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

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him. I remembered, with bitter clarity, that he had never once mentioned marriage until after Tim had brought matters to a head by offering us his share ' of the inheritance. | I sank back against the rough plank wall, my hands pressing against it to support myself. I couldn't speak. Gene flung the cigarette on the floor and ground it out under his heel, then went i out without saying a word. I heard his ! car start up with a roar, and knew that he had gone uptown. It was over. Our marriage was over. It had to be, if Gene meant what he'd • said — and he must have meant it, for he'd said it twice. Oh, both times he had spoken in anger, but I couldn't make myself believe that made any difference. The love which meant so much to me was only a burden to him, and that was intolerable. When he i came back I'd tell him I was leaving him. . . . Someone in a trim tan uniform stepped off the highway and came toward me — someone who smiled and saluted with a brisk military flourish. "Tim!" "Corporal Gorman to you," he said. I WAS so amazed by the suddenness of his appearance that I could not stammer the first words that came into my mind: "But you — you look so different.' I hardly recognized you." Laughing, he said, "It's the uniform." But that wasn't true. It wasn't just the uniform. He was no longer the ; slow-moving, diffident, slightly stooped Tim I'd always known. He carried himself with a proud assurance, as if i he knew at last where he was going in the world, and why. He'd received an unexpected threeday leave, he explained, along with his promotion to Corporal, and had come home to see how Gene and I were. "Gene's uptown," I said, and added quickly, "on business. He'll be so glad to see you!" "No gladder than I'll be to see him." He looked around the station and then at me, and a puzzled little frown appeared between his eyes. "Don't tell me you're waiting on trade — I thought you had a kid to do that." It might not be easy, I realized, to hide things from Tim. He was quick and observant. I said lightly, "Oh, we did have one, but we didn't really need him. And I like to take care of the place when Gene has to be away for an hour or two." Tim made no comment, but a few minutes later, when a car drove up, he said firmly, "I'll wait on 'em. Didn't anybody ever tell you gasoline was bad for the hands?" In one way, I was very glad to have him busy for a few minutes. I hurried to the telephone and called Burger's. Gene was there, as I had expected. "Hello?" He was cold and pointedly non-committal. "Gene — Tim just got here. He has a three-day leave. Will you be home soon?" I could be non-committal too. "Oh." Just that— flatly. Then— "All right. I'll be there pretty soon." I hung up, frowning, hoping that Gene would say or do nothing to disturb Tim or spoil his visit. But I needn't have worried. 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