Nineteen Letters

by Jodi Perry

  We’ve never discussed this before, but maybe it’s time we did. ‘You woke me in the middle of the night because you needed to take her to the hospital. I was supposed to get up, but I fell back asleep …’ I pause, then force myself to keep going. ‘Her appendix burst on the way to the hospital, and she died a little while later on the operating table. If only I’d got out of bed straightaway, and hadn’t held you up …’

  He stares out the window for the longest time, and I’d love to know what is going through his mind. He probably doesn’t understand anything I’ve just said. I wish we’d had this conversation before he got sick.

  ‘That’s right … I remember,’ I hear him whisper. Minutes pass before he makes eye contact with me again. ‘Braxton.’ It’s been so long since I’ve heard him say my name. ‘Do you really think it’s your fault?’

  ‘It’s what I know.’

  He straightens his posture and clears his throat before answering. ‘Well, you’re wrong. Your mother had those pains for two days. I kept telling her to go to the doctor, but she refused. She was stubborn like that. She hated doctors. The only time she went without a fight is when it was for you.’

  ‘You remember?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ he says, flicking his hand. It almost makes me want to laugh. He’s obviously forgotten he has Alzheimer’s and doesn’t even remember his own name most days. I don’t know what to make of all this because he gets so confused, but I do remember her not liking doctors. ‘She died because she left it too late. It had nothing to do with you.’

  ‘I feel responsible, Pop.’

  ‘Well, don’t. Have you been carrying this around with you all these years?’ He sighs when he looks at me. ‘I wish you’d talked to me. I could’ve set you straight.’ He drapes his arm around my shoulder, pulling my body towards his. ‘I’m so sorry you felt that way, son. It wasn’t your fault.’

  He speaks with such confidence, and there’s a huge part of me that yearns for his words to be true. But at the end of the day it’s irrelevant, it’s still not going to lessen my feeling of loss, or bring my mother back.

  I stay a little longer than usual, and I’m pleased that by the time I leave he has reverted to no memory of me—because that also means he’s forgotten our conversation. It would have been impossible for me to walk away if he was still upset.

  As soon as I arrive at the office, Lucas notices. ‘Hey, buddy,’ he says, following me into my office. ‘Wanna talk about it?’

  ‘Talk about what?’ I stow my briefcase beside my desk and take a seat in the leather chair.

  ‘Whatever it is that’s got you looking so sullen. Is it Jemma?’

  I can’t help but give him a half-smile; he can read me like a book. ‘No … my dad.’

  There’s no point in denying it, he won’t let it go until I talk to him.

  ‘Shit.’ He plonks down on the corner of my desk. ‘He didn’t have another fall, did he?’

  I scrub my hand over my face. ‘No. He just … he asked where my mum was this morning. It’s just hard watching everything he’s gone through. He lost his wife in her prime, and worked his whole damn life in a job he pretty much hated. He shouldn’t have to live out the rest of his days like this.’

  ‘Life can be a real bitch sometimes.’

  ‘Don’t I know it.’ I feel him watching me as I boot up my laptop. After a few moments of silence he finally speaks again. ‘I think Saturday-night drinks are in order.’

  ‘I don’t really feel like going out.’

  ‘Well, start feeling like it. I’ll pick you up at seven.’ He slaps his hand against the desk before standing. ‘I won’t take no for an answer, Spencer.’

  With that he turns and leaves. I settle back into my chair and find myself smiling. A night out on the town with him might actually do me good.

  When I arrive home later that evening, I’m surprised to find a visitor waiting on my front porch. ‘Rach. What are you doing here? Is everything okay?’

  She stands and walks towards me. ‘Everything’s fine,’ she says, kissing me on the cheek. ‘I’m here to raid Jemma’s wardrobe. I’m taking her out Saturday night and I want her to look nice.’ My face must betray my feeling of trepidation, because she quickly adds, ‘It’s a girls’ night. She needs this, Braxton.’

