Page 40 of Nineteen Letters
Braxton: Thank you. I shouldn’t burden you with my problems, and I’m ashamed that it has taken me so long to come clean. I feel somewhat lighter for finally speaking the truth.
I respond quickly, without having to think much about my reply.
Me: I’m thankful you chose to share it with me, it took a lot of courage. You shouldn’t hold yourself responsible for her death. It was just one of those unfortunate things. You were just a kid, Braxton.
Braxton: It means a lot that you’d say that.
Me: It’s the truth. I want to hug you right now.
My phone falls silent for a good minute before it finally pings again with a response.
Braxton: You do?
Me: Yes.
Braxton: I could really go one of your hugs, he writes. You give the best kind. I’m in the middle of an important meeting at work, and then I’m heading back to the hospital, but can I get a raincheck for the morning?
I grin at his reply, and I’m looking forward to tomorrow so I can hug him. I want to ask him what he does for work, but he’s in a meeting, so I don’t. I feel selfish for not knowing these things about him.
Me: I’m sorry to bother you at work. Enjoy the rest of your day. I’m going to finish reading the rest of your letter.
Braxton: You could never be a bother. Hearing from you has made my day. I’m sitting here in the boardroom with a ridiculous smile on my face, and Lucas is giving me a strange look. Message me any time of the day or night. I’ll always be available for you, Jem. Always.
My smile widens.
Me: Thank you. I appreciate you saying that. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Braxton: I’m looking forward to it … and my hug.
Although I can’t see my face, I’m pretty sure I’m wearing the same ridiculous smile he just spoke about.
I walk back towards my bed, placing my phone down on the bedside table. There’s a fluttery feeling in my stomach that I’ve never experienced before.
I eat my sandwich before reading the rest of the letter. I’m famished, and I need a few minutes to compose myself.
The death of my mother, and the long hours my father worked, meant I spent a lot more time at your house. Your mother had offered to help my dad out wherever she could. In the months that followed, he fell apart, and seeing him like that only intensified my guilt.
That’s where your mother stepped in. She took care of me like I was her own. There was many a night that she sat up late with me and held me while I cried. She went above and beyond, and I’ll forever love her for that. Your parents had always been fantastic with me, but in the years that followed you all became my family. I’m not sure how my father and I would have survived without your family’s support.
The third of January 2002. It was summer, and we were on school holidays. I’d met your grandparents when they came to the city to visit your family, but this was my first time staying on their farm in the country. Ma and Pa were what you called them, and eventually I did too.
Your grandparents, Albert and Isabella Griggs, were two of the nicest, most genuine people I’ve ever met. I grew to love them very much over the years.
You adored them, as they did you. You were their only grandchild and were affectionately known as their little Jem-Jem. Pa used to say that you were the apple of his eye, which used to make us laugh because he was an apple farmer. He had over two hundred apple trees in his orchard. He would hire pickers around harvest time, but he used to pay us a few dollars each to pick up the apples that had fallen from the trees. With the money we earned, we would ride our bikes to the corner shop in town and buy ice-creams and lollies.
You’d beg Pa to let us climb the ladders like the other workers, but he wouldn’t hear of it. It was rare for him to say no to you, especially when you’d pout your bottom lip and stare up at him with your big brown eyes, but he wouldn’t budge on this. You weren’t happy about that, buthe only said no because he didn’t want us to get hurt. I, on the other hand, was relieved.
Since it appears I’m confessing my deepest darkest secrets to you in this letter, I might as well tell you I’m afraid of heights. Petrified would be a better word. It’s unmanly, I know, and I hope you don’t think less of me because of it, but it’s the truth. Give me spiders, snakes, scary rides (as long as they’re close to the ground) and even fast cars, but not heights; never heights. It’s ironic considering what I do for a living, but being high up is something I’ve never been comfortable with. Maybe if I’d told you this sooner, I wouldn’t have had to suffer through all the terrifying things you’ve made me do over the years.
Our time on the farm was always fun. Especially for a city boy like me. It’s such a different lifestyle in the country. You used to love Pa’s tractor rides. He would often fill the trailer with bales of hay and take us for joyrides around his hundred-acre property.
I remember watching you as he drove us around—your beautiful long brown hair would fly around in the wind, but it was the pure joy on your face that I loved the most. You have the most breathtaking smile. It’s one of my favourite things in the world.
There was never a shortage of things to do, and the times spent there were some of the happiest moments of my life.
Another one of your favourite things was going down to the river. It ran through the back of the property, and we would often have picnics down by the water. Ma was one of the best cooks I’ve ever known. She would make us delicious sandwiches on the bread she baked that morning, and add slices of cake or pieces of her homemade apple pie—it was to die for—into the basket as a special treat. Pa even built us a swing out of an old tyre and hung it from the enormous willow tree that sat on the banks of the river. We spent hours swinging from the tree and jumping into the water during the summer.
In the colder months, we fished for trout or took out Pa’s small row boat. I usually did the rowing because, frankly, you sucked at it. No matter how hard you tried, you could never get the boat to go in the direction you wanted it to.
