Nineteen Letters

by Jodi Perry

  ‘Don’t I know it,’ I say, snickering.

  As I clear away the breakfast dishes and stack the dishwasher, I slide my next letter into my back pocket, to give her when I drop her off. I was inspired to write it after our conversation in the car yesterday morning. I ducked out yesterday when I was at work, picking up a tiny car charm to accompany it.

  LETTER TEN …

  Dearest Jemma,

  Late August, 2005. I’m not sure of the exact date, but this was the month you got your learner’s permit. A month that I not only worried for your safety, but that of everyone else on the road … including the pedestrians. Okay, that may be a slight exaggeration, but let’s just say you didn’t get off to the best start.

  We both sat on your front steps as you waited for your dad to arrive home from work. You and I had caught the bus into town after school so you could sit your theory test at the motor registry. You hadn’t expected to pass on your first attempt, but you did. As we would find out later that day, the actual driving wasn’t so easy.

  The moment your father pulled into the driveway, you leaped up and ran to him. ‘I got my learner’s!’ you screamed, waving your L-plates around in the air.

  ‘That’s wonderful, pumpkin,’ he said, pulling you into an embrace and kissing your forehead. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

  ‘Can you take me for a drive … please?’ You held your hands up in prayer position for added effect.

  He laughed at your antics. ‘After dinner.’

  ‘Oh please, Daddy,’ you begged. Like me, your father was powerless to your pleas. ‘Just one lap around the block.’

  ‘Okay, one lap.’

  ‘I love you, Daddy,’ you squealed, leaping into his arms.

  He went inside to drop off his briefcase and say hello to your mum before showing you how to secure your L-plates to the front and back of the vehicle.

  ‘Come on, Brax,’ you called out when it was time to get into the car. We sat in the driveway for a good twenty minutes while your father went over all the gadgets with you. Finally, you turned the key in the ignition and shrieked with excitement as the car roared to life.

  ‘Place your foot down firmly on the brake pedal,’ your dad said, ‘and release the handbrake. Good girl. Leave your foot on the brake, and move the gearstick into reverse … Right, now remove your foot from the brake and place it down lightly on the accelerator.’

  I’m not sure if you didn’t hear the lightly part, or whether you had lead in your shoes that day, but the car went flying backwards so fast it catapulted our bodies forward. Lucky we had buckled up, or I’m certain we all would have flown through the windscreen.

  ‘Braaake! Jesus Christ! I said lightly,’ your father scolded. You did as he asked, but you slammed your foot down so hard that we were all pushed back into our seats.

  ‘I’m sorry, Daddy.’

  Your father pinched the bridge of his nose while releasing a long drawn-out breath. ‘It’s okay, pumpkin. Let’s try this again. Put the car in reverse and ease out gently. Gently!’ He made sure to accentuate the word gently this time. ‘Use the mirrors to guide you.’

  The car moved about a metre, and then jerked when you put your foot back on the brake. You did this all the way down the driveway. By this stage I was pretty certain I was going to end up with whiplash.

  ‘Watch the letterbox,’ your father warned, but it was too late. There was a sickening crunch as you ran straight over the top of it.

  ‘Shit,’ you said as you continued backward. I placed my hand over my mouth to muffle my laugh.

  You missed the driveway completely, and our bodies were thrown around when the car drove over the gutter one wheel at a time. From the street I could now see the poor flattened letterbox in a crumpled mess on the footpath.

  ‘I’m sorry, Daddy,’ you said again. I’m pretty sure you muttered those exact words a hundred times over the coming days.

  ‘I hated that letterbox anyway,’ he replied, but you could tell by the tone of his voice he wasn’t impressed. Your mum had bought it at a craft fair. It was shaped like a bird house, and had fake birds sitting on top. ‘Go back a little further,’ he instructed. ‘Then straighten up.’ You went back further all right, but a little too much. It was garbage night and bins lined the footpath on both sides of the street. You reversed straight into Mr Drake’s, knocking it over and spilling rubbish all over the place.

