by Jodi Perry
I cleared my throat before reaching over to turn the radio up. All this talk about torches was dangerous.
I held your hand all the way home, and kissed you goodnight when I walked you to your door. ‘Sweet dreams, Jem,’ I said, brushing my lips against yours one more time. I could have stood there and kissed you until the sun came up, but you were cold and wet, so I let you go.
‘I’ll dream of you,’ you whispered.
That night had started out pretty crappy for me, but it ended up being one of the best nights of my life.
What we had is far too beautiful to be forgotten.
Yours always,
Braxton
These letters tell me so much about myself, but they also let me get to know Braxton. I’ve learned just as much about him from reading these—things I’m sure the old me didn’t even know.
Placing the letter down beside me, I search in the bottom of the envelope for my charm. I find a small piece of paper instead.
I didn’t have time to buy the charms to go with this letter, because I wrote it last night after dropping you off. I’ll give them to you when I see you tomorrow morning at breakfast. x
TWENTY-EIGHT
Braxton
I pace back and forth on the deck as I wait for a glimpse of Jemma. Christine told me she was still asleep when I dropped the letter off yesterday morning, but I can’t help but wonder. Was she really asleep? Or was she just hiding up in her room to avoid me? Did I overstep the mark by kissing her? She said yes when I asked her permission, and she did kiss me back.
I run my hands through my hair as uncertainty clouds my mind. Things were never this difficult before. I always knew where I stood with her.
I went into a panic yesterday when I woke and saw it was almost nine. I thought I’d missed her, that she’d come for breakfast only to find me not there.
I couldn’t sleep after dropping her off the night before. After tossing and turning for a few hours, I eventually got up and wrote her another letter. It was some ungodly hour by the time I finally crawled back into bed and hugged her pillow, just like I’ve done every night since the accident. I’ve washed and changed the sheets numerous times since then, but not her pillowcase. It still smells of her. It’s the only thing that helps me sleep.
When I jumped out of bed yesterday, I threw on a T-shirt and a pair of sweats before walking the length of the beach with Bella-Rose. Jemma was nowhere to be seen. I ran back to the house and showered and changed in record time, before rushing to Christine’s.
That kiss … even today, it’s still in the forefront of my mind. She kissed me just like she used to. It’s been two days, and I’m still smiling about it.
I’m pulled from my thoughts when I hear someone speak. ‘Good morning.’
I swing around and relief washes over me when I see Jemma standing on the sand at the bottom of the steps.
She came.
‘Morning.’ I walk towards the edge of the deck. She’s not dressed in her running gear today. ‘I wasn’t sure if you were going to come.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t make it yesterday morning, I slept in.’
‘Me too.’
I must remember to give her the charms before she leaves. I bought a boy and girl kissing, and a tiny umbrella to symbolise the rain. I even considered buying a torch charm as a joke, but that’s a moment I’m okay with her not remembering.
‘Are you hungry?’ I ask, reaching for her hand.
‘Starved.’
I don’t know what to do. Do I kiss her? The morning after our very first kiss, there was no confusion on how to act. Things are so different now. Back then I knew she was mine, but now I’m not so sure.
In that split second, I decide not to. Although I want to kiss her badly, I don’t want to push her. Our kiss the other night propelled our somewhat strained relationship to a whole other level, and I’m not going to do anything to jeopardise that.
I do, however, keep her hand clasped in mine as I lead her towards the table on the deck. ‘Sit,’ I say, letting go of her hand and pulling her chair out. ‘I’ll go and make us a coffee.’
‘Thank you,’ she replies, smiling up at me.
We fall into easy conversation as we eat. She listens as I talk about my work, the small everyday things that make up my life. It’s just the type of easy breakfast chat we used to have.
‘Speaking of work, I better clean up this mess so we can get going.’ I would much rather spend my day out here with her curled up on the bench seat like we used to on weekends, but I force myself to stand and collect the dishes.
‘Let me help you,’ she says.
‘You don’t have to.’
‘I want to.’
I stand to the side so she can enter the house first, and I smile when she does exactly that. She pauses just inside the doorway as she takes in the large space before her. This house was once so alive with laughter and happiness, now it just seems far too big and quiet.
When we designed the interior, we wanted plenty of room, not only for our friends to stay over, but for the family we planned to have in the future—but I push those thoughts out of my mind. I’m just so happy she has finally found the courage to come into the house.
‘Wow,’ she says softly. ‘It’s so beautiful in here.’
The windows that run along the back of the house let in an abundance of natural light, which makes the room appear larger and illuminates the interior, increasing the overall beauty of the space. Working together on the plans for this place is one of my most precious memories of us.
I unload the dishes onto the breakfast bar and join Jemma. ‘Let me take those,’ I say, reaching out for the coffee mugs she’s holding. ‘Feel free to have a look around if you’d like.’
She keeps hold of the mugs. ‘Let me help you with the dishes.’
I think that’s her polite way of saying thanks-but-no-thanks, and I’m okay with that. Baby steps.
‘You can rinse.’
‘Okay.’