  Breathing suddenly feels difficult, so I loosen my tie. I agree she needs it, but it still makes me feel uneasy. I never experienced these insecurities when she was mine, but she isn’t mine anymore; well, not in her eyes. What if she meets someone else?

  I reach into the back seat to grab my briefcase. ‘Lucas and I are going out Saturday night as well. We should organise to meet up later on.’

  Her face immediately darkens. ‘If Lucas is going to be there, then no.’

  I stop and look at her. ‘What the hell happened between you two? You used to be friends.’

  I still can’t wrap my head around this one. My last memory of them together is at our wedding, laughing and dancing.

  ‘I’d rather not talk about it,’ she says as we climb the front steps. Before I get a chance to respond, Bella-Rose comes barrelling out of the doggy door I had installed.

  ‘Hey, girl,’ I say as she jumps against my leg with excitement.

  ‘Oh my god. You have a dog? When did you get her?’

  ‘I do.’ I reach down and scoop her into my arms. I chuckle when she licks my cheek. ‘This is Bella-Rose. I got her from the animal shelter.’

  ‘Aww. She’s so cute!’ Rachel beams as she scratches Bella-Rose under the chin.

  ‘She’s my new companion. It gets lonely in this big house all by myself.’

  Rachel’s smile softens as she looks at me. ‘I’m sorry.’ That’s all she says, and I appreciate that she doesn’t fill me with false hope. Like me, she knows there’s no guarantee that Jemma and I will ever get back what we once had.

  ‘I don’t want to go to our usual haunt,’ I say to Lucas as he backs out of my driveway. My bet is that’s where Jemma and Rachel will go, and as much as I’d like to see her, I don’t want Lucas’s attitude towards Rachel to ruin their night—or ours.

  ‘No problem. We can go to that place I took you last time.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  I don’t bother telling him why, because I don’t want to sour his mood. I wish I knew what the hell was going on with those two, but neither of them will talk about it, so for now I’ll butt out.

  We take a seat in one of the booths off to the side, and after ordering a couple of Coronas and some dinner, Lucas sits back and looks at me.

  ‘So, how are things going with you and Jemma?’ he asks.

  ‘Still the same, really. We’ve made some progress, I guess.’ I exhale. ‘But I feel like every time we take a step forward, it’s followed by two steps back.’

  ‘Hang in there, mate.’

  ‘I’ll wait forever if I have to.’

  ‘What about your dad?’

  I shrug. ‘Same. He has his good days, and not so good.’

  The waitress brings our drinks over, and Lucas raises his in the air. ‘To better times ahead,’ he says, clinking his bottle with mine.

  ‘To better times.’

  We’re a few beers in when the food finally arrives. Thankfully the conversation has turned lighter, to sports and work.

  ‘Can I get you something else to drink?’ the waitress asks when she places the food down in front of us.

  ‘Just a beer for him,’ Lucas says, gesturing towards me. ‘I’m driving.’

  I’m laughing at something Lucas said, as we eat, when I see his fork pause mid-air. His mouth is still open, but his expression turns from shocked to angry in a millisecond. ‘What the fuck is she doing here?’ he snaps, dropping his cutlery down onto his plate. I don’t even need to ask who it is.

  Although I’m still perplexed by his behaviour towards Rachel, my heart starts to race because if Rachel is here, that means Jemma is as well.

  Looking over my shoulder, I see the
m both approach the bar and take a seat on the stools that Lucas and I sat at the first time we were here. My gaze zeros in on Jemma; she looks so beautiful in that electric-blue dress. It was a gift from Rachel for her birthday, and was designed especially for her. She wore it that night when I took her out for dinner. I bought her a necklace that year to go with it – a heart-shaped sapphire pendant that was surrounded by small diamonds.

  My gaze follows her every move as she takes in the space around her. The look of wonderment in her eyes tells me she loves this place, just like I knew she would. I find myself smiling as I watch her. There’s no doubt in my mind that the designer is still in there somewhere.

  I’m taken aback when Lucas stands, and for a minute I think he’s going to approach them and make a scene. But he pulls two fifty-dollar notes out of his pocket and throws them down on the table.

