Page 54 of Nineteen Letters
I nod my head and sip my coffee. Iamenjoying my time with him. We’re still a long way from where we apparently used to be, but it’s easy to see how I once loved him.
Placing my mug down, I type my reply.
Me: That must’ve been what happened yesterday when you scared them.
Braxton: I only scared them because you made me.
His reply makes me laugh. I don’t know why I was so scared of those silly goats, but I was.
Me: Thank you for being my knight in shining armour.
His reply comes through almost instantly.
Braxton: It was my pleasure.
It’s quickly followed by another message.
Braxton: I’m about to head out, I have plans. Enjoy your day.
Me: You too.
I slide my phone back into the pocket of my jacket after replying, and although I’m still smiling, I’m wondering what his plans are. Apart from the times he takes me to my appointments or his occasional visits, I don’t know what he does in his own time.
Christine places two plates of scrambled eggs and toast on the table, before taking a seat beside me. “It was late when you got home last night.”
“It was. It was already dark by the time we left the farm.” I see her squirm in her seat. “The place looks great. Stephen … I mean Dad, has been paying someone to look after it.” The way her eyes widen tells me she knew nothing of this. “Braxton said Dad wants it to be perfect for you when you decide to go back.”
“That’s nice of him,” she says, in a clipped tone, “but he needn’t have bothered. I have no intention of going back there.”
Considering what Braxton told me yesterday about Ma’s death, I feel like I understand her so much better.Especially the mood swings.
“Can I ask what happened between you and Dad?”
Christine exhales a long breath before standing. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she snaps as she collects her plate and walks towards the sink. She didn’t even finish her breakfast.
Although her back is to me, I see her raise her hand to wipe her eyes, and I know she’s crying. It’s obvious that whatever happened between my parents, she’s still hurting because of it.
Rising from my chair, I make my way towards her. Her body stiffens when I slide my arms around her waist from behind.
“Whatever it was, I’m sorry, Mum.” I feel her relax when I rest my cheek against her back. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about Ma and Pa.” I feel a lump rise to my throat as I speak, I’m struggling to comprehend it all. I wish I could remember them; well, maybe not those parts, but the good times.
“The past is in the past, and that’s where it needs to stay,” she murmurs.
I sit out on the back patio enjoying the sunshine for much of the morning. There’s been a definite shift in me, and I now feel gratitude for being alive. I no longer want to lock myself away and hide from the world.
It’s Sunday, so I have no place to be. It’s weird no longer having a career at my age. I often wonder about it, and what my life was like prior to the accident.
I have left Christine to herself; it’s clear she needs some time alone. Braxton had plans, so I will be on my own until Rachel visits this afternoon.
My mind drifts to Braxton. He has occupied my thoughts a lot lately. I was surprised at my need to drag out our visit to the farm for as long as I could. I definitely felt a connection to that place, it was beautiful, but I think it had more to do with the company.
Placing my coffee cup down on the small table beside me, I pick up the pile of Braxton’s letters and untie the ribbon I’ve been using to keep them together. I open the first one, starting at the very beginning. I reread them every chance I get. It’s all that I have left of my past, and I’m hoping if I read them enough, the memories will become permanently engrained in my mind. They have become my lifeline.
Once the last letter is read, I carefully fold it and place it back in the envelope. A contented sigh falls from my lips as I settle back into my chair. My eyes are focused on the large tree in the backyard. It’s the only one, so it must be the one that Braxton fell out of. Suddenly I’m curious.
I walk towards it and look up into the branches above. It’s far too high for me to climb. Without thinking, I turn and head straight for the garage. I remember seeing a large extendable ladder resting up against the wall one day when I wandered in there. I carefully lift it and lay it down on the concrete floor. It’s much heavier than I expected.
I try to be quiet as I pick it up and carry it to the yard. If Christine discovers what I’m doing, she’s likely to blow a gasket. Her overprotectiveness isn’t lost on me. In all fairness, I’d probably be the same if it was my child.
