understand how a girl in her spot might be a little incoherent.
He put her letter in the drawer, too, stood up and clapped his hat on the back of his head. The managing editor came across the newsroom toward him.
“How’s it going, Lane?”
“Good, thanks.”
“Say, you’ll have no trial to cover down the line. The infection finally killed that Christy citizen. They didn’t get the arm off soon enough, I guess.”
Lane sighed. “That suits me.”
“By the way, that was a nice job you did on the transit squabble.”
“Thanks again.”
He left, whistling. He went down the stairs, grinned in at the girls behind the classified ad counter.
As he reached the outside door he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a girl coming quickly toward him. He turned and gasped. “Sandy! Sandy, what—”
Her eyes were shining. “Don’t talk, darling. Just walk with me.”
Her hand was through his arm as they walked down the sidewalk. He smiled down into her face and she squeezed his arm lightly.
“I had to shut you up, you oaf,” she said. “I was about to cry.”
“I remember that you cry nicely. Sandy, why did you come here?”
“To see my ex,” she said smugly.
He stopped and faced her. “I’m no good for you. Didn’t we find that out?”
“Hush. I might give you a second chance. If you want it.”
“If I want it!”
“I’ll think it over, oaf.”
“After what I did to you, Sandy?”
“Or what I did to you. Damn a wife who runs out when she’s worst needed.”
“I chased you out.”
“You did not. I left.”
“By special request. Who cares? You’re back. But how come? How did it happen?”
She took his arm again. “Come on, keep walking. You see, I got a letter. From a girl. Quite a girl, I think. She mentioned that she ran into you and you seemed to be carrying a torch for one gal named Sandy, so she wormed the address out of you. It was signed Diana Saybree.”
“So that’s what she meant!” he said.
“What, darling?”
“Never mind. Look, I’ve got a small apartment just three blocks from here. There’s ice, gin and vermouth. They need a woman’s touch.”
He quickened his pace but she stopped and made her eyes wide. “But I can’t! I just remembered.”
“What? A date?”
“No, I just remembered that I’m a single woman. Heavens! I’d be compromised.”
“Huh!” he said.
She laughed in the old well-remembered way. Again she took his arm. “Come on, you big mental hazard. What’s your address?”
Linda
LOOKING BACK, I THINK IT WAS RIGHT AFTER the first of the year that Linda started hammering at me to take my vacation in the fall instead of in the summer. Hammering isn’t exactly the word. That wasn’t Linda’s way. She started by talking about Stu and Betty Carbonelli and what a fine time they’d had when they went south for their vacation in November. And she talked about the terrible traffic in the summer and how dangerous it was. And about how not having kids made it easier too.
I kept my head down, thinking that this would blow over like most of her ideas. I wasn’t at all keen on this one. I knew it would mean more expense. Linda never thought or talked about money except when we didn’t have enough for something she wanted to do or wanted to buy, and then she had plenty to say. Actually, I never cared much for vacations. Sure, I like to get away from the plant for a while, but I’m content to stay around the house. I’ve got my woodworking tools in the cellar, and I like to fool around in the yard. There’s plenty to do.
Three years ago we did stay right at home. I thought it was the best vacation we ever had, but Linda kept saying it was the worst. This was the first year I was due to get three weