by Jodi Perry
I was out in the backyard helping your father fill up a drink tub with ice when you came through the back sliding doors onto the patio.
‘Braxton, you’re getting ice everywhere,’ he said, but his words didn’t register. I was completely mesmerised by you. There was never a moment that I hadn’t thought you were beautiful, but this was the first time you’d stolen all my air and left me completely breathless. There’d be so many more moments like this over the years, but the first time is always the one that stands out the most.
Your long brown hair was down, just the way I liked it. The hairdresser had put soft curls in it, and a pretty pink bow to match your dress. You looked nothing like a toilet-paper doll. You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and so grown up. It was in that moment my true feelings for you were confirmed. I didn’t just love you, I was completely in love with you.
‘You can close your mouth now, son,’ your father said in an amused tone.
His statement was enough to snap me back into reality. That’s when I realised the plastic bag in my hand was now empty, and its contents, the ice, had piled into a small mountain around my feet.
The party was going well, and you even seemed to be having a good time. Well, you were until Sonia Mitchell set her sights on me. She was the mean girl in your class, and you never really liked her.
I was over by the bar refilling the glasses of pink lemonade and placing them on a tray, trying my best to ignore her. It was rude of me, but she’d been following me around for over an hour and it was starting to get on my nerves. There was only one girl at that party I was interested in, and that was you.
A few minutes later you approached us, grabbing one of the drinks from the tray. I was both pleased and relieved when you came to stand beside me. You casually stared down Sonia, as you sipped on your pink lemonade. It did nothing to stop her advances, though.
‘You must get bored hanging out with Jemma all the time,’ she said in a bitchy tone as she looked you up and down. I heard you gasp from beside me, but I bit my tongue. I didn’t want to say or do anything that was going to ruin your party. It was your special day, and your mother had gone to so much trouble.
My reply came without hesitation. ‘Never! Hanging out with Jem is my favourite thing to do.’
‘Huh,’ she scoffed, narrowing her eyes at you before focusing her attention back on me. Smiling, she innocently twisted her long blonde hair around her finger, which was ironic; she was anything but sweet and didn’t fool me for a second. ‘You should come to Daddy’s restaurant sometime, Brax. We could make you our special guest.’
Her eyes narrowed again when they moved back to you, and I was struggling to keep my cool. ‘You want to come with me, Jem?’ I asked.
‘I meant just you … alone,’ Sonia snapped. To say I wasn’t expecting you to react like you did would be an understatement. You lunged forward, faking a trip, which was pretty much an impossibility since you were standing still.
‘Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, Sonia,’ you said as the pink lemonade from your glass soaked into her white silk party dress.
‘Ahh! You did that on purpose,’ she screamed as she turned and ran into the house crying.
I tried not to laugh, honestly I did, but the moment my gaze moved to you and I saw you fighting back a smile, I lost it. It was one of the funniest things I’d ever seen. It was about time someone put Sonia Mitchell in her place.
She had her daddy come to pick her up ten minutes later. The party only seemed to improve once she left. Sonia never really spoke to you after that day, but that didn’t seem to bother you in the slightest.
The following morning you knocked on my door early. I was still in my pyjamas, eating Coco Pops while I watched television.
‘Can you help me put my kite together?’ you asked excitedly. ‘Dad offered to help, but I want you to do it.’
You were given jewellery, clothes, perfume and an array of girly things for your birthday that year, but you told me the kite was your favourite present. You have no idea how happy that made me.
We put it together in no time, and you sat on my sofa impatiently waiting while I ran upstairs to change.
It was a dreary, overcast winter day, but there was enough breeze to launch that baby into the air. I watched as you ran laps around your backyard, the kite flying behind you. Seeing you happy always made my heart smile. To this day, it still has the same effect on me.
Things were going perfectly until a big gust of wind came and blew the kite towards the large tree in your backyard, snagging it on one of the branches. I tried over and over to untangle it for you, but it was no use.
Your bottom lip started to quiver as you fought back the tears, and my heart suddenly hurt. The only way that kite was coming down was if someone went up there to get it. It was so high up, and I prayed that someone wasn’t going to be me.
‘I’ll go and see if your dad can help us,’ I said and ran inside. You can imagine how I felt when your mum told me he had gone for a walk to get the Sunday paper.
My feet dragged as I headed back outside to break the bad news to you.
‘I’m going to climb up and get it,’ you said.
‘No, Jem. It’s too high.’ I grabbed hold of your elbow to try to stop you.
‘Let me go,’ you snapped, snatching your arm out of my grip. ‘I’m going up there.’ You were so stubborn, and as much as the thought of climbing that tree terrified me, I didn’t really have a choice. There was no way I was letting you do it.
‘Fine. I’ll go up and get it.’
I felt sick as I climbed onto the first branch. Don’t look down … don’t look down, I chanted in my head as I made my way up.
‘Be careful, Brax,’ you called out from below.
I swear my whole body was trembling when I lifted my leg and pulled my body up onto the last branch. I sat there for the longest time, paralysed by fear. Don’t look down … don’t look down, I continued to say over and over in my head.
‘Are you okay?’ you called out.
‘I’m fine.’ I wasn’t, but there was no way I was admitting that to you.
Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out my Swiss Army knife. It had belonged to my grandfather. He gave it to my dad on his thirteenth birthday, and he’d carried on the tradition by giving it to me. I took it everywhere, except to school.
‘What are you doing?’
I was stalling, that’s what I was doing. In that moment, I couldn’t find the courage to move. ‘I’m carving my name into the tree.’
I lied. I was carving my heart into that trunk. My deepest, darkest secret—my fear of losing you was what stopped me from ever telling you.
In reality it was probably only ten minutes, but to me it felt like a lifetime had passed. And you were growing impatient. ‘Come on, Brax. I want my kite.’
‘Okay.’ I folded my knife away and slipped it back into my pocket. Then I took a deep breath and willed myself to move, as I lay face down onto the branch. Don’t look down … don’t look down.
I’d only made it about a metre along when I heard the first crack. My heart was beating so fast I could hear it thumping in my ears.
‘Please be careful,’ you called out again.
I could hear the fear in your voice and it only intensified my panic. I took another deep breath and continued to snake forward, one terrifying inch at a time. I was only about five metres off the ground, but it felt more like a hundred.
I heard another crack, followed closely by another. My grip on the branch tightened and before I even realised what was happening, I was falling. ‘Braaaaax!’ I heard you scream moments before I hit the ground hard.
I don’t remember much after that.
My father was at work, but your parents rushed me to the hospital. My injuries weren’t serious, but my arm was broken in two places. On a positive note, your kite had come down with me in the fall.
The hospital kept me in for a few hours for observation because I’d also
hit my head in the fall. You sat by my bed in emergency, and held my hand while they plastered my arm. I lost count of how many times you apologised.
My dad closed his store and came straight to my bedside when your parents called him. I felt bad when I saw the anguish on his face. You refused to leave with your parents, just like I had years earlier when you’d been stung by that bluebottle. You remained by my side the entire time.
As soon as we arrived home, my father ordered me to go and lie down. Apart from the dull ache in my arm, I felt fine, but I did as I was told. I could tell he was angry with me for recklessly climbing the tree, but also incredibly relieved I was okay. I understand it more now; with everything that had happened with my mum, I was all he had left.
You followed us up to my room and when my father suggested you go home so I could rest, you refused. I was grateful he let you stay. You sat on the edge of my bed while my father fussed over me, but the moment he left the room, you pulled back my covers and climbed into bed beside me. You’d never done anything like that before.
‘I’m so sorry, Brax,’ you said for the hundred-millionth time as you slid your arm around my waist and snuggled into my chest. When I heard you sniffle I knew you were crying, so I pulled your body closer to mine.
‘Stop apologising, Jem. It’s not your fault, it was an accident.’
‘When you fell from that tree … I … I … I thought I was going to lose you,’ you sobbed. ‘I’ve never been so scared in my life.’
‘Don’t cry.’ I ran my hand up and down your back in an attempt to soothe you.
‘I couldn’t imagine my life without you in it, Braxton Spencer,’ you whispered.
I couldn’t imagine my life without you either, I still can’t. You’re my life, Jem.
I held you tightly until you were sound asleep. It was the first time you’d ever slept in my arms. Before I closed my eyes, I planted a soft kiss on your hair, and only then did I dare say the words I’d never before been able to voice out loud, ‘I love you with all my heart, Jemma Isabella Rosalie Robinson.’
What we had is far too beautiful to be forgotten.
Yours always,
Braxton
I fold the letter and place it in the envelope, adding the tiny tree charm. I tried to get her a kite as well, but the jeweller didn’t have any in stock.
It’s almost midnight when I log off from my laptop and grab my briefcase from beside my desk, turning off the lights as I leave the office. The thought of going home to an empty house, without Jem there waiting for me, is something I don’t think I’ll ever get used to.
I’m almost home when I decide to take a detour. I know she’ll already be in bed, but the urge I have to be near her is overwhelming.
I place the letter inside the letterbox, then stand back and look up at Jemma’s bedroom window. I’m not sure how long I stand on the footpath outside Christine’s house, but it’s a while.
Even though my heart is heavy, I smile as I think back to that very first day I saw her pressed up against the glass watching me. In that moment, I never could have predicted how close we would become in the coming years.
I would give anything to be up there sleeping beside her, and holding her in my arms.
Anything.
EIGHTEEN
Braxton
I can’t contain my excitement as I jog up the front steps to Christine’s front door. I’ve been awake since 5am, wandering aimlessly around the house just waiting for it to be time to leave. I even skipped my usual morning workout and coffee on the back deck because I couldn’t seem to sit still long enough.
‘Good morning, Christine,’ I say, leaning forward to kiss her cheek when she answers the door.
‘Good morning,’ she replies beaming. ‘The happiness I see on my little girl’s face seems to be infectious.’
‘I’m spending the day with her. You have no idea how happy that makes me.’
‘I think I do,’ she replies, rubbing her hand affectionately down my arm. ‘I’m glad you two seem to be working things out.’
