Page 124 of Nineteen Letters

“You look beautiful,” I say.

“Thank you. You look rather dashing yourself.”

I extend my hand to her when she reaches the bottom step, pulling her into my arms. “Good morning.” Bringing my face forward, I brush my lips against hers.

I kiss her hello and goodbye every time we’re together now. As long as she’s okay with that, I’m not about to stop.

“Good morning,” she replies, sliding her arms around my waist for a brief hug.

“Are you ready to see Tilly-Girl?”

“I can’t wait to see her. I could hardly sleep last night. I was so excited.”

I place a soft kiss on her forehead before drawing back, and a movement in the window catches my eye. It’s Christine. She’s watching us with a huge grin on her face. I give her a quick wave before reaching for Jemma’s hand.

“I brought Tilly-Girl’s saddle with me in case you feel up to riding her.”

“I’d love to ride her.”

As we make our way onto the freeway, my eyes leave the road briefly, and I see her smiling as she relaxes back into the seat with a breathy sigh. She reaches across and places her hand onmy thigh. It seems like such a natural reaction. It’s something she always did. Turning her head slightly, she gazes out her window. She seems so content.

“Did I go to the same university as you?” she asks.

“You did. You started the year after me.”

“Did we live together?”

“No. Not officially, anyway. Your parents set you up in shared accommodation off campus. Your apartment wasn’t far from mine. That’s how you and Rachel became such good friends. She was your roommate.”

She turns her face in my direction. “Why didn’t I live with you?”

“Your parents thought we were too young for that kind of commitment, but we spent almost every night together. If you didn’t sleep at my apartment, I slept at yours.”

Her lips break into a smile as she turns her head to gaze back out the window.

We spend over an hour at Ma and Pa’s. Jemma is eager to go inside and have a look around. It’s still the same as I remember it, albeit a little dustier.

I stand back and observe Jemma as she walks from room to room, answering all the questions she asks.

“I’m grateful that you brought me back here. It’s nice to have an actual visual of the inside of the house, instead of trying to conjure one up in my mind,” she says, glancing over her shoulder as she speaks. “The kitchen where we helped Ma bake treats, the fireplace we sat in front of after our misadventure with the Loch Ness Monster, and the bedroom that you and I shared when we were kids …”

Her words tug at my heart. These were all moments from our past that I have included in my letters. It’s just another example of how hard life has become for her. The accident may havestolen her away from me, but what she lost that day was far greater.

My stories can give her back snippets of her past, but the visions, emotions, and feelings that she once associated with those times are lost forever.

She picks up ornaments, runs her hands over the rich wooden furniture, and studies the framed pictures on the mantelpiece, as well as the ones hanging on the wall.

“Do you think it would be okay if I took a few of these pictures home?” she asks. “It seems so wasteful just having them sitting here with nobody to look at them.”

“I don’t think your mother would mind. If she does, we can always bring them back.”

Out of the ten or so pictures, she chooses three: one of her sitting on Pa’s lap while he’s driving the tractor, one of her parents on their wedding day, and one of the two of us as kids with Ma.

She hugs the three framed pictures to her chest as I lock up the farmhouse.

“Next time we come back, I’d like to give the place a good clean,” she says. “Maybe vacuum and dust, and open some windows to let the fresh air in. It’s very stuffy in there.”

I called Mr Talbot yesterday, informing him we would drop by to visit Tilly-Girl. There is a part of me that’s concerned about Jemma riding again, but it’s something she always loved and I want her to experience it again.