Letters Across the Sea by Genevieve Graham (spicy books to read .txt) 📕

on memories and regret. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I moved on.”

“But it does matter.” Her dark gaze was intent. “I need to apologize.”

“What for?”

Hannah reached across and closed her warm fingers over mine. “I love you so much. You’re my sister.”

“And you’re mine,” I said, glad to finally close the chasm between us. I’d missed her so much.

She nodded. “When Max told me he’d kissed you, I was upset, but I guess I also wanted to protect you both, so I pushed you apart from each other, and away from me. You could never really be together that way, and you’d both be hurt so badly when you finally faced that truth. But I had no right to judge you, or to try and manage your life. And I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Hannah,” I said, pulling her into a hug. “It’s all right. I’ve always known it was done out of love.”

She drew back, sniffling. “But you have to stop waiting for him.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but she continued.

“I know you are, Molly, whether you admit it or not.” She took a deep breath, settling herself. “When David was killed, I lost my husband, the father of my children, and the love of my life. I feel like I lost half of myself. But the time we did have was wonderful.”

My heart twisted with grief for her.

“I know you want to believe Max will be back. God, Molly, I miss him every single day. I hate not knowing what happened to him. I mean, like your family, we don’t even have a body to bury.” She sniffed again. “But he’s not coming back. You need to move on with your life.”

“Why are you saying this?” I whispered.

“Because I want you to be happy. I don’t want you to miss out on what David and I had.”

I sat back, needing to breathe. To understand. She wanted the best for me, but I still wasn’t sure what to do. We didn’t know about Max. Not for sure. What if he was still out there somewhere?

But I knew what she was saying. How long was I willing to wait? Especially since I knew Max and I never could be together that way even if he returned one day. Was I wasting my life waiting for the impossible? Was I holding on too tight? Could I allow myself to let go? To accept he was gone? Was I strong enough to do that?

The next morning when I arrived at work, Ian was typing at his desk, a pencil behind one ear. He smiled uncertainly as I came through the door, and I despised myself in that moment. When all the terrible news had started up in December, I had retreated from our friendship without an explanation. I’d let any feelings between us run cold. He hadn’t deserved that.

I headed toward him, intent on apologizing, but he spoke first.

“I’ve done some investigating for you,” he said.

I grimaced. “I know. I’ve fallen behind in my work. Thank you for picking up after me.”

“No, not that. That stuff’s up to you,” he said wryly.

I walked behind him, peering over his shoulder at his typewriter. “What’s this?”

He pulled the paper out and presented it to me. “I know how hard you’ve been researching Hong Kong. I wanted to take something off your plate, so I started looking into this.”

“The St. Stephen’s Massacre,” I read out loud, my blood running cold. Richie had died at St. Stephen’s. I’d never forget that. It was the one aspect I’d never worked on, because I didn’t know if I could bear the truth.

He studied me, concern etched in his face. “It’s really gritty stuff. When you’re ready, I can tell you about it.”

“Gritty?”

“Not gonna lie, Molly. It was awful. The Japs achieved a new level of savagery that day.”

My stomach rolled with dread. Funny how I was always determined to expose the truth in my articles, and yet I shied away from this. I needed to face what had happened. It wouldn’t be fair to Richie if I didn’t.

“What do you think about going for a walk?” I asked. I didn’t want to be in this noisy, impersonal room for a discussion like this. I needed air. And I wanted to be alone with Ian. “It’s a beautiful day.”

His eyes widened with anticipation, and I knew Hannah was right. This was what I needed to do. I needed to push myself. I needed to move on.

“I’m ready when you are,” he said.

I could tell from the moment we left the building he was bursting at the seams to start talking. He was an enthusiastic man to begin with, and he’d always been attentive to me, but it had been a while since we’d last had a good talk. Now that he was back at my side, I realized I’d missed his company more than I’d been willing to admit.

“How are you feeling?” he eventually asked.

“I’m getting better,” I told him. “I had a good talk with my friend Hannah. She had a lot of wise words for me, and I’m taking them to heart.”

“I’m glad. You deserve to be happy.”

“I do.” I glanced up at him. “And so do you.”

He watched me a minute, assessing. “Are you saying that if I made dinner and invited you over, you might come?”

“I might,” I said, smiling.

That familiar twinkle sparked in his eyes again, and I was so glad to see it. “All right. I’ll make something edible from my ration tickets. Maybe spaghetti.”

“I like spaghetti,” I said, then I tilted my head toward the park on our right. “Feel like telling me about St. Stephen’s now?”

He inhaled through his nose. “You sure?”

“As sure as I’ll ever be.”

We made our way toward an empty park bench, and I prepared myself as well as I could. He had brought notes, but he kept them rolled inside his coat pocket. He had all the information in his head.

“At the same time that D Company faced their