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

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The very first time she saw him, kneeling at the altar with Isabel, she knew that she had fallen foolishly, fatally in love with Steve IT'S queer how you can wait years for something you've dreamed about, wait and hope, knowing that it will never happen, and then all of a sudden it does happen, exactly as you'd pictured it. It was like that the afternoon I saw Steven coming up the walk to our house, on his way from work, the rough leather jacket he wore at the construction site unzipped and swinging freely from his broad shoulders, the slanting rays of the afternoon sun tipping his close-clipped reddish hair with copper. I had pictured it so often, hopelessly, knowing that I must not — Steven, coming home at the end of day, coming home to me. And then, with the sound of his step on the porch, I was brought down to earth again, and the dream shattered. ... I smoothed my dress — a housedress, but clean and freshly ironed that afternoon — and as I went to the door a glance at the hall mirror assured me that at least I appeared to be calm and unruffled. My hair, waving back from my temples to a roll at the nape of my neck, made a soft, dark frame for my face; my eyes looked unusually large and deep, but Steven would not know that it was from suppressed ex "A Dream to Share," by Helen Christy, was suggested by an original story by Robert Wetzel and Robert Arthur, entitled "I'll Never Forget," heard on Just Five Lines over Mutual. 44 citement; my mouth, too, did not give me away — it looked firm enough, and not at all like the mouth of a woman who wants terribly to be kissed by the man she loves. I managed, somehow, to keep most of my excitement out of my voice/ "Steven!" I cried. "What a surprise! And how good to see you!" "Not nearly as good as it is for me to see you," he replied in a voice as hearty as his handshake. Then his tone, became more serious, and he said urgently, "Evelyn, I've got to talk to you. I need your advice." My heart turned over at the thought of Steven, big, strong, resourceful Steven, needing help, and at his coming to me in his need, but I said lightly, "So? You're in trouble? Come in where we can talk it over." He followed me into the living room and sat down in my father's favorite chair, the deep one beside the fireplace. I sat opposite him and -looked at him with what I hoped was friendly interest, but which was actually a kind of hungry assimilation of every line and feature of him. His eyes were clear and unguarded as a child's, lighting up with interest or pleasure, shading to a deeper blue when he was worried or distressed. They were a very deep blue now. His nose, straight, but with just a hint of extra height and breadth at the bridge, and a rather pugnacious jaw gave him an almost commanding look belied by his mouth, which although firm, was unusually sensitive for a man's mouth. I had seen so little of Steven. We hadn't met very often in the four years since we had first been introduced — at his wedding to my cousin Isabel. The ironic part of it was that I had always considered myself a sensible person, more practical than romantic, not given to believing in such things as love at first sight. But there it was — I, Evelyn Hamilton, had seen Steven Saunders, a rugged contrast to his bride's blonde fragility, kneeling with Isabel at the altar, and I had wanted suddenly with a wanting so sharp that it hurt like a birth-pang, to be in Isabel's place. Ever since then I had been foolishly, fatally, in love. I had thought at first that the feeling would pass, but after four years of working hard, of dating other men, of doing everything I could to put him out of my mind, I knew that for me there would never be any man but Steven. Even now, when Isabel was in the hospital, recovering from the birth of their son, I could not make my heart accept the fact that Steven belonged irrevocably to Isabel and not to me. "You're a practical woman," Steven said, almost as if he had followed part of my thought. "Perhaps you can tell me what to do. Isabel isn't recovering as fast as she ought — " I felt my skin turn cold and my face pale. I had never liked Isabel very much, and I was frankly — to myself — envious of her being Steven's wife, but anything that would hurt Steven would hurt me, too. He saw my alarm. "There's nothing seriously wrong with her," he said hastily. "It's just that she had an RADIO MIRROR