Between Friends by Debbie Macomber
Outside Khe Sanh in South Vietnam
August 19, 1968
Dearest Jillian,
Your letters were waiting for me when I got back to base. Right away I read each one twice. Jillian, I agree with your father—stay away from those protesters. You put yourself in a dangerous situation and for no reason. You aren’t going to convince them to change their minds, so play it safe. I need to know you’re safe, sweetheart! So promise me you won’t do anything that foolish again. I appreciate that you want to support us, though. I agree with you—this war is wrong. We shouldn’t even be here. If the demonstrators manage to bring us home, then more power to them.
I can’t tell you how much getting mail means to me, especially after a day like today. I won’t describe what happened. Not all of it, anyway, but I watched a brave man die this afternoon. A good man and, honey, it really shook me up. It shook us all up. It could’ve been any one of us. I’ve seen death before, but I haven’t felt it the way I did this afternoon. It was like a giant hand reached out and grabbed Bob, completely at random. Why Bob and not me? None of it makes any sense.
Then later, after we got back, one of my buddies read a letter from his girl. I knew something was wrong when he threw it down and walked outside. His fiancée broke off the engagement and he was crying. Not so anyone could see, but when I found him he had tears running down his face. It wiped him out emotionally. This war is hell enough without hearing shit like that.
No one slept much last night. I kept thinking about you and me and how much I love you. I know I shouldn’t think this way, but I was glad it wasn’t me that got killed. I love you too damn much to leave you. Right now, I want to hold you so much my arms ache. I’m sorry Bob is dead, sorry Larry’s girl dumped him. I want to get out of this hellhole. When I close my eyes all I see is war. All I hear is the rapid fire of guns and the cries of men like me just hoping to get out of here alive. All I dream about is getting home to you.
Remember how much I love you.
Nick
Jillian’s Diary
September 14, 1968
I’m so glad to be back at school. Dad and I can barely look at each other. It’s impossible to carry on a civil conversation with him. At one time I idolized my father, but I don’t anymore. Nick keeps telling me that I’m going to make a great attorney. I refuse to even consider a career in law. If being an attorney means I’ll start thinking and acting like my father, then I don’t want any part of it. Mom, who attempts to play the role of peacemaker, says it’s because Dad and I are so much alike.
I sincerely hope she’s wrong. My father actually told me to my face that he didn’t raise his daughter to be a Democrat. He spits out the word as if it’s going to dirty his mouth.
Politics is only one of the things we fight about. He knows I love Nick and that we’re planning to get married once he’s home from Vietnam. But my father still refuses to accept him and insists on introducing me to other men. Men he considers more “suitable” than Nick. Rich boys who’d race to Canada at the hint of a draft notice.
He doesn’t like my music. He thinks The Doors and Jefferson Airplane are tools of the devil. My wardrobe upsets him, too. What’s so revolutionary about bell-bottoms and sandals? Anyway, I don’t care what he thinks. I’m just grateful to be out from under his domination.
Nick thought coming home for the summer would be good for me, but he was wrong. I doubt I’ll return for Christmas, feeling the way I do about my father.
This wasn’t a good summer for Lesley, either. Selfishly Buck insisted on uprooting her and the kids and making them move to California to be with him. That meant we hardly had a minute together at all. Lesley’s life is so different from mine. I was afraid that after her marriage we’d drift apart, but she’s still the only person in the world who truly understands my feelings. She’s the only one who accepts my love for Nick.
In her last letter, Lesley said she’s scared she might be pregnant again. I hope not, for her sake. Buck’s the kind of man who likes his women barefoot and pregnant. With two babies already, the last thing she needs is a third child. I don’t know why she refuses to take the pill. The Catholic Church’s stand on that issue is right out of the Dark Ages.
I’ve got to stop watching the television news about Vietnam. Last night there was all this talk about the aftermath of the Tet Offensive and how the death toll keeps rising. My dreams were filled with war and worries about Nick. I woke up in a cold sweat with my heart pounding so hard I could barely catch my breath. It took a long time before I was able to calm down and remember it was just a dream and that Nick’s perfectly fine. If anything happened to him my heart would know it, I’m sure of that.
