What he should’ve done was simply be honest. Whoever said honesty was the best policy—Ben Franklin? Mother Teresa? Bill Clinton? Oprah?—was absolutely correct.
Then the following morning, Mack had been on duty at the fire station. He’d felt uncomfortable and anxious about seeing Mary Jo ever since. This was their first encounter since that day.
“I don’t expect to hear from David again,” Mary Jo was saying. “Like you said, I think it was an empty threat. He only wants Noelle so he can manipulate his father into giving him money.”
Mack nodded. “If you do see him, call me and I’ll deal with him.” As soon as the words were out, Mack wished he could take them back. The whole point of breaking off the engagement was to let Mary Jo solve her own problems.
Instead of responding, she occupied herself with rearranging Noelle’s blanket.
Mack rocked back on his heels and removed his hands from his pockets. He wanted to groan. Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut? “I guess I should check the mail,” he said with a sigh. He’d just headed over to the mailbox when Mary Jo called him back.
“I learned something about those letters.”
“Letters?” Mack asked in confusion.
“The ones I found under the floorboards in the closet.”
That box of World War II letters had completely slipped his mind. “Tell me,” he said quickly.
“I’d rather show you.”
“Okay.”
“Would you like to come by for dinner?” she asked. She bit her lip, as if she wasn’t confident that inviting him was such a good plan, after all. “I don’t want you to feel any obligation….”
“No, I want to,” he said with more enthusiasm than he’d intended. “I mean, if you’re sure about having me over.”
“I am.”
Mack checked his watch. “It’s quarter after six now. Shall we say in an hour?”
“An hour,” she agreed.
His spirits lifted. Maybe he hadn’t ruined everything the way he’d feared. “See you then,” he said with a relieved smile.
“Okay.” She smiled back, and he felt a sudden hopefulness.
Not until he was on his porch steps did it occur to him to ask if there was anything he could contribute. A salad? No, wine was probably better. He turned and, to his surprise, found Mary Jo watching him. Looking guilty, she glanced away.
“What can I bring?” he asked. “For dinner.”
She gave a half shrug. “I’ve got chicken-and-vegetable stew in the Crock-Pot and I’m making biscuits. I can’t think of anything else.”
“How about a bottle of wine?” When she nodded, he said, “See you around seven.”
After collecting the mail, Mack let himself into his side of the duplex, closed the door and breathed deeply. His sense of excitement was nearly overwhelming. In less than an hour he’d have a chance to make up for the foolish, clumsy way he’d ended the engagement—with a lie. He’d have a chance to start again, to reestablish their relationship on a more equal footing.
Fifteen minutes later, Mack had showered, shaved and changed clothes. He threw a load in the washing machine and set the dials. With another half hour to kill, he walked restlessly from room to room. This evening was important, and it could set the tone for many evenings to come.
In the past he’d often visited Mary Jo and Noelle. She’d regularly invited him over but not, he now suspected, out of any great desire for his company. Mary Jo was simply accustomed to having people around. Until recently she’d lived with her three older brothers.
She’d cooked for her family, although Mack knew they did their share of household chores. She was used to preparing meals for three hungry men; no wonder she always made enough to feed a family. So it was easy to invite an additional person, Mack told himself. She didn’t make extra with him in mind.
Not that he was complaining. Far from it. He liked spending time with her, being part of her life. Entertaining Noelle—that was his job most nights. He held and played with the baby while Mary Jo finished dinner preparations, and then later, they sat together and watched television or played cards. She had card sense, as his father would’ve put it. They talked, too, but not about anything deep or too personal. They’d talk about what they’d read or seen on TV, or mutual friends and acquaintances in Cedar Cove. Both were careful to avoid religion and politics, although he guessed they held similar views.
At the end of the evening, he’d kiss her good-night. After their so-called engagement, those kisses had become more brotherly than playful or passionate. That was what had initially convinced him the engagement was all wrong.
