Page 26 of Nineteen Letters
“What kind of letters? Like, love letters? Don’t you think that’s coming on pretty strong under the circumstances?”
“They’re not exactly love letters. Well, they kind of are. They’re letters about our life. How we met. That kind of thing.”
“Did she read them?”
“I’ve only written her two so far, but yes she has.”
“And? I feel like I’m missing something here. That’s a good thing, right?”
“Yes, and I think they’re helping. She was starting to open up to me.” I exhale a long breath before continuing. “But thismorning I screwed up. I told her I loved her. And I think it freaked her out.”
“Oh.”
“She withdrew again after that. After her physio, she said she was tired and wanted to go straight home. She didn’t say a word the whole way, she just stared out the window like she used to do in the beginning.”
Lucas stares down into his drink, taking it all in before speaking again. “I get that it’s hard for you to hold back when you still feel so much, but put yourself in her shoes. She probably just felt awkward. What did you expect her to do, tell you she loved you too?”
“No … Yes … I don’t know. I just want things to be the way they used to be.”
“I know you do, you poor bastard. I want that for you too, but things may never be that way again. I hate to be the bad guy here, but you need to prepare yourself for that.” I feel my shoulders slump as my gaze moves to the floorboards. Logically I know he’s right, but it’s still like a kick to the guts. I want to believe that one day everything will be the way it used to be. I have to believe that. “You just need to find your new normal.”
I want the old normal, I ache for it.
“What if I never get her back? How am I supposed to deal with that?”
“You’ll deal with it the same way you always have. Just like you did when your mum died, or when your father got sick, or when Jem first had her accident. You just will. You’re not a quitter, Spencer. You know that just as much as I do. You’ll never give up.”
Chapter 12
Jemma
“You girls stacked the dishwasher, so let me do the rest of it,” Christine says, gesturing with her hand for us to leave the kitchen. This place is still a long way from feeling like home, but I’m beginning to feel comfortable here at least.
“You cooked us a lovely dinner, so it’s only fair that we clean up,” Rachel replies. “It’s a few pots … Jemma and I can do them.”
I’m grateful that she’s always pushing me. Everyone else walks on eggshells when they’re around me, but not Rachel. Although she is no longer staying here at the house, she has been coming over daily.
She arrives early afternoon because she knows I have rehab in the mornings and a lie-down after lunch. She uses that time to catch up on her work, and then Christine always insists she stay for dinner. I’m liking having her around. I enjoy her company, and I can easily see how we were once friends.
“I insist. Now watch some TV or something. You heard me, shoo.”
We both laugh when Christine flicks the tea towel at us. I’ve learned that there’s no point arguing with that woman when her mind is made up. I’ll never win. She’s as stubborn as all hell.
“Do you want to go up to my room?”
“Your room?” Rachel’s eyes widen. “Of course.” The pure elation I see on her face from a simple invitation to come and hang out in my bedroom has that ever-present guilt stirring inside me. I glance over my shoulder at Christine as we leave the kitchen, and find her smiling after us. I think in our own way, we’re all adjusting to this as best we can. “You seem to manage these stairs well now.”
The first day I got here, Rachel and Christine had to practically carry me up to my room. Christine had initially wanted to set up a temporary bed for me in the lounge room, but I craved the sanctuary of my own space. Somewhere where I could lock myself away from the rest of the world.
“The physio and hydrotherapy have helped,” I tell her.
“I’m glad.”
She follows me into my room, and I gesture for her to sit on my bed. There’s nowhere else. The lounge room probably would have been a better option, but I have my reasons for inviting her up here. I need someone to talk to, and Christine is too emotionally invested to give the advice I need.
Rachel seems like a straight shooter, and I’m yearning for an unbiased opinion about this awkward situation. I don’t know how to handle this without hurting Braxton more than I already have.
“Braxton told me he loves me today,” I say as we take a seat.
