Only a Paper Moon [ Band of Brothers ] 3

Chapter Twenty-One

August 5, 1946

Dear Gene,

I'm sorry that it's been nearly a month since I wrote you last. I'm so glad that you're doing well. We missed you at the reunion at the end of May. But I know that you wish you could've been there. I ate an extra chocolate bar just for you.

Last month, Lewis and I spent a couple of weeks in San Francisco. That's why it took so long for me to reply. We were visiting his mother and sister, Blanche. We went out there to tell them some news.

I wanted to call you, but I know you're busy and I'm not sure I have the energy to say this over the phone again. I know if anyone can understand that, it's you. You never made me talk about anything.

I'm pregnant. Writing it out makes it seem so real. It is real. I'm expecting a child in February. I can't believe it, honestly. Six months from now, I'll have a baby. Saying it out loud still scares me, if I'm being honest.

I called George about it. I couldn't see him of course, but I think he was crying at one point. He denied it, of course. So if you do see George at any point, don't tell him I said that. I called Bill, too. He and Frannie both have all sorts of pointers for us.

Harry and Kitty are expecting as well. Kitty screamed over the phone when I told her. She's all sorts of excited. I am too! I'm just a bit more nervous than she is, I suppose.

I wrote to you about the party where Stanhope tried to get to me, didn't I? He tried it again with another girl, according to Ruth. She's about ten seconds away from shooting him, I'd say. Luckily she doesn't have a gun. I wouldn't put it past her. Not sure I'd stop her, either.

We saw some unexpected faces at the reunion! Malarkey showed up. He had a good time, I think. I know I did, getting to spend time with him. Joe Toye was there too, and Smokey. Gene, Smokey looks fantastic. Rest easy about him. I know you took it hard, when he lost movement. But he's good.

I hope we can see you at a reunion at some point. I know it's hard to travel since you're working. Maybe I can come visit. Though with this new little Nixon on the way, I don't know. I hope I can.

I'll try to place a call to you soon.

With love,

Alice Nixon

September 18, 1946

Dear Joe,

I hope this letter finds you. I don't know whether you're not getting these, and that's why you don't respond, or if other circumstances have gotten in the way. Whatever the reason, I hope one of these days that this gets to you if you're still out there in San Francisco (we were there earlier this year! Wish I could've found you).

A lot has happened since I wrote you last. I finally married Lewis Nixon. I'm sure you're not surprised. We decided to elope, to avoid all the drama that comes with his family name. Then we spent some time in England with Millie. Part of me wishes we could've gotten to France, seen the Côte d'Azur. But I'm not sure I can do that. Not now, at least.

When you write, please let me know if you found that Jewish girl who wants lots of kids that you always talked about. I'm sure she's out there, if you haven't found her already. The other big news is that Nix and I are expecting. The baby is due in February. I hope to hear from you by then. If not, that's okay. I'm sure there's a reason.

Until then, best of luck.

Sincerely,

Alice Nixon

October 8, 1946

Dear Harry,

I thought about calling you with this, but I figured writing it would be easier. I'm not sure how to say it. So I guess I'll just ask. Are you afraid of being a parent?

Every time I hear from Kitty, she's so excited. Sometimes a bit nervous, a bit more talkative than usual. But she never really sounds scared. I'll go right out and say it, I suppose. I'm really scared, Harry.

I've talked to Lewis about it. He's nervous too. Neither of us know how to care for a child. I'm a mess of a person. Lew's gotten his drinking more under control, and I've been working at my smoking. But we don't know how to be parents.

I don't know how I'm going to be able to even hold an infant. Whenever I think about it, I just think of all the blood on my hands. Frannie tried to offer me Eugene again at the reunion. I couldn't. I couldn't hold something so pure.

How can I hold my old child? I guess I decided to ask you about this because you're one of the more sane people I know. The only other person I know with a kid is Bill Guarnere and he's not exactly who I would put up as a paragon of good decision making.

Am I insane? To be worried like this?

With love,

Alice Nixon

November 2, 1946

Dear Tab,

I know you won't respond to this. That's alright. Lieb has been the same way. I don't blame any of you for cutting yourselves from Easy Company. It is painful, sometimes, to hear from the people that we fought beside knowing we can never go back to what it was like in the beginning. No one came home unchanged. And I understand that leaving it behind can be the best thing.

That's what I did with the Resistance in Europe. I've only spoken to my friends in Paris a handful of times since then. But I suppose I still hope you read this, even though you don't reply.

Last letter I told you about how Lew and I are expecting. It's been nerve-racking. But it's going well, though it isn't fun I can tell you that much. If you ever have a wife and she has kids, be nice to her. Otherwise I don't care if I never hear back from you, I will track you down anyways and slap you for it.

If you come to a reunion some day, maybe you can still get your dance. Not sure Lew would be too happy about that, though. He listens to me though. I'd make sure you get one.

Till I write you next,

Alice Nixon