Outside Khe Sanh in South Vietnam
September 15, 1968
Dear Jimmy,
I promised I’d write as often as I could, but it’s been a while. I’ve discovered that jotting down a few lines to send home helps ease the tension. We all look for ways to keep our minds off the war. That’s one reason getting mail from home means so much. I carry the letters from you, Dad and Jillian with me. I’ve read them all so many times they’re falling apart. The ones from Jillian I’ve committed to memory. Her letters, and yours and Dad’s, too, are the only way I have of staying sane here. I haven’t been as faithful as I wanted to be in writing you, but I know you understand.
By the way, I got word of your recent “troubles.” What the hell are you doing hanging around with Dirk Andrews? You didn’t learn your lesson about him the last time? We both know Dirk’s bad news. He’s already been arrested twice. I didn’t realize you had a hankering for jail food. Thank God Dad was able to get you out of this scrape, but don’t count on being that fortunate again. Before you decide to step out of the house or do anything, stop and consider the consequences of your actions. Dad only said one thing to me before I left for Nam. “Be a man.” Then he hugged me and asked me to come home. I’m asking you to be a man now, Jimmy, and ditch Dirk before you end up doing jail time for being stupid.
I don’t mean to come down too hard on you. You’re my kid brother and I’ve always looked out for you. It’s harder now with me being so far from home, so I’m relying on you to keep your own nose clean. In other words, stay away from Dirk, and stay out of trouble. I’ve got to end this if it’s going to make today’s mail.
I don’t say this often, Jimmy, but I love you.
Your brother,
Nick
October 1, 1968
Dear Susan,
It was so good to hear from you. I knew you’d like the Navy, and if everything goes according to plan, you’ll soon be in nursing school. I envy you the opportunity.
Buck, the kids and I are doing great. We’re anxious to move back to Washington. Dad said there’s a job waiting for Buck at the lumber mill once he’s discharged, but you know Dad, he’s always full of talk. However, Buck worked at the mill before he enlisted, so we’re hoping he can get back on.
Lindy is growing by leaps and bounds. Davey, too. I don’t know how Mom did it with six of us constantly underfoot. Mom wrote and said Mike has a job at the Albertson’s store this summer and Joe’s hoping they’ll hire him next year when he’s old enough to work. He took over Mike’s paper route and has his own money for school clothes. That helps Mom. Bruce and Lily spend most of their time at Lion’s Park swimming, just the way we did when we were their age.
Your sister, Lesley
JILLIAN LAWTON
BARNARD COLLEGE
PLIMPTON HALL
NEW YORK, NY 10025
October 6, 1968
Dear Mr. Murphy,
I hope you don’t mind that I’m writing you, but I haven’t received a letter from Nick in almost a week. Have you heard from him? It isn’t like him not to write. Ever since he was stationed in Vietnam, he’s made a point of writing me at least every other day, just so I won’t worry.
At first I thought there might be some confusion with the mail because I recently returned to
I’ll await your reply.
Sincerely,
Jillian Lawton
* * *
From the Department of Defense
Addressed to: Mr. Patrick Murphy
It is with deep regret that we
inform you of the death of your son
Nicholas Patrick Murphy
September 16, 1968
in
Vietnam
* * *
JILLIAN LAWTON
BARNARD COLLEGE
PLIMPTON HALL
NEW YORK, NY 10025
October 8, 1968
Dear Nick,
I screamed when I heard you’d been killed. Screamed and screamed and screamed. My heart has yet to stop screaming. I don’t sleep. I don’t eat. This can’t be happening, this can’t be real. Tell me it isn’t real! It’s like my chest has been caught in a vise that grows tighter and tighter. Sometimes it even hurts to breathe.
My mother was the one to tell me. Your dad phoned her and explained that two soldiers had arrived at the gas station to deliver the news. He was too broken up to tell me himself, so he phoned my mother.
