Page 51 of Nineteen Letters

“You’ve been so good to me, I wanted to do something nice for you.”

I watch as she cuts a large piece and places it on one of the red plastic plates she brought with us. “Hold on, let me get you a fork,” she says, rummaging around in the bottom of the basket.

“Thank you.” I don’t know if it’s because it’s Ma’s recipe, or that Jemma made it, but I find myself moaning as soon as the first bite is in my mouth. “Mmm.”

A sweet grin tugs at her lips as we eat, which makes me even happier.

Once I’ve had a second helping of pie, we pack everything back into the basket.

“Would you like to go for a walk along the river bank? Like we did when we were kids?”

“I’d like that.”

Standing, I help her to her feet.

“See that tyre on the ground under the tree?” I ask. “That used to be our swing. The rope must’ve eroded in the weather.”

“That’s a shame. It’s a beautiful tree, though.”

“It’s a willow.”

“It would be a great tree to climb … well, maybe not for you.” I can’t help but chuckle at her comment, and at myself. “I love that I know things about you that the old me didn’t know.”

“It’s a lot easier to confess your fears on a piece of paper, I suppose.”

She stops walking and points towards the water. “I think I just saw a fish come up to the surface.” My eyes follow her hand. “There it is again.”

The excitement in her voice has me grinning. A fish? That’s a long way off from what she thought, the first time she saw the same thing when we were kids.

“It’s a platypus, not a fish, or the Loch Ness Monster.” I smile to myself as I think back to that day, all those years ago.

Her eyes are trained on the river, waiting for it to reappear. “The Loch Ness Monster?” she asks.

“Just a myth,” I reply with a smile. “Keep your eye out along the water’s edge and you may see one out of the water. They usually make their burrows along the river bank.”

“Okay.” She looks at me and matches my smile before moving her gaze back to the river.

We walk along in silence for a few minutes until she asks me the question I’ve been dreading. “Braxton … what happened to Ma?”

I know my reply is going to upset her, but I have to tell her. “Pa’s death broke her.” I tug at the collar of my shirt just thinking about it. “The funeral was the worst. Your father and I had to help her into the church. She could barely walk.”

“How heartbreaking,” Jemma says, placing her flattened palm on her chest.

“It was. I’d never seen her so distraught. She was always such a happy person. At the burial, when it was time to lower the coffin into the ground …” I exhale a long breath before continuing. “She threw herself on top of it, begging him to take her too.”

“Oh my god.”

“Your mum stayed with her on the farm for a while. She tried to get Ma to come back to the city and live with them, but sherefused to leave. The farm was her home, and her connection to Pa.”

“That’s so sad.”

“We travelled back to the city that night with your father. I held you in my arms while you cried yourself to sleep.” She stops walking and turns to face me, giving me her full attention. “Later that week, we got a call from your mother.” I fall silent. That morning still haunts me.

Stephen was in a meeting at work, so Christine called us. Jem was in the shower, so I was the one who took the call. I’m grateful for that because Christine was screaming hysterically into the phone. I could barely make out what she was saying. I’d never heard her so distressed.“She won’t wake up … she won’t wake up,”she cried down the line.“Oh god! Somebody please help me … she won’t wake up.”

I’d never felt as helpless as I did in that moment. We collected Stephen, and the three of us drove straight out to the farm.

“What did she say?”