twenty-eight MOLLY
I set my fingers on the keys of my typewriter and waited for the words to come. They always came. They were my thoughts. My feelings. Myself. But nothing came to me. Not even a whisper.
I’d thought I could write this POW story. That I could be objective. Listening to the men’s stories and writing them all down was so important for them, for me, for everyone. But I hadn’t counted on what they’d do to me. Their memories had seeped into my subconscious. When I closed my eyes, I saw their nightmares. I had awoken this morning, sweating and shivering.
“Molly,” Ian said, coming up to my desk. “You’re looking…” He hesitated and took a seat on the corner of my desk. “Actually, you’re looking a little rough. You okay?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t sleep last night. After I left your house, my night got a little wild.”
His eyes widened when I told him how Max and I had come upon Jimmy, being beaten up on the street, then how Max had sewn him back together.
“I left Max with him this morning. They were still talking when I left for work. Jimmy’s a mess, as you know, but I think if anyone can help him, it’ll be Max. Jimmy always looked up to him as a kid.”
“You guys were all pretty close back then, huh? Why’d you drift apart?”
“Oh, it happened a long time ago. After the riot. Remember that night?”
He did. I’d told him long before about the brick that had led to my father’s stroke, but I hadn’t told him that Mum had blamed Max’s father all this time. There hadn’t been a reason to tell him, until now.
Ian leaned back, taking in this new information.
“That’s what Richie’s letter was about. We read it together last night.”
“Wow,” Ian said. “I missed a busy night. But I’m glad for you. It must feel good to know the truth after so long. I imagine Max’s family is relieved too.” He frowned. “So, Richie threw the brick to stop your dad from beating up Max. I get that. But I don’t think you ever said why your dad was going after Max in the first place. He was a cop. Had Max done something? A fight like that sounds like something personal.”
Heat shot up my neck. “Oh, it was nothing.”
He sat up a little taller. “Well, now you’ve got me curious. From the shade of your face, I’d say it was more than nothing.”
“It was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter anymore.” I looked over at the stack of papers on my desk, searching for an exit. “I’m sorry. I really should get back to this article. It’s taking forever.”
He was watching me, the oddest expression on his face. “Did something happen between you and Max? Is that why your Dad went after him?”
My skin burned.
Ian took my silence as confirmation, and his eyebrows lifted. I couldn’t read his mind, but he definitely wasn’t smiling. “I see,” he said, almost to himself. “That explains some things.”
“We were young,” I said quickly. “It never would have worked, and we’ve both moved on.” I tilted my head, beseeching him to let it go. “I’m with you now. And we’re getting married.”
Ian rose, looking unsure. I could see wheels turning behind those blue eyes, and my stomach churned with shame.
“What?” I asked.
“I guess I just wondered why you didn’t tell me before,” he said.
My skin prickled with guilt. “I had no reason to.”
“Huh. Yeah, I guess.” He took a step away, and my heart twisted at the hurt look in his eyes.
“Ian, it’s nothing. I promise. It’s all in the past.”
“Sure. Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”
He was moving away from my desk, his face unreadable, but I could tell. No matter how I urged him to forget about it, the truth about my past was only wedging deeper into his mind.
I watched him walk away, and when I put my fingers back on the keys, they were trembling. What had I just done? I should have left it unsaid. But I’d told him it was history. Shouldn’t he accept that? It’s not like he’d ever told me about any of his past girlfriends.
I took a deep breath, turning to my work. I couldn’t think about Ian. Not now. I took out my notes, and slowly the words came to me, though the story was so much more difficult to write than I’d ever imagined it would be. Hours later, I pulled the final page from my typewriter and sat back, drained but proud.
Wanting to share, I looked over to Ian’s desk, but it was empty. I scanned the room and spotted his profile, standing in Mr. Hindmarsh’s office with the door closed. When he came out, he seemed distracted. He went straight to his desk, and I followed him there.
“What’s up?” I asked.