I knew something was wrong when she called, because she was crying and trying to hide it. Only I thought it had to do with my dad. I never dreamed she was calling to say you’d been taken away from me. Never dreamed that a phone call from home, from my own mother, would change my life forever.
Following your funeral, Mom wanted me to stay home for the remainder of the semester and return to school after the Christmas holidays, but I’ll go crazy sitting around the house for the next three months. Dad seemed relieved when I told him I’d decided to go back. He said he thought that was probably for the best. I can’t talk to my father at all. But don’t worry, we didn’t fight. I haven’t got the strength for it.
I’m writing this on the plane, flying back to the East Coast the day after your funeral. It all seemed so unreal until yesterday morning, when I sat in church between your father and Jimmy. Your father looked old and frail. It was the first time I’d ever seen him in a suit. He tried to be brave for me and Jimmy. You would’ve been proud of your brother. I don’t think your father would have made it through the funeral if not for him. It wasn’t until we reached the cemetery that Jimmy started to cry.
Your family loved you, Nicholas Patrick Murphy. I loved you, too. Oh Nick, tell me what I’m supposed to do without you. Tell me.
Please, please tell me.
Jillian
October 9, 1968
Dearest, dearest Jillian,
Oh, how I wish I could be with you. I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it to Nick’s funeral. Even now I find it hard to accept that he’s really gone. You see, I came to love him myself when I saw how much he loved you.
I remember when you told me you’d met Nick behind the snack booth on Valentine’s Day, back when we were still in high school, and how you spent prom night with him instead of going to the dance. I knew when you broke up with Scott that Nick wasn’t just a fling. It hurts so terribly, doesn’t it? The only thing I can compare it to would be losing David, Lindy or Buck.
Jillian, how can I help you? What can I do to ease this pain? We’ve been best friends our entire lives and have seen each other through everything. You were the first person I turned to when I discovered I was pregnant with David (just as I did last month, when I thought I was pregnant again—which, thank God, I’m not). You were maid-of-honor at my wedding. You’ve been with me through good times and bad, but how can I possibly see you through something like this? How can I help you?
Your tears are my tears. Your pain is mine. Our friendship is stronger even than the bonds I share with my own sisters. Let me help you. Just tell me how.
With all my heart,
Lesley
JILLIAN LAWTON
BARNARD COLLEGE
PLIMPTON HALL
NEW YORK, NY 10025
December 1, 1968
Dearest Lesley,
Thank you for your letters. I don’t know how I could have survived these last months without them. I received a letter from Nick’s friend Brad Lincoln this week. He’d wanted to write sooner, but was badly injured and dictated the letter to a hospital volunteer. It took me a long time to find the courage to read it.
Deep down I knew what Brad wanted to tell me, and I was right. Nick died a hero. The news didn’t comfort me. Knowing that Nick died saving someone else angered me so much I went on a rampage through my dorm room. It’s hard to believe I’d do such a thing, isn’t it? The anger pounded inside me until I had to do something. I know it sounds crazy, but I tore the sheets off the beds and sent every book in the room crashing against the wall. Then I collapsed and wept until my throat was raw. Later Janice came in and knelt on the floor, held me and cried with me. Afterward I showed her Brad’s letter.
The last thing I wanted to read was how Nick saved his friend’s life. If Brad is waiting for me to absolve him from his guilt, then he has a very long wait.
You asked what you can do to help me. I don’t know, Les, I just don’t know. I’ve never experienced this kind of pain before. I feel like I’m walking in a fog. People talk to me and I don’t hear. I read, but I don’t understand the words. I look, but I don’t see. Everyone tells me time is the great healer, as though everything will be all right again in six months. Nothing in my life will be the same without Nick. Nothing ever again, and I know it.
This has been a year of death. First Martin Luther King, Jr., then Bobby Kennedy and now Nick. And all the other soldiers in Vietnam… Oh, Lesley, so much death! I’m not sure I want to live anymore. You’re the only person I can tell how I really feel. I think about dying and wish I could end everything just so this pain would stop.