I can tell she’s a little overwhelmed by all this, but she’s smiling. Smiling is good.
We set to work, and I can’t help but watch her as she stops to gaze out the window. Seeing her like this—relaxed, rinsing breakfast dishes at the sink—is such a familiar sight, and something I once took for granted. But not anymore.
‘The view from here is breathtaking. I’d be happy to wash dishes every day if I could do it from here.’
I pack the dishwasher as she rinses, and we have it done in no time.
‘I’ll just run upstairs and grab my keys, and we’ll be off,’ I say.
‘Could I use the bathroom before we go?’
‘Of course.’
I lead her across the living room, and again I see her eyes everywhere, taking it all in. Then she spots Samson.
‘Oh, is this the bird you mentioned? The one that belonged to your father?’
‘Yes. Samson.’
‘Come say hello. He misses his pretty girl.’
‘His what?’
‘That’s what he calls you, Pretty Girl.’
‘He does not,’ she says with a smile.
‘Come see.’
As soon as he sees us, he flies towards the front of the cage, latching his clawed feet around the wire. His eyes are firmly fixed on Jemma, and he starts to bounce up and down as we get closer. ‘Squawk … Pretty Girl.’
‘See, I told you.’
‘Pretty Girl … Pretty Girl … who’s my Pretty Girl … squawk.’
‘Oh my god,’ she says, covering her mouth and giggling.
‘Yes, your Pretty Girl is here,’ I say to Samson, sliding my finger in between the bars of the cage and scratching his neck.
‘I can’t believe he calls me that.’
‘I might have taught him to say it.’
She laughs as she sticks her finger inside the cage. Samson moves along a few bars, until he can rub his face against her finger. ‘He’s so colourful.’
‘He’s
a rainbow lorikeet.’
‘You’re such a pretty boy, Samson,’ she whispers.
That’s exactly what she has always said to him.
‘The bathroom is the second door on the right,’ I say, pointing her in that direction. ‘I won’t be long.’
When I return a few minutes later I freeze on the bottom step when I see her standing in front of the stone fireplace, staring up at the large canvas on the wall. It’s my favourite picture of us on our wedding day. It captured the essence of us. We look so in love—because we were. It’s hard for me to look at it every day and be reminded of everything I’ve lost, but I feel compelled to keep it up. Whether or not she decides to come home, this place will always be ours. It’s a part of her, just as much as it’s a part of me.
I watch her for a moment before speaking. I would give anything to know what she’s thinking. ‘Are you ready?’
She swings around to face me before tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear; it’s a habit she’s retained from before. ‘Sure.’
Up until now we have used the side access, but this time we leave through the front door, past the garden.
‘It’s so lovely out here,’ she says as I lock the front door.
‘You used to spend hours out here on the weekends, tending to all the flower beds. I should probably think about hiring someone to maintain it. I wouldn’t know the first thing about pruning roses, or distinguishing a weed from a plant.’
‘Maybe if you’re free one weekend, I could come over and do them for you.’
I smile. ‘I’d really like that.’ Boy, would I like that.
The hope I’ve been carrying around inside me is burning so bright. What we have now is nothing compared to what we once had, but it’s far better than how things were in the weeks after the accident.
‘Oh, before I forget,’ I say, digging into my pocket, ‘here are the charms that were missing from the last letter.’
She holds out her hand, and I see the corners of her lips turn up as she looks down at them. ‘They’re perfect.’
‘I also have this.’ I pull another letter out of my back pocket, passing it to her. There’s a charm that says I love you inside. She will understand why when she reads my words.
‘Thank you. I really look forward to receiving your letters.’
‘I’ve enjoyed writing them. Reliving the past with you has been nice.’
I reach for her hand as we walk down the front steps towards the car. That crushing feeling I’ve been walking around with on my chest since her accident is so light in this moment I can barely even feel it.
LETTER TWELVE …
Dearest Jemma,
The twenty-fifth of November 2006. It was a Saturday, and the morning after my formal. I had lain awake for most of the night. I was on such a high, but again there was that niggling feeling inside that things would be different between us. I needn’t have worried.
Around 6am I woke to my phone ringing. I jolted upright. My curtains were drawn, so with the screen lit up it was easy for me to locate my phone in the darkness. I smiled as soon as I saw your number.
‘Good morning, boyfriend,’ you said as soon as I answered. Your raspy voice told me you’d just woken up, but your words had me feeling immediate relief.
‘Good morning, girlfriend,’ I replied rubbing my eyes. There was something special about our conversation in the darkness. It reminded me of all the times we’d shared a room together when we were kids. We would talk for hours until eventually falling asleep.
‘So, it’s true, I didn’t dream it.’
‘Well, if you did I must have had the same dream.’
‘So, we really kissed, danced in the rain, and I felt your torch.’
Your reply made me laugh, but I was cringing on the inside.
‘We definitely kissed, and danced in the rain, but the torch part never happened; you must have dreamed that.’ I heard you giggle on the other end of the line, and it made me smile. ‘So, what do you want to do today?’
‘Make out.’
My smile grew. ‘Okay, we can definitely do that. What else?’
