Nineteen Letters

by Jodi Perry

  After turning off the television, and rinsing my mug in the sink, I head up to my room.

  LETTER NINETEEN …

  Dearest Jemma,

  As I sit here and ponder everything we once were, and everything we are today, I suddenly realise that this is not only the nineteenth letter, but also the last.

  It’s uncanny that they’d end on this number. There’s no denying the number nineteen holds a special significance for us.

  It was the nineteenth the day we met. A day that would change my life forever.

  It was the nineteenth when we went on our first official date.

  It was the nineteenth when we took our relationship to the next level, the day our bodies and hearts connected as one.

  Our home, the place I proposed to you and promised to love you until I took my very last breath, whether by fate or pure coincidence is the number nineteen. I’d like to believe it was fate.

  It was not only nineteen years to the day we met that you gave me your hand in marriage, making me the happiest man in the world, it was also the nineteenth.

  That’s why I gave you this necklace nineteen days later, with the number nineteen on it. I thought that nineteen was the number that symbolised everything we were. Every important milestone we’d experienced together. The number that not only brought us together, but bonded us forever. But I was wrong.

  It would also be the number that played a hand in snatching you away from me, shattering my world and everything I held dear. You were my life and without you by my side, I could no longer breathe.

  If nineteen years is all I’m allowed, then I’ll take it. Meeting you enriched my life in so many ways, and I’ll forever cherish every second you were mine.

  Never in my wildest dreams did I think the day would come that I would no longer be your forever boy.

  Braxton

  I look at the necklace in my hand, and the beautiful diamond-encrusted number-nineteen pendant that hangs from it. I’m not sure if I would be able to stop the tears that now leak from my eyes, even if I tried.

  My heart feels like it’s in a thousand tiny pieces. I hate that he thinks he’s no longer my forever boy, that this is the end of us.

  All the anger I felt when I first woke from my coma comes flooding back to the surface. The unfairness of life consumes every inch of me until it’s seeping out of my pores.

  I want my old life back. I want to remember every beautiful second … but more than anything, I want to feel it. I want to feel that all-consuming love I once had for him. I want it all, but I can’t have it. Life’s a bitch, and in this moment, I hate her. I hate her so much I want to scream. But instead, I bury my face in my pillow and I cry. I cry for me. I cry for Braxton. But more than anything, I cry for us—for what has been so cruelly taken away. That’s the true injustice here. I cry until the exhaustion consumes me. It’s not until I fall asleep that the tears finally stop …

  I’m suddenly thrust into a place that seems familiar, yet I’ve never seen it before. I’m in a large bathroom. I’m surrounded by sky-blue walls and shiny white tiles. There’s a long, white vanity in front of me. My eyes focus on the beautiful white shell that sits in between the double sink.

  I don’t know where I am, but I feel panicked as I rummage through the make-up bag in front of me. I can’t seem to find what I’m looking for. I open the drawer below the vanity and move a pink brush to the side. ‘There you are,’ I whisper as I grab the lip gloss that was hiding underneath it.

  My eyes move back to the long rectangular mirror in front of me. It has recessed lights around the perimeter, illuminating my reflection. I’m rushing now, as I put the finishing touches to my make-up.

  That’s when I catch a glimpse of someone else in the mirror. It’s Braxton. He’s leaning up against the doorframe watching me. He’s shirtless and wearing a pair of grey sweats that hang low on his hips. I feel my pulse quicken as my eyes rake over his bare chest, and the definition of each delicious muscle. From the perfect V just above the waistband, right up to his washboard abs, and his strong chest. He has a beautiful body, like a sculptured Greek god.

  Only then do my eyes move back to his, and the adoring look on his face sends my heart into a flutter. The sheer love I feel for him in that moment consumes every fibre of my being. I’ve never felt anything like it. It almost takes my breath away.

  ‘How long have you been standing there?’ I ask as my mouth curves into a smile.

  ‘I’m just admiring my beautiful wife.’

  He pushes off the doorframe and stalks towards me. When his arms encircle my waist, he pulls me back into him. A soft moan falls from my mouth as his lips trail a path up my neck. I tilt my head to the side, allowing him better access.

