Letters Across the Sea

by Genevieve Graham

  They sat beside each other at dinner, Liam hanging on Mark’s words. He hadn’t seen any other returning soldiers since he’d been back. He’d refused to have anything to do with the war at all, but by the time dinner was served, Liam had perked up more than I’d seen in a while.

  “Have you heard from Jimmy?” I asked over dinner. “He doesn’t write home as much as he used to.”

  “No.” Mark shook his head. “But that doesn’t mean anything. A lot of guys just aren’t ready to talk about it yet. They may never be.” He placed a hand on Liam’s back. “But that’s okay. What’s done is done. What matters is what we do now.”

  Now I sat at my desk in the newsroom, thinking about how so many more would be coming home soon. Tomorrow, people would fill the streets, ticker tape would float from the rooftops, and strangers would embrace, their voices lifted in joy for a change. But when they raised their glasses, how many would think of those who would never come home? Or those who did, but lived with the scars and wounds of the battlefield, visible or not?

  While the rest of the newsroom hurried about, working on their own VE assignments, I pulled out my notes, rolled a fresh sheet of paper into the typewriter, and began to type. I lost track of time while I wrote, and I was surprised to hear Ian’s voice behind me.

  “ ‘There is no programme the government could offer that might ease the pain of these returning heroes,’ ” he read. “ ‘But the question of financial compensation, at least, must remain paramount in discussions.’ ” He nodded. “I like it. Now let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “It’s time to celebrate,” he said.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not really great company.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I am.”

  I looked up at him, puffed up with excitement. And why shouldn’t he be? The war was over. He was right.

  “Well, if you are, then that does it,” I told him. “I’m ready. Where are we going?”

  “Everyone’s going to the press club. That’s the only place we might possibly get a seat tonight. We’ll get some food, have some drinks. Trust me. It’s exactly what you need,” he said, reaching for my handbag. “I won’t take no for an answer. I’ve already told everyone you’re my date.”

  I smiled in spite of myself. “Well, who else would be?”

  “No one. You’re the only girl for me.”

  I picked up my article. “Okay, let me just drop this off.”

  Ian held out my coat and scarf while I dropped the pages in Mr. Hindmarsh’s tray, knowing he’d be pleased I’d kept it under five hundred words. I hoped he wouldn’t edit too much out.

  The temperature outside was barely above freezing, surprisingly cold for May, and it felt like rain might be coming. I hoped not. That would spoil tomorrow’s citywide party. Ian grinned, squeezing my hand in his, and we wound our way between revellers on the street. We could hear the noise from the tavern from halfway down the block, and when we got to the door we had to squeeze through the crowds. Ian was almost a head taller than most of the people there, so he went first, holding my hand tight so he could clear a path. Halfway through, he checked on me over his shoulder.

  “I’m fine!” I yelled over the noise, following him past a group of ladies standing on a table, singing the national anthem with great gusto.

  “Gin and tonic?”

  “Yes please!”

  “Gin and tonic, and a scotch!” Ian bellowed, I assumed at the bartender.

  There was no way to reach the bar through the throngs of people, so when we were about six people away, he passed the cash forward, and the people ahead of us passed the drinks back, toasting us along the way.

  Ian’s cheeks flushed with excitement as he handed me my glass. “To the end of the war!” he called, lifting his glass, and half the bar replied, “To the end of the war!”

  The room was electric with happiness and alcohol. I left my concerns briefly behind, letting the energy infect me. Ian introduced me to practically everyone in the place, and he was right. I had a terrific time. I met new people and listened to the kinds of stories one could only hear in a roomful of reporters, and I drank far too much gin. When it was time for the evening to end, Ian went to retrieve my coat and hat.

  “That was so much fun,” I said, sliding into the front seat of his dark blue Chevy. My head swam with alcohol and warm, happy remnants of the evening. “Thanks for making me go.”

  “I told you so.”

  “Nobody likes anyone who says that, you know.”

  “You’re wrong,” he said, pulling into traffic. “Everybody likes me.”