‘We still have a way to go, but we’re getting there slowly.’
She smiles as she moves aside to let me enter.
‘Jemma!’ she calls out from the bottom of the stairs. ‘Braxton’s here.’
‘Coming!’ Jemma yells.
I try to stand still as I eagerly wait to see her. A few seconds later I inhale a sharp breath when she appears at the top of the staircase. The first thing I notice is that she has changed her hair. Her dark brown locks are now shorter, and sit just above her shoulders. It’s different from how it has always been, but I like it.
A beautiful yet unsure smile graces her face as she descends the stairs. She’s wearing a pretty white sundress, which accentuates her lean body and tanned skin. My fingers are itching to reach out and touch her. She’s always had a bronzed glow—especially in summer when we spend so much time at the beach—but months have passed since she’s been in the sun.
I extend my hand to her when she’s within reach. ‘You look beautiful,’ I say. ‘And I love your hair.’
‘You do?’ she asks as a pink tinge fills her cheeks. I find her bashfulness, something new I have learned about her, endearing.
‘I do.’
She tucks a strand behind her ear as the smile on her face grows.
My eyes land on the jagged red scars that are now visible along her hairline. It takes nothing away from her beauty, but I get a pang in my heart nevertheless. They will serve as a constant reminder of everything we’ve lost.
‘I had it cut yesterday while I was out. I bought this as well,’ she says, fanning out the skirt of her dress.
‘It’s lovely.’
‘Thank you.’
I had no idea she went out yesterday, but I don’t really know what she gets up to during the day, apart from our daily trips to rehab. Christine told me she spends most of her time in her room, which saddens me. She was always an outdoorsy person, and hated being locked away.
‘I caught the bus into town.’
‘Wow. That’s great.’ As much as I wish it was me she was spending her time with, I’m glad she’s starting to get out of the house, starting to live again. ‘I’m proud of you.’
‘I wanted to go back to that beach you took me to.’
‘Ah, that explains your tan.’
‘I didn’t go in the water, just sat in the sun watching the waves. I really love it there,’ she says, in a breathy kind of sigh.
‘It was always your favourite place to be.’
‘I wish you’d have something to eat before you leave, Jemma,’ Christine says when we walk into the kitchen. ‘I don’t like the idea of you going out with an empty stomach.’
‘I’m fine,’ Jemma says, placing a kiss on her mother’s cheek before scooping a basket off the kitchen table. ‘We have this, remember?’ Her gaze moves to me. ‘I packed us a picnic lunch. Like we used to have by the river at Ma and Pa’s farm.’
I’m grinning as I take the basket out of her hands. Today already feels like old times.
‘This place is beautiful,’ Jemma says as we pass through the small town and head towards the rolling green hills of the countryside. It hasn’t changed in the past few years. ‘It’s so green … so picturesque. I can see why my grandparents chose to never leave.’
‘They loved it here. This is where your grandfather grew up. Ma moved here after they were married.’
‘Tell me about them, Braxton. I only know what you’ve told me in the letters. Christine never talks about them.’
‘They were amazing people … truly amazing. I don’t know how they met, but I’m sure your mother can fill you in on that story. I do know that Ma was a city girl before she married. She loved her life here with Pa.’
‘I wish I could remember them.’ I wish she could as well. I wish she could remember me, and how much we loved each other. ‘What happened to them? How long ago did they die?’
I knew that question would c
ome up today. There’s no good way to answer it.
‘Your Pa died first,’ I say, glancing her way. ‘It was unexpected, and very sudden.’
She’s hesitant with her reply. ‘How?’
‘He had a heart attack in the orchard. When he didn’t come up to the house for lunch Ma went searching for him, and found him lying beneath one of the apple trees. She tried to resuscitate him. The coroner said he’d been dead for over an hour by the time she found him.’
I see her hand come up to cover her mouth, as her head turns away from me. ‘Poor Ma,’ I hear her whisper. Poor Ma is right. Pa’s death broke her, and what happened in the days that followed proved that.
The tyres crunch as I turn off the main road and head down the long gravel driveway that leads to the farmhouse. The branches of the large jacaranda trees that line both sides of the driveway overlap in the middle forming a kind of archway. It’s such a shame they aren’t in bloom; the sea of purple flowers that cover the trees when they are, and the blanket they create on the ground when the flowers fall, really is a sight to see. Jemma loved that so much. I hope I get the chance to bring her back in spring so she can experience it again.
When we reach the end of the driveway, the farmhouse comes into view. It’s been three years since I’ve been back here, but the place hasn’t changed much. The gardens aren’t as colourful and lush as they once were, but just being here makes me smile. Ma loved her garden, and would potter around out here for hours while Pa was working the land out back. This place holds so many wonderful memories for me, as it once did for Jemma.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask, placing my hand on Jemma’s leg as I turn off the ignition.
‘Yes,’ she replies, turning her face towards me. She smiles, but I can tell it’s forced.
‘It was a terrible time for us all.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘This is their farmhouse,’ I say, pointing out the front windscreen. ‘Do you want to have a look around?’
‘Are we allowed? Does someone else live here?’