by Jodi Perry
I was so proud when I saw you powering to the line. Nasty Natasha was a good five-to-ten metres behind you, with tears streaming down her face.
‘She’s in the lead, Stephen!’ your mother squealed with excitement as she jumped up and down.
‘Go, Jemma!’ I called out.
‘Go, Jem-Jem! Go, you good thing!’ I heard Pa scream a few seconds later.
‘That’s my granddaughter,’ Ma said proudly, turning to tell the people behind us.
We all hugged each other when you finally crossed the line, and I’m pretty sure he’ll never admit to this, but I swear there were tears in your father’s eyes.
You were bent over with your hands on your knees as you tried to catch your breath, and Natasha had collapsed onto the ground in a sobbing mess.
A few minutes later, I watched in awe as you approached her and offered your hand. Again she refused to take it, but this time she took it a step further by slapping your hand away. I heard a few people in the crowd gasp, including your mother and Ma.
On our drive home later that day, we stopped off at a nice restaurant for a celebratory dinner. Ma and Pa didn’t join us because they had a long drive back to the farm.
I remember watching you as we sat at a table in the small Italian restaurant you’d chosen. You’d been quiet since we left the track. Your eyes kept moving between your parents and me as you ate. The look on your face was so humbling. The three of us were beaming, still riding the high of your win. But your joy seemed to come from somewhere else—from seeing the people you loved happy. I knew you well, and it made me wonder if you were doing this more for our benefit than your own. You’d only agreed to compete because we practically begged you.
A month later, the Australian championships were held interstate. Your mother hated flying, so we left a few days earlier and drove the twelve-hour trip with your parents.
First, second and third place from each state’s championships qualified to compete in this event, so that meant Nasty Natasha would be there.
When it was time for the race to start, I went through all the emotions I had at the previous event. And like the previous event, we all jumped to our feet when the first runner entered the stadium for the final leg of the race. But this time it wasn’t you in the lead. It was a girl I hadn’t seen before, neck and neck with Natasha.
I didn’t even see who crossed the line first, my focus was on the tunnel they had emerged from moments before. Competitor after competitor appeared, but there was still no sign of you.
‘Where is she?’ I heard your mother say. I couldn’t answer that, but I felt uneasy. I was about to go in search of you, when you suddenly appeared. You were limping, with blood trickling down your leg and one of your running shoes clutched tightly in your hand. I had a gut feeling that Nasty Natasha was behind this.
The entire crowd stood and cheered you on as you hobbled to the line. Unlike Natasha, there were no tears streaming down your face, but I could tell you were devastated, and my heart hurt for you.
After the first-aid officer cleaned you up, an official came and spoke with you. As I suspected, Natasha was behind it. A couple of the other runners had witnessed her push you down into a small ravine.
She won the race in a photo finish, but later that day she was disqualified and stripped of her medal. She also had to face a judiciary a few weeks later, and was suspended from competing for a year.
What made me proudest was learning that when the officials tried to pull you from the race because of your injuries, you refused. I love how you always fought for what you wanted, and despite the odds you never gave up.
That night as we lay in bed at the hotel, you whispered into the darkness. ‘Braxton, are you awake?’
We were in single beds, and your parents were sharing a double bed just a few metres away.
‘Yeah, I’m awake,’ I whispered back.
I rolled onto my side to face you, and you did the same. I couldn’t see your face, but I could make out your silhouette in the moonlight that was shining through the window.
‘I don’t want to do this anymore.’
‘Do what?’ I asked.
‘Compete. I still want to run, I love it, but only for fun.’
‘Don’t let Natasha’s actions turn you off doing something you love.’
‘That’s just it. I love the running part, but the competing not so much.’
‘In my heart I suspected that,’ I confessed.
‘Because you get me, Brax. Nobody knows me like you do.’
Your words made me smile. ‘You can still run without competing.’
‘Did you hear Mum and Dad on the drive back to the hotel?’ You sighed before continuing. ‘They kept saying how next year I’ll show them. Next year will be my year.’
‘Yeah, I heard them.’
‘I’m worried I’ll disappoint them, but I really don’t want to compete next year.’
‘Just tell them the truth, Jem, they’ll understand. We can tell them together if you like.’
‘I’m so glad I have you on my side,’ you said, stretching your hand out towards me. I reached for you, interlacing my fingers with yours.
‘Always.’
‘Night, Brax.’
‘Night, Jem.’
Our fingers remained entwined as we both fell asleep.
What we had is far too beautiful to be forgotten.
Yours always,
Braxton
The running gear Braxton sent over now makes sense. I can’t help but wonder: is he trying to merely share a memory, or rekindle my passion? Either way, he has me thinking that if I loved to run so much before the accident, maybe it’s something I should get back into. It’s not like I have much else to do. I could run through the neighbourhood, or on the beach.
Although I still have a slight limp when I walk, I’ve been doing small sprints on the treadmill during my rehab sessions, to help strengthen my legs. Maybe I could try running on the beach next time I’m there. I should probably check with my physiotherapist first.
I smile when I see the small running-shoe charm in the bottom of the envelope. I look down at the memory bracelet on my wrist. It’s so full with memories of my past, but there’s still room for many more.
