Free Sentimental Journey (Home Front - Book #1) by Barbara Bretton

an instant, Johnny, I thought Douglas had come back to me. It was as if a magician had snapped his fingers and the past nine months disappeared in a puff of smoke! All those months when Douglas was away, I couldn’t remember how he looked, how he sounded. I’d close my eyes tight as could be and try so hard to remember and the more I tried, the farther he drifted away.
    But you know what, Johnny? The second I heard he was dead—the very second Aunt Edna said those words—I saw him right there in front of me on the street and I heard his voice say my name just as if he were standing there next to me.
    And that’s exactly what happened tonight. For a moment that poor man who helped me up from the puddle was Douglas. He was as tall as Douglas and his hair was the same light blond and I suppose my imagination filled in the rest. For one wonderful second, he was Douglas to me and everything else dropped away and I was happy, really happy .
    But then he asked me again if I was hurt and I shook my head. He turned and disappeared down the stairs and into the subway. I stood there, clutching my packages and my umbrella, and I started to cry. (You don’t know me very well, Johnny, but I’m not a girl who cries easily.) I didn’t just cry, I sobbed. An elderly lady came over to me and offered me a handkerchief, but I shook my head and just kept on crying for Douglas, and for me, and for the life together we’d lost.
    I guess all along I’d been convincing myself that it had never really happened, that there had been some terrible mistake and Douglas was still alive somewhere out there, and one day he would suddenly show up and I would run into his arms and we would pick up exactly where we’d left off the day we said goodbye. Tonight I finally realized that he isn’t coming back. He’s dead and I have to let him rest in peace. Now comes the hard part—trying to figure out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.
    It’s after two in the morning now. My mother just tapped on my door and asked if I’d like some warm milk with her. I thank God every night that I have such a terrific family. I don’t know how I would have managed without them.
    Thanks for listening, Johnny. It really helped to talk about this. I hope I can return the favor one day.
    With gratitude,
    Cathy
    March 22, 1944
    Dear Johnny,
    Please forget my last letter. I don’t know what came over me. I never should have unburdened myself on you, especially since we are almost total strangers. Please, I beg you not to worry Daddy with anything I said. Honestly, I’ve made my peace with losing Douglas. I guess his birthday just hit me harder than I’d expected.
    Sorry for such a hurried letter—the postman is walking toward the house and I want to get this in the mail today.
    Hope you’re doing fine—
    C.
    P.S. Everything around here is changing. Nancy quit the bank and will start work next week at an aircraft factory way out on the eastern end of the Island! She is feeling quite grown-up and independent. Can you imagine how upset she’d be if she knew Aunt Anna and Uncle Frank will be watching over her? Our very own Rosie the Riveter. (I’m glad you and Daddy aren’t in the air force!)—C.
    May 30, 1944
    Dear Cathy,
    You don’t have to apologize for anything. I’m really proud that you felt you could talk to me. I don’t have a lot of experience giving advice to people, but it seems to me that you’re going to be fine.
    Who sets the rules about things like that, anyway? It takes as long as it takes to get over losing someone you love. It’s nobody’s damn business but yours. I lost my wife a couple of years ago. No, she didn’t die—she left me—but I’ll tell you it felt like somebody’d cut my heart out with a knife. I know I don’t look like the kind of guy who’s interested in having a family (especially since I didn’t have one of my own as a kid) but I really thought Angie and I could make it work.
    Maybe we could have if the