  ‘Put the car in park,’ your father said with frustration, before removing his seatbelt and exiting the vehicle. You and I both followed. ‘I think that’s enough driving for one day.’ I again had to stifle my laugh. I felt bad for finding this situation humorous as soon as I saw you were on the verge of tears. ‘We need to clean this mess up.’

  The following afternoon, your father let you have another crack at it. He was a braver man than me, because I was already thinking of excuses as to why I couldn’t come. But in the end I decided I’d risk my life, if it meant supporting you. Love can make you do crazy things sometimes.

  ‘I’ve just got to duck home and grab something,’ I said as you placed your L-plates on the car.

  When you saw my bike helmet on my head, your eyes widened before narrowing into slits. ‘Very funny, arsehole,’ you snapped, playfully punching me in the arm.

  Your dad laughed as I climbed into the back seat. ‘Smart man,’ he whispered before you reached the driver’s side.

  This time it was impossible for you to take out the letterbox, because it was gone. My fingers dug painfully into the leather lining in the back seat as the car jolted down the street, but I started to relax a little when I noticed you could actually drive okay in a straight line. It didn’t last long, though.

  ‘Put your right indicator on,’ your father said as we neared the end of the street. ‘Brake slightly,’ which was more of a sudden jerk, ‘then turn the wheel to the right as you round the corner.’

  You didn’t turn it enough, and we mounted the kerb and almost ran down a pedestrian, and the small dog she was walking.

  It’s safe to say that after one trip around the block with you, your father and I were a collective nervous wreck. ‘I’m going to need to invest in one of those helmets,’ your father whispered to me while you removed the L-plates from the car.

  When we entered the house, you looked completely deflated and headed straight for your bedroom.

  ‘You two are as white as ghosts,’ your mother said when we walked into the kitchen.

  ‘She’s definitely your daughter,’ your father replied with a sigh, as he headed straight for the fridge to grab a beer. I was nearly seventeen, and underage, but boy could I have done with one of them as well.

  For the interim, your dad banned you from driving on the road. Instead, for the next four weeks he took you to the local oval, or at night to an empty car park. It wasn’t until he was certain you were fit to drive on the road again that the proper lessons recommenced.

  The more you drove, the more confident you became, and before long we were all comfortable getting in the car when you were behind the wheel.

  A year later, on the eleventh of August 2006, it was time for you to take your driving exam. Your father had no idea you’d booked in for it; you told me you were scared of letting him down if you didn’t pass. He had dedicated so much time to making sure your driving was up to scratch.

  I came with you, and I saw how badly your hands shook when the instructor called your name. ‘Good luck, Jem,’ I said, hugging you briefly. ‘You’ve got this in the bag.’

  I paced back and forth in the motor registry as I awaited your return. Thirty minutes later you walked through the door with a huge smile on your face.

  ‘I passed!’ you said, leaping into my arms.

  ‘I’m so proud of you.’ I wrapped my arms around your waist, swinging you in a circle.

  That night your parents took us out to dinner to celebrate. They let you drive. You couldn’t have wiped the smile off your father’s face if you tried.

&nb
sp; The following Saturday morning, you woke to find a small red second-hand car sitting in your driveway. It was a 1999 Ford Laser, wrapped in a huge white bow.

  ‘Be safe,’ your father said, handing you the keys. ‘Always remember everything I taught you.’

  ‘I promise, Daddy,’ you said, wiping a tear from your eye.

  That weekend we drove anywhere and everywhere. You even let me drive some of the time. My father couldn’t afford to buy me a car, but I was okay with that. I didn’t need one now anyway—wherever you went, I was right beside you. Just the way it had always been.

  What we had is far too beautiful to be forgotten.

  Yours always,

  Braxton

  TWENTY-SIX

  Braxton

  Now that Jemma has started running again, I get to see her almost every day. The best part is having her at our home, even if it’s only for a short time. In those moments I can pretend we are everything we once were. And it gives me hope that one day we will be that again.