I don’t want these letters to ever stop.
‘You’re up early,’ Christine says, coming into the kitchen and rubbing her eyes.
‘I’m sorry if I woke you. I was just writing you a note.’
She eyes me up and down, and I see a smile form on her face. ‘You’re going for a run?’
‘I am.’ I originally put on the shorts, but the horrible red scars on my leg were visible, so I opted for the three-quarter tights instead. ‘There’s a bus due in fifteen minutes.’
‘A bus?’
‘Yes, I want to run on the beach.’
‘That was always your favourite place. It’s still dark outside, are you going to be okay?’
‘The sun should be coming up by the time I arrive.’
‘It’s times like this I wish I had a driver’s licence,’ she says. ‘I wondered about that. Why don’t you?’
‘I’m a shocking driver.’ She laughs, shaking her head. ‘There wasn’t much need for a car growing up in the country. I’d ride my horse everywhere.’
‘You had a horse as well?’
‘Yes, her name was Frostie,’ she says, her smile widening. ‘I loved that horse. My father bought her for me one Christmas.’
I release a contented sigh. ‘Pa sounds like he was a good man.’
‘He was.’
‘It still doesn’t explain why you’re a bad driver. If you’ve never driven, how would you know?’
‘Your dad thought it would be a good idea for me to have my licence when we found out I was expecting you. I had a few lessons, but I was dreadful. Nobody wanted to get in the car with me. Even the instructor your father hired to teach me quit after the first lesson.’
‘Oh my god,’ I say, giggling. ‘You m
ust’ve been bad.’
‘Well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I’m afraid: you weren’t much better when you first got behind the wheel.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really. You’re lucky your father has the patience of a saint, otherwise you may never have got your licence either.’
As I head out the front door my smile fades as a thought occurs: was my poor driving the reason I had my accident? Nobody has ever told me what really happened that day.
The sun is rising by the time I arrive at the beach. I pause as soon as my feet hit the sand, inhaling the fresh salty air.
I set off down the beach at a slow pace—even though apparently I have done this a thousand times before, it’s a new sensation and it takes a bit of getting used to. A few minutes in, I can already feel the muscles in my legs burning. My heart is racing and my breathing laboured, but I feel wonderful. My eyes are focused on Braxton’s house as I draw nearer, and I feel the sting of disappointment when I don’t see him sitting on the back deck.
It takes me about twenty minutes to reach the end of the beach. I contemplate stopping to catch my breath, but I’m on a high. I completely understand now why I always loved to run, and I’m grateful to Braxton for reminding me.
I steal a glance towards his place again as I make my way back down the beach. There’s still no sign of him. I try not to dwell on it, but as I get closer my heart skips a beat when I see the glass sliding door open. Bella-Rose appears on the deck first, closely followed by Braxton. Butterflies erupt in my stomach the moment my eyes land on him. I can’t explain all these feelings I get when I’m around him, but I like them. I like them a lot.
As if lured by a magnetic force, his attention is immediately drawn in my direction. Without thinking, I raise my hand and wave, and he reciprocates. It’s hard to tell from this far away, but I think he’s smiling. I know I am.
The moment Bella-Rose spots me, she comes bounding down the stairs and sprints across the sand towards me.
I stop running and crouch down. ‘Hey, girl,’ I say, trying to catch my breath as she licks the side of my face.
I’m busy giggling and patting her when a shadow falls over me. Looking up, I see Braxton’s handsome face smiling down at me.
‘Good morning.’
‘Morning,’ I reply, and my voice sounds a little strange to me. Standing, I wipe my palms nervously down the side of my tights. Although I was hoping to see him this morning, I suddenly feel self-conscious about my appearance. I’m sweating and must look a mess. I brush away the damp hair that has been glued to my forehead, tucking the loose strands behind my ears.
‘It’s good to see you running again.’
I smile, my nerves fading. ‘Your letter inspired me.’
‘I’m glad. You used to run this beach every morning.’
‘Really?’
‘Yep. Every day, except if it was raining heavily. You’d say it was the perfect way to start the day.’
‘Did you ever come with me?’
‘Never. I couldn’t keep up with you,’ he chuckles.
Is it crazy that I miss my old life, a life I don’t even remember? Things just seem to have been much simpler back then.
‘Do you have time for a coffee?’ His question has me beaming. I was hoping he’d invite me up. ‘I was just about to make myself one.’
‘I’d love one.’
‘Shall we?’ He gestures towards the house, then holds his elbow out towards me. I slide my arm through his, trying not to blush at the look he gives me when I do.
We walk in silence, with Bella-Rose following closely behind. I’m immensely aware of my skin against his, but again I’m mortified that I’m so gross and sweaty. God, I hope I don’t smell.
This time he doesn’t invite me inside, and I’m glad. I hope one day I’ll be ready, but for now I’m happy to just sit on the back deck and enjoy the view, and of course the company.
I sit on the bench seat, and my eyes flit around the space. I really love it out here.
