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

on you like a shield.” He stilled, then he looked up, his eyes bright with emotion. “It was like somebody turned on the lights for me, and I could see clearly what was happening. Seeing Dad like that, I realized I’d been an ass all along. You and Molly were both adults. It was between the two of you. But I’d started looking at you the way other people did. I had no right. I was your friend. I owed you better than that, and I want you to know that I really am sorry.”

Max’s chest tightened. After all this time, all the years of feeling betrayed by his best friend, he’d almost given up on ever hearing those words.

“Why now?” he had to know. “Why did you wait so long?”

“I don’t know. I guess I was afraid at first. But I’ve had a lot of spare time since then to think about you, about my family, about this war, about a lot of things. And I’ve realized that I can’t put off fixing what I broke. What if we go to war and something happens?”

“Nothing’s gonna happen.”

He flashed a reluctant smile. “Yeah, well, in case it does, just know I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Max admitted. “I never expected this.”

“Are we good, you and me?”

Max nodded, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. Even his hangover was gone. “Season opener,” he said, holding out his hand. “Fresh start.”

Richie took it, and the relief that spread over his face felt the same as what filled Max’s heart.

Richie started to get up, then he stopped. “There’s one more thing I gotta get off my chest, though.”

“What is it?” Max asked.

He cleared his throat. “Leaving Molly like that with no goodbye, no message or anything. You should have written to her. It’s a small man who would break a girl’s heart like that.”

Heat rushed into Max’s face. “What are you talking about? The minute I got to Kingston I sent her a letter and asked her to write back. She never did. It’s not me that ended it.”

Richie rubbed his brow. “That doesn’t make sense. She was devastated after you left.”

“I wrote.”

“Well, I know for a fact that she never got a letter from you.”

Max felt dizzy with realization. “That means she thought that I…”

He knew how much he’d hurt, thinking she didn’t want to be with him, but unlike her, Max had escaped Toronto. She’d been there all this time, seeing his house every day, living in the middle of all the memories. God, Molly. I’m so sorry. He never should have given up so fast. He should have written again.

“How is she?” he asked Richie.

“She’s happy, I think. She loves her job.” He paused. “She’s dating someone, Barbara told me.”

So she hadn’t married. Molly had always insisted on putting her career first. Now that she was doing so well, was he too late to give it another shot?

Once Richie had walked away, Max reached for his stationery, took a deep breath, then started to write.

Dear Molly,

I never thought I’d write to you again, but here I am. I hope it’s okay, after all this time…

fourteen MOLLY

Did you eat?” Mum called as I came inside, shutting the first December storm behind me.

Even before I stepped into the living room, I knew she and Dad were in there. I could hear the clicking of Mum’s knitting needles and the flapping of Dad’s paper. The warm breath of the woodfire touched my cheeks, welcoming me into our quiet home of three.

“I did, thanks,” slipping off my gloves and hat. I shook the hat over the doormat, sprinkling it with the melted remnants of a miserable freezing rain, then unbuttoned my coat. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I was working late on a new story.”

I was surprised to see an envelope lying on the counter, addressed to me from Hong Kong. Even more surprising was that it wasn’t Richie’s handwriting. I carried it into the living room and slumped onto the chair, where I readily peeled my feet out of my shoes and sighed with relief. It had been a long day of researching, writing, and rewriting my third piece in the Toronto series Mr. Hindmarsh wanted, and I’d been ready for home hours before. Ian had brought me a sandwich from the deli across the street, then we’d spoken awhile. It was nice. Ian knew how to get me out of my head when I needed to take a break.

“Knitting?” Mum hinted, lifting her needles.

“I will. I just need a few minutes to relax first,” I said. Wool socks, hats, and mitts were in perpetual demand overseas these days. I’d lost track of just how many men I could have dressed with all my knitting. Were any of my brothers warming their toes in my socks?

“Those Germans just can’t get a foothold in Russia, can they?” Dad asked from behind his paper.

Now that I was at the Star, he had started reading it more than the Telegram, and he loved to start up conversations with me about the latest news. It kept me on my toes. The Star was a busy place, and I didn’t always know the headlines. Fortunately, I did tonight.

“Well, it’s minus thirty or so up there,” I said. “I’m surprised they’re even bothering. It’s not nearly that here, but I’m still shivering and I’ve been home for two or three minutes.”

“Your father served in Russia,” Mum said, her eyes on her needles.

“Russia?” I knew Dad had served in the Great War, but he’d never spoken about where he’d been deployed. Not even when Richie signed up. “Why didn’t you ever say anything, Dad?”

“You never asked.” He lowered the paper to his lap. “Nobody talks about that part of it anyway.”

“Why not? I want to know about it,” I said, tucking my feet under me.

“Because it happened after the rest of the world had already declared peace. I was