Between Friends

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

Lesley’s Diary

April 10, 1967

I can’t believe I’m really here in Hawaii! It’s just like Jillian described it, with the tall palm trees, pearly sand and lush orchids. I can hear the sounds of the ocean from my room, which has a balcony that faces—well, sort of faces—the beach. Normally we’d be staying in a military hotel, but with so many servicemen coming to the islands from Vietnam, Buck was booked into a civilian hotel. This is going to work out just great.

My plane landed at four and I took the shuttle, just the way Buck said in his letter. Unfortunately he didn’t tell me what to do about dinner. The room service menu is much too expensive. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I pay $1.00 for a cup of coffee! Mom and Dad repeatedly warned me against going out at night by myself, so I don’t feel comfortable leaving the hotel. I stayed in my room and went without dinner.

I miss Davey so much. This is the first time we’ve been separated for more than a few hours. I feel like I left part of myself in Pine Ridge. I want to call home and tell everyone I’m here, but Buck told me not to use the phone. He said it costs an arm and a leg to make long-distance calls from a hotel room.

I stood out on the balcony in the dark and sang torch songs at the top of my lungs. No one could hear me, not with the surf pounding against the sand below. I’m so anxious to see Buck again. It’s been nearly eight months since we were together. He doesn’t write often, but I understand how difficult it must be when he’s so far from home and everything.

I’m hungry, but sleepy too. Since I skipped dinner, I’ll have a little extra money to buy Mom something special for watching Davey. She’s a wonderful grandma. I’ll write more later.

Barbara Lawton

2330 Country Club Lane

Pine Ridge, Washington 98005

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

JILLIAN LAWTON

BARNARD COLLEGE

PLIMPTON HALL

NEW YORK, NY 10025

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

A Message from Southeast Asia

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,