I eye him as he settles back into the seat and takes a sip of his coffee; he has beautiful full lips. He’s drinking out of that old cup again, and today I can see the writing on it. You’re cute, can I keep you? I know there’s a story behind that, and I hope that he will share it with me one day.
‘What?’ he says, when he notices me watching him.
‘Nothing.’ I bring my coffee cup to my lips to avoid saying more.
‘Can I ask you something?’
His eyes leave the road briefly, landing on me. ‘Sure. You can ask me anything.’
‘Did my poor driving have anything to do with my accident?’
‘Your poor driving?’
‘Yes, Christine said I was a terrible driver, like her.’
I see him trying to suppress a smile as he speaks. ‘In the beginning, you were pretty bad, but you got better over time.’
‘So, my accident had nothing to do with my driving ability?’
He exhales a large breath before he answers. ‘You ran a stop sign, but the weather was really bad that day, and visibility was poor.’
‘The accident was my fault?’ My eyes widen and my mouth gapes open.
‘Yes.’ His gaze darts in my direction, before focusing back on the road. ‘Yes, it was.’
‘Was anyone else injured?’ I feel incredibly selfish for not knowing this, or asking before now.
‘The other driver suffered minor injuries, but basically walked away from it unscathed.’
‘I see.’
‘His car T-boned the side of yours, so you took most of the impact.’ He reaches across the centre console, and grabs hold of my hand. ‘It was an accident, Jem. You were a good driver.’
We’re silent for the remainder of the drive. He doesn’t let go of my hand, and I’m thankful.
TWENTY-FIVE
Braxton
‘You made me breakfast?’ Jemma asks with surprise the next morning as she climbs the back steps that lead onto the deck.
When I dropped her off yesterday, after visiting my dad, she said she would probably see me this morning after her run. So, I took the chance and bought a few of her favourite things, just in case. I set the table the way she used to like it. I miss sharing my mornings with her. I miss sharing everything with her. The nights are the hardest; I still have trouble sleeping without her beside me.
‘I sure did. Muesli, yoghurt and fresh fruit. The breakfast of champions is what you used to call it.’
‘Wow. I never eat like this at Christine’s. She usually makes me toast and eggs.’
‘Sometimes we’d have eggs on the weekend, but you would cook them.’ I pull out her chair for her.
‘It looks delicious. And really healthy.’
‘You were always the healthy one in this family.’
‘I don’t doubt that,’ she says, laughing. ‘I know all about your sweet tooth, Mr Spencer.’
‘Guilty as charged,’ I say, smiling.
‘How do you stay so … umm … trim?’ I see a slight blush cross her cheeks as she speaks.
‘Weights. I usually work out most days. I use the gym I set up in the garage.’ She smiles before staring down at the food in front of her. ‘You used to love pouring the yoghurt over your muesli, but I can grab you some milk if you prefer.’
‘No. The yoghurt sounds good.’
‘Well, eat up. I’ll just go grab the coffee.’
I watch her through the kitchen window as I wait for the coffee to brew. She’s smiling as she takes a slice of melon and a few strawberries off the platter, placing them on the small plate beside her cereal. I just want to pretend for the next half-hour that nothing has changed between us, and things are the way they’ve always been—her loving me just as much as I love her.
‘Thank you,’ she says, when I place the coffee down in front of her. ‘This is delicious.’
‘I’m glad you’re enjoying it. I’d be happy to make breakfast for you every day if you wa
nted me to.’
‘That’s sweet, but I wouldn’t expect you to go to all this trouble.’
‘You’re worth it,’ is all I say, taking the seat opposite her.
I lather my toast in butter and strawberry jam, and when I look up I find her watching me. ‘What? Jam is healthy—it’s made from strawberries.’
‘And a tonne of sugar too, I bet,’ she says, laughing in the way that always makes me smile.
Shrugging, I take a bite. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you, has Rachel said anything to you about Lucas?’
‘No, why?’
‘Never mind.’
‘Oh my god. You can’t just say that and not tell me, Braxton!’
My smile widens. She was always nosy; I could never keep a secret from her. ‘It was just something Lucas said the other night.’
‘What did he say?’ She leans forward in her chair as she awaits my reply.
‘I think something was going on between him and Rachel behind our backs.’
Her eyes widen with shock. ‘No way. Really? Why would you think that? Rachel hasn’t even mentioned him to me.’
‘You might not have noticed, but he’s been really aggressive towards her lately. It’s totally out of character for him. They always got on well.’
‘And?’
‘And, when I called him out on it the other night, he confessed to being in love with her.’
‘Get out.’
The way she says that makes me chuckle. ‘He said she didn’t feel the same.’
‘I’m going to ask her. She’s coming over for a farewell dinner tomorrow night.’
‘A farewell dinner?’ Her comment surprises me.
‘Yes. She’s going back to New York.’
I can tell by her expression that she’s saddened by this. She always got a little low when Rachel came home for the holidays and then left again. She hated her being so far away, but she also understood that New York was where Rachel needed to be for her career.
‘Don’t tell her what I told you though. Jesus, Lucas would kill me if he knew.’
‘I won’t, but I’ll definitely see what I can find out. Women have a way with things like that.’