Page 43 of Nineteen Letters

“It’s lovely to meet you, Mr Spencer,” she says, extending her hand to him.

“Likewise, young lady.”

I pull up a chair for Jem, and she sits there and continues to study him.

When he’s finished his cup of tea, I help him from the bed and lead him into the bathroom so he can change. I’m paranoid he’s going to fall again. The sad part is that his body is still reasonably fit and strong for his age. It’s only his mind that’s failing him.

I walk behind Jemma and my father when we reach the place he now calls home. She has her arm hooked through his as they chatter away. It reminds me of the good old times when they adored each other.

I once took everything I had for granted, but not anymore. I would give anything for things to be the way they were.

“Your father’s sweet,” Jemma says as I back out of the parking space.

The staff at the home love him; he never gives them any trouble. Two nurses were fussing over him when we left, and he was smiling. I think he likes all the attention, which always makes it easier for me to leave him here.

“He’s a good man. You two were very close once.”

“I really like him. Has he been sick for long?”

“He was diagnosed almost three years ago. At first, he would forget little things, like where he’d put his glasses, or if he’d taken his medication. When he began asking the same question numerous times, or constantly repeat himself, we knew there was a problem. The medication the doctor gave him seemed to help for a while, but his illness has progressed rapidly since then.”

“That’s so sad.”

“It is. It almost killed me to put him in here, but it’s the best place for him. I have to remember that.”

“I can imagine how hard that decision would have been for you.”

“It was. You were a great support, though. You always knew how to make me feel better. I don’t think I could have gone through with it without you.”

My eyes briefly leave the road, moving to her.I miss my wife so much.I know she’s still very much here, but on the other hand, she isn’t. Things are nothing like they used to be, and I don’t know if they ever will be again.

We’re silent for most of the drive home.

“Braxton?” asks in a voice so soft I barely hear it.

“Yes.”

“Are you really afraid of heights?”

I clear my throat, as I turn into Christine’s street.

I can’t believe I even confessed that after all this time. “Yes.” I shift in my seat slightly. I don’t know why I feel like less of a man because of this, but I do.

“You should have told me. I’m sure I would have understood.” She’s right, she probably would have, but it was my own insecurity that stopped me from admitting my deepest fear to her. I could do no wrong in her eyes. She always made me feel like her hero, when in reality I was anything but. “I hope I didn’t make you suffer too much.”

Her response makes me chuckle. If only she knew. When I think about all the things I’ve forced myself to do with her over the years because I was too scared to tell her the truth, it’s kind of ridiculous.

“Are we still on for the weekend? We can head to the country Saturday morning if you like,” I ask, keen for a change of subject.

“That sounds perfect.”

“Great.”

When I pull into Christine’s driveway, she picks up her handbag from the floor by her feet.

“Thanks for coming with me to see my dad,” I say, when she reaches for the door handle.

“Thanks for taking me.” She pauses briefly before speaking again. “Would it be okay if I came with you to visit him sometimes?”