  Today at the end of her physiotherapy we received the best possible news: no more sessions.

  ‘I guess those morning runs along the beach have done me wonders,’ Jemma says with a sweet smile as we leave the rehab centre for the last time.

  They’ve done me wonders as well. They’ve done us wonders; I feel we have taken a huge step forward.

  ‘I can’t believe this is my last time here. I can finally try to put this all behind me and move on with my life,’ she says as we head towards the car.

  All I can think is: Please don’t let that be a life without me.

  ‘We should celebrate,’ I suggest, all the while expecting her to shut me down.

  ‘Celebrate how?’

  ‘I could take you out for dinner tonight.’

  When her brow furrows, I already know what the answer is. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t.’

  ‘Oh.’ Just as I suspected. ‘Never mind, it was just an idea.’

  I break away from her, heading towards the passenger side to open her door.

  ‘Braxton, wait.’ She grabs hold of my elbow.

  ‘It’s okay, Jemma.’ I turn to face her, and force out a smile. ‘Forget I even mentioned it.’

  ‘I don’t want to forget it,’ she says. ‘Tonight we’re having a farewell dinner for Rachel at Christine’s, you’re welcome to come if you like … or we can go out to dinner tomorrow night.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  I try not to show how happy this makes me, but I fail miserably.

  I help her in, before walking around the front of the car towards the driver’s side. I’m whistling as I go.

  ‘Braxton,’ Jemma says shyly, picking at an imaginary piece of lint on her pants. ‘Christine told me that you didn’t leave my side when I was in a coma, and, well … you’ve helped me every step of the way since. If I haven’t already said it, I just want to say thank you.’

  Her eyes finally meet mine. ‘You don’t have to thank me, Jem. I promised to love you in sickness and in health, and I meant every word.’

  She smiles before reaching for her seatbelt. ‘Just so you know, if I had to choose one person to celebrate with, it would be you.’

  Her words are spoken with such sincerity.

  ‘What are you looking so cheery about?’ Lucas asks when I waltz into his office.

  ‘I’ll be leaving early today.’

  ‘Okay … The reason?’

  ‘I have a date. Well, technically it’s not a date, but I’m taking Jemma out to dinner tonight. She’s finally finished with her rehab, so we’re going to celebrate.’

  His face lights up. ‘No shit? I’m happy to hear that, buddy.’

  I plonk myself down in the leather chair opposite his desk. ‘I really feel like we’re making progress.’

  ‘For your sake, I hope you’re right. Just don’t go getting your hopes up. I’d hate for you to be let down again.’

  ‘I know. But as long as she’s still willing to have me in her life, I’m not giving up on us.’

  ‘I wouldn’t expect anything less.’

  ‘So, how are you?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m super, why?’ The way he squirms in his seat tells me he knows where I’m going with this question.

  ‘Are you just going to pretend you didn’t tell me you were in love with Rachel the other night?’

  He shrugs. ‘It was just stupid drunk talk. I didn’t know what I was saying.’

  ‘Right. You had what—two beers? I know you, man—even drunk-arse Lucas doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean.’

  His body stiffens as his pleading eyes meet mine. ‘Can we just drop it?’

  ‘Okay. Just tell me one thing: how long has this been going on?’

  ‘I don’t know. Five or six years, I guess,’ he says, slumping back into his seat.

  ‘Five or six years? Shit. How did I not see this?’

  ‘Because you were always too busy following Jemma around like a lost puppy.’ I smile; he’s probably right. ‘At first it was a bit of fun. I mean, she’s hot, she’s funny … what’s not to like? We’d hook up every now and then. After she moved to New York I missed her, and that’s when I realised I’d developed real feelings for her.’

  ‘And those feelings weren’t reciprocated?’

  ‘I thought we were going to drop this,’ he snaps, running his fingers through his hair as he huffs out a breath.

  ‘I’m sorry, mate.’

  ‘Shit happens. She’s not the first, and she certainly won’t be the last.’ He tries to brush it off with a casual flick of his hand.