  ‘I’m already running late,’ I breathe.

  ‘I wish you didn’t have to go.’ His warm breath on my skin leaves goosebumps in its wake.

  ‘Me either.’

  ‘The next eight hours are going to feel like an eternity.’

  I sigh in agreement. ‘I know.’

  His tongue glides over the sensitive spot behind my ear, sending shivers down my spine. He did that on purpose. ‘Don’t make any plans for tonight, because I’m taking you out to dinner.’

  ‘You’re taking me out? Where?’

  ‘The Sea Shanty.’ He groans as he sucks my earlobe into his mouth.

  ‘What’s the special occasion?’

  ‘Our anniversary.’

  My eyes fly open to meet his in the mirror. ‘Our what?’ My mind starts to race. What anniversary?

  He turns me in his arms so I’m facing him, and pulls a small black box from his pocket. ‘I was going to give this to you tonight, but I want you to have it now. Happy nineteenth anniversary, sweetheart.’

  My hands tremble slightly as I take hold of the box. That’s when I realise that today we have been married for nineteen days, and a huge smile breaks out on my face. The number nineteen has always held special significance for us.

  Tears of happiness pool in my eyes as I open the lid. Inside I find a white-gold necklace holding a diamond-encrusted number-nineteen pendant.

  ‘Oh Braxton, it’s beautiful. I love it … I love you.’

  He smiles as his hand tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. ‘I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, Jem.’

  ‘Same.’

  A lump forms in my throat and I feel like I’m choking back the tears. I use my hand to fan my eyes; I don’t have time to redo my make-up.

  Taking the box out of my hand, he removes the necklace. ‘Turn around, and hold up your hair.’ I do as he asks, gathering my long brown hair on top of my head so he can fasten the necklace. ‘Perfect,’ he says, planting a soft kiss at the base of my neck.

  My fingertips glide over the pendant as I admire it in the mirror. ‘Thank you … I’ll treasure it.’

  Sliding his arms around my waist again, he rests his chin on my shoulder, and his eyes meet mine in the mirror. ‘You know, I’ve been thinking …’

  ‘That could be dangerous.’

  I laugh when he pokes my side.

  ‘I want you to stop taking the pill.’

  I feel my heartbeat accelerate as I swing around to face him. ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes. It’s time we gave it another try, Jem. I want to see our baby growing inside you.’

  Opening my eyes, I bolt upright. I remember. Flicking back the covers, I jump out of bed and scamper around in the dark, looking for my phone. My head is spinning. I need to call Braxton. I need to know if that’s really what happened that morning, or if it was just a dream.

  When I finally find my phone, I turn it on and the brightness of the screen hurts my eyes. I see that the time is 1.19am. There’s the number nineteen again. I feel breathless as I find his number. I probably shouldn’t ring him at this hour, but I’m desperate for answers. There’s no way I can go back to sleep until I know.

  ‘Hi, this is Braxton, I can’t take your call at the moment, but i
f you leave your name and number, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible …’ My heart sinks.

  I switch on the light and start to pace back and forth in my room and then decide screw it, I’m going over there.

  I don’t even bother to take off my pyjamas, I just slide into a pair of jeans and pull a jacket out of the wardrobe. I’m already dialling the taxi as I rush down the stairs and slip outside into the darkness. Twenty-five minutes later, the driver turns into Braxton’s street. ‘It’s number nineteen,’ I tell him, a smile creeping onto my face.

  I pat down my pockets when we come to a stop outside his house. ‘Shit!’

  ‘That’ll be nineteen dollars and five cents, but let’s make it an even nineteen,’ he says. Of course it’s nineteen dollars. That only manages to make my smile grow. It’s a sign, I know it.

  ‘I’ve left my money at home, can you just give me a second. My husband will fix up the bill.’ My husband, those words are not lost on me.

  His house is in darkness when I reach the front door, and suddenly I’m second-guessing myself. It’s the middle of the night. Nevertheless, I raise my hand and knock. I hear Bella-Rose bark from inside, and a few minutes later the porch light comes on.

