Between Friends by Debbie Macomber (8)

January 16, 1967

Dear Nick,

I know we only said goodbye a few days ago, and already I find myself missing you so much I don’t know how I can possibly go back to school. I can’t bear to be this far away from you! The Christmas holidays were wonderful because of all the time we were able to spend together, despite my parents. You’d think that by now they’d realize you and I are serious.

I’ve always thought of my father as a man of wisdom, but these past three weeks have opened my eyes. Okay, he’s right, you do have a record, but that happened years ago when you were fourteen. Everyone makes mistakes and your record’s been clean ever since. I hate to say this, but my father is a fool.

I don’t want you to feel bad about the argument between me and Dad. It’s been building for a long time. I tried to talk to Mom and she listened, but I know she immediately told my father everything I said. I can’t trust her. The only people I can talk to anymore are you and Lesley. How different all our lives are from just a year ago! Last year at this time the most pressing problem was what theme to choose for the Junior/Senior Prom.

Lesley looked good, don’t you think? I didn’t mind that Buck wasn’t there when we went to visit. Little Davey is a beautiful baby. Holding him made me long for a baby of my own. I’d need to think about who his daddy would be. Any volunteers?

Again, I want you to know that I truly love the medal of the Virgin Mary you gave me. I’ll treasure it forever. It’s especially dear to me because it once belonged to your mother. Every time I miss you, I reach for it and hold it tight and am instantly reassured of your love. It’s on a long chain and falls close to my heart. That’s where you are, even though we can’t be together.

You don’t need to say the words, Nick. I already know how you feel about me because that’s the way I feel about you. I love you, Nick, heart and soul. I don’t care what my parents say. I don’t care what anyone says. I’m crazy in love with you.

I want you to seriously consider what I mentioned on New Year’s Eve. I know Pine Ridge is your home and where your dad’s gas station is, but at least consider moving to New York. Just think of all the money we’d save on phone calls and stamps!! I can’t imagine what life will be like without you for the next three and a half years. I’m not sure I can continue with school if it means we can’t be together.

Promise me you’ll think about it, okay? And write me soon. I live for your letters.

Hugs and kisses,
Jillian

January 27, 1967

My dearest Jillian,

Me move to New York? I thought you were joking when you suggested it earlier, but I can see now that you were serious. Sweetheart, I can’t. Not because it isn’t tempting—I’m here to tell you everything about you tempts me and has since the first moment I saw you. More than anything, I want to be close to you, but Dad needs my help at the gas station. Jimmy’s getting to be a handful, too. He’s fourteen and the kid needs his big brother around to keep an eye on him. Besides, my dad’s working out a deal with one of his buddies who teaches at Bailey’s Trade School to get me my mechanic’s certification. I’ll be taking some night classes. Seeing that I’ve been tinkering with cars since I was twelve, it seems a waste of time for me to go to some school when I already know practically everything there is to know about engines.

But there’s more to my decision than sticking around Pine Ridge to help Jimmy and to work with my dad. Me going to New York wouldn’t be right for us.

We both know what would happen if I found a way for us to be together. First thing, your grades would fall. You’re smart, really smart. Sometimes I have to pinch myself to believe that the valedictorian of Holy Name Academy is dating a hellion like me. The temptation would be too much for us, and that wouldn’t be good for a couple of Catholic kids who have enough trouble keeping their hands off each other. Feeling the way I do about you, I should be canonized! You don’t make it any easier, either. If you think your parents disapprove of me now, you can bet your bottom dollar they’d really hate me if your grades dropped and you turned up pregnant. The last thing I want to do is alienate them completely.

Talking about your parents, I’m going to say something I should’ve said when you were home. Don’t concern yourself with this business between your old man and me. I don’t mean to be a chump, Jillian, but he is your father. Looking at it from his perspective, you have to admit he’s got a point. I have a juvenile police record. Your father wants what’s best for you. It’s my job to prove to him that what’s best for you is me. In other words this is between your dad and me. Not between your dad, you and me. Understand?

In time, I’m going to prove to your parents that I’m worthy of their beautiful daughter. My dad drilled into me a long time ago that anything of lasting value is worth waiting for. You, Jillian, are worth waiting ten lifetimes for.

Another thing, and I know you don’t want to talk about this, but we can’t ignore it any longer. I registered for the draft last year and who knows what’s going to happen with that. My dad’s worried about it and he’s got enough on his plate without me leaving because I want to be with my girl.

I love you heart and soul, too. I love you enough to do what’s right for us, even when it isn’t easy.

Study hard. You’re going to be a terrific lawyer one day.

