Nineteen Letters

by Jodi Perry

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The Looter,’ she laughs. ‘Larry Wilson.’

  ‘No way,’ I say, sitting forward in my chair. ‘Where?’

  ‘He works at the burger place in town. Callaghan’s. He hasn’t changed much. He’s still as rude as ever.’

  I stare at her. ‘You remember him?’

  ‘Only from your letters,’ she replies. ‘He’s still fat, and he’s going bald.’

  ‘Jemma,’ Christine scolds. She looks at her mother briefly before focusing her attention back on me.

  ‘I don’t remember what his teeth were like at school, but they’re all rotten now. There’s horrible dark brown lines between each tooth,’ she says, leaning forward in her seat, bringing her body closer. ‘You’re never going to believe what I said to him.’

  I smile again when she places her hand over her mouth to muffle her laugh.

  ‘What did you say?’ I take a sip of my milky coffee, trying to mask my own amusement.

  ‘I told him he had mud in between his teeth,’ she whispers.

  I throw my head back and roar with laughter. That’s something I haven’t done in a very long time. It feels good.

  ‘How’s your dad?’ Jemma asks as I help her into the car.

  ‘He’s a little better today. He’s improved enough that the doctors are talking about discharging him tomorrow.’

  My night was spent by his bedside, and it was deja vu at its worst. It was only recently that I did the same thing with Jem. It really messed with my head … my world is slipping through my fingers and I’m powerless to stop it.

  ‘How come I’ve never met your parents?’ she asks as soon as I’m seated in the driver’s side. ‘When did they move?’

  ‘The house was sold a few years ago.’

  ‘Oh.’

  I hope that’s enough to quell her curiosity because I’m tired and pretty much frazzled with everything that’s going on. No good can come from dredging this up.

  ‘Where did they move to?’ she asks innocently. ‘Is it far away?’

  I breathe out slowly as I reverse out of my parking spot at the rehab centre. I guess we’re going to dredge it all up. ‘My mum died when I was eleven.’

  I keep my eyes trained on the road ahead, as I put on my indicator and turn into the street. It’s times like this that I need my old Jem the most. She always knew the right thing to say to comfort me. I never felt alone with her by my side because we faced everything together.

  ‘Oh, Braxton,’ she says, briefly placing her hand on my thigh. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I lean forward and turn up the volume on the radio. She takes the hint because she falls silent, but I can sense her eyes on me as we drive.

  As we near Christine’s place Jemma finally speaks again. ‘What do you know about my time in the country? Did I ever go back there?’

  Reaching over, I turn down the radio, relieved and keen to re-engage with her. ‘Yes, you went back often. Your grandparents lived in the same town up until they passed away. Your grandfather was a farmer. They owned an apple orchard.’

  ‘My grandparents died?’ she asks in a shocked tone.

  ‘Yes.’

  Suddenly I have to think about where this conversation might lead. It was such a dark period in all our lives. Her grandparents were great people, and a huge part of my life growing up. Their sudden deaths were a shock to us all. Part of me is glad that Jemma doesn’t remember. She took their deaths hard, but not as hard as Christine. This was a turning point for her, which created a huge domino effect in her life. Things were never the same after that.

  SIXTEEN

  Jemma

  My head is spinning by the time I get out of Braxton’s car. The questions I asked only seem to create more questions. He is usually the one initiating the conversation, but not today. Well, I hope that’s all it is. We seemed to be in a good place when he left last night, but there was definitely a shift in him this morning.

  I’m feeling somewhat flat when I enter the kitchen. Maybe Christine can answer some of the questions I have. What happened to his mum? And what about my grandparents?

  ‘I’m back,’ I say, when I see her bent over retrieving something out of the fridge.

  Straightening, she stands to full height. The moment she turns to face me, I can tell that something is off with her as well. The smile that usually greets me is gone.

  ‘I didn’t know your father was taking you to your appointment today.’

