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

“That was not at all what I imagined for a POW camp,” I said, passing the cigarette back.

“Me neither.” He glanced sideways at me. “What’s going on in that busy head of yours? You’re angry about something.”

“I am. The Canadian POWs at Stalag VIIIB are suffering without food or any kind of comforts, plus they’re surrounded by Nazis at all times—Nazis whose guns are loaded—and then Hitler up and decides that they’ll be shackled for twelve hours a day. On the other hand, the German POWs we just saw have everything they need and more. Even if they are shackled, I doubt the guards will make it hard on them. It’s all ridiculous and unfair. Hitler’s too mean and we’re too nice.”

“Now, now, Miss Ryan. Truth and Accuracy. Fairness—”

“And Impartiality,” I finished for him. “I know, I know. I’ll stick to the code, don’t worry. But don’t forget the other one: humanity. I mean, think about our men over there. Can you imagine how demeaning it would be to have your hands tied behind your back all day, every day?”

“I imagine demeaning prisoners is only part of the plan. But I agree.”

“Monsters,” Mo muttered from the back seat.

“True,” I said, turning to face him, “but now we’re hosing them down with water and shackling them. I don’t think anyone, in war or not, has the right to become monsters. When does humanity go out the window?”

Ian looked over at me. “You take the byline on this one,” he said, surprising me. “And consider that longer form piece idea as well.”

“You’re sure?”

“You seem to have it all figured out. Just keep your journalistic distance.”

Smiling, I held out my hand and took his cigarette again. “Yes, boss.”

We arrived back in the city after five o’clock. I was tired but still energized by the experience, and I was anxious to get my first draft down on paper. Ian dropped Mo off, then he gave me a ride home.

“Thanks for the lift,” I said.

“You know, we’ve been working together for a few years now,” he said as he turned onto my street.

“But who’s counting?” I teased.

“Best years of my career. Maybe of my life.”

Heat rushed into my face. “Oh, you’re being silly.”

“I mean it.”

His expression was soft, and I felt a rush of affection for him. “I’ve really enjoyed the past few months, too. I mean, after I came out of my daze. I needed time last Christmas, and you gave me all I needed. I really appreciate that. Even before then, when I wasn’t being all that nice to you, you let me lean on you. And now, with Liam and everything, I mean.”

I looked away, the weight of memories wrapping themselves around me. In two months it would be Christmas again. A year since Richie had been murdered. I doubted that would ever get any easier for me to accept.

He stopped the car in front of my house. I reached for the door handle, but he turned off the engine and faced me. “I was just glad I could be there,” he said. “And I understood, you know, when you withdrew. You had so much going on. I just waited. I’m stubborn that way.” He took my hand. “I’m very fond of you, Molly Ryan, as you well know.” His thumb slid over my knuckles, raising goose bumps all over me. “And I was thinking that maybe it’s almost time for me to meet your parents.”

The air between us hummed, and my eyes lowered to the soft line of his mouth. “Why?” I asked, unable to look away.

The corners lifted in a smile. “Because I’d have to ask your father’s permission if I’m gonna ask you what I want to ask you.”

nineteen MOLLY

Please, Mum!” I said, leading her to her favourite spot in the living room. “Honestly, you’ve been fussing around the kitchen like a chicken with its head cut off.”

“But do you think he’ll like the casserole? You know, the one with the noodles. Oh, it’s so difficult to make anything special with all the rationing.”

I placed her knitting in her lap. “Ian will eat anything, Mum. He’ll love it.”

“You’re the best cook I know,” Dad assured her.

I turned to Dad. He had shaved and dressed in his nicest suit, and seemed to be standing a little taller. “You’re looking handsome,” I said.

“I thought the occasion required me to clean up a bit,” he replied, giving me his lopsided smile. “You don’t often bring men home for supper.”

After so many years, Dad was finally doing better. It had started when Liam came home, ruined in so many ways. Mum had been tired all the time, caring for them both, then one day Dad had gotten out of his chair, put on his hat, and walked around the block. Every day, he went a little bit farther, relying on his cane less and less. And recently Liam had joined him, wrapping his poor face in a scarf before leaving the house. They’d given me hope.

Outside, the fat, eager flakes of snow were piling up on the street. Of all the nights for me to invite Ian over, now we were being buried in the first snowfall of the year. Ian had said he was going to drive over regardless of the weather. I knew he wanted to make a good impression, but I was nervous about the slippery roads. Still, I had learned a long time before that there was no changing Ian’s mind when it was made up.

“Do you think Liam will join us?” I asked.

“He thought it would be best if he didn’t,” Mum said. “It’s a special night for you, Molly. He didn’t want to take away from your big moment.”

My heart sank. “He could never. I’ll go talk with him.”

“No, dear. Let him come around when he’s ready.” She brightened. “Your father and I are very excited about tonight. We want