All my love,
Nick

P.S. God bless the families of Virgil Grissom, Edward White and Roger Chaffee. What a horrible way to die. When I go, I pray it isn’t in a fire.

February 4, 1967

Dear Buck,

I haven’t heard from you since Christmas and I hope everything’s all right. Almost every night the television is filled with stories about what’s going on in Vietnam. Two of the boys in Susan’s class have already decided to enlist as soon as they graduate.

Little David is getting big and sassy, just like his daddy. He’ll be five months old soon and already has a tooth coming in. I’m sending along a few more pictures so you can see for yourself how much he’s changing. He’s a good baby.

I know you don’t approve of my part-time job at the library, but the extra money is a blessing. You don’t need to worry about strangers watching David, either. Mom babysits for me. I’ve been putting the money I earn aside so I can join you in Hawaii the way you mentioned in your last letter. Don’t be angry about me having a job. I like getting out of the house and you know how much I enjoy reading.

Dad wanted you to know there’ll be a job for you at the mill once you’re out of the Army. He’ll make sure of that. You can be on the same crew as before.

Write me soon, okay?

Your wife,
Lesley

March 9, 1967

Dear Lesley,

It was great to hear from you. I loved the photograph of Davey with his one tooth. And I loved the picture of you holding him on your lap. You look radiant, like a classic Madonna with child. I’m so glad everything’s working out for you, and I’m glad Buck’s okay.

The news is full of Vietnam. I’m worried about what’s happening with our country. I don’t understand why we’re even there. My parents support the war. They say it’s important to wipe out Communism before it overtakes the world. I don’t know what I believe. I don’t want Communism to spread, either, but I’m not sure it’s worth this horrible war.

I’ve been so homesick all week and your letter went a long way toward cheering me up. I’ve been in the doldrums ever since Christmas vacation and the disagreement between Nick and my parents. Nick told me to stay out of it but it’s hard not to defend him. Speaking of Nick, did I mention he’s in trade school? Plus, he works long hours at his dad’s service station. Because he’s so busy, he can only write three times a week. I miss him so much. It kills me the way Mom and Dad act toward him.

When I asked to come home for spring break, they said no, that I’d be home soon enough. Can you believe it? They seem to think that if they keep Nick and me apart I’ll forget about him. Since I can’t fly home, I’ve decided to attend a protest rally and peace march in the city. Janice, my roommate, asked me to go with her. We’re making a banner that says MAKE LOVE, NOT WAR. Pete Seeger’s going to be there and Martin Luther King, Jr. and Benjamin Spock, the famous pediatrician. The crowd should be huge. Everyone’s already talking about it and the rally isn’t even happening until next month. I can’t go home, so why shouldn’t I attend a peace march?

Did I tell you in my last letter how Mom and Dad tried to fix me up with a friend of theirs? He’s over thirty! He phoned and invited me to dinner. Montgomery Gordon—even his name is boring. I don’t need to meet him to know he’s a stuffed shirt. I’m not actually sure why he’s in town. He told me but I’ve forgotten. I guess that tells you what I thought of him. Needless to say, I declined the invitation.

On another subject, I think it’s great that you’re working at the library part-time. Remember how we used to stay up all night to read books out loud to each other? I miss those times.

I’m lonely and miserable and I hate everything about New York. I never wanted to attend Barnard College. It was Dad’s idea. I’m nineteen and legally an adult, but my parents continue to control my life. Why can’t they accept that I’m my own person?

It isn’t only being stuck here during spring break, it’s Nick, too. I want to be with him, but the minute I mention his name my parents get all uptight. Dad constantly reminds me that Nick has a police record. Then I remind him that everyone deserves a second chance.

You’d think that after spending nineteen years raising me, they’d have some faith in my judgement. Oh well, crying on your shoulder doesn’t change anything, but it does help. You were always the one friend I could talk to, no matter what.

I’m so happy you’re finally going to see Hawaii. I know you and Buck will love it. You both need a little R & R. I knew you’d get to the islands sooner or later! Waikiki can be wildly romantic. How I envy you spending a whole week with the one you love.

Although it seems like forever, I’ll be home in June. We’ll spend lots of time together then, I promise.

Love,
Jillian

March 28, 1967

Dear Lesley,

Baby, I’m crazy to see you again. Everything’s been arranged. When you arrive in Hawaii, take the shuttle bus from the airport to the hotel. I’ll land the next morning, but the way things happen around here, it wouldn’t surprise me if I didn’t make it to the hotel until late afternoon. Be waiting for me! I’ve got six months of loving to make up for, so if you’re thinking about wasting time sunbathing on the beaches, you can forget that.