  The first thing I see is the surprise on Braxton’s face when he opens the door. ‘Jemma.’ My eyes move down his body, he’s shirtless and has a grey pair of sweats hanging low on his hips. He looks just as beautiful as he did in my dream. ‘Jemma … is everything okay?’

  My eyes snap back up to his face. ‘I need money to pay the taxi driver.’ I point over my shoulder. ‘I can pay you back, I forgot to bring my purse.’

  ‘Sure, give me a sec, I’ll grab my wallet.’ He steps back and opens the door further. ‘Come in, it’s cold out there.’ A minute later he comes bounding back down the stairs, now wearing a T-shirt. ‘Stay here. I’ll be right back.’

  Braxton closes the front door behind him when he returns, and comes to a stop in front of me, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  It’s so good to see him.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hi,’ he replies, smiling.

  ‘I’ve missed you.’

  ‘You have?’

  ‘Very much.’ His face lights up at my confession.

  ‘I’ve missed you too, Jem, but it’s a quarter to two in the morning. I’m sure you didn’t come all this way to tell me that.’

  ‘I didn’t.’ My gaze briefly moves down to the floor. ‘I need to see the bathroom where I used to get ready in the mornings.’

  ‘Our ensuite?’ His brow furrows. ‘Why?’

  ‘Can I just see it?’ I don’t want to tell him why, just in case it’s completely different from the one in my dream.

  ‘Sure.’

  He turns and walks towards the floating staircase. ‘Is this the same bathroom I got ready in the morning you gave me the necklace?’

  ‘Yes.’

  My eyes are everywhere as I follow him into what I presume is our bedroom. There’s a king-size bed, centred against the far wall. The covers are thrown back on one side, and I can see the indent in the pillow from where Braxton had been lying a few minutes earlier.

  ‘This is our ensuite,’ he says, gesturing with his hand for me to enter, while he remains in the doorway.

  I gasp as soon as I step into the space. ‘I remember the colour of the walls … and this vanity,’ I say as I rush towards it. The mirror and the recessed lights are exactly the same as the ones in my dream. ‘I remember this shell,’ I whisper, picking it up. When I place it back down, I open the drawer and see the pink brush sitting on top.

  I spin around to face him. ‘The morning you gave me that necklace, you were standing in the doorway watching me put on my make-up. You were shirtless and wearing a pair of grey sweats, just like the ones you’re wearing now. You looked so sexy, by the way.’ The smile on his face grows as he takes a few steps towards me. ‘You told me you wanted me to give up work so we could start a family, didn’t you?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Braxton, I remember,’ I say as I leap into his arms. ‘I remember.’ Tears of happiness are streaming down my face as he wraps me in his arms and swings me around.

  When he finally puts me down, he lets me go to cup my face in his hands. ‘Jem,’ he whispers.

  ‘I even remembered how much I loved you. The feeling was … euphoric.’ I place my hand over my heart. ‘It consumed me.’

  ‘I love you so much, Jem,’ he says as a lone tear leaks from one of his eyes.

  ‘I love you too.’

  His lips crash into mine and my body instinctively melts into his, as my arms slide around his waist. A soft moan falls from my lips when he deepens the kiss.

  When he draws back and smiles, I’m smiling too.

  ‘Do you still want to try for another baby?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ he says without hesitation. ‘If that’s what you want?’

  ‘I’d love to have a baby with you, Braxton.’

  ‘Well, when you’re ready we can try.’

  ‘Can I stay tonight? In our bed … with you?’

  ‘Are you sure you’re ready for that?’

  ‘Yes.’ My reply comes out almost desperate. ‘I want everything we once had, and so much more. I’ve been thinking about it a lot since someone bragged about what an exceptional lover he was—I need to find out if he was telling the truth.’

  He throws back his head and laughs before scooping me into his arms and carrying me back into the bedroom. ‘He was telling the truth. Actually, I’m pretty sure he was playing it down.’