Considering the way David Rhodes had treated her, he understood that Mary Jo would be wary of entering a new relationship. Her trust in men—and in her own ability to judge them—had been badly shaken. But surely she’d come to recognize that Mack was a man of his word. That he genuinely cared for her and the baby and would never do anything to bring them harm.
He worried that he wasn’t as good-looking as Rhodes. He wasn’t as smooth, either, but that probably didn’t attract Mary Jo anymore, not after being involved with a player like David. Unlike Rhodes, Mack wasn’t tall, dark and handsome. He was just under six feet and his brown hair had a hint of auburn in it, which accounted for the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He was an average guy, he supposed. He might work for the fire department, but he doubted anyone would select him for one of those hunk calendars.
Mary Jo, however, was beautiful. He wasn’t surprised that someone like David Rhodes would notice her. Mack had long decided that her beauty was part of the problem; it put her out of his league. He was sure she could have her pick of any man she wanted. All Mack could hope for was that, given enough time, she’d want him.
When he knocked at her front door, Mary Jo immediately opened it, almost as if she’d been waiting for him, although that was unlikely to be the case. Noelle cooed from her seat and waved her arms, and he chose to see that as a greeting just for him.
“How’s my girl?” he asked. He handed Mary Jo the bottle of chilled pinot grigio he’d taken from his fridge, then walked into the living room and reached for the baby. As he lifted her in his arms he grinned at Mary Jo. “I’ve only been away a couple of days and I swear she’s grown two inches.”
“She changes every single day,” Mary Jo said. “I see it, too.”
He tickled Noelle’s chin and she gurgled back, which made him laugh.
“There are those World War II letters,” Mary Jo said, pointing at the coffee table.
Mack looked away from Noelle long enough to glance at the cigar box sitting there. He could tell it was faded and a little shabby. “How many letters were inside?”
“Dozens. It didn’t seem like that many when I found them, but the paper is really thin.”
She’d been enthralled by her discovery. Mack was interested, too—who wouldn’t be? These letters were a direct link to history, a personal connection to some of the most momentous events of the previous century.
“The article I read on the internet called this paper onionskin and it said the letters were referred to as V-mail.” She smiled at that. “I think the V stands for victory.” She sat on the sofa and Mack joined her, still holding the baby. He divided his attention between Mary Jo and Noelle.
“I’ve read them twice. They’re addressed to Miss Joan Manry.”
“I remember.” Mack recalled the recipient’s name, now that she mentioned it, although not the sender’s. He cocked his head but couldn’t read the return address. “Who are they from?”
“His name is Jacob Dennison and he was a major stationed in Europe during the war. Some of his letters have black marks on them, but a lot of them don’t have any at all. I assume those marks were put there by censors. You know, I read that there were over two hundred censorship offices. Their job was to ensure that military personnel didn’t reveal anything sensitive in their letters.” She paused. “Of course, that doesn’t explain why the
se letters were hidden.”
“I’m sure that had more to do with Joan’s circumstances than Jacob’s,” Mack said wryly.
“Well, even with the black marks, I’ve been able to follow quite a bit. They’re fascinating. I can hardly wait for you to read them.”
Mack nodded, caught up in her excitement.
“Joan worked at the Bremerton shipyard,” Mary Jo went on, “and she lived with her older sister. Elaine—that’s her sister—was married and her husband was somewhere in the South Pacific. I gather Joan met the major at a USO dance and they started writing after he shipped out to England.”
Mack gently bounced the baby, to Noelle’s evident approval. “I’d like to take a look at the letters,” he said.
“Here’s the first one. I put them in chronological order.” She unfolded the letter carefully and handed it to him.
Maj. Jacob Dennison
36354187 Hgs. Co.
Hgs. Cond. 1st
Service Platoon.
U.K. Base APO 413%P>M> N.Y., N.Y.
