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

He stared, his chest tight with confusion. “They burned it?” His mind raced back to the conversation he’d had in Sham Shui Po with Richie, when Richie had accused him of leaving her behind without a word. He’d said Molly was devastated. Max had assumed the letter had been lost along the way, shuffled among the millions of letters constantly traveling around the world, and he’d reluctantly chalked it up to bad luck. Learning that her parents had deliberately destroyed their friendship that way explained so much.

“Things were so tense back then,” she was saying, her pale eyes sparkling in the streetlight. “They thought they were doing the right thing, keeping us apart. They’ve apologized since then, and I know they’re sorry. But it’s hard for me to forgive.”

“Why?” he asked, his breath catching. “Why would they have burned it?”

“Because I would’ve written back.” She searched his eyes. “Surely you must know that.”

All those years he’d spent longing for her, wondering why she had never responded. The dreams he’d dared to have, of being with her despite the rest of the world forbidding it, of living his life with her and loving her every single day. Now here she stood, telling him he could have had it all. That she’d always wanted him the same way.

But it was too late.

Max started to walk on, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He could discuss the worst the war had to offer, but he couldn’t have this conversation with Molly. Not yet. Maybe not ever. He was too broken.

“It’s for the best,” he said bitterly as she caught up, then he softened, seeing her smile was gone. “You’ve moved on. Ian seems like a great guy.”

“But Max. What I’m trying to say is—”

He walked faster, needing to escape the pain. “What, Moll? What do you want from me?”

She grabbed his sleeve this time and jerked him back to face her. Her cheeks were blazing with emotion. “I can’t lose you again,” she said. “I can’t.”

He knew the ache in her heart, because he felt it so deeply. He knew her regret, because he would always, always feel that. He never should have left her. He should have stayed and talked it all out with her. But he’d gone away. He’d left her behind. He’d left it all behind.

“You’ll never lose me,” he said, hating himself for what he was about to say. “I’ll always be around. But we both know that you and I could never be together anyway. We shouldn’t have started something we were never meant to finish.”

“I couldn’t have stayed away,” she said quietly. “Could you?”

No, he wanted to say. You’re all I ever wanted. He opened his mouth to answer, then stopped, distracted by the sounds of conflict. A fight had broken out on the street, and he made out four men, he thought. Three on one.

Max took a step toward the four, needing to see.

“Max? What are you doing?”

Then the one who was at the receiving end turned slightly, trying to avoid a punch, and the streetlight caught his face.

Max started to run. It was Jimmy.

twenty-six MOLLY

Even with his limp, Max outran me. He barged in on the brawl, unafraid, and when one of the men wouldn’t release Jimmy, Max slugged him in the face. Jimmy staggered back, and I caught him while Max chased off the instigators.

Jimmy slumped against me, and I gagged. He reeked of garbage and booze and vomit, and his face was a mess from the beating. “What’s happened to you?” I cried, unable to stop myself. “What have you done?”

He blinked up at me as if his eyes had been glued shut, and he had to break through the seal. “Hey, Molly. Nice to see you.”

I grabbed both his shoulders. “C’mon, Jimmy. Can you stand?”

“Is he okay?” Max asked, returning to us.

Jimmy’s eyes widened at the sight of Max, and he stumbled backwards, landing on his backside. “No, no, no, no,” he pleaded, hands up.

I looked between them, mystified. “Jimmy, it’s just Max.”

Max took it all in stride. He crouched beside Jimmy, and his hands went to my brother’s smashed face, checking his injuries. Jimmy watched him with a kind of horrified fascination.

“Are you real?” he asked, poking Max’s chest. “Is it you?”

“Sure is,” Max said, then he turned to me. “We need to move him. He’s gonna need stitches, and I don’t want to do it out here.”

We each took one of Jimmy’s arms and half dragged, half carried him home, both of us holding our breath. Occasionally he’d look at Max and smile the best he could, and one time, I heard him say, “Maybe there is a God after all. Jeez, it’s good to see you, Max.”

“He may not say that in a minute,” Max told me. “Your mom still have all her sewing supplies?”

We barged through the front door, and I rushed ahead to clear the kitchen table.

“Put him here,” I said, patting the top, then Max laid Jimmy out flat while I ran to get Mum’s sewing box.

My parents thumped noisily down the stairs. “What’s going on?” Dad demanded, then they walked into the dining room and stopped short.

“Max!” Mum exclaimed, astonished. She collected herself as best she could. “We’d heard you were home.”

Dad stayed back, but I saw the remorse play out on his face. “We thought you were dead, son. Welcome home.”

“Thank you, sir,” Max said, and I thought I might cry, hearing the civility between them. It had been years since he’d stood in my parents’ house. Maybe the past really could be the past.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” he said, “but Jimmy—”

“Jimmy?” Mum rushed to my brother’s side then covered her mouth and nose, alarmed. “What’s happened? Is he all right?”

“He will be,” Max said. “Could I bother you for some clean cloths and hot water? And a razor?”

“A razor?”

“He’s not going to like this. His lip is split. I have to take off