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

her mouth, and he could tell she was holding herself back. He was asking too much of her. If only he could let the anger go, hold her like she needed to be held. But he was afraid.

“Tomorrow is a new day for all of us,” Hannah said softly. “I know you don’t understand this yet, but you are our miracle, Max. You’re home. We will help you.”

For the first time, a knot jammed in his throat. He nodded quickly, burying his emotions again, then fled the room. Upstairs, nothing had changed in his bedroom. He marveled at the forgotten scene, thinking this made it seem like he’d only been away for a few hours, not five years. They hadn’t packed up his things. They hadn’t given up on him, even if he had.

Out of habit he moved slowly, afraid to make a noise, while he took off his coat and boots. He sat on the edge of his bed, feeling the softness of the mattress beneath him, letting his body remember the idea of comfort. Then he lowered himself to the floor, more at home with its hardness against his body. He was so tired. Weary to the marrow of his bones.

The knot in his throat loosened, and though it ached from holding back his tears for so long, at least he could breathe. He inhaled slowly, filling his lungs and hoping for peace, but anguish gripped him at the top. Grief came out in a groan, pushing from his gut, and the agony of the past five years rolled down his face. The images that had haunted him for years returned, stabbing him deeper and deeper: David’s motionless body lying just out of reach. Richie’s red, pleading eyes begging him not to leave. Arnie, wasted to nothing by the end, weighing no more than a child in his arms. He’d left them all behind, but their dead eyes still watched. He took a deep shuddering breath, needing to find control again, but it was much too far away.

Finally, he drifted off to sleep, and he felt the scratch of the barrack’s cement floor on his cheek. He heard the men down the row counting in Japanese in their sleep. He saw the arcing sword as it sliced through men’s necks, ending their misery. So many times, Max had envied those men.

But he’d had to come back. For David, for Arnie, and for Richie.

twenty-four MOLLY

I slid across the vinyl bench at the corner booth at the Senator, then sat on my hands to still them. I was practically buzzing with nerves. I needed to stay calm, but I couldn’t fathom how. Max. Max was alive. He was back, and he was going to sit with me again. Twelve years of missing him. Of wishing and hoping… and soon he would be here.

But the very thought of Ian, Max, and me at the same table had my stomach rolling with anxiety. Beside me, Ian was oblivious. He was reading the menu, humming to himself as if this were just another day. He had no idea. It’s just Max, I told myself. But was it?

He arrived at noon, and when I saw him walk through the front door of the restaurant, I scrambled to my feet, short of breath. Ian caught my cue and stood to face him. Max was wearing a black overcoat and flat cap, and as he came toward us, I noticed with a pang of sympathy that he was limping. What had happened to him over there? Was it something permanent?

“Welcome!” Ian said, stepping back.

Max took off his coat and hat and hung them on the hook with Ian’s. Before he took his seat, he scanned the room like he wasn’t entirely sure where he was, almost like he was afraid. Then his eyes landed on me and his shoulders seemed to relax a bit.

“What?” he asked.

I realized I was staring. “I’m sorry, Max. It’s just that I really never expected to see you ever again. It’s…” I searched for words.

“Hannah called me the family’s miracle,” he said, his mouth twisted awkwardly.

“Well, she’s right,” I said. “You are a miracle.”

He smiled lightly then looked away.

“Hungry?” Ian asked, directing Max to the bench. “I’m starved.”

I glanced at Max, painfully aware of Ian’s gaffe. “Yep, you look it,” he said wryly.

“What?” Ian blinked, then he realized what he’d said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

“It’s okay,” Max said, accepting the menu I passed him.

The waitress had brought three cups of coffee, and Ian raised his in a toast. “Cheers to Max’s homecoming. To all the men finally coming home to their families.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Max said, settling in. “So, you two work together, and you’re engaged. Is that difficult?”

My face burned, but Ian didn’t seem to notice.

“Not at all,” Ian said, flipping open his notebook. “We’re great partners.”

I eyed the two of them, wondering if I was imagining the slight tension across the table. I hoped I was. Today was about so many important things. I didn’t know how long we’d be able to talk before it became too much for Max, but I was hoping to propose an in-depth series of articles to Mr. Hindmarsh. I’d mentioned the idea to Ian, and he loved it.

I set my coffee down. “I’m so glad you’re okay with doing this.” I hated that my voice sounded higher than usual. Max would know I was nervous.

Max spread his hands. “Whatever you need, Moll.”

Was he trying to put me at ease? Was it a challenge? Was he angry?

“Okay.” I cleared my throat. “Well, I’ve done a lot of research into POW camps—”

“You have?”

“She was like a dog on a bone,” Ian said proudly, patting my hand.

“But why?”

“Because I didn’t think anyone was paying enough attention to them. I mean, we heard all about Germany, and the atrocities they were committing, but it seemed like Japan wasn’t on anyone’s mind.”

Max nodded. “That’s what we kind of figured.”

“What