  I chuckled and closed my eyes, letting the motion of the car lull me to sleep. Moments later, Ian gently jostled my arm. “Molly, wake up. We’re here.”

  I blinked open my eyes and my street came into view, everyone’s porch lights left on in celebration. After he parked beside my house, he went around to open my door.

  “Thanks for the ride, mister,” I said groggily, curling into him. He tugged me close, his lips on my neck, and a delicious thrill raced through me. “Why, you!”

  “Molly?”

  Startled by a new voice, I pulled away and peered at the dark shape sitting at the side of our front step, avoiding the light overhead. I took another step toward the house, unsure.

  “Hey, Molly.”

  My heart stopped. “Jimmy?”

  With the same slow, casual ease I’d known all my life, Jimmy got to his feet and set his hands on his hips. “Is this any way to welcome your b-b-big brother home?”

  I felt as if an ocean wave crested on top of me. “Oh my God, Jimmy,” I cried, rushing toward him. His arms closed tight around me, and I heard his heart thumping against my ear. “You’re home. You’re home. You’re really home,” I sobbed.

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice rough. “Here I am.”

  I didn’t want to let him go, but Jimmy’s hold eased, and I realized he was looking behind me, at Ian. I stepped back, and Ian offered his hand.

  “Jimmy,” he said. “It’s an honour to meet you. Your sister never stops talking about you.”

  He eyed Ian’s hand for a moment before taking it. “You must be Molly’s fiancé.”

  I jumped in. “Jimmy, this is Ian Collins, assistant editor at the Star. And yes, he and I are engaged.”

  Jimmy didn’t say anything, just studied Ian while I studied him. His face was a lot thinner than it had been when he’d left, and his uniform coat fell loosely over his frame. His blue wedge cap tilted off the side of his head, giving him a jaunty look that didn’t match the weariness in his eyes. He noticed me looking and took it off, crushing it between his hands.

  “God, it’s good to see you,” I said, hugging him again.

  “It’s good to b-b-be seen by you. There were times…” He left off, and I could tell he was embarrassed by his new stammer. I didn’t care about that, though the reason behind it worried me. I couldn’t stop staring at him, grinning like an idiot. It was strange to see his familiar face so changed by time and experience, but I could almost see the old him in the depths of his eyes, the tough little scrapper he’d once been.

  “Let’s go in,” I blustered. “We can have a drink, and you can tell me when you got home. You’ve seen Mum and Dad already, I presume?”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “Listen, I can’t stay here.”

  I saw his pack at his feet. “I don’t understand. Did Mum and Dad—”

  “I saw them. And Liam. I just can’t b-be here. Dad, he…” He shook his head.

  I could imagine the scene: Jimmy blustering in with the usual chip on his shoulder, expecting Dad to knock it off. What Jimmy didn’t realize was that we’d all changed over the past few years, including Dad. He would have been overwhelmed with relief at the sight of his son back home, but that’s not how Jimmy would have seen it. I wished I’d been there to intervene.

  “No, Jimmy. He wouldn’t—”

  “Drop it, Molly. I just stopped here to say hi
to you, then I’ll find a place.”

  Ian cleared his throat. “You can stay with me.”

  Jimmy eyed Ian, clearly suspicious. “Yeah? Just a night or two is all I need.”

  “However long you need,” Ian said, filling me with warmth. What a good man.

  After a moment, Jimmy picked up his pack and slung it over his shoulder. “Well, I appreciate it.”

  “It’s the least I can do,” Ian said. “You’re a hero. We all owe you our thanks.”

  Jimmy’s expression hardened. “I’m no hero. Don’t call me that.”

  I touched my brother’s arm, calming him.

  His face squeezed briefly then returned to normal. “Sorry. I just… I’m no hero.”

  “Okay. Whatever you say,” Ian replied. “You wanna go wait in the car? I’ll be right there.”

  We watched him throw his pack in the back seat, then he opened the passenger door and slid inside to wait.

