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

me. But books weren’t the reason I hardly dated. I just wasn’t interested in anyone. Plus, I was needed at home. I didn’t have endless time.

I carried the dishes to the sink then rolled up my sleeves. I worked quickly, but I was frustratingly aware that it probably took a whole inning. The second the last plate was back in the cupboard, I tore off my apron and ran for the door, letting it slam behind me. I sprinted past the Dreyfuses’ house, knowing Hannah would already be at the game, and jogged along Dundas West, past Mr. Connor’s bike shop, the Polish bakery, and the Italian butcher. It was about ten blocks from my home in Kensington to Trinity Bellwoods Park, and my lungs burned the closer I got, but when I heard shouts and cheers coming from the game, happy sounds that filled my heart, I picked up my speed.

I could see the teams now, their ball caps and short pants bright in the last hours of daylight, and I spotted Hannah about halfway up the hill, waving both arms to catch my attention. She was wearing the brown sweater I’d told her was my favourite, with a matching bow tied around her long black hair, and she had a big grin on her face.

Heaving for breath, I dropped beside her and scanned the orange caps of the Native Sons team along the bench, looking for my brother. “How’s the game? Has Jimmy been up?”

“Twice. He walked the first time, hit a double last inning. Where have you been?”

“Doing dishes. Don’t ask. I’m here now.”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “I know something that’ll cheer you up.”

“Oh?”

She pointed down at the Harbord Playground’s second baseman and my breath caught. I would have known that tall, dark figure any-where.

“Max is back already?” I asked. “When?”

“This morning,” she said. “He surprised my mother. I don’t think she’s fully recovered yet.”

A roar rose from the crowd as the batter cracked a line drive, but Max shot out his hand and trapped the ball.

“Three out!” Hannah cried.

I jumped to my feet with her, excited for Max even though I was supposed to be cheering for Jimmy’s team.

“Go, Max!” I shouted.

He looked up, and at the sight of his wide smile, I felt a sudden swoop in my chest. How I’d missed him! He’d left for university just before the stock market crashed and everything had changed. Seeing him now, it was like I’d gone back in time to when there were no protests, unemployment lines, or wilted vegetables, to a world that had seemed full of possibilities. I hugged Hannah to me as we cheered, buoyed by the impossible, magical idea that all our lives would turn around for the better, now that he was home. Maybe Max was our lucky charm.

two MAX

It took a second before Max realized he was staring. Was that really Molly? She sure had grown up over the past four years. If not for the strawberry blond ponytail flapping cheerfully as she waved, and her smile, bright as the sun, he might not have recognized her. He forced his eyes away and took his spot on the bench, finding it a little harder now to concentrate on the game.

After being away for so long, it felt a bit strange to be in Toronto. Like squeezing back into a favourite pair of shoes and discovering they were a little tight, but knowing they’d soon feel like slippers again. Playing baseball at Trinity Bellwoods Park and seeing Hannah and Molly in the crowd made things feel more normal. The only thing that could have made it better was if Richie was there.

Jimmy was, though. He’d come up to Max before the game.

“It’s been a while,” he’d said.

“It’s good to be back,” Max replied. “You’re with the Native Sons this summer?”

Jimmy nodded and flicked the blue brim of Max’s cap. “Not surprised you’re with Harbord Playground again.”

“Well, they are the only mostly Jewish team around.”

“And they have the best players. Tell me, are you out of shape from being stuck in a classroom for so long? Maybe the Sons’ll get lucky tonight after all.”

Max laughed. Jimmy was a great kid, with more chutzpah than anyone he had ever met. On the ballfield, he was always the one to steal a base and get away with it.

“Don’t count on it,” he said. “Hey, where’s Richie?”

Jimmy’s grin faded. “He ain’t coming. You probably won’t see him around much. He’s hanging out with a different bunch of guys these days.”

Hearing that, Max had felt a little off-balance. He peered over the field, not wanting Jimmy to see how disappointed he was. “That’s too bad.”

“Yeah.” Jimmy slapped Max’s arm, then jabbed a thumb toward his team’s bench. “I gotta go, but it’s good to see you.”

For as long as Max could remember, he and Richie had been a team unto themselves, backing each other up on the field. In school, all the kids had wanted to hit like Max and throw like Richie, and the littlest boys had looked up to them as if they were heroes. Even when they were playing on opposite teams, Max and Richie teased each other about having a weak arm or a bum leg to spur the other on. They’d always played their hearts out and walked off the field together like brothers.

Now, in the eighth inning, Max couldn’t resist scanning the crowd again, but there was no sign of his friend. There were a lot of other faces he recognized, though. The trampled grass overflowed with people, from the oldest bubbe to the tiniest child, all of them talking and laughing, Yiddish, Italian, Ukrainian, and English weaving together like a song from his childhood. He spotted the Beisers in the crowd and remembered his mother’s earlier words.

“Mrs. Beiser will be there with her two beautiful daughters,” she’d said. “You remember Eva and Frieda? They’re always asking about you. Their family is a