Nineteen Letters

by Jodi Perry

  Hi, I type. I just wanted to say thank you for telling me.

  A few minutes pass before I get a reply. It’s something I thought you’d want to know. Are you okay?

  No. I feel like my heart is breaking all over again.

  A few seconds later I jump when my phone rings. ‘I’m sorry, Jem,’ is the first thing he says. ‘I should have waited until I was around to give you the letter. I’m stuck in a meeting and I can’t leave.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say, sniffling. ‘I didn’t expect you to. I just wanted to say thank you. I’ll be all right, honestly.’

  ‘I should be finished here in about half an hour. I’ll come straight over when I’m done. We can talk then.’

  ‘You don’t have to come, Braxton, but thanks for offering.’

  After ending the call, I wipe the tears from my face before opening the lid of my treasure box and tucking the ultrasound picture safely inside. I pick up the smaller envelope that housed the letter and find a small engagement-ring charm inside. Although my heart is still hurting, I smile. He also included a box in the parcel, which I take out next.

  I draw in a sharp breath once I open the lid of the white velvet box and see my engagement ring. It looks shiny, like new, which makes me wonder if he had it cleaned before sending it to me.

  I slide it onto my finger and admire my hand. It’s not overly big, but it’s beautiful. Exquisitely beautiful. Though I’m pretty sure I would have loved a piece of wire if it was from him.

  I leave the ring on my finger for the time being, and lie down on my bed. Closing my eyes, I will my mind to remember …

  ‘Did you remember to grab the tomatoes, babe?’ I call out when I hear a door close in the distance.

  I’m standing in a tiny kitchen I don’t recognise, stirring something on the stove. I peer into the pot … it looks like spaghetti sauce. Looking out towards the window on my right, I see a row of shells along the windowsill above the kitchen sink. I find myself smiling as I get lost in the ocean view beyond.

  ‘Yes, I got the tomatoes.’ I jump when a pair of strong hands slide around my waist.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I see Braxton’s handsome face smiling back at me. He plants a chaste kiss on my lips before letting me go. I continue to stir the sauce as I watch him unpack the groceries onto the countertop.

  ‘Lettuce, cucumber, tomatoes, red onion and an avocado. Is that everything?’

  There’s a sweet grin on his face as he turns towards me. My eyes zero in on his cute little dimple. I love that dimple.

  ‘Yes, that’s everything.’

  He looks down into the bag he’s still holding. ‘I also got these.’

  He reaches in and pulls out a pair of tiny white socks with a pink trim around the band. Tears rise to my eyes when I read the inscription on them: I love my mummy.

  ‘Braxton, they’re beautiful,’ I say, taking them out of his hands.

  ‘And these,’ he adds, pulling out another pair. They have a blue trim and say: I love my daddy.

  I sniffle as I take both pairs of socks in my hands. ‘I love them so much. I still can’t believe we’re going to be parents.’

  ‘You’re going to make the best mum,’ he says, his eyes shining.

  As he inches his face towards mine, I feel a hand softly run over my hair. I open my eyes and I’m no longer in the small kitchen, wrapped in his arms. I’m lying on my bed in my room at my parents’ house, and Braxton is sitting on the edge of the mattress looking down at me. There’s a sweet smile on his face, and again I gravitate towards his dimple.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.’

  ‘I didn’t realise I’d fallen asleep.’

  ‘You must have been having a nice dream, because you kept smiling.’ I sit up, but don’t reply. ‘I’ve missed watching you sleep, Jem.’

  His gaze flickers down to my hand, to the engagement ring.

  ‘I was just trying it on. It’s so pretty.’

  When I go to remove it, he places his hand over mine. ‘Please don’t take it off, Jem.’

  ‘I …’

  ‘Please. I’m not trying to pressure you, and don’t worry, I won’t get the wrong idea about you wearing it. I just want to see it on your hand. Whether or not we live together as husband and wife again, I bought it for you to wear … it’s yours.’

  He looks away, down to his lap, and the sadness I see on his face hurts my heart. I raise my hand and run it down the side of his face. ‘I’ll leave it on,’ I whisper.

