Page 99 of Nineteen Letters

“I can’t believe he calls me that.”

“I might have taught him to say it.”

She laughs as she sticks her finger inside the cage. Samson moves along a few bars until he can rub his face against her finger. “He’s so colourful.”

“He’s a rainbow lorikeet.”

“You’re such a pretty boy, Samson,” she whispers.

That’s exactly what she has always said to him.

“The bathroom is the second door on the right,” I tell her, pointing her in that direction. “I won’t be long.”

When I return a few minutes later I freeze on the bottom step when I see her standing in front of the stone fireplace, staring up at the large canvas on the wall. It’s my favourite picture, taken on our wedding day. It captured the essence of us. We look so in love—because we were.

It’s hard for me to look at it every day and be reminded of what I’ve lost, but I feel compelled to keep it up. Whether or not she decides to come home, this place will always be ours. It’s a part of her, just as much as it’s a part of me.

I watch her for a moment before speaking. I would give anything to know what she’s thinking. “Are you ready?”

She swings around to face me before tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear; it’s a habit she’s retained from before. “Sure.”

Up until now, we have used the side access, but this time we leave through the front door, past the garden.

“It’s so lovely out here,” she says as I lock the front door.

“You used to spend hours out here on the weekends, tending to all the flower beds. I should probably think about hiring someone to maintain it. I wouldn’t know the first thing about pruning roses, or distinguishing a weed from a plant.”

“Maybe if you’re free one weekend, I could come over and do them for you.”

I smile. “I’d like that.”Boy, would I like that.

The hope I’ve been carrying around inside me is burning so bright. What we have now is nothing compared to what we once had, but it’s far better than how things were in the weeks after the accident.

“Oh, before I forget,” I say, digging into my pocket, “here are the charms that were missing from the last letter.”

She holds out her hand, and I see the corners of her lips turn up as she looks down at them. “They’re perfect.”

“I also have this.” I pull another letter out of my back pocket, passing it to her. There’s a charm that says‘I love you’inside. She will understand why when she reads my words.

“Thank you. I always look forward to receiving your letters.”

“I’ve enjoyed writing them. Reliving the past with you has been nice.”

I reach for her hand as we descend the front steps heading towards the car. That crushing feeling in my chest, the one I’ve had since the accident, is so light right now that I can barely feel it.

Letter twelve…

Dearest Jemma,

The twenty-fifth of November 2006. It was a Saturday, and the morning after my formal. I had lain awake for most of the night. I was on such a high, but again there was that niggling feeling inside that things would be different between us. I needn’t have worried.

Around 6 am I woke to my phone ringing. I jolted upright. My curtains were drawn, so with the screen lit up it was easy for me to locate my phone in the darkness. I smiled as soon as I saw your number.

“Good morning, boyfriend,” you said as soon as I answered. Your raspy voice told me you’d just woken as well, but your words had me feeling immediate relief.

“Good morning, girlfriend,” I replied rubbing my eyes. There was something special about our conversation in the darkness. It reminded me of all the times we’d shared a room when we were kids. We would talk for hours until eventually falling asleep.

“So, it’s true, I didn’t dream it.”