From the look on his face, I’d startled him. “What?” Then his expression softened, realizing why I was asking. “Oh, nothing. Just chatting with Hindmarsh about stuff. What’s up with you?”
“I did it,” I said, holding out the pages.
“Aha!” He managed a smile. “Good for you. I can’t wait to read it.”
His lacklustre response threw me off. “I was hoping you would, you know, put your finishing touches on it, or do whatever you think before I give it to Mr. Hindmarsh. It’s by both of us, after all.”
“Of course.”
“Are you angry at me, Ian?”
His handsome face was pained. Had I caused that?
“You thought he was dead all that time,” he said. “What if he hadn’t been?”
“What?”
“For the longest time, it felt to me like something was between us. Was it him?”
I flushed. “It doesn’t matter, Ian.”
“Sure, it does. Since he’s been back, you’re different.”
“That’s not fair. Lots has changed. He’s here, and my brothers are home. I have a lot on my mind.”
For the first time, I couldn’t recognize the look in his pale blue eyes. Then his attention was drawn past me, to the door. “Someone’s here to see you.”
It felt wrong, leaving the conversation unfinished, but he was still looking toward the door. I turned reluctantly, then rushed over, surprised, but so happy to see Hannah. It had been way too long since I’d stopped by her house. “Hi! What are you doing here?”
“Have lunch with me?” she asked.
Max would have shared Richie’s letter with her, I realized. “Of course. One second.” I ran to my desk and grabbed my coat and handbag then tucked my arm through hers. “There’s a cafeteria in the basement, or the deli around the corner.”
“Deli sounds good,” she said, squeezing my arm against her side.
We got a spot at a cozy booth and settled in, anxious to talk about what had happened, and yet a nervous silence stretched between us. It wasn’t until after we placed our orders that Hannah spoke.
“Richie’s letter,” she said.
“I’m so sorry, Hannah. Richie never should have done what he did.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “It actually is. What a shock it was to read, though. I wasn’t sure how I felt at first. Angry in the beginning, for sure.”
“Me too.”
“Then I spoke with Max, and he told me the two of them had reconciled over there. The more Max talked, the more I realized that Richie had been trying to do the right thing that night, but it went too far. He made a mistake and was just too afraid to tell us after. I only wish we’d known.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “I know his silence hurt your family. It hurt all of us.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” she replied, covering my hand with hers. “You and I made our peace a long time ago. Richie’s letter didn’t change that for me.” Her face brightened with a smile. “Oh, and I thought you should know that your parents and mine all met up this morning and had a good, long overdue talk over sufganiyot.”
“I’m so glad to hear that.”
“Yeah. Family’s so important,” she said, her smile dimming.
I knew where her mind had gone. “Have you talked to Max? About David
?” I asked softly.
She looked at her hands. “Yes, he eventually told me what had happened. As awful as it was, it was something I needed to hear. I know now. I don’t have to keep making things up in my mind.”
I nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. How long had I wondered about Richie?
“I know Max is struggling with being back, but I think the interviews with you have helped him. Mama says he comes home tired, but the weight on his shoulders seems a little lighter. He’s been so good with the kids recently. Especially Dinah. She worships him. I’m glad she finally has her uncle back.”
I imagined him there, sharing his laughter with the children, and I envied them that time. But that’s where he was supposed to be. Max was back. He was part of their family, as he’d always wanted to be. But he’d never be part of mine again.
“So, the story’s over,” Hannah said. “When will it run?”
“It’s actually going to be a four-part series, and it starts next Monday.”
“That’s wonderful, Molly,” she said.
Our meals arrived, and we sat quietly for a moment, picking at them. I was aware that Hannah was studying me like she always had, like she could hear my thoughts. It had been a while since I’d felt that sensation, and I clamped down hard on any secrets I might be harbouring.
After a moment, she set her fork down. “Molly, as your maid of honour, I need to know: Are you sure you want to marry Ian?”
I choked. “What?”
“If you are going to marry Ian, you have to be sure, without a shadow of a doubt. No regrets, no lingering thoughts.”