  Braxton’s eyes keep moving between my face and the ring on my finger as I eat breakfast. I’m glad I kept it on, because I can see how happy it makes him. There was a part of me that didn’t want to take it off, but I worry that he will get the wrong idea. There’s no denying that I have feelings for him, that he’s on my mind all the time. When we’re together I feel so happy, and when we’re apart I miss him. But I still have a long way to go before I’m ready for anything like that. What I feel is not enough. I want to be able to feel the way I did before the accident.

  He was so sweet when he came to my house last night. He asked me how I was feeling and when I said sad, he told me to scoot over and then lay down beside me. We stayed there, me wrapped in his arms, and it made me wonder if this was how he’d held me the first time I went through the loss.

  I ended up falling asleep again, but this time there were no dreams. I desperately wanted to ask him whether he had given me those baby socks, but I’m not ready to disclose that information. A scattered dream here and there isn’t enough to warrant that. I don’t want to get anybody’s hopes up until I’m sure.

  After I help him clean up, and we visit his father, he drops me back at my mum’s. ‘I have another letter for you,’ he says as we sit in the driveway. ‘There’s nothing sad in this one, I promise,’ he adds with a gentle smile.

  Sliding his hand into my hair, he pulls my face towards his. I part my lips when his mouth meets mine. I can see why the old me wanted to kiss him so much. I’m officially addicted to his kisses.

  He draws back slightly. ‘I hope you have a nice day. Call me if you need anything.’

  ‘I will,’ I whisper.

  Neither of us moves. It’s getting harder and harder to leave him.

  LETTER EIGHTEEN …

  Dearest Jemma,

  The thirty-first of December 2014, and the clock had just struck midnight. I slid my arms around your waist from behind. ‘Happy New Year, Jem,’ I said as I planted a soft kiss on your cheek. We were standing on our back deck, watching the fireworks in the distance. I loved how the neon colours in the sky reflected back in the water.

  ‘Happy New Year, Brax,’ you replied as you turned your head and brushed your lips against mine.

  We’d been living in our dream house for almost six months. We loved it, but there was a part of us that missed our tiny shack. You cried your eyes out the day it was demolished.

  We ended up moving in with your mother for five months, while the new house was being built. It was trying at times, because she was in the depths of depression. Her parents had long since passed away, and your father had moved out. It was incredibly hard to watch the shell of a person she had become.

  ‘This year is going to be an amazing year,’ you said, turning in my arms. ‘Just think, in nineteen days I’m going to be Mrs Braxton Spencer.’

  ‘Say that again.’

  ‘Mrs Braxton Spencer.’

  ‘It has a nice ring to it,’ I said, gently brushing your hair back from your face. ‘I can’t wait for you to be my wife.’

  ‘I can’t wait for you to be my husband.’

  We had only one more week of work, then we were off for an entire month. I couldn’t wait to spend every second of that time with you.

  Life was good … it was perfect, actually. Sometimes I worried it was too perfect. My parents had been happy, right up until the moment my mother died. Your parents had been happy too, until everything fell apart.

  Even
though our future looked bright, something niggled deep inside me. It was concern for what possibly lay ahead. It seems so ironic now.

  The nineteenth of January 2015. Lucas placed his hand on my leg as we sat in the front pew at the church. ‘Will you stop that,’ he complained. ‘That bouncing is making me edgy.’

  I wasn’t nervous, I was excited. In a matter of minutes, you would arrive. I looked down at my watch, and smiled. Two minutes, to be precise. You’d promised me the day before that you wouldn’t be late, and you’d never broken a promise.

  When the priest took his place in front of the altar, he signalled for Lucas and me to stand. ‘Good luck, son,’ my father said as I passed him. I didn’t need luck, I was already the luckiest man on earth, because I had you.

  Chills ran up my spine as the music started to play. ‘Endless Love’, sung by Stan Walker and Dami Im. You told me that you’d heard it on the radio, and it made you cry. ‘It’s like it was written for us,’ you said.