‘We could go to the beach.’
I had a feeling you would say that. You always wanted to go to the beach. ‘Sounds great. Let me have some breakfast and I’ll come over.’
‘Brax?’ you said before I hung up.
‘What?’
‘Eat really fast, I can’t wait to kiss you again.’
‘Okay,’ I said chuckling. The feeling was definitely mutual.
Twenty minutes later I knocked on your front door. You were already dressed in your bikini and a white sundress. Your long brown hair was pulled back into a high ponytail. You looked beautiful—for once I didn’t feel guilty for thinking that. You were my girlfriend now, so I was allowed to think those kinds of things.
You glanced over your shoulder to make sure your parents weren’t nearby, then you grabbed the front of my T-shirt and pulled me in for a scorching-hot kiss. You tasted like a combination of mint and sweetness.
I sat at the kitchen table with you and your father while your mother cooked your breakfast. ‘Have you eaten, Braxton?’ she asked, placing a coffee down in front of your father.
‘Thanks, love,’ he said, smiling up at her from behind his newspaper.
‘Yes, I’ve already eaten,’ I replied, without taking my eyes off you. You were staring at me too, and I’m pretty sure we were both wearing dreamy smiles on our faces.
‘What are you two up to?’ your mother asked as her eyes darted between us. Your father folded down the front of his paper to study us both as well.
‘Nothing,’ you quickly said, looking down into your orange juice.
‘You both look like the cat who ate the canary.’
‘Nope, wasn’t me,’ I said. ‘What about you, Jem—did you eat the canary?’
‘Definitely not,’ you answered, vigorously shaking your head. ‘I don’t like canary, it tastes too … feathery.’
I couldn’t help but laugh. Your father just shook his head and smiled before going back to his paper. Your mother, however, continued to eye us both sceptically.
When you’d finished breakfast, you packed sunscreen, snacks and cold drinks into a bag for us.
You handed me the keys to your car as we walked across the front lawn. You used to prefer me driving. Even though you had improved, I must admit I felt safer being the one behind the wheel.
I reached for your hand as soon as I reversed out into the street. Being able to touch you was going to take some getting used to, but I was happy, and I could tell you were as well.
‘Pull over,’ you said as I turned the corner.
‘Why? Did you forget something?’
‘Just pull over,’ you demanded.
As soon as we stopped, you removed your seatbelt and leaned over towards me. ‘I just want to kiss you.’
We did a lot of kissing that day … a lot. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love every minute of it.
After our incredibly hot make-out session in the car, we eventually arrived at the beach. We walked hand in hand to our usual spot before laying our towels down on the sand. You removed your sundress, while I pulled my T-shirt over my head.
We usually applied our own sunscreen to our arms, legs and face, but then I would do your back and you would do mine. Usually I would be quick—I didn’t want you to know how much I enjoyed having my hands on your skin—but things were different now. I no longer had to hide my feelings.
I took my sweet time as I slowly massaged the cream into your silky smooth skin. You knew exactly what I was doing.
You had a cheeky smile on your face as you held your ponytail to the side and glanced at me over your shoulder. Our eyes were locked as I moved my hands to your sides, splaying my fingers over your stomach. Your pretty brown eyes fluttered shut and a soft moan fell from your lips as I slowly and meticulously ran my hands up and down your torso.
It was at that stage I knew I
needed to stop, so I dropped my hands down by my side. I knew that if I didn’t, I would end up with a tent in my pants, just like the night before. As much as I longed for the day I could explore your body the way I wanted to, this wasn’t the time or the place.
I chuckled when you pouted.
Reaching for your hand, I laced my fingers through yours as we ran down to the water. When we were about waist deep, I let go and we both dived under an incoming wave. You surfaced right in front of me.
You positioned your arms around my neck as your lips connected with mine. This situation was new to us, but we seemed to make the transition from best friends to lovers effortlessly. One thing I’d learned since last night was that you liked to kiss.
When my arms slid around your middle, pulling your body flush with mine, you wrapped your legs around my waist under the water. I groaned into your mouth when you started to grind yourself against me. The devious smile on your face as you pulled out of the kiss told me you knew exactly what you were doing.
Your hands moved to the sides of my face, and your eyes locked with mine. ‘I want you to be my first. I want to experience everything with you.’
‘I want that too, Jem, but not here. Not with an audience. I want our first time to be special.’
You smiled before brushing your lips against mine. ‘I love you, Braxton Spencer.’ Your face dropped as you waited for my reply. It never came. ‘Don’t you love me too?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘Then why don’t you say it? You’ve never told me you love me.’
‘Just because I don’t say it, doesn’t mean I don’t.’
You looked hurt as you untangled your legs from my waist and stood in the shallows, your arms dropping by your side. ‘Well, it would be nice to hear it.’
You tried to pull away from me, but my arms were still around your waist, and I wasn’t letting go anytime soon. ‘The last person I said those words to … died.’
You frowned, trying to make sense of what I was saying, then realisation hit.
‘Your mum?’
‘Yes.’ Bowing my head, I focused on the water around us as I tried not to let the memories of that night take over.