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

“I did all I could,” he said, needing her to understand. To forgive, even. “Then I sent him to St. Stephen’s. I didn’t have a choice. And at the time I believed it was the safest place for him to be. Why wouldn’t I? It was a goddamn hospital, and he was wounded real bad.”

She shook her head quickly, swallowing back sobs. “No, no. I understand. I do. You were saving his life. You had no choice.”

Max took a breath for courage. “I have something for you,” he said quietly. “It’s from Richie.”

She stared at his hand as he pulled the old envelope from his shirt pocket, then laid it on the table in front of her. The paper was dark and sweat-stained, grimy from hiding it inside his clothes for all those years. He’d held on to it for so long, he’d come to think of it as his good luck charm. He’d never opened it. He still didn’t know what it said. But in a way, knowing it was there, and knowing it was his responsibility to bring Richie’s letter across the sea, had kept him alive. And it had brought him back to Molly. Now he had to let it go.

“He gave it to me the last time I saw him. It’s for your family.”

She touched the seal gingerly, as if it might break. Then she picked it up, and from the look of astonishment on her face, it was as if Max had given her the world.

“I think he knew something was going to happen to him, because he already had this written,” he said, remembering Richie’s desperate expression. “I know it’s important.”

Her fingers traced the lettering on the envelope. Richie’s handwriting, smeared almost illegible by the years. “Thank you, Max. I can’t imagine how hard it was for you to keep it all this time. This means so much to me.”

“You gonna open it?” Ian asked, his eyes wide.

“No,” she said, pressing the envelope to her chest. “I’ll wait for my parents. Maybe it will give them peace at last.”

Ian sipped his coffee, regarding Max. “You’ve been to hell and back. That was an incredible story. I feel honoured that you told us.”

“I want people to know,” he said. “I don’t want our men to be forgotten.”

“We’ll make sure of that.” Ian shook his head, marveling. “After everything you went through, it must be such a relief to be home. To know it’s finally over.”

“You think it’s over?” The words lashed out. “If you think that, then you haven’t been listening. This will never be over. Richie and David and Arnie and hundreds more will never come home. I may never have to push another wheelbarrow of corpses, but I sure as hell will never get that stink out of my nose.”

Ian blinked. “Of course,” he said. “I didn’t mean to belittle anything you just said. I apologize if I offended.”

Max closed his eyes, embarrassed. “No. No. I’m sorry. My temper is pretty fast these days. But I meant what I said. For some of us, the war will never be over.” He drained his coffee, then pushed his chair back from the table, done with all the stories. “That’s it. You have your final piece. Think you can sell a bunch of papers with all this?”

Ian tapped his notebook with his pen. “Everyone has heard traumatic stories, but those are usually about women or children. To hear of strong, young Canadian men devastated to this extent? Yes, we will. Thank you.”

Molly cut in. “We aren’t naming him, remember? It’s an anonymous source.”

“I know. Too bad, though. We could make you famous, Max.”

“No need,” Max said, suddenly in a hurry. Before they could stop him, he was headed for the door. “I gotta go. Thanks very much for dinner, Moll. I’ll tell Mama how great her recipe tasted.”

He was grabbing his coat and hat as Ian reached for his own. “Hang on a minute,” he said. “I’ll get the car keys and drive you both back.”

Max held up a hand. “Thanks, but I’d rather walk. Clear my head a bit.”

“Would it be all right if I walked with you?” Her voice was small. Fragile. How could he say no?

Ian was watching her, a slight crease in his brow.

“I guess,” Max said. “If it’s all right with Ian.”

Ian gave a short laugh. “Hey, Molly’s not mine yet. She can do what she chooses.”

Molly tucked the letter into her pocket, and he waited for her to pull on her coat and hat, then wind a scarf around her neck. He held the door for her, and they stepped out into the quiet, crisp night. Max breathed in the air, feeling lighter than he had in a long, long time.

“I’m sorry I snapped back there,” he said as they walked.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry we pushed you so hard. And for so long. Thank you for doing that, Max. I think you’ll be really happy with it when it’s done.”

He didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he wanted to read it. He’d already lived it.

They walked in silence for half a block, and he thought how strange it was, to feel awkward, walking beside her on this sidewalk where they’d grown up. Once, she had chattered in his ear the whole time. Now, he didn’t know how to speak to her.

After a little way, she tugged at his sleeve, and he stopped beside her. “There’s something I need to tell you,” she said, facing him.

What was that look in her eye? She’d kept something from him. Something important. He didn’t like that feeling.

“I wrote back to you,” she said. “I mean, the second time. After you wrote to me from Hong Kong. Of course, you never got my letter, but I thought you should know.” He saw her hesitate, then she met his gaze again. “But what it said was that I’d found out my parents burned your original letter from 1933. I