  Rachel appeared in the doorway first. She looked beautiful in a jade-green dress that she had designed herself; she designed your wedding dress too. I was yet to see it, but you’d told me how much you loved it.

  I leaned slightly to the left, trying to catch a glimpse of you, but all I could see was a flash of white.

  I smiled at Rachel as she slowly walked down the aisle towards me. She was a quarter of the way down before you came into full view. My heart skipped a beat as soon as my eyes locked with yours.

  Even though the veil was over your face, I could see that your eyes were trained on me as well. I’ll never forget the look on your face as you made your way down the aisle. You looked so happy, as happy as I felt.

  My gaze didn’t leave you until you were standing before me.

  ‘Who gives this woman’s hand in marriage today?’ the priest asked.

  ‘I do,’ your father replied.

  He reached out and shook my hand, before taking a seat beside my dad. Your mother had put up quite a fuss about him attending the wedding. She insisted that we keep him as far away from her as possible. You were still hurting from the break-up, but there was no way you were getting married without him present, so we compromised.

  I reached for your hand, lightly tugging you towards me. ‘You look beautiful,’ I whispered.

  ‘So do you,’ you replied.

  I helped you pull your veil back, and then interlaced your fingers through mine. I wanted to kiss you badly in that moment, but I knew I had to wait.

  Surprisingly, we both held it together as we exchanged vows and rings.

  ‘I love you, Mr Spencer,’ you whispered as I pulled you into my arms on the dance floor at the reception for our first dance as husband and wife.

  ‘I love you too, Mrs Spencer,’ I replied, placing my lips on yours.

  The twenty-first of January 2015. It was the day we arrived in Kauai, on the shores of Tunnels Beach in Hawaii, and took refuge in our beautiful ocean villa.

  We made the most of our honeymoon, enjoying every moment of our time together. We took long walks on the beach, and ate exquisite food that was brought to our villa every day via a canoe. We swam in our private ocean pool, and we made love into the early hours of the morning. We were so far removed from the rest of the world, and neither of us wanted it to end. If I’d known the horrors that awaited us after our return, I would have kept you on that island forever.

  They say that after you marry someone things don’t really change, that it’s just a piece of paper. I don’t agree, because things were definitely different for me. I felt closer to you than I ever had, if that were even possible. You were no longer just an extension of me, you were a part of me.

  What we had is far too beautiful to be forgotten.

  Yours always,

  Braxton

  I find two things inside the envelope: a small car charm that has the words Just Married on the back, and my wedding band. I slide it onto my finger next to my engagement ring. Braxton said that there was nothing sad in this letter, but sad would be the best way to describe how I’m feeling in this moment.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Jemma

  I’ve pulled up Braxton’s number numerous times throughout the day, but I’ve chickened out from calling him each time. It’s been three whole days since I’ve seen him, and he’s made no contact with me. It has rained since Wednesday, so I haven’t been able to go for my run along the beach, which means I’ve missed breakfast with him too.

  The longer I don’t hear from him, the more I worry. I miss him so much. I miss him to the point that I think I’m actually pining for him.

  I stand and start to pace back and forth in my room. I just can’t settle. I open the laptop sitting on my desk. It’s almost 7pm here, so that would make it 5am in New York. I know Rachel gets up early to go to yoga before work, so I take the chance and Skype her.

  ‘Jesus, Jem, it’s five o’clock in the morning here,’ she says as her face comes into view on the screen. Her eyes are squinting from the bright light of the monitor, and her hair is sticking up all over the place. I have to stifle my laugh. She looks like a hot mess.

  ‘I’m sorry. I just … I don’t know … needed to talk to you.’

  ‘Hey, what’s up? Is everything okay?’

  ‘Yes … no. I haven’t heard from Braxton in three days.’

  ‘Oh. Did you two have a fight? Things seemed to be going so well.’

  ‘That’s the thing, it’s been wonderful … he’s been wonderful.’

  ‘Well, maybe he’s just busy with work. You said yourself they were doing really well.’

  ‘Maybe. Seeing him every day, and then not seeing him at all … it’s hard. I miss him.’

