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

printed beneath that, just above a summary of the official signing of the surrender in a schoolhouse in Reims, France. On the bottom right corner of the front page was a column beneath another headline:

40,000,000 CASUALTIES AS EUROPE WAR ENDED

I knew too many of them.

Ian, his hair mussed and a pencil tucked behind his ear, paused by my desk a while later and set a coffee in front of me. “Looks like you could use this.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” I told him, wrapping my fingers around the cup.

“I have to look after my fiancée,” he said, winking.

“I’m surprised you have the time to even pour coffee,” I teased. “What does Mr. Hindmarsh have you working on?”

“I’m waiting on a call from the prime minister’s office. Get his statement. What are you going to write?” he asked. “Something that elicits tears, I imagine.”

“I wouldn’t have to do anything if I wanted to do that, just underline the forty-million-casualties headline.”

He winced. “You’re not writing more about the Japanese, I hope.”

Lately I’d been educating myself more and more about events happening in the Far East. Germany always led the news, but I wanted to tell the world about what was happening because of Japan. Despite today’s momentous announcement, we were still at war.

“Not this time,” I told him. “I’m gonna write about Liam, Mark, and the other returning veterans.”

His lips tightened slightly. “Yeah, okay. But the rest of the world will be celebrating, you know. You don’t always have to play the guilt card and bring everyone down.”

I bristled. “It’s not guilt, Ian. It’s reality.”

He shrugged, then walked across the room to his own desk. Watching him go, I was more sure than ever that I’d picked the right topic. Ian might be in denial, not wanting to talk about it, but thousands of men were already returning here after unimaginable experiences. We needed to understand that.

I thought of Mr. Rabinowitz and his painful memories of the Great War, how they still lingered in his pale eyes decades later. So many veterans like him had wandered helplessly through life when they’d returned, never the same as before. Now another generation of survivors was coming home, and I was trying to learn everything I could about how to help them. They’d fought for us, and I planned to fight for them.

I thought of Liam. Of the permanent black line he had developed under his one good eye. Of the foot that never stopped tapping.

I thought of Mark. Of his empty trouser leg.

I thought of Jimmy, still out there somewhere. We hadn’t heard from him in weeks, and I tried not to think about why.

Both Mark and Jimmy had been in Normandy—Mark joked that Jimmy had buzzed right over his head and never stopped to say hello. Mark had lost his leg on the beach, and just thinking about that made me dizzy with sorrow for him. But Mark had always been the most practical of us all, and he was determined not to let a little thing like a missing leg get to him. He was a master on his crutches by the time he was released from his convalescence at the Toronto General Hospital, and he’d had no trouble making himself at home in our kitchen when he and Helen had come over for dinner that first time.

I remembered the moment he’d walked into the house, with Helen behind him, practically glowing with happiness. I stood behind my parents, waiting for my turn to greet my brother, and when his eyes touched on me, I thought I might burst. First, though, he went to Dad. I knew Dad was unsure of how to approach his son; we’d had such a difficult time of it with Liam, and we were afraid to step past any boundaries we hadn’t figured out yet. So Dad stepped stiffly toward him, holding out his hand.

But Mark wasn’t put off. He reached for Dad’s hand then gestured to his cane. “Is that a new cane? I like it. Maybe I can get one like it when I’m done with these crutches.”

Ice broken, Mum moved to hug him, and when she pulled, back her cheeks were wet. She couldn’t look away from the space where Mark’s leg used to be.

“I’m all right, Mum,” Mark said. I could see how hard he was trying to keep things light, worried for our feelings. He amazed me. “It’s gonna save us some money, you know. I can use one pair of socks for twice as long.”

“Oh, you,” she cried, letting herself smile.

Then Mark turned to me, arms outstretched. “My big sister getting married. I thought I’d never live to see the day.”

I rushed to hold him while Mum and Dad ushered Helen in. “I had to wait until you were home,” I blubbered.

“I’m happy for you,” he whispered in my ear.

I studied his face, needing to know. “Are you?”

“Helen and I are taking it all in stride,” he said, a sad little twinkle in his eye. “Hey, where’s my baby brother?”

“I’m here,” Liam said, appearing in the doorway.

I saw the initial shock flash across Mark’s face, but he covered it swiftly, using his crutches to take a step forward. “We’re a pair, aren’t we? Come here. It’s still easier for you to come to me than for me to come to you,” he said.

They sat beside each other at dinner, Liam hanging on Mark’s words. He hadn’t seen any other returning soldiers since he’d been back. He’d refused to have anything to do with the war at all, but by the time dinner was served, Liam had perked up more than I’d seen in a while.

“Have you heard from Jimmy?” I asked over dinner. “He doesn’t write home as much as he used to.”

“No.” Mark shook his head. “But that doesn’t mean anything. A lot of guys just aren’t ready to talk about it yet. They may never be.” He placed a hand on Liam’s back. “But that’s okay. What’s done is done. What