Letters Across the Sea by Genevieve Graham (best short novels of all time txt) 📗

he known about Mr. Rabinowitz’s six children, who had married and moved away, spreading across Canada. All he’d ever really seen was a broken man with sad, rheumy eyes. At the bottom of the article, Hannah had paper clipped an addendum, and emotion swelled in his chest when he read that Mr. Rabinowitz’s grown children had contacted the Star three weeks after Molly’s article had run. They had been searching for their father for years.

“Oh, Molly,” he said softly.

He dropped his head into his hand and rubbed his face, hearing her voice in her words, then he skimmed his finger over the letters, marveling at what she had done. Somehow, despite everything stacked against her, she’d found a way to achieve her dream.

God, he missed her.

“She’s pretty good, isn’t she?”

Startled, Max glanced up to see Richie in front of him, peering down at the letter.

“Yeah,” he said, quickly folding it up and tucking it away. He and Richie had never spoken about Molly. “She really is.”

“She worked hard for it,” Richie said. “She went to night school while she was still at Eaton’s. I remember how tired she was back then, but she’d been determined. You know how she was. Once she had something on her mind.”

Max nodded. He remembered everything about her.

“After journalism school, she kept saying she wanted to work for the Star, but I never figured she’d really do it.” A gentle smile curled his mouth. “But she did.”

It was then that Max felt the wall between them begin to crumble, and with it his reservations. He set Hannah’s letter and the envelope aside, then nodded toward the paper in Richie’s hand. “What’s that?”

Richie took a seat on the bunk across from him and held up his letter. “It’s from my wife, Barbara. I don’t think you ever met her. You got a girl back home?”

Max shook his head.

From his envelope, Richie pulled out a photograph, then passed it over. “That’s Barbara with our daughter, Evelyn. She’s three now. And that’s the new one, Joan. I’ve actually never met her, which is kind of hard to fathom. Anyway, Barbara says she’s a real talker.” He chuckled. “You know what I mean. She’s too little to say anything, but she’s always saying something.”

Max felt a twinge of envy, seeing Richie’s happiness. They were both twenty-nine years old, and Richie had created his own little family. Max had never married, much to his mother’s dismay. After Molly, no one had been able to hold his interest. Seeing Richie’s little girls and the pride in their father’s eyes pushed a knot of regret into Max’s throat.

“They’re beautiful,” he said, passing the photo back. “I can’t tell from the photo. Did they inherit your red hair?”

Richie flushed slightly, taking another peek at the photo before replacing it in the envelope. “They did, poor kids.”

“They must miss you very much.”

“I guess. I sure miss them. When I got letters in Newfoundland, it didn’t seem so far. Here, well, it’s a world away. If I didn’t have the photographs from Barbara, I’m afraid I’d forget their little faces.” He frowned at Max. “Sometimes these letters are hard to read. I mean, Barbara tells me all the little stories, but I hate that I’m not there to see for myself. Will my kids even remember me?”

“They’ll remember you. You’ll be back before they’re grown.”

“I hope so.”

“I know what you mean, though,” Max said, thinking of home. “If I’m not going to be useful in this war, then I want to be with my family.”

Richie nodded. “I mean, it’s okay here, right? We’re all making friends, doing what we’re told to do. We’re safe. Nobody’s shooting us or anything. But when I see Barbara’s writing, or Molly’s or Mum’s, I just… I miss the old life. Remember how easy it was when we were kids?”

Max bristled. “It wasn’t always easy.”

Richie shifted, his expression tight with regret. “I know. But you and I, we were best friends, weren’t we? I mean, before we blew it. We were like brothers. Once.”

Max’s heart clenched. Richie was right. That’s why his betrayal with Phil and the others had hurt so deeply. “Once,” he echoed quietly.

Richie continued on, saying more than Max had ever heard. “Nobody ever stood up for me like you did. You always did the right thing. You’re the reason I became a cop, you know. I wanted to do the right thing too. Especially after what I did to you. I messed up,” Richie admitted in a rush. “I never should have… well, there are a lot of things I shouldn’t have done. I never should have sided against you, not at the beach that day, not at Christie Pits. Back then, I thought I was tough, you know? One of the boys, going around, scaring people. But I know better now. And when I look at you, I can see how much you hate me. Honestly? I can’t stand that. I don’t want us to be on opposite sides anymore.”

Regret tumbled through Max’s chest. “I never really hated you. I was angry. And I was hurt. I mean, I understood why we’d drifted apart, but—”

“Well, you’re a better man than I.” Richie’s gaze dropped to the floor. “That night at the ball game, I was scrapping halfway up the hill when I saw Phil go after Molly. I wanted to get down there to help, but the bastard I was fighting wouldn’t leave off. When I looked again, I saw you deck him, then I saw her with you.”

Max closed his eyes. Even after all these years, all the promises he had made to himself that he’d forget her, he could still feel Molly’s lips on his.

“I gotta tell you,” Richie said, staring at his hands, clenched on his lap. “If I’d been there, I would have gone after you. You know I would have. Then I saw Dad start beating you, and he looked like he’d never stop. And there was Molly, throwing herself