  Why do I get the feeling he doesn’t mean that?

  It’s around four when I leave the office. I’m not picking Jem up until six, but I have a few things to do before then. The first thing on my agenda is to pick up my dry-cleaning, then head to the florist to buy flowers for Jemma. Not just any old flowers, her favourite kind.

  I’ve made a reservation at our favourite restaurant, The Sea Shanty. It’s where I took her on our first date. She won’t remember that, of course, but I can only hope it will spark some kind of recognition, especially considering she designed the interior.

  The food has always been amazing—the best seafood in town—but when we first started going there the décor was dated and mismatched. It used to drive Jemma insane, so when the new management took over four years ago, she was delighted when they hired her to redesign the place.

  I can’t wait for her reaction when she sees it. I made sure to tell the owners, Matt and Trish, about Jemma’s memory loss when I made the reservation. I don’t want them to be offended by Jemma’s aloofness, nor do I want them to say anything that might upset her. I need tonight to be perfect.

  I take Bella-Rose for a walk along the beach when I get home from work, before jumping in the shower. I’m standing in front of the sink in the bathroom, shaving, when I hear my phone ding in the bedroom, alerting me I have a message.

  After washing my face, I head into my room. My towel is hung low around my waist. My black trousers and the blue shirt Jemma bought me when we were on our honeymoon in Hawaii are laid out on the bed. She said it reminded her of my eyes. It will be the first chance I’ve had to wear it.

  When I see Jemma’s name on the screen, I get a sinking feeling in my stomach at the thought that she might be cancelling.

  I’m excited about tonight. Rachel and I went shopping yesterday afternoon. I bought a new dress. I hope you like it.

  I’m smiling as I type my reply. The fact that she even cares if I like it makes me happy. I don’t want to get my hopes up, because technically this is just a celebration dinner, but I have a good feeling about tonight.

  I’m looking forward to tonight too, I reply. I can’t wait to see your new dress. I don’t doubt for a second that you’ll look beautiful.

  My stomach flutters with both excitement and nerves when I pull into Christine’s driveway. I wasn’t even this nervous when I took her out on our very firs
t date, but things are very different now.

  The young, naïve Braxton took everything for granted. Back then, I presumed she would be mine forever, but now I know better.

  I tell myself I’m being stupid. It’s just dinner with Jem, there’s nothing to be nervous about. We’ve dined together thousands of times over the years.

  When the door opens and I’m greeted by Jem’s smiling face, all my nerves vanish. I take a step back, as my eyes travel down the length of her body. The sight of her literally takes my breath away.

  She’s wearing a red silk sleeveless dress that stops just above her knees. It’s simple, yet incredibly sexy, accentuating her luscious lean body perfectly. I’ve always loved her in red. It stands out beautifully against her dark hair and olive complexion.

  ‘Wow!’

  ‘You like?’ she says, placing her hand over the scar on her arm. I hate that it makes her feel self-conscious.

  ‘I love,’ I reply, using my free hand to gently remove hers. Those scars will be a permanent reminder to us both, but they’re a part of her now. ‘You don’t have to hide from me, Jem.’

  She gives me a tight smile. ‘I love your shirt,’ she says. ‘It makes your blue eyes pop.’

  ‘You bought this for me on our honeymoon.’

  Her smile is worth the time it took to iron. ‘I have good taste.’

  ‘Of course you do: you married me, didn’t you?’ She laughs as she playfully slaps my arm. ‘Oh, I almost forgot,’ I say, holding the flowers out to her. ‘These are for you.’

  When her face lights up, my heart sings. That’s exactly the look I was hoping for; it confirms my old Jem is still in there somewhere.

  ‘They’re beautiful, thank you.’ I’m transfixed as she brings them to her nose and closes her eyes. My lips curve up when she inhales deeply. ‘Mmm. They smell divine. And I love the purple and yellow together.’

  ‘They have always been your favourite.’

  She smiles and moves to the side so I can enter. ‘Come in, I’ll just put these in water before we go.’