  I’m confused, is this an issue? ‘He called me yesterday,’ I start, but then pause when I see the frown working its way across her face. ‘I … umm … mentioned I’d caught a taxi, so he offered to drop me off today.’

  ‘Huh,’ she scoffs. ‘Well, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t invite him to come to this house. He’s not welcome here.’

  I’m taken aback by the venom in her voice. It’s obvious they have had problems, they’re no longer together, but I have no idea why. Stephen seems like a lovely man. I really like him. He’s gentle and kind, though he did look a bit sad when he asked how Christine was this morning.

  ‘Okay.’ I’ve seen her go through ups and downs since I’ve been living here, but this is the first time she’s ever been angry with me. Yesterday was a good day, and I felt better than I have since waking from my coma, but now I feel downright shitty.

  We usually sit down and eat lunch together, but I’ve suddenly lost my appetite. ‘I’ll be up in my room if you need me,’ I say, turning and heading towards the staircase. I wish I knew why she dislikes Stephen so much, but on the other hand maybe it’s better that I don’t.

  I’ve been locked away in my room for the better part of the day. My head is pounding as I lie on my bed and stare up at the ceiling. I think it’s a combination of stress and hunger, but I can’t seem to find the courage to venture downstairs to get something to eat. Logically I know I can’t stay up here forever; I’ve got to eat sooner or later. I just hope Christine has calmed down by then.

  I’m pulled from my thoughts by a knock on the door. ‘Jemma, it’s me.’ Her tone is softer than before. ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Yes,’ I reply, slowly sitting up. Part of me feels bad for walking away like I did. There’s obviously more to this situation than I know, but I’m yet to find the courage to ask her what happened.

  She opens my bedroom door and I’m relieved when I see a smile on her face. ‘I thought you might be hungry since you missed lunch. I’m sorry about earlier.’ She approaches the bed and passes me a plate with a sandwich on it. ‘A lot went on between me and your father.’ I shift over slightly when she sits down beside me. ‘I shouldn’t have got angry at you. I know you don’t remember any of it.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say, placing my hand on her leg. ‘I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have brought him here if I knew it was going to upset you. What happened between you two? You obviously loved each other once.’

  Her whole body seems to shrink at my question, and sadness washes over me. ‘Your father was the love of my life … I thought I was his as well.’

  ‘What happened to change that?’ I ask tentatively.

  ‘He broke my heart.’ I see tears rise to her eyes before she turns her face away.

  ‘I’m sorry he did that to you.’

  I have so many more questions, but I feel like now is not the time to ask them.

  ‘Eat your sandwich,’ she says, rising from the bed. ‘You must be starving.’ She pauses when she gets to the doorway. ‘Oh, I almost forgot, this just arrived for you.’

  A smile tugs at my lips when she removes a letter from the pocket of her trousers.

  LETTER FOUR …

  Dearest Jemma,

  The first portion of this letter is more of a confession than a memory. This is something I’ve never spoken about, not even to you. It’s a burden I’ve carried for almost fifteen years, and maybe it’s time I come clean.

  The eighteenth of July 2000. I don’t re
member a lot of what had gone on during that day, but I do remember my mum hadn’t been feeling well. When she tucked me into bed that night, she bent over to kiss me.

  ‘Sweet dreams,’ she whispered as she ran her hand over my forehead. It was something she said to me every night.

  ‘Night, Mumma,’ I replied. ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you too, sweet boy.’

  She smiled briefly, but then her face screwed up like she was in pain. I quickly sat up when she placed her hand on her lower abdomen.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘It’s just a little pain,’ she replied, brushing it off. ‘I’m fine, sweetheart.’

  Her words were enough to ease my worry and I quickly drifted off to sleep. It was just after midnight when my father came into my room to wake me.

  ‘Braxton,’ he said. ‘You need to get up, son.’ I was so tired and sleepy; I groaned and rolled over onto my side. ‘Braxton,’ he repeated, a little sterner this time. ‘Your mother isn’t well. I’m going to take her to the hospital.’