  “Thank you,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. He doesn’t know—”

  “He’ll be okay. Just needs some time. I’ll watch him.” Then he took my hand, and he turned my ring gently between his thumb and finger. “So, before all this happened, I was thinking about something. Today’s VE Day. And now that Jimmy’s here, your brothers are home.”

  I knew what he was going to say, but I wished he wouldn’t. My thoughts were on Jimmy. I was dying to run inside and find out from my parents what had happened. But he was waiting, expectation in his eyes.

  “Yes, they are,” I replied.

  “So that means we can finally get married.”

  I smiled. I couldn’t argue when he was looking at me that way. “Let’s set a date.”

  twenty-one MOLLY

  By the time I got to work early the next morning, people were already crowding in the streets. I squeezed through them and into the building, then I headed to my desk, where Ian greeted me with a hot cup of coffee.

  “How’s Jimmy?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “He took a glass of whisky into the spare bedroom and disappeared. He was gone this morning. Overall, a pretty easy houseguest, I’d say.”

  I tugged his collar so he’d come down for a kiss. “Thank you for doing that.”

  “Anything to make you happy, Molly. You know that.”

  “I’m so glad he’s back, safe and sound.”

  He grimaced, knowing there was more to the story. “How did it go with your parents?”

  “It was what I thought.” After he and Jimmy had left, I’d knocked on my parents’ closed door. They were quiet, and Mum’s eyes were red from crying. “He cut Dad down as soon as he stepped inside. Dad never knew what hit him. He’s devastated. Mum’s a wreck.”

  He nodded. “That’s rough. Sorry you have to be in the middle of all that. But,” he said with a wink, “I have something that will put a smile on your face.” He pulled today’s Star from behind his back, folded open to my article.

  “Page six!” I exclaimed. “That’s my best yet!”

  “You have a way with words that most writers would kill for, you know that? The guys never stop telling me how my future bride’s going to keep me on my toes.”

  “Well, if the writing doesn’t pan out, you do make a great coffee,” I teased.

  He laughed, a hearty sound that filled the room. “Say,” he said, whispering conspiratorially, “how does August fourth sound? Is that enough time to plan?”

  My phone rang, and Ian waited as I picked it up. It was a secretary at City Hall I’d been trying to reach a few days before, so my brain shifted to business mode, and I covered the mouthpiece with one hand.

  “Can we talk later?” I whispered to Ian. “I have to take this.”

  His brow furrowed slightly. “Sure.”

  The morning passed in a blur, then at noon, Ian brought me my coat and we headed to the cenotaph with most of the newsroom, waiting for a formal announcement by the mayor. As we neared the monument, Ian and I wound between the merrymakers, soaking in the pulsing excitement of the city. I had thought we’d left the office in plenty of time, but I was wrong, so we couldn’t get a spot at the front. I popped up on my toes to see what was happening, and when I put a hand on his arm to balance, he chuckled.

  “You can’t see?” Ian asked, and I suddenly thought of that day long ago, leaning against Sir John A. Macdonald’s cold statue with Max. Oh, Max, I thought. Forty million casualties, and we’d still never heard a word about him. He had deserved so much better than that.

  I took a deep breath, pasting my smile back in place, and pushed the memories back where they belonged. “No, no. I can see well enough. This is such a happy day,” I said, pasting my smile back in place. “It feels like everything’s going to change now.”

  * * *

  On one hand, I was right. Things did change around the city. The streets filled once again with young men and cheerful couples, but also with beaten-down veterans and crutches. I saw some of the boys from baseball so long ago, like Snooky Rubenstein and Matteo Rossi, looking twenty years older than they had five years ago. When I said hello, they didn’t appear to recognize me. Then I learned that Phil Burke had been killed fighting in Germany. Despite everything that had happened between us, I sat down and had a good cry. No one had deserved what this war had done.

  On the other hand, I was wrong. Some things didn’t change. The war between the United States and Japan raged on, and I found myself busier than ever, covering the conflict in the Pacific. At home, Liam still stayed in the dark most of the time, though he continued walking with Dad in the mornings, and he’d sit in the yard with Mark if he stopped by. So I suppose that was a bit of a change for the better, at least.

