Read Online Letter From Home by Carolyn Hart - Free Book Online

last night.”
    He said quietly, “I’m not asking you to do that.”
    She rubbed tired eyes. “I know. I want to.” If she put the fear and horror into words, the words would be separate and distinct from her, leeching the harsh images out of her mind and onto paper.
    â€œSure. Then see about the wire.” He swung his chair around, faced his typewriter.
    Gretchen slowly walked to her desk, sat down. For awhile, there was no sound except for the rattle of typewriter keys. Occasionally, Mr. Dennis grabbed the phone, barked out a number to the operator, asked quick, short, crisp questions. Gretchen heard his gruff voice in the background and felt safe. Mrs. Taylor talked to herself as she worked. Her cheerful chirp had become a familiar background noise to Gretchen.
    Gretchen stared at the yellow copy paper. She started, stopped, started again. It took almost an hour. Finally she had three double-spaced pages. At four lines to an inch, it ran sixteen and a half column inches. She pasted the sheets together, laid them in the incoming copy tray. Mr. Dennis nodded his head in acknowledgment. Mrs. Taylor reached out to pat Gretchen on the arm as she walked back to her desk. Gretchen felt drained, but there was a sense of relief and release. She reached for the slender phone book with a picture of the First National Bank on the cover. She looked up the number of the Forrester house, and picked up the phone. When the operator answered, she said, “Three-two-nine, please.”
    A woman answered. “Hello.”
    â€œMrs. Forrester? This is Gretchen Gilman for the Gazette. ” She always emphasized the name of the newspaper. She was still amazed at the effect of her words, how nice most people were, how eager they were to be helpful and answer her questions. “Would it be okay for me to come over and talk to Billy? I’d like to do a story about him.” No legs. Never to be able to walk or run or climb. But he was home. What if Jimmy got hurt like that?
    â€œA story about Billy?” Mrs. Forrester’s voice quivered. “There used to be a lot of stories when he was the quarterback. They won state. It was three years ago. Only three years . . . Oh, God.” The phone was fumbled, dropped.
    Gretchen felt the hot prick of tears in her eyes.
    â€œHello?” The voice was thin, but loud. Manly. “Billy here. Mr. Dennis?”
    â€œNo, this is Gretchen Gilman. I’m working for the Gazette this summer and—”
    â€œJimmy’s little sister, right?” A laugh. A nice laugh that sounded like Jimmy when he read about Archie in the comic strip, Archie and Jughead and Veronica. “I remember Jimmy. Best punter I ever saw. Where’s he now?”
    â€œIn the South Pacific. We had a letter from him last week.” Such a short letter, mostly about how much he missed Grandmother’s hamburgers. “Billy, can I come over and talk to you?”
    There was silence on the line.
    Gretchen thought she understood, hoped she understood. “About your plans for going to college?”
    â€œCollege.” The little sound over the telephone wire could have been a cough or a sigh or a sob. “Yeah. Sure. Come anytime. I’m here.”
    Gretchen heard his pain and frustration in those two small words. “I’m here.” Where else would he be unless someone took him, the fast quarterback who’d fallen back behind the line once, so deep, then outrun them all past the goal line.
    â€œI’ll be there in a little while. Thank you.” As Gretchen was putting the phone down, she heard his thin voice, “Oh, Ma, don’t cry. Please, Ma . . .”
    The Gazette front door banged. Ralph Cooley strolled in, hat tilted to the back of his head, cigarette in his mouth, hand clutching a fistful of copy paper. He flapped the sheets. “Read all about it. Cops Hunt Killer. Dogs Called In.”
    Mr. Dennis’s chair squeaked as he