Give Davey a hug and kiss from his old man.

Love,
Buck

April 11, 1967

Dear Jillian,

It was good to talk to you this afternoon, and I’m sorry the conversation took such an unpleasant turn. I don’t know what it is with you and your father lately. You two clash at every opportunity, but I suspect it’s because you’re so much alike. You might resemble me in looks, Jillian, but I fear you were cursed with your father’s stubbornness. Sometimes I swear I don’t know what I’m going to do with the two of you.

I know how unhappy you are and that you want to transfer to the University of Washington next autumn, but your father is adamant you continue your studies at Barnard. Although you didn’t actually say it, I’m wondering how much this desire to change schools has to do with that boyfriend of yours. You know how Dad and I feel about Nick Murphy. Jillian, the boy has no future. His father is a grease monkey and from all appearances, that’s Nick’s future, too.

There’s nothing wrong with a man who works with his hands. It’s just that your father and I want better for you. You may be right when you say we’re snobs, although we don’t mean to be. You’re our only child. Try to understand. Be patient with us and make an effort to see the situation from our point of view. Your aunt Jillian, God rest her soul, set aside these funds for your education. Both your father and I feel the best place for you is Barnard College. We can’t allow you to do something now that you’re sure to regret later, and all because you miss your boyfriend.

If you and Nick truly love each other as you claim, then he’ll wait for you. These years will fly by so quickly you’ll barely notice. It might not seem like it now, but you have your whole lives ahead of you. What are a few years?

You talked a great deal about being an adult and you say you’re capable of making your own decisions. Your father and I are giving you the opportunity to live up to that. Be adult about this, accept the wisdom of what we’re saying and stay at Barnard College.

Love,
Mom

April 15, 1967

Dear Mom,

Isn’t Hawaii beautiful? I thought you’d enjoy this postcard of the beach. Buck didn’t arrive until late the afternoon of the 11th. I stayed in my room until I got so hungry I couldn’t wait to eat, then I went down to the beach. I met a really wonderful Navy Officer who sat with me. His name is Cole Greenberg. We talked about books and music and life. He hates the war, too. Cole knows a lot about the history of Vietnam and Southeast Asia. We talked for a long time and he said he’d like to report the news on television one day. He wanted to buy my breakfast but I told him he shouldn’t because I’m married. He said Buck is a lucky man. I have lots to tell you. Give Davey a big kiss for me.

Love,

Lesley

Miss Lesley Adamski,
220 Railroad Ave.,
Pine Ridge, Washington
98005

April 20, 1967

Dear Mom and Dad,

Sometimes I wonder if I could truly be your daughter. For the first time in my life, I’m ashamed of you both. After our “discussion” last Christmas, Nick said this matter was between you and him. He asked me to stay out of it. I’ve tried to do that, but you make it impossible. How dare you judge Nick because he’s a mechanic! The term is mechanic, Mom, not grease monkey. And he has a name, a very nice name, I might add. Nick Murphy. You’d better get used to hearing it because I fully intend to marry him with or without your approval.

You say I should start acting like an adult and accept your decision. You’ve given me no alternative. How convenient. The trust fund is in my name but you control it. Either I attend the school of your choice or else. Well, thanks for nothing!

Jillian

May 15, 1967

Dear Lesley,

Listen, baby, I got some unpleasant news. There are all kinds of weird diseases a guy is susceptible to here in the tropics, and it looks like I might have gotten a dose of something bad. Now don’t get upset, but there’s a chance I might have given you this disease so I need you to go to the doctor and tell him what I wrote. He’ll know what to do. It’s nothing to worry about, baby. All you’ll need is a few shots of penicillin.

I’m sorry if I was too demanding of you physically, but you have to understand it’s been a long time since I was with my wife and, baby, I missed you. Seeing all that tourist stuff didn’t interest me, anyway. I don’t know what’s the big deal with the Pearl Harbor Memorial. I see enough of war now without being reminded of it. There was no reason to get your nose out of joint over it. Besides, I said you could keep that job at the library as long as you’re a decent mother to my kid.

Write me soon.

Buck

June 17, 1967

Dear Jillian,

I need a shoulder to cry on. If I had the money I’d phone, but our budget just doesn’t allow for long-distance calls. There’s a reason you haven’t heard from me. Oh, Jillian, I’m pregnant again.

I couldn’t see any reason to go on the pill with Buck in Vietnam. Besides, it’s a problem with the way the Church feels about birth control, and I was hoping to avoid facing the issue. Then I met Buck in Hawaii. I know my postcard made it sound like I had the time of my life, but I didn’t.

