Page 35 of Nineteen Letters

I feelenlightenedand extremely proud of myself. It’s clear the hate Larry Wilson carried around when he was a kid has followed him into adulthood. It’s sad, but in a way, it’s a huge wake-up call for me. It only reiterates everything I’ve been feeling lately. I need to let go of this anger and resentment I’m carrying around. I don’t want it to destroy me.

I may have lost my past, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a wonderful future ahead. I have the power to not only reinvent myself, but to write my own ending.

Chapter 15

Braxton

“Son,” my father says when he opens his eyes and sees me sitting beside his bed. As crappy as I’m feeling right now, that one word has me smiling.He remembers me. Even if they only last a few minutes, I treasure these moments. As time wears on they seem less frequent, which saddens me more than I care to admit, especially with what’s going on with Jem.

“Hi, Pop. How are you feeling?”

“A little sore.”

When he tries to sit up, I quickly stand from my seat and help him. The ugly bruising on his forehead has darkened over the course of the day, and the swelling has yet to subside.

“That’s understandable,” I say as I straighten his pillow. “You had a fall and hit your head.”

“Did I?” I hate the confused look he gets on his face when he can’t remember the things I tell him.

“You did. The doctors ran some tests earlier, and apart from a few stitches and some bruising, you’re going to be fine.”

“I’ve got stitches?” He lifts his shaky hand and runs it over his bandaged forehead.

“Just a few.”

I check my watch and see that it’s just after four. He had his last lot of pain medication just before midday. “I’m going to grab the nurse and get you something for the pain.”

The X-rays show his skull isn’t fractured, which is such a relief. He has a nasty concussion, though, as well as a large lump and six stitches in his forehead. The staff at the nursing home told me he’d tripped in the community dining room and hit his head on the table on his way down. I feel guilty for not being there, even though I know there’s nothing I could have done.

“You’re a good boy,” he says, softly patting my hand. “You were always such a good boy.”

I grinning again as I walk towards the nurses’ station. I’d give anything to have him back the way he was, but like Jemma, I’ll take him any way I can have him. He’s here, and for that I’m thankful.

Things were tough in the first few years after my mother’s death. I was only eleven when she died, but I tried to be there for my dad as much as I could. Seeing him so broken only intensified the guilt I felt. We never talked about what happened. At the time I was grateful, but there’s always been a part of me that wished we had. He never blamed me for my actions the night she died, but a part of me has always yearned for him to voice his forgiveness anyway. I know that’s never going to come now, so I’m left with a never-ending regret.

It’s around six when I leave the hospital. I hung around to make sure my father ate some of his dinner, but now that he’s fallen back to sleep, I quietly duck away.

I will spend the night at the hospital. The irony isn’t lost on me. It was only a few short months ago that I was doing this for Jem.

I need to head home to shower and change. But more importantly, I need to see Jemma. Even though Christine alerted me the moment she returned home safely from rehab, like I’d asked her to, I still have to see her with my own eyes. I feel like I let her down by not being there for her today.

“Hey, buddy,” I say as I place a fresh bowl of water inside Samson’s cage. Jumping down from his perch, he nibbles the tip of my finger. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much lately.” He bobs up and down when I lightly scratch between the feathers at the back of his neck. He has barely spoken a word over the past few weeks, and I know it’s because he’s missing Jemma. She became his lifeline when my father had to give him up. “I’m going to see pretty girl.” I taught him to call her that when we first got him.

“Pretty girl,” he repeats, bobbing up and down. “Pretty girl …squawk.” Just mentioning her name perks him up. We both know that this place is not the same without her.

As I climb the front steps to Christine’s house, my stomach is a combination of nerves and excitement. I never know how I’m going to be received when I knock on the front door.

“I’ll get it,” Jemma calls from the other side. Just hearing her voice calms me. Her face lights up when she opens the front door and sees me standing on the porch, and this has me grinning like a fool. I haven’t seen that reaction in a while. “Braxton.”

“Hey. I’m on my way back to the hospital, but I just wanted to check you were okay.”

“How’s your dad?”

“He’s doing okay.”

“I’m glad,” she says. “Are you coming in?”

“I can’t stay long, but sure, if you want me to.” I’d never pass up a chance to spend time with her.