January 15, 1944
Dear Joan,
How’s my best gal? My only gal! I just got another letter from you. When I was given the envelope and saw the return address it gave me the biggest smile. I read it three times because it made me feel even closer to you. I’m awfully homesick, but I close my eyes and see your face and everything seems better. I think about you a lot; it helps me when I can remember familiar places and people I care about.
Until I joined the Army I’d never left the state of Washington. My mom and dad write me, too. My brother’s in the South Pacific and is seeing a lot of action. Sometimes I wish I’d joined the Marines instead of the Army because I’m eager to do my part to end this war. No one knows when the invasion’s going to happen. Soon, I hope. They have us training day and night. I’m getting to where I’m almost used to leaping out of an airplane. That sounds nuts, doesn’t it? My mother always said I was a daredevil. I guess she was right.
I’m glad you got the Christmas gift I mailed you. Sorry it arrived late. I hope that when Christmas rolls around this year I’ll be with you. I thought about that a lot when I heard Bing Crosby on the radio singing “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.”
I don’t know what to say about Elaine. I feel bad that she’s causing you problems. I wish I could figure out what she objects to about me. Would it help if I wrote her a letter? I’ll do whatever you say—anything other than not have you as my girl.
I’ll write more when I can.
Hugs and kisses,
Jacob
Mack finished the letter and set it aside. He read the next two in quick succession.
“Aren’t these letters wonderful?” Mary Jo was watching his reaction avidly.
Mack had to agree. “Yeah, they are.” He reached for another.
Maj. Jacob Dennison
36354187 Hgs. Co.
Hgs. Cond. 1st
Service Platoon.
U.K. Base APO 413%P>M> N.Y., N.Y.
March 3, 1944
Dear Joan,
How’s my best gal? I got a day pass earlier in the week and went to London and ate fish and chips. They were the most delicious I ever tasted, and that’s saying something, since I was born and raised near Puget Sound. My dad loved to fish and my mom fried up the best trout you can imagine. This fish was different and they served it wrapped up in newspaper. I even took the train to Stratford and got to see one of Shakespeare’s plays. Did you ever see King Lear? I’m not much for that fancy language, but it was a good story and it broke up the monotony. Some of the guys got drunk and didn’t get back to base on time. Don’t get me wrong—I drank my share of brew, but I was smart enough not to overdo it.
Thank you for writing. I can’t tell you how much your letters mean to me. The instant I see 1022 Evergreen Place on the corner of the envelope, my spirits rise. Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you, Joan. You said it’s too soon for me to tell you that, but I know what I feel. It isn’t just being away from home like you suggested, either. This is real. You said you can’t really get to know a person through letters. I think you can. I feel as though I know you, and can you honestly say you don’t know me? When I get home, God willing, I’ll ask you properly, down on one knee, to be my wife.
I’ll write again tomorrow. Write me again, too. I’ll keep in touch as much as I can. It’s lights-out so I’ll sign off for now.
Hugs and kisses,
Jacob
Mary Jo leaned forward slightly. “Were you able to find out anything about the previous house owner?” she asked. “I want to learn whatever I can about Joan and Jacob.”
Mack had forgotten that he’d volunteered to check with “the landlord”—although it was hardly necessary, since he owned the duplex. He regretted now that he’d lied to Mary Jo about that. He knew she’d be upset at the low rent he was charging her if she realized he was her landlord. She’d feel he was patronizing her or maybe that he expected something in return. Mack suppressed a despairing sigh. He just kept digging himself a deeper hole. One of these days he’d have to tell her the truth—and he would, when the time felt right. Although he wasn’t quite sure how he’d recognize that moment of clarity…
“I did say I’d look into that, didn’t I? I apologize, but I haven’t got to it yet.”
“That’s okay,” she said, accepting his answer easily enough. “Ready to eat?”
He saw that the table was set, with the pot of stew and a plate of biscuits placed in the middle of the table, wine and water glasses by each plate.
“I fed Noelle before you got here,” she told him.