  ‘I don’t want to get up,’ I whined. ‘I’m tired.’

  ‘Please, son. Your mother’s in a lot of pain.’ My father was a very patient man, and rarely lost his temper with me. ‘If you don’t want to come to the hospital, I can phone the Robinsons and see if they’ll watch you until we return. Come downstairs once you’re dressed.’

  He left the room and I did something incredibly selfish: I fell back to sleep. I’m not sure how much time had passed, but this time I was woken by my father screaming. ‘Braxton, get out of bed now!’ He threw back the covers and tugged on my arm. ‘I told you to get up and get dressed. Your poor mother’s in agony.’

  This time I didn’t hesitate. I could tell by the tone of my father’s voice that he was very concerned for my mother.

  When I got downstairs I found her doubled over in pain. She was moaning loudly, and that’s when the panic set in. I’d never seen her like this before.

  ‘Mumma!’ I cried as I ran over to her at the front door. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’ll be fine, baby,’ she replied breathlessly, forcing out a smile. But the terrified look in her eyes told me she was far from fine. It was the middle of winter, but her blonde curls were glued to her forehead from the perspiration.

  ‘Come, Grace,’ my father said sweetly, placing his arm around her. ‘Let me get you in the car.’ She only made it down the first step when a blood-curdling moan ripped from her mouth. ‘Oh dear god,’ my father muttered as he scooped her into his arms and dashed towards the car. ‘Go next door, son; the Robinsons are expecting you. They’ll take care of you until we get home.’

  Just as my father said that, the porch light came on at your house. Your father emerged wearing a striped robe over his pyjamas, but I just stood there, paralysed with fear.

  The next few minutes were a blur.

  ‘I love you, Mumma!’ I called out, as my father bundled her into the car.

  ‘She’s going to be okay,’ your father said from beside me, placing his hand on my shoulder. It startled me because I hadn’t realised he was standing there. My eyes were fixed on the car as my dad screeched out of the driveway and sped down the street. I remember I was fighting back the tears as your father led me towards your house. ‘Christine is making you up a bed on the couch.’

  I wasn’t able to fall back to sleep, I’d been too worried about my mum. I was watching the time on the VCR tick over to 3.56am when I heard my father’s car pull up next door. Although I had been awaiting his return, I felt sick inside. It’s like a part of me knew that my life was about to change forever.

  The hall light came on a few seconds after he knocked on your front door, and I just lay there, too afraid to move. I saw your father sliding his arms into his robe as he entered the hallway, your mother following closely behind.

  ‘How’s Grace?’ she asked the moment they let my dad in. I had a clear line of sight from where I lay, and the blank stare on his face when he came into view is one I’ll never forget.

  He shook his head before he spoke, and I saw your mother’s hand fly up to cover her mouth. ‘Her appendix ruptured before we arrived at the hospital. They rushed her into theatre, but she didn’t make it … she died on the operating table.’

  I heard your mother’s loud gasp moments before my father fell to his knees. My own tears silently fell as he covered his face with his hands and started to sob. It was the first and only time I have ever seen him cry.

  This is the reason I turned up the radio this morning. This is a time in my life that’s too painful to revisit. If only I had got out of bed when my father had first asked me, they might have made it to the hospital in time, and maybe she’d still be alive today.

  To this day, just thinking about her hurts. I miss her so much. She was only thirty-three; far too young and beautiful to die.

  There are another two pages of the letter, but at this stage I have to put it down. I can no longer see the words through my own tears. My heart breaks for the little boy he once was, and for what his family went through. The fact that he has carried around this guilt for all these years makes me feel incredibly sad. Leaning over, I pluck two tissues out of the box on my bedside table.

  I wipe my eyes and move to the white desk that sits underneath the window. My fingers grip the back of the chair as I stare at the house next door; the place where he and his family used to live. I find myself wondering about his father and why he doesn’t live there anymore. Did he remarry after his wife’s death?

