Radio Mirror: The Magazine of Radio Romances (Jan-June 1943)

was in bed, and we were alone. I sat in my usual place, on the right of the hearth, and although the newspaper was in my hands, I wasn't reading. I was waiting — waiting for something, I didn't know what. As the minutes went by, and Jim turned on the radio, listened briefly and dialed another station, hope surged up in my heart. Maybe Dickie hadn't said anything, and Jim simply assumed that Kane had gone out before he arrived. Then I needn't tell him what had happened. I could give some explanation — it didn't matter what — of Kane's departure, and — Jim switched off the radio. He came over and took the newspaper from me. "Anne," he said, "I — Maybe it'll be easier to explain if I tell you what happened to me on the trip. I told you the hotels were full. Finally one of the men at the factory invited me to stay at his place while I was in town. His name's Porter, too — funny thing." While Jim talked, he kept running one hand through his thick brown hair, graying a little now at the temples. "His name was the same as mine, but he and his wife were about as different from us as — as anything you can imagine. They'd been through a lot, too — he lost his job in the depression and' they had a tough time. Like us. Worse than us, though — they had a baby, but it was born dead, and they couldn't ever have another. But all of it didn't make any difference in the way they felt about each other. They're — they're happy, Anne. "One night, at supper, Mrs. Porter said something about having seen a woman friend of hers that day — I didn't catch the name, and anyhow it doesn't matter. The thing that struck me was that Mike didn't like this friend of his wife's and didn't really want her to see her. But instead of getting mad he only laughed and kidded her about it. I couldn't help thinking that if it had been you and me we'd have had a big row." TIE was sitting on a low stool he'd "■ drawn up near me, his face turned up so I could see its lean, sharp lines, the flatness of the cheeks, the firm modeling of the chin. But most of all I saw its sadness. "I couldn't help wondering where we'd got off the track, Anne. These people were just ordinary. There wasn't anything very smart about them. But some way or other, they'd succeeded where we failed. And I couldn't help seeing that part of the failure was mine. If I'd been a little more willing to see things your way — or anyhow, hadn't been so bound that you'd see them mine — I don't know. This is what I'm trying to get at, Anne — couldn't we start in all over, and maybe each of us take the other fellow a little easier?" Oh, I wanted to say yes! There was nothing in all the world I wanted more. And I could have said yes, if only Jim had asked his question a week earlier. Tears stung my eyes, bitter tears for the happiness we could have had; tears of sorrow, too, for the moment to come when I would see the tenderness vanish from Jim's face. Because I had to tell him. "Wait, Jim," I said shakily. "First — hadn't you noticed Kane Garnett isn't here?" "Yes," he answered, and then went on quickly, "1 know you didn't want him around. If you asked him to go it's all right." "It isn't that," I admitted. "It's— worse, Jim. I was furious when you left — but I won't make excuses. I — I let him kiss me one night and . . . Dickie saw us." "Dickie! Oh, no, Anne!" Jim's shocked concern was not, I knew to my shame, because of the kiss — I think he knew that even to me that kiss was a nightmare, something to forget — but for its effect on Dickie. "Yes, Jim, it was terrible. I was never so ashamed — I didn't know it was possible to be so ashamed." Now I began to cry in earnest, all the emotional stress of the past days bursting its bonds and coming out in deep, body-racking sobs. "I was sure he'd tell you and — and I couldn't bear the thought of it. I made up my mind to tell you first, but — But this afternoon you came home while I was out and — and he didn't tell you at all!" Then Jim proved that he'd meant it when he asked if we couldn't start over. He picked me up, as if I'd been a child, and sat down again, cradling me in his arms. "Of course Dickie didn't tell me," he said softly. "He's no tattler." "But even if he didn't," I cried, "he'll always hate me — he'll always remember — " "No, he won't. He's only a kid, and he'll forget." Kind words, meant to help me, but I knew they were only words. Jim might forgive, but Dickie never would. And then Jim added the few words more that meant everything. "We'll help him to forget," he said. "Together." Smoking Less-or SmokngM&e*? 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