  ‘Is he still writing you letters?’

  ‘I’m not sure. The one he gave me three days ago was about our wedding day, and our honeymoon … that was just before the accident, so maybe it was the last letter.’

  ‘I see.’ She ponders this briefly, then continues. ‘Maybe he’s feeling disillusioned.’

  I never thought about it like that. Could he be giving up on us? ‘Possibly,’ I say, suddenly feeling deflated.

  ‘Call him, Jem. Ever since the accident he’s fought hard to try to win you back. He’s been so patient, and he gave you the distance you needed. Throw him a bone, he at least deserves that after all the effort he’s put in.’

  ‘You’re right,’ I say, looking down at the carpet. He’s done all the chasing, it’s about time I did some of my own. ‘I’m going to call him. Thanks, Rach. I’m sorry if I woke you … go back to sleep.’

  ‘Yeah right, I’m wide awake now.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s okay. I can call you back on my lunch break … what time will it be there? Oh that’s right, 2am.’

  ‘Don’t you dare,’ I say, giggling.

  ‘At least I got you smiling, pretty girl.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’ll see you in ten days.’

  ‘I can’t wait.’

  She has finally made the decision to come home. She’s already given notice at her work, and has started to pack up her apartment. I’m looking forward to having her back here. With Braxton’s help, I’m going to try to work out this thing between her and Lucas.

  After we say our goodbyes, I log off and pick up my phone. This time I don’t hesitate pressing the call button.

  ‘Jem. Is everything okay?’ he says as soon as he answers my call.

  ‘Hi. Everything’s fine. I haven’t spoken to you in a few days … three actually … I just, umm, wanted to see how you were doing.’

  ‘I’m okay. How about you?’ To me, the tone of his voice doesn’t appear to match his words.

  ‘I’m doing okay.’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  Even though he’s being polite, he seems distant. Or maybe that’s just my paranoia. ‘So, what have you been up to?’

  ‘Working. Same old same old.’

  ‘What about toni
ght? Do you have any plans?’ I chew nervously on one of my fingernails as I wait for his reply.

  ‘I do actually.’

  ‘Oh. Okay.’

  ‘I’m going out with Lucas. It’s been a while since we’ve had a boys’ night out.’

  ‘That’s great. You deserve it.’ I really mean it, but I’m still fighting back tears. ‘Well, have a good night.’

  ‘I will. You too.’

  I want to tell him how much I’ve missed him, but the words won’t come. ‘Bye.’

  ‘Goodbye, Jem.’ I hear his voice crack slightly as he speaks. Why did that goodbye seem so final?

  I head downstairs, my stomach churning. I feel panicked—I don’t want to lose him.

  My parents have gone out to dinner. They invited me to come along, but I said no. They need their time alone; they have so much making up to do. My dad has been coming over every night for dinner, but only stays over on the weekends. I’m expecting an announcement any day, saying he’s moving back in. It’s plain to see how smitten they are, and it makes me so happy seeing them together again.

  I enter the kitchen and head straight for the fridge. I’m not even hungry, but I poke around inside. I end up making a coffee and settling on the sofa in front of the television. The dreaded feeling of loneliness, the one I felt when I first woke from my coma, settles deep in my gut. I don’t like this feeling one bit.

  It’s around ten when I hear a car pull up outside, followed by a door closing. I walk towards the window to see who it is. I hope it’s Braxton, but I don’t think he’d turn up unannounced at this time of night. It’s probably just my parents returning from dinner.

  I pull the curtain to the side and peer out into the night. I see a dark figure run across the front lawn towards the kerb, and hop into the passenger side of a car that’s parked there. A few moments later it drives away, disappearing into the night, and suddenly I feel uneasy, because I don’t recognise the car.

  I head out into the hallway, to check the front door is locked, and that’s when I notice the envelope on the floor. Someone has slipped it under the door.

  As soon as I pick it up and turn it over, I see Braxton’s handwriting. The fact that he didn’t knock, or want to say hello, does nothing to lift my mood.