  I giggle at his reply, but if he can make love anything like he can kiss, then I don’t doubt it for a second.

  He places me down gently, beside the bed.

  ‘Let me be the judge of that,’ I say.

  ‘You’re probably going to put him off his game now.’

  ‘Really? Do you think maybe he’s been talking himself up?’

  ‘Not a chance in hell,’ he replies, making me laugh. ‘He’s just a bit rusty, he hasn’t done this in a while.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, running my hand down the side of his face. ‘I’m sorry I hurt you … I’m sorry I couldn’t remember how much I loved you.’

  ‘It’s okay, Jem. Even in the tough times, I never gave up hope that you’d find your way back to me.’

  ‘Thank you for not giving up on me … on us.’

  ‘That was never going to happen. We were meant to be.’

  He places his lips on mine, before reaching for the zipper on my jacket. My body momentarily tenses, as he drags it open. ‘Can we turn off the light?’

  He draws back from me, studying my face. ‘Why?’

  ‘My scars,’ I say, bowing my head.

  He places a finger under my chin, raising my face to meet his. ‘Your scars are a part of you, Jem, and there’s nothing about you I don’t love.’

  He brushes the hair back from the side of my face, before planting a tender kiss on the scar beside my temple. Tilting my head back, I moan as his mouth softly trails a path across my jawline, and down my neck.

  Gently pushing the fabric off my shoulder, he places another tender kiss on the scar that runs down my arm, where the surgeon made the incision so he could insert screws in my broken bones.

  ‘You’re perfect,’ he whispers as his lips find their way back to mine.

  And just like that all my insecurities vanish, because I know he means every word. His love for me is unconditional … I feel it.

  EPILOGUE

  Braxton

  FOUR YEARS LATER …

  I lie perfectly still as she tips the last bucket of sand on my chest and pats it down tightly, just like I taught her. I’m buried right up to my neck. She’s beaming as she stands and admires her handiwork. I find myself smiling at the joy I see reflected in her beautiful blue eyes. They’re my mother’s eyes, and every time I gaze into them I feel like a part of her is still with me. My beautiful daughter even bears her name … Grace.
Grace Isabella Spencer.

  The moment she was born was one of the happiest of my life. I can’t even put into words how overwhelmed I felt looking down at my precious baby girl in my wife’s arms. After losing our first child, and then almost losing Jemma, that moment seemed almost surreal.

  ‘She looks just like you,’ Jemma whispered. ‘I know we already had a girl’s name picked out, but would you mind if we called her Grace instead … after your mother.’

  I remember wiping the tears from my eyes as I tried not to completely break down. ‘I’d love that.’

  ‘Daddy buried,’ Grace says, pulling me back to reality.

  The smile on her sweet face grows as she rubs her chubby little hands together to remove the sand that’s stuck to them.

  ‘You did a great job, princess.’

  I turn my head slightly, and watch as she toddles over to her bucket, the one full of shells. Every weekend we walk along the beach together and collect them. It has become our ritual. Some mornings I wake and she’s already standing beside my bed with her pink bucket in her hand.

  She giggles as she pretends to sneak back to me. I quickly turn my head back, gazing up at the sky like I’m oblivious to what she’s about to do. She does this to me every time. She saw Jem do it once, and squealed with delight when I broke free, tackling her mother to the sand.

  ‘Hey, what are you doing?’ I ask as she places two cone-shaped shells on my chest. She buries the base in the sand, so the pointed ends are facing upwards.

  ‘Daddy boobies.’ She covers her mouth with her hand to stifle her laugh.

  ‘No! No boobies for Daddy.’

  ‘Yes boobies,’ she says as she starts to back away. She already knows what’s coming.

  ‘Roarrrr!’ I bellow, breaking free from the sand.

  She squeals as she scoops up her little pink bucket, and runs towards the house. She’s only three, so her legs are tiny. It takes just a few steps for me to catch her. She squeals again when I scoop her into my arms.

  Her body squirms when I bury my face in the crook of her neck and blow a raspberry against her soft skin. ‘No, Daddy,’ she cries out through her laughter.