Page 59 of Nineteen Letters

The dog cowering before me is none of these things. She is a small white Jack Russell with tanned patches and large, brown, pleading eyes. She looks frightened, confused, and alone—just like Jemma the day she woke from her coma.

As soon as I see her in the kennels, my heart tells me she’s the one. I have never been an impulsive person, but this dog looks lonely and afraid, which is exactly how I feel.

“Hey girl,” I say, crouching down so as not to intimidate her. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I won’t hurt you.” I speak in a soft soothing tone as I extend my arm towards her. She’s hesitant at first, but then to my surprise, she takes a few steps towards me, sniffing my outstretched hand and then licking one of my fingers. “That’s a good girl,” I coo as I stroke my hand gently across the top of her head, making her tail wag.

“We got her yesterday,” Diane tells me. “Her owner passed away and there was nobody else to take her. Poor little girl. She’sbeen like that ever since she arrived. She probably doesn’t know what’s going on. But,” she adds with a hopeful smile, “maybe now she’s found a new home?”

I smile in return.

When we arrive back at the house, I place her down on the front lawn and give her a few minutes to explore. At least we have a fence out here, so she can spend her days outside, basking in the sunshine, when I’m at work.

Bella-Rose barks at Samson, the bird, when we move into the house and I introduce them. She hovers under my feet from the moment I put her down. It’ll probably take her some time to settle in, but I have every confidence that she will.

I set up her bed near the back glass windows that overlook the ocean, and fill her bowl with water. There’s some leftover barbecue chicken in the fridge, so I chop it up and make myself a chicken sandwich for lunch, and give the rest to Bella-Rose. She practically inhales it, and I’m so pleased to see her eat. It gives me hope that she’s as happy to be here as I am to have her.

“Do you want to go for a walk along the beach, girl?” I ask, holding out the hot-pink lead I bought from the pet shop on the way home. The way she bounces around with excitement makes me laugh. It looks like she has springs in her feet.

As ever, my thoughts are on Jemma. I miss her, and I wish I had an excuse to go over and visit. My feet are propped on the coffee table, and Bella-Rose has perched herself on my lap. The television is on, but I’m not really watching it.

I’m happy that Jemma’s trips to the rehab will be less frequent—that means she’s improving—but at the same time I’m gutted, because it means I will see her a mere few times a week. I don’t see enough of her as it is. There’s a gaping hole in my heart that only she can fill. Part of me is missing … the best part …her.

I would love to call or go around to Christine’s and see Jemma face to face, but I want to give her the space she needs, so I send her a text instead.

Me: Hi.

It’s such a lame message. I have so much I want to say—I always do—but I force myself to continue with baby steps. When she’s ready for more, she’ll let me know.

I don’t expect a reply, but that doesn’t stop me from hoping for one. My wish is granted a few seconds later when my phone dings.

Jemma: Hi. How are you?

Me: I’m good. And you?

Jemma: I’m good too. I’ve just bitten the bullet and found the courage to ask Christine if she has any photos of Ma and Pa.

Me: And?

I wait for her reply, but instead of a text, my phone rings. I’m smiling like a fool when I answer it. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she replies in the sweet voice I miss so much. “I thought it would be easier if I called you. I take forever to type a response.” She pauses and I hear her let out an exasperated breath. “I’m still trying to get used to this damn thing. You don’t mind me calling, do you?”

“Not at all. You can call me anytime, you know that. So, what did Christine say?”

“She’s gone upstairs to get them.” I can hear the excitement in her voice. “After everything you told me the other day, I was hesitant to ask. I understand now why there are no photos of them in the house. I gather it’s a painful reminder for her.”

“It’s a shame, but we all do what we need to do to cope, I suppose.”

“What are you doing now?” she asks. “Rachel bailed on me. She had to go back to the hotel for a video conference with a client in New York.”

“Nothing much, why?” I inwardly hope her question is leading to an invitation.

“You should come over and look at them with us. Christine said she has a box of stuff upstairs. Umm … that’s only if you want to. No pressure. I’m sure you’re busy. I just … umm … I know how much you cared for them.”

Her nervous babble makes me smile. Doesn’t she realise wild horses couldn’t keep me away? Not only do I get to see her, but I would love to reminisce about Ma and Pa. They were like grandparents to me as well, and I hate how taboo this subject has become since their deaths.

“I’d love to.”

“Really?”