The first day was wonderful. Buck was delayed and I got tired of sitting in the hotel room by myself and wandered out to the beach. I met a Naval Officer there, someone who likes books and music. We sat and talked for the longest time. Later I wondered what would’ve happened if I’d met Cole before I met Buck. He’d read the same books as me. Michener’s Hawaii and Leon Uris’s Exodus, and he carefully follows world news, just like I do. We got into a big debate about what’s happening in the Middle East, and that was just before the Six-Day War in Israel. He knew about the Palestine Liberation Organization, which I’d never heard of until then. Meeting him made me realize how much I’ve missed by marrying Buck. Oh, Jillian, I’m afraid I’ve made a terrible mistake.

What I’m about to write next you have to promise never to tell anyone. Time slipped away from me while I was talking to Cole and I hurried back to the hotel to see if Buck had arrived. When I passed through the lobby I caught sight of him in the cocktail lounge. He was necking with a woman in the far corner. He didn’t see me and I pretended not to see him.

I know I should’ve confronted him about that woman right then and there, but I didn’t. I knew that if I asked about her, we’d spend the entire seven days arguing. I couldn’t bear it. Instead I’m pregnant again.

To make things worse, he wrote me the next month and said I should see a doctor because of some tropical disease he picked up. The doctor didn’t answer my questions directly, but I think it might have been V.D.

Oh, Jillian, I’m so humiliated and upset and worried. I can’t stand it anymore. I know you’ll be home from school soon. I’ve never needed to talk to you so much. Please call me as soon as you’re in town.

Lesley

July 1, 1967

Dear Lesley,

So you’re knocked up again. Hey, that’s great! Davey could use a little brother or sister. Don’t you worry. Take care of yourself, you hear?

I love you.

Buck

P.S. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to continue working at the library in your condition.

July 3, 1967

My darling Nick,

It doesn’t look like I’m going to be able to get out of this 4th of July outing with my parents. We’ll make our own fireworks later. Meet me at midnight at the snack booth behind the football field.

Jillian

July 15, 1967

Nick,

I’m leaving a note on your windshield to let you know Dad took the phone out of my room so I won’t be able to call you without them listening in on our conversation. Not to worry, I think I’ve found the solution to our problems.

Let’s get married.

Do you realize nearly one third of my high school class is either married or engaged only 14 months after graduation? It’ll work. We’ll make it work. I’ll phone you as soon as I’m home from Republican headquarters. Dad volunteered me to fold brochures with Montgomery Gordon. I hope you’re insanely jealous.

Lots of love,
Jillian

July 15, 1967

Jillian,

It isn’t every day a man gets a marriage proposal taped to his windshield. Sweetheart, be serious. I’ve got two months of mechanic’s school left. I need that stupid certification if I’m going to get a decent job. I want to marry you but I’m not prepared to propose until I can support you and buy a decent engagement ring. I want to buy you a diamond big enough to impress your daddy’s friends. Besides, you need to finish school first.

I know you don’t want to wait that long to get married; I don’t either, but we have to. When we march down that church aisle, it’ll be with your parents’ blessing. That’s a must for you and for me. All I need is time to prove myself. Let’s both be patient, all right? I know it’s hard, but it’s necessary.

So your phone’s gone. You’re the only girl I ever knew who had a phone in her bedroom, anyway, so it’s no big deal. We can still talk. Meet me at the dance in the park on Friday night—and be sure to wear some flowers in your hair.

Nick

October 1, 1967

Dear Susan,

Well, little sister, you’re off to start your life in the Navy. It seems like only last week that we shared a bedroom. Now I’m a mother and you’re going away to serve Uncle Sam. You’ll be a wonderful corpsman. I’m proud of you, Susan, and happy you have this opportunity. I know you’re going to prove yourself and get picked for nursing school. Write when you can.

Love,
Lesley

October 16, 1967

Dear Jillian,

It’s official now. I got my mechanic’s certification in the mail and graduated at the top of my class. Dad still wants me to work weekends for him, but the guy from the Chevy dealership offered me a job starting at $50.00 an hour. With that kind of money I’ll be able to buy a special Christmas gift for my girl.

Life feels damn good just now. I wish like crazy you were here to share it with me. Was I really the one who convinced you to return to Barnard College? I should have my head examined. Christmas can’t come soon enough to suit me.

Remember how much I love you.

Nick

Birth Announcement

I’m so excited

I just had a Mom and Dad

Name: Lindy Marie Knowles

Born: December 15, 1967

Weight: 4 lbs, 3 oz.

Length: 17 inches

Parents: Buck and Lesley Knowles