  Jimmy was difficult to predict and always seemed to be on the move, though he never told anyone where he went during the day. Sometimes Ian came home to a houseguest, and sometimes he was alone. When I saw Jimmy, he was usually quite dirty but didn’t seem to notice, and he only reluctantly agreed to my offer to do his laundry. Jimmy had always been independent, but this was extreme behaviour even for him. It hurt to see him so broken, but I was so glad to have him back I didn’t tell him that.

  One night he showed up unexpectedly at our house for dinner. Mum, Dad, Liam, and I all scrambled, making him a seat at the table and trying to ease through conversations, but Jimmy didn’t say a word the whole time. I could feel anger rising off him in waves, but none of us had any idea where it was coming from. When it was time to clear the table, I stood and reached for his plate, and he shot out of his chair as if I’d struck him. The four of us stared in confusion as he grabbed his coat and left, slamming the door behind him.

  “I didn’t do anything this time,” Dad said pitifully.

  “No, you didn’t,” I agreed. “It wasn’t any of us.”

  Mum had put her head in her hands, lost. Jimmy was back from the war, but we still grieved his loss in a way. I went to her side and hugged her, noticing the sharpness of her shoulder blades against my hands. Between taking care of Dad and Liam, helping Barbara and the girls, worrying about Jimmy, and still mourning the loss of Richie, she was weakening by the day.

  “It’ll be all right, Mum. We’ll all be all right.” But I hardly believed my own words.

  Ian tried to be supportive, but after three months of letting Jimmy crash at his place, even he got frustrated.

  “I don’t know where he goes or what he does, but he always comes back reeking of booze and worse,” he said. “He needs to get help, Molly. I can’t look after him—I’m at work during the day.”

  “Just a little while longer. Please, Ian. He’s the only big brother I have left,” I pleaded.

  “Okay, okay,” he said, taking me in his arms. “But we can’t keep doing this forever. We have to move on with our lives. We haven’t even picked a wedding date yet.”

  We’d worked right through the August 4 date we’d agreed upon earlier, and I knew he was impatient, but it hardly seemed like a priority to me. My hands closed into fists behind hi
s back, and I pulled out of his reach. “I can’t think about our wedding right now. Mum’s run off her feet, and Mr. Hindmarsh has me on so many assignments. You tell me, Ian. I kind of think writing about the end of a world war should trump booking the church, don’t you?”

  “Do you even want to get married?” he asked quietly.

  “Of course I do,” I said, immediately sorry. “I just have too much on my plate right now.”

  “All right,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m just impatient to be your husband. Can you blame me?”

  I hopped up on my toes and kissed him lightly. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I will get to it. I promise.”

  But the following week, Ian stormed into the office and pulled me aside, clearly upset. “Your brother’s got serious problems. Last night I went out to the kitchen to get a glass of water, and he pinned me against the wall. I don’t think he recognized me. I don’t think he even knew where he was at first. To be honest, he scared me. Jimmy’s wiry, but he’s strong as an ox.”

  “He’s scared too,” I replied, aching for Jimmy. “Let me talk to him.”

  But Jimmy wanted none of my sympathy. “Look after Liam if you need to fix someb-b-body,” he said. “I’m fine. All I need is a place to sleep at night, and if Ian doesn’t want me there, I’ll find somewhere else.”

  The next morning, Ian told me Jimmy had grabbed his pack that night and left.

  From that day on, whenever I walked downtown and saw the sad, shadowy figures of veterans wandering or sleeping on the streets, I looked for my brother. I wondered if I would ever see him again. Jimmy had always done what he wanted. This time he’d wanted to disappear.

  Not long after, Hannah rang me. “Come see me after work?” she asked. “You haven’t been over in a while.”

  My first reaction was to tell her I had no time, but as I opened my mouth to say the words, I realized how much I needed to see her. She’d always been my strength.

  “I’ll be there.”

  Over a glass of wine, she told me she’d seen Jimmy and she was concerned.