  ‘You’re not leaving, are you?’

  ‘Yep. That’s exactly what I’m doing.’

  ‘Sit down and finish your dinner. They haven’t even noticed we’re here.’

  ‘I’ve suddenly lost my appetite,’ he says, reaching for his jacket. ‘I’m sorry, man, but I just can’t be near her anymore.’

  He doesn’t even wait for me to stand before he stalks to the exit. I quickly place my cutlery down and take a swig of my beer before following him out. My eyes are focused on Jemma as I pass. I’m glad she appears to be having a nice time tonight.

  I smile when Jemma laughs at something Rachel says, but it’s wiped from my face when I see the bartender’s flirtatious grin as he places a glass of red wine in front of her.

  My thoughts revert back to the first time she drank wine, not long after she moved in with Rachel. It was a Friday night and Lucas and I were hanging out at the girls’ apartment. Back then the four of us did everything together. Jemma and Rachel managed to consume two and a half bottles between them. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and it resulted in me holding Jemma’s hair back while she hugged the toilet bowl for the rest of the evening.

  I’d love to go over and say hello to the girls—and give the bartender the message to back off—but I need to find out what the hell is going on with my best mate.

  ‘Lucas wait up,’ I call out as I step out into the crisp air. He doesn’t stop, so I jog to catch up to him. ‘What’s got into you tonight?’

  ‘Leave me alone,’ he grumbles.

  ‘Wait up.’ I reach for his elbow, pulling him to a stop. I’m not letting this go until I get to the bottom of it. In all the years we’ve been friends, I’ve never seen him act like this. ‘What’s going on with you two?’

  He tugs his arm out of my grip, spinning around to face me. ‘It’s just … Ugh!’ He runs his hands roughly through his hair in frustration. ‘I can’t be around her anymore.’

  Without another word he turns again, heading towards his car.

  ‘Hey,’ I say, following him. ‘Talk to me, man.’

  ‘There’s nothing to say.’

  ‘Lucas, don’t do this.’ He takes a few more steps before grinding to a halt.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Don’t shut me out.’

  This time when he turns to face me, I’m taken aback to find him on the verge of tears. ‘What do you want me to tell you? That I’m madly in love with her, and she doesn’t feel the same way about me? That she played me? That she ripped my fucking heart out and stomped on it like a cold-hearted bitch? Is that what you want me to say?’

  His revelation floors me. ‘If that’s the truth, then yes.’

  I can already tell by the look on his face that it is. I stand there dumbfounded, at a loss for words. It’s true what they say: there’s a fine line between love and hate. I’ve never seen him so angry.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Jemma

  ‘Are you up, honey?’ Christine asks, softly knocking on my door.

  ‘Yes. Come in.’

  I’ve been awake for a while, but just lazing around in bed. It was after one in the morning when the taxi dropped me off. I had such a good night with Rachel—she’s fun, and I’ve become very fond of her.

  She hugged me so tightly last night, and told me how much she’s missed me.

  ‘How was your night out?’ Christine asks, placing a cup of coffee on my bedside table.

  ‘I had a great time.’

  ‘I’m glad. You two always had fun together.’

  ‘Rachel told me last night she’s going back to New York.’ I sit up, and reach for my coffee.

  ‘Really, when?’

  ‘In a few days. She said she has some things to sort out. I’m not sure when she’ll be back.’

  Christine sits down on the edge of my bed. ‘I knew it would only be a matter of time. She loves her job in New York.’

  ‘I know. I’m going to miss her.’

  ‘She’ll come back. She always does.’

  I smile, trying to mask my true feelings. The thought of her leaving makes me sad; I’ve become accustomed to having her around.

  ‘We’ll make her a special dinner before she leaves,’ Christine suggests.

  ‘That’ll be nice, she’d like that.’

  Christine places her hand briefly on my knee and smiles, before standing. ‘This came for you earlier.’ Excitement bubbles inside me as she holds up a letter, along with a pink sports bag. ‘Braxton dropped it off, as well as this bag.’

