is that okay?’
‘Of course. Just come back when you’re ready and I’ll organise the taxi for you.’
‘Thank you, Olivia.’
‘It’s no problem, Mrs Spencer. Marcy’s Boutique has a great little sale on at the moment.’
I nod and smile at her as I sling my handbag over my shoulder. I feel a mixture of excitement and nerves as I walk through the automatic doors and out onto the street. The curious side of me has wanted to explore this area, I’m not even sure why. I guess every new experience is a discovery and a step towards finding the new me. The way I look at it, I have two choices: I can wallow away in self-pity, or I can start to live again. I choose to live. I’m scared for what my future holds, but I’ve been through too much to just give up.
I let the heat of the midday sun hit my skin. It’s an exquisite autumn day, and I suddenly feel grateful to be alive. That in itself says so much. It wasn’t that long ago I wished I had perished in that accident. Those first few weeks were a dark time for me, but now I’m finally starting to see the light.
I feel my lips curve into a smile as I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with air. Today would be a perfect day to sit on the beach, but it’s on the other side of town, and though my leg is improving every day, I’m in no shape to walk such a long distance. I’m confident that I will be in time.
When I round the corner to the main street, I mill in with the rest of the crowd. It doesn’t take long for the sea of faces heading towards me to get my blood pumping to the point that I have to keep telling myself not to panic, that I can do this. I have to do this.
I walk another ten or so metres before it almost becomes too much. What if I pass someone I should know but no longer do? What if they stop me? What do I say? All these questions and more swim around in my head. I thought I was ready to tackle this head-on, but I’m obviously not.
I weave through the mass of people until I emerge into a small clearing. Leaning my back against a wall, I take a few deep breaths. I was stupid to think that I could jump in head first. What I need is a plan of attack.
I dig through my bag, looking for my phone. After turning it on, I stare at the screen as I wait for it to come alive. When it does, I see it’s 12.17pm. On cue my stomach growls. All the hydrotherapy I do certainly works up my appetite, and Christine usually has a sandwich waiting for me when I arrive back from the physio. Ham, cheese and lettuce has been my sandwich of choice ever since I read Braxton’s letter.
My gaze moves to the left as I scope out the shops ahead. I see a small alfresco dining area further down, so I head in that direction. Christine stuffed a fifty-dollar note into my pocket before I left the house. Just in case of an emergency, she’d said.
Like Braxton, she’s very good to me. I might not remember my life with them but I do appreciate the care they’ve shown me. I know how lucky I am to have them. I’d hate to think where I’d be without their support.
When I reach the restaurant, I read the neon sign above the entryway: Callaghan’s Burger and Grill. I can’t remember what a burger even tastes like, or whether I even like them, but the delicious aroma coming from inside is enough to make my stomach growl again.
With that in mind, I make a conscious decision to go in. Today is a day of discovery, so I’m going to try a burger and find out for myself.
Once inside, I scan the décor. This place isn’t fancy, but it appears to be clean. The bright lime-green walls are the first thing to draw my attention. It’s not the greatest colour, but with the large strategically placed black-and-white prints, and the black wooden tables and chairs, it works well.
The uncertainty creeps in again as I look around the restaurant for some kind of clue as to what to do. There are some people already seated, but there’s also a woman and a young couple standing in front of the counter. Relief floods me when I spot a sign that says, Please order and pay before being seated.
Moving forward, I come to a stop behind the couple ordering. The menu board stretches across the back wall, and the vast array of choices overwhelms me. I’m so engrossed in making a decision, I don’t notice when the couple pay for their order and take a seat at one of the tables.
‘Next,’ the male server says in an abrupt tone. My eyes meet his briefly as I step towards the counter, and I’m surprised by the annoyance I see on his face. When my gaze fixes on the menu once more, the panic I felt earlier rushes back and grows as I desperately try to make a decision. When he impatiently clears his throat, my eyes dart back to him.
‘Umm …’
‘Come on, lady, I don’t have all day.’
‘Can I … umm … get …’ My words drift off.
‘Can you … umm … get what?’ he repeats mockingly. His rudeness has me on the verge of tears. I open my mouth to tell him I’ve changed my mind about placing an order, when an elderly gentleman approaches. The friendly smile on his face has a slight calming effect on me.
‘Is there a problem here, Mr Wilson?’ The mention of that name sparks something within me, and now I find myself staring at the man before me.
‘Nope, no problem,’ the server replies with a smile. This must be his boss, because his bad attitude instantly vanishes.
The elderly gentleman nods his head in app
roval and smiles at me once more before walking away. I want to call out that everything isn’t okay, and his employee is a complete jerk, but I don’t. Instead I focus again on Mr Wilson. That name is so familiar. Why? And then it hits me. Larry ‘The Looter’ Wilson. It couldn’t be. I seek out the name badge on his shirt and can’t help but stare when I see the name LARRY engraved in bold black letters.
My eyes scan his face as my mind races. How many twenty-something Larry Wilsons with a bad attitude can there be? He’s tall, just like Braxton had said, and around my age; it has to be him. That thought has my pulse racing. I see nothing recognisable as I study his chubby face. His receding hairline only makes his face look even rounder.
He opens his mouth to speak and I notice his teeth are stained brown and appear to be rotting. This guy has nothing going for him in the looks department, and his personality certainly leaves a lot to be desired.
Braxton’s story gives me the courage to lean forward into Larry’s space. It may be around twenty years too late, but I presume I never got the chance to wreak my revenge for what he did to me, and for the trouble he caused Braxton. I feel compelled to put him in his place.
I raise my hand towards my mouth and glide my fingertip over my front teeth. ‘You have some mud stuck in between your teeth,’ I whisper, trying my hardest to remain serious. His eyes narrow as he looks hard at me, clearly confused. ‘Just there.’ I run my finger over my teeth once more. ‘Mud … in your teeth.’
His eyes widen, and his face turns a bright shade of red. ‘It’s not mud,’ he snaps.
I stop fighting my smile now. It’s funny, a few minutes ago I was on the verge of tears and now I’m struggling to contain my laughter. If it wasn’t for the letters from Braxton I never would have known the significance of this moment. Words can’t even express how grateful I am for that, or how satisfying this moment feels.
‘Crazy bitch,’ he mumbles under his breath as I turn and head towards the exit. His nasty comment doesn’t get under my skin, even though that word—crazy—is pretty close to home for me right now.
Instead I feel enlightened, and extremely proud of myself. It’s clear the hate Larry Wilson carried around when he was a kid has followed him into adulthood. It’s sad, but in a way it’s a huge wake-up call for me. It only reiterates everything I’ve been feeling lately. I need to let go of this anger and resentment I’m carrying around. I don’t want it to destroy me.
I may have lost my past, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a wonderful future. I have the power to not only reinvent myself, but to write my own ending.
FIFTEEN
Braxton
‘Son,’ 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 does have 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 find myself smiling 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 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. 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 in turn 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’m not going to 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 happened to bring 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 okay.’
Christine watches me for a moment and smiles softly; she understands that 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 has 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.