I stared at her, stunned. “I don’t understand. Why are you asking me this?”
“Max is back,” she said slowly. “And any idiot can see that after all this time, nothing has changed between the two of you. My brother loves you. He always has. I want him to be happy. And I want you to be happy.”
My whole body tingled with nerves. The thing about love is that you can never know until you know, Mum had told me. Back then, I’d thought I’d known. Back then, before the world had changed.
“Of course I want to marry him,” I said quickly, dismissing the thought. “And you’ll be the best maid of honour anyone could ask for.”
But her words hummed in my head all the way back to the office. I was still deep in thought when I got to my desk.
“Miss Ryan.”
I glanced up. “Yes, Mr. Hindmarsh?”
“May I speak with you a moment?”
I rushed into his office, still in my coat, fresh nerves skittering down my spine. Mr. Hindmarsh always made me nervous, no matter what. He didn’t mean to, that’s just how he was. He indicated my chair, then he handed me a file. I opened it and saw the story I’d finished that morning was on top. My stomach rolled with apprehension. Where were his usual red editorial markings? Was it that bad?
“I think this is your best work, Miss Ryan,” he said, and relief blazed into my cheeks. “Some of my editors should consider taking lessons from you.”
“Oh, I—”
I was about to correct him, tell him that Ian and I had written this together, but then my eyes fell on the byline, noting that Ian had taken his name off. That was strange. I’d ask him about that as soon as I was finished here. Confused, I shuffled to the next article in the folder, my original story from VE Day, talking about the returning veterans. Behind it, I spotted others. Near the bottom of the pile, I saw Mr. Rabinowitz’s story. The last page was my original letter to the editor, from 1933.
“You have quite an impressive collection there, Miss Ryan. You’ve come a long way from writing church bazaar notices, haven’t you?”
My smile flickered. Where was this going?
“Yes. Well, if you have a few minutes, I wanted to speak with you about an assistant editor position that’s just come up here at the paper.”
My jaw dropped in disbelief. It was a good thing I was already sitting, because I felt dizzy with surprise. Twenty minutes later, when I left his office and headed back to my desk, I was walking on air.
Ian had left a note on my typewriter, where I couldn’t miss it, asking me to come to his house for dinner. Unexpected nerves wriggled through me. Between his reaction this morning and my lunch with Hannah—and then my recent promotion—we had a lot to discuss. I just wasn’t sure what I was going to say.
He was at the stove when I arrived at his house. He’d lit a candle on the dining room table, and the soft light felt romantic. Two empty wineglasses waited by our places, and I wondered if we were celebrating my promotion. He’d been in Mr. Hindmarsh’s office earlier, I recalled, and a thought hit me. Did he know about it already? Had he recommended me for the position?
“This looks so nice,” I said, my voice slightly higher than usual.
“It’s just spaghetti,” Ian said, plating two dishes. “It’s the only thing I can make.”
I helped him carry the plates to the table, then he went back for wine while I sat. When he returned, it struck me that he looked older in the candlelight. He looked tired.
The uneasiness from this morning still hovered over us like a cloud. When he sat across from me, he avoided my eyes. He poured the wine, and I squirmed in my seat, not sure how to react. We’d always been able to talk about anything.
“Mr. Hindmarsh called me into his office today,” I said, breaking the ice as Ian poured the wine. “He actually offered me an assistant editor job. I didn’t even know there was a position open.”
“I hope you took it,” he said, lifting his glass.
“I did.”
His smile was warm, but sad. I didn’t understand.
“I’m happy for you, Molly. You deserve this. Your piece on Max was brilliant. I knew everything you were going to put in there, but you still brought me to tears and taught me new things. Your talent, your insight, your dedication. It was yours and yours alone.”
“Thank you,” I said, blushing. “But why’d you take your name off the byline?”
“Because it was your article. We both know that.”
“We did it together, Ian. Some of those questions were too hard for me to ask. Not sure I could have done it without you.”
“Yes, you could have,” he said, taking a sip. “It was all you and Max.”