I continue to write Nick letters—please don’t tell me I shouldn’t. Sometimes it’s the only thing that gets me through the night. I wrote him every day for months, and now it seems only natural at the end of each day to share my thoughts with him. Sometimes I can almost make myself believe he isn’t really dead and that he’ll be coming home soon.
I don’t sleep well. When I do manage to drift off, I wake with a start and then I remember that Nick is dead. And my heart wants to stop beating. A dark, heavy sadness settles over me, a sadness too great to carry on my own.
Yes, I’ll be home for Christmas and I’m so grateful you will be, too. It’ll be good to hold Davey and Lindy. My prayer is that they won’t have to grow up and worry about fighting wars.
I love you.
Jillian
December 4, 1968
Dear Jillian,
Hi. Thanks for your letter. Dad’s not doing well since Nick died. My mother died and now Nick’s gone, too. I’m all right, I guess, but, Jillian, I need you to be strong because I don’t think I can hold Dad together much longer. He doesn’t sleep very much and I can’t remember the last time he sat down for dinner. He barely knows I’m around and yesterday he called me Nick and then realized what he’d done and began to cry. Customers are starting to complain, too. Will you be home soon for Christmas? Can you come by the station and visit once you arrive? Can you do that? Please?
Jimmy Murphy
1970
Invitation to a Retirement Party
For: Judge Leonard Lawton
At: Pine Ridge Country Club
140 Country Club Lane
Pine Ridge, WA
When: Sunday, January 4, 1970
Time: 2-4 p.m.
To celebrate 25 years of service
No gifts please
January 12, 1970
Dear Jillian,
By the time you get this, you’ll be in the midst of your other life—classes and essays and (I hope) parties.
Having you home over the Christmas holidays was wonderful. It felt more like Christmas this year, didn’t it? The mood was certainly lighter than last year, when the holidays came so soon after Nick was k
Davey and Lindy already miss you. Lindy moped around the trailer all morning, wondering when her aunt Jilly was going to visit again. It’ll be summer before you’re back, won’t it? It seems much too long to wait for another chat fest. I marvel at how wonderful you are with the children—and oh, how they took to you!
You look good, Jillian, more like yourself than you have in a long while. I know how difficult the last fifteen months have been without Nick and have kept you constantly in my prayers. I couldn’t find the words to say it when you were here, possibly because talking about him always makes me cry. What I wanted most to tell you is how very proud I am of you. Proud that you loved Nick despite your parents’ attitude. Proud of the way you stood up to them and believed in him and in your love.
I’m sure Nick would be pleased that you’ve kept in touch with his dad and Jimmy. You’ve made a point of being there for the two of them and being part of their lives. They’ve needed you just like you’ve needed them. Nick’s death hit his dad and Jimmy hard. I don’t think Mr. Murphy will ever get over this. I know you won’t, and helping one another is the only way to see all of you through this.
I don’t know what would’ve become of Jimmy without you. My brother Joe is in the same class with him and told me Jimmy’s almost been expelled several times. I do hope he holds on long enough to graduate this June. Speaking of graduation, I can hardly believe that in a few months you’ll be a college graduate! I understand why you decided to change your major from law to education, but try as I might, I can’t picture you as a teacher. I know your father’s disappointed and I trust my honesty won’t offend you, Jillian, but are you sure you didn’t change majors just to get back at him for his attitude toward Nick?
We’ve been friends far too long for me not to express my opinion. Now, I’ll give you the opportunity to do the same. There’s something I should’ve mentioned when you were here and didn’t. Surprise, surprise, I’m going to be a mother again this August. This baby wasn’t planned, but for that matter, neither were Davey and Lindy. We’ve been careful, but apparently not careful enough. I’ve tried to be faithful to the Church’s teachings on birth control, but the thought of three children in four years is enough to make me consider changing religions! Naturally Buck’s delighted with the news. The health insurance at the mill is pretty lousy, so it looks like we’ll need to pay a large portion of the expenses for this pregnancy ourselves. The doctor’s fee alone is $300. That’s highway robbery. Oh well, I’m not going to worry about it.