  I grab my handbag and rummage through it, looking for my phone. I have so many questions and so much I want to say to Braxton in this moment. I press the button on the side of the handset, bringing it to life. Opening the messages app, I find only one text in the list, from Braxton. It says, Test; he sent it when he was giving me a rundown on how the phone works. Clicking on that, I type a reply. I’m so sorry about what happened to your mum.

  I press send. I don’t know what else to say to him, but I want him to know that I am sorry. Truly sorry. I wish I could find words deep enough to ease his pain.

  I’m startled a few seconds later when my phone dings with a reply. Thank you. I shouldn’t burden you with my problems, and I’m ashamed that it has taken me so long to come clean. I feel somewhat lighter for finally speaking the truth.

  I respond quickly, without having to think much about my reply; it’s just how I feel. I’m thankful you chose to share it with me, it took a lot of courage. You shouldn’t hold yourself responsible for her death. It was just one of those unfortunate things. You were just a kid, Braxton.

  His message comes through seconds later. It means a lot that you’d say that.

  It’s the truth. I really want to hug you right now.

  There is silence for nearly a minute before my phone beeps. You do?

  Yes. And it’s true.

  I could really go one of your hugs, he writes. You give the best kind. I’m in the middle of an important meeting at work, and then I’m heading back to the hospital, but can I get a raincheck for the morning?

  I find myself grinning at his reply, and I’m actually looking forward to tomorrow so I can hug him. I want to ask him what he does for work, but he’s in a meeting, so I don’t. I feel selfish for not knowing these things about him.

  I’m sorry to bother you at work. Enjoy the rest of your day. I’m going to go and finish reading the rest of your letter.

  He writes back immediately. You could never be a bother. Hearing from you has made my day. I’m sitting here in the boardroom with a ridiculous smile on my face, and Lucas is giving me a strange look. Message me any time of the day or night. I’ll always be available for you, Jem. Always.

  My smile widens. Thank you. I appreciate you saying that. I’ll see you tomorrow.

  I’m looking forward to it, and my hug.

  Although I can’t see my own face, I’m pretty sure I’m wearing the same ridiculous smile.

&n
bsp; I walk back towards my bed, placing my phone down on the bedside table. There’s a fluttery feeling in my stomach that I’ve never experienced before.

  I eat my sandwich before reading the rest of the letter. I’m famished, and I need a few minutes to compose myself.

  The death of my mother, and the long hours my father worked, meant I spent a lot more time at your house. Your mother had offered to help my dad out wherever she could. In the months that followed, he pretty much fell apart, and seeing him like that only intensified my guilt.

  That’s where your mother stepped in. She basically took care of me like I was her own. There was many a night that she sat up late with me and held me while I cried. She went above and beyond, and I’ll forever love her for that. Your parents had always been fantastic with me, but in the years that followed you all became my family. I’m not sure how my father and I would have survived without your family’s support.

  The third of January 2002. It was summer and we were on school holidays. I’d met your grandparents when they came to the city to visit your family, but this was my first time staying on their farm in the country. Ma and Pa was what you called them, and eventually I did too.

  Your grandparents, Albert and Isabella Griggs, were two of the nicest, most genuine people I’ve ever met. I grew to love them very much over the years.

  You adored them, as they did you. You were their only grandchild and were affectionately known as their little Jem-Jem. Pa used to say that you were the apple of his eye, which used to make us laugh because he was an apple farmer. He had more than two hundred apple trees in his orchard. He would hire pickers around harvest time, but he used to pay us a few dollars each to pick up the apples that had fallen from the trees. With the money we earned we would ride our bikes to the corner shop in town and buy ice-creams and lollies.

  You’d beg Pa to let us climb the ladders like the other workers, but he wouldn’t hear of it. It was rare for him to say no to you, especially when you’d pout your bottom lip and stare up at him with your big brown eyes, but he wouldn’t budge on this. You weren’t happy about that, but he only said no because he didn’t want us to get hurt. I on the other hand was relieved.