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

Jimmy was frowning, considering her question. “Our job was to patrol Juno Beach on D-Day,” Jimmy said after a moment. “I’ve never seen military might like that day. On b-b-both sides. Flying over that, well, yeah. It was really something. What a show.”

The three sat like statues around the table, steam rising from their cups, and the past flickered behind Jimmy’s eyes. This was the moment when he could choose to let his story out and share his pain, or he could decide to keep it to himself. It was all up to him.

“We were providing cover for the ships,” he said slowly, his eyes on his coffee. “And going head to head with enemy fighters. They’d painted our planes in b-black and white stripes so nobody could mistake us for Krauts. We looked like goddamn zebras, for Christ’s sake. We’d flown on a patrol the night before, in the south of England, just a skip away from the Channel. In the morning when we got there, we could see the invasion was underway.” He looked up at their faces. “I was flying behind my b-b-buddy Jocko. We were each other’s wingmen all along. Great guy. He was a nickel miner from Sudbury.”

Jimmy stopped, and all the colour drained from his face. There it was, Max realized, his heart twisting with sympathy. Jimmy’s ghost.

“It’s okay, Jimmy,” he said. “You can tell us.”

“There were more planes in the air that day than I’d ever seen.” His voice was soft, coming from somewhere high above, hunting planes through the clouds. “Lots of b-b-bombers, but my eye was always on the fighters. I had to come down low when I passed over the b-b-beach. I’ll tell you, I’d never seen anything like that in my life. I was close enough to see things.” His hand went to his head, his fingers sinking into his hair so it stuck out like a hedgehog. “Men were sloshing through red, bloody water, wading through the b-b-bodies of their friends. I saw a leg here, a torso there.” Anger flashed in his eyes, and he looked directly at his sister. “Nob-body ever prepares you for things like that.”

No, they didn’t, Max thought, his own mind crowding with the guns, the blades, the blood, and the hopelessness. The unimaginable cruelty he’d experienced at the hands of fellow men.

“I’d had my eye on a group of our soldiers trying to get off the b-b-beach, but they kept getting picked off one by one. They were almost to the ridge. So close. Then I saw the Germans aiming. They couldn’t miss.” He stretched out his arms to the side, like wings, then tilted them slightly. “So I swerved off course to warn them. It was stupid of me. I knew b-b-better than to think I could change anything. I kept yelling, yelling at those guys, as if I could stop them.” His hands bunched into fists. “They couldn’t hear me. How could I think they would? I was irresponsible and reckless, and I was off course.”

“What happened?” Max asked.

Jimmy looked directly at Max. “I flew through the flames of Jocko’s plane after he b-blew up. I saw his face as he went down.” He made a V with his fingers then held them toward his eyes. “He was looking right at me, asking why I was off course. He still is. He’s always looking at me, wanting to know.” Then he gritted his teeth. “I see him when I’m sleeping. His mouth is always moving. He’s asking me, Where did you go? Why weren’t you where you were supposed to b-b-be?”

“It’s not your fault,” Molly whispered.

Jimmy slammed his fist on the table, and Max forced himself to stay still. He knew the anger, knew how hard it was to control it.

“How do you know that, Molly?” Jimmy demanded. “How do you know he wouldn’t still b-b-be flying around up there with me, if I’d just stayed where I was meant to? If I’d looked out for him instead of getting distracted. If I’d—”

Max cut in. “Molly’s right. Your being off course couldn’t have blown Jocko’s plane up. He flew into something. Somebody fired on him. There’s nothing you could have done.”

“How can you say that?” Jimmy cried, his face twisted with anguish. “I let him down!”

God, Max knew that agony. Seeing David’s face a moment before he was shot; holding Arnie in his arms as he dwindled; the men in the hospital who had cried out, dying for want of medicine that was only a few feet away but always out of reach.

“It was the worst day of my life,” Jimmy said, slumping with defeat. “I hated the world for putting me there, b-but I hate it more for b-b-bringing me home.”

“Don’t say that, Jimmy,” Molly said, her eyes brimming.

But Jimmy was telling the truth, sharing with them what possessed his mind and heart. The torment, the guilt that was swirling inside Jimmy, was real for Max as well. Hannah had called him a miracle, but how could he be a miracle when so many of his friends hadn’t made it back?

He touched Molly’s hand. “Give me a minute?”

She studied his face, then nodded. “I should be heading to work,” she said. “Jimmy, I’m sorry.”

After she’d gone, Max took a breath and turned to Jimmy. “I understand.”

He told him about the ghosts he saw every time he closed his eyes, and the disembodied voices of his friends—even of Richie—that screamed through his nights. It was getting easier to talk out loud about them, and the more he did, the quieter his nights became. Lately, there were moments when he could think back and smile, remembering the good times instead.

“They sent us to places nobody should ever have gone,” he said, his voice wavering with the memory of Richie’s bloodshot, pleading eyes. “We watched our friends die while we lived. But we survived. For whatever reason, we were spared and we came home. Now we have another battle to face.”