That was his cue to put the baby back in her seat and sit down at the table, which he did. Mary Jo was an excellent cook—as good as his mother, and that was a real compliment. Her own parents died when she was still in high school, and she’d taken over kitchen duties, more out of necessity than desire. Still, she seemed to enjoy cooking and took pride in putting together meals that were nutritious as well as appealing.
He was no slouch in the kitchen, if he did say so himself, but until she’d moved in next door, his meals had been haphazard affairs. Other than when it was his turn at the firehouse, he never really bothered with cooking. He usually relied on frozen microwave dinners or the various fast-food choices available in Cedar Cove. He didn’t make a habit of dropping by unannounced at his parents’, but whenever he did, his mother always insisted he stay for dinner. Mack didn’t often refuse.
“Hey, this is great,” he told Mary Jo after the first bite. And it was. Tender chunks of chicken, fresh vegetables that weren’t cooked to mush, lots of flavorful broth. The biscuits that accompanied it melted in his mouth. “A guy could get used to eating like this,” he said jovially.
Mary Jo didn’t comment.
Oh, boy, he’d done it again. Would he never learn? “I, uh, didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I just wanted you to know the meal’s delicious…. I’m not suggesting anything else.”
Mary Jo carefully set her fork next to her plate. “I was afraid of this.”
“Afraid of what?” He swallowed before he’d finished chewing, and the biscuit nearly stuck in his throat.
“It’s still awkward between us, don’t you think?”
He nodded, grabbing his wineglass and gulping down a mouthful.
“You don’t need to work so hard, Mack.”
He frowned, unsure what she meant.
“We’re friends, right?”
“Friends,” he repeated.
“Good,” she said. She seemed satisfied. “Friends are comfortable with each other. We shouldn’t worry that what we say is going to be taken wrong or out of context.”
He coughed and nodded again.
“Then relax and enjoy yourself. Stop worrying that I’ll be offended, okay?” She sent him a dazzling smile.
“Okay,” he said. This comment was supposed to put him at ease, and yet her words had the opposite effect. Yes, they were
friends, but Mack had hoped they would be so much more.
Two
It still felt strange, yet, oh, so wonderful, to wake up every morning with his wife beside him. Linc Wyse had grown accustomed to married life with a speed that astonished him. He’d been caught up in a whirlwind from the moment he met Lori Bellamy.
Less than two months ago, her car had broken down on the highway. Linc had been in Cedar Cove checking up on his stubborn little sister, who’d moved out of the family home and into a duplex next door to McAfee. The firefighter had delivered Noelle, and next thing Linc knew, the guy was her neighbor. He seemed to be over at Mary Jo’s far too often, and Linc considered it his responsibility—his duty—to make sure nothing untoward was going on. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with the situation his sister had gotten herself into now. One man had already taken advantage of her, and Linc wasn’t letting that happen again. He didn’t care how many times Mary Jo told him to butt out and to stop interfering.
Lori made a faint, waking sound, then yawned and arched her back before snuggling into Linc’s arms. “Is it morning?” she asked, still groggy with sleep.
Linc kissed the top of her head. Mornings with Lori were the very best of his life. “So it seems.”
“I’ll make coffee.” She leaned over to turn off the clock radio, cutting off a traffic report in midsentence.
When she started to toss aside the covers, Linc stopped her. “No need to get up so soon, is there?” He nuzzled her neck and slipped his arm around her, bringing her closer. She was warm and soft and infinitely lovely.
“I didn’t think you were the sort of man who liked to linger in bed,” Lori teased as she slid her arms around his neck. Her breasts grazed his chest and he briefly closed his eyes at the sensation.
“I never used to be,” he murmured. “Until now.” She had no idea how true that was. As the oldest, Linc had held the family together after his parents died—the family and the business.
He was the first one at the car repair shop every morning and the last one to leave at night. All he’d done was work and worry. He worried about his family, about the business, about the economy. If there was something to lose sleep over, Linc was ready to take it on.