I hesitated, hearing that note of sadness in his voice. “Did you say something to Mr. Hindmarsh about the job?”
“No,” he said. “It wasn’t my idea. Mr. Hindmarsh wanted you right from the start.” He put his napkin on his lap, then he took a deep breath. “What he didn’t tell you—and I asked him not to—is that it’s my position.”
“Your position?” I echoed.
“I’ve been offered a job in Boston.”
My hand stilled on my glass. “Wh-What? What’s going on?”
His bright blue eyes shone. “It took me a little while, but then I couldn’t miss it.”
“You’ve been looking for a job? And you didn’t tell me?”
He shook his head. “No, Molly. It wasn’t that. It’s… I saw how you looked at Max, and how he looked at you. How could I not?”
My heart sank, hurting for both of us.
“I won’t say that it didn’t hurt. I’d never actually felt my heart break before. But I watched you both, and I listened. And as much as I didn’t want to, I came to understand. Max isn’t just your old friend. You’ve loved him your whole life.”
I bit my lower lip. I couldn’t deny a word of it.
“You and I,” he said gently, “we are the best of friends. Do you agree?”
“Absolutely,” I whispered.
“If we got married, I know we would be happy. Content.” He reached across the table and put his hand on mine. It was warm, familiar, and soft with love. “But you, Molly, you’re not an average girl. You’re something special. I knew that the minute you walked into the newsroom. And I think you deserve more than ‘content.’ ” He took another breath. “So I’m setting you free.”
I couldn’t breathe.
He squeezed my hand. “It’s your choice. Come to Boston with me, or stay here.”
If I’d ever truly loved him, it was in that moment. I saw the pain shining in his eyes, and I longed to soothe it. But he was waiting for my answer, and he’d sense if I was being honest. And that’s when I knew. You can never know until you know. Despite the affection Ian and I felt for each other, he wasn’t the one for me.
Gently, I withdrew my hand, and he closed his eyes, accepting my decision.
“I don’t even know if Max would want me, after all this,” I said after a silent moment.
“Molly, if there’s one thing I know, it’s how a man looks when he’s in love.” He managed a small smile, then his eyes fell to my hand. “But you’ll never know if you go in with my ring on your finger.”
“Oh, Ian!” He always knew how to make me laugh. Even through tears. “Our mothers are going to be so disappointed,” I said, placing the ring in his palm. I curled his fingers over it, then looked at my own hand. My finger looked so plain now. But it also looked right.
“They’ll be okay,” he said.
We looked at each other a long time, accepting what had just happened.
“I will miss you, Ian Collins.”
“And I will miss you.” He softly kissed the back of my knuckles. “Molly Ryan, I need you to promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“Be happy. Do what makes you happy.”
twenty-nine MAX
Max hopped off the streetcar and made his way toward home, a lift to his step despite his limp. He’d been down to the Toronto General Hospital, where he’d met with the chief physician about a job. The chief had been impressed with his résumé and his references, and since the hospital was overflowing with patients and low on doctors, Max was feeling positive about his chances. It would be good to get back to work and leave the past five years behind.
He wasn’t the only one feeling better about the future. Since sharing Richie’s letter, things had warmed between the Ryans and the Dreyfuses. Both Molly’s mother and his had been over at each other’s houses, baking and sewing together, and one day when Max came downstairs, he’d walked in on a roomful of women and children. Richie’s wife, Barbara, had brought her two, Mark’s wife, Helen, had her new baby, and Hannah had her three. The grandmothers beamed over the whole brood. He was vaguely surprised to see Liam sitting in the corner of the room, smiling his odd little smile, but he knew the simplicity of the children calmed him. The poor man would never be able to walk down the street again without being stared at, but he was finally realizing he wasn’t the only one. They’d all come back with injuries, visible and invisible, and they found the most solace in sharing their stories. Just yesterday, Max and Jimmy had joined the Legion, where they met and remembered and played pool over beers. Liam was considering going with them next time.
Letters Across the Sea Page 29