  ‘What’s in the bag?’ I ask, reaching for it.

  ‘Your running gear.’

  ‘I run?’

  ‘You used to. You loved it. You even did it competitively for a while when you were younger.’ She stands and walks towards my desk and returns with three medals. ‘You won these when you were in high school.’ I’d noticed them hanging on a hook below the shelf that houses a few trophies and ornaments, when I first came to live here, but I’ve never inspected them closely.

  I take them out of her hand and study them. One has an inscription engraved on the back: Jemma Robinson—2005 cross-country state champion.

  ‘You were so fast. You could have made a career out of running if you’d wanted to.’

  ‘Why didn’t I?’

  ‘You ran for fun. The competitive side was something that never interested you.’

  ‘So I just gave up?’ I unzip the sports bag and see that she was right: it contains shorts, tights, singlets and a pair of brightly coloured sneakers.

  ‘You gave up competing, but you still ran every day, right up until the accident.’

  ‘Wow.’ There’s still so much of me I don’t know.

  She stands and walks towards the door. ‘Read your letter, and when you’re ready, come downstairs and I’ll make you some breakfast.’

  LETTER NINE …

  Dearest Jemma,

  The twelfth of February 2005. It was a Saturday, and the day of the cross-country state championships. I’d always known you were a fast runner; you beat me in races when we were kids, and you won most of the events at all the school sports carnivals. Long-distance events were your favourite, but you never pursued athletics outside of school until one of the teachers suggested that you enter a local cross-country event. It took a bit of persuasion from me and your parents, but you eventually filled out the forms and started training for it.

  You ran a few kilometres every morning and afternoon. On the weekends, your father would drop us at the beach so you could run along the sand. It was soft and a great way to strengthen your legs.

  You ended up winning both the local and regional events, and even managed to break the state record previously held by a girl by the name of Natasha Wilkinson. You’d never competed against her before but would be up against her in the state championships.

  We were all up early that morning and travelled the long distance to the event. Your parents and grandparents took their seats in the grandstand, and I was sitting on the fence by the grassed area while you warmed up.

  You were stretching when a blonde girl approached. You immediately smiled—nothing unusual, you
were friendly to everybody—and didn’t hesitate in extending your hand to her. She didn’t take it. I couldn’t hear what she was saying from where I sat, but by the look on your face, I could tell it wasn’t good.

  Jumping down off the fence, I headed towards you both. But when she saw me approaching, she quickly turned and walked away.

  ‘What was that all about?’ I asked.

  ‘That was Natasha Wilkinson,’ you answered, with an eye roll.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The girl who held the state record. Well, she did, until I broke it.’ I could tell by the scowl on your face that she had made you angry. ‘She told me to watch my back, and that she hoped I like the taste of dust because I’d be eating hers very shortly.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I know, right?’

  You went back to your stretches, and appeared undeterred by what she’d said. I, on the other hand, was furious. I scanned the area, looking to see what direction she’d headed in.

  ‘She better not do anything to you during the race.’

  ‘I’m not scared of her. She’s just trying to put me off my game. Little does she know her words spur me on … I’ll take great pleasure in beating her now.’

  You were always so driven, so I didn’t doubt it for a second, but I still had an uneasy feeling in my gut.

  When the contestants were called to the starting line I took my place with your family in the grandstand. You’d swear I was the one about to compete, judging by the butterflies in my stomach.

  We had a great view of the start and finish lines from where we sat, but for the rest of the race you would be out of sight. It was a four-kilometre open-air course that consisted of hills, valleys and flat terrain, with a variety of surfaces including grass, dirt and gravel.

  Nasty Natasha, as we eventually dubbed her, was giving you the evil eye as you all stood in a diagonal line, waiting for the starter to sound his pistol. I saw you glance at her briefly, and a proud smile burst onto my face when you gave her a cheeky wink. You didn’t seem to be threatened by her at all.

  The next twenty or so minutes were an agonising wait for us all, and when the first cheers were heard, we knew that someone had entered the stadium and we all jumped to our feet.