Page 125 of Nineteen Letters
Since the accident, she seems fragile, but in reality, she’s anything but. She’s one of the strongest, most courageous people I know.
After saddling the horse, I help her up, before climbing on behind her. I want to make sure she’s comfortable before letting her ride Tilly-Girl on her own. It’s been years since I’ve sat behind her on this horse.
After we do a few laps around the paddock, I hop down, giving her the reins, and I spend the next few hours leaning on the fence post, smiling the entire time as I watch her. It’s a beautiful sight, seeing her so happy and carefree. The bond between Jemma and the horse is as strong as ever, even if she doesn’t remember it.
I can tell it is hard for her to say goodbye when it’s time to leave, but I promise to bring her back every weekend if that’s what she wants.
“I’ve had the most amazing day,” she says as we head down the long driveway, towards the main road.
“I meant what I said. We can come back every weekend if you like.”
She places her hand on my leg again. “Thank you for today … thank you for everything.”
It begins to sprinkle as we drive out of town. “Are you hungry, or would you prefer to head back to Christine’s?” I still can’t bring myself to refer to that house as her home. Herhomewill always be with me.
“I’m starved. Riding Tilly-Girl worked up my appetite.”
“There’s a place not far from here … ‘Mama’s Country Kitchen’. Ma and Pa used to take us there as a treat when we were kids. All their meals come with a side of sweet potato. They’re cooked whole in the skin and served topped with whipped cinnamon butter. You used to love them.”
She loved them so much that she used to steal mine too.
“That sounds perfect.”
She not only ate all of her sweet potato, she polished off half of mine as well, just like old times. She may not realise it, but there are parts of her that are still the same.
By the time I pay the bill and we leave the restaurant, it’s pouring with rain. “Wait here,” I say. “I’ll bring the car around so you don’t get wet.”
Pulling the back of my jacket over my head, I dash for the car. I’m halfway across the car park when someone grabs hold of my arm. I glance over my shoulder and find Jemma standing behind me. The rain has already drenched her hair, and she squints as the heavy drops pound against her face.
“Dance with me?” she asks. “Please.”
There’s a part of me that wants to just keep her dry and warm, but how can I say no? It’s been almost ten years since we’ve done this, and if she wants to dance with me in the rain, then that’s exactly what I’ll do. Giving her back pieces of her past in the letters I’ve written is nothing like letting her experience those moments firsthand.
Turning, I reach for her and pull her body against mine. “We don’t have any music,” I say, matching her smile.
“We don’t need music.”
The side of her face rests against my chest as she holds me tight.
Memories of our very first dance in the rain come flooding to the surface. Everything was so fresh to us back then, and in a way, it’s the same now. It’s a new beginning. A chance to relive all the magic we once shared.
We are simply seizing the moment.Life isn’t about surviving the storm, it’s about learning how to dance in the rain.
Chapter 34
Jemma
It’s just after seven when I climb out of bed. I’m tired but excited. Braxton is picking me up at nine and we’re heading to the shops to get what we need for the roast lunch I’m cooking today. We’ll be collecting his father on our way back.
It was late when we got home last night. The house was in darkness, so I snuck upstairs and had a warm shower before climbing into bed. As tired as I was, it took me ages to fall asleep. I was still on a high from the day I’d spent with Braxton and Tilly-Girl.
I’m eager to tell my mum about yesterday. She’s coming along in leaps and bounds and is finally dealing with the death of her parents. It’s like a part of her died when they did, and she stopped living. I’m sure it’s something she’ll never get over, but at least she’s talking about them again.
I’m smiling as I round the corner to enter the kitchen, but then I stop dead in my tracks. “Dad?” I gasp.
My father is standing by the sink with his back to me, wearing my mum’s pink robe. I can’t help it, I have to place my hand over my mouth to muffle my giggle. It’s way too small for him and looks ridiculous on his enormous frame.
He turns his head and glances at me over his shoulder, and I’m pretty sure the surprised look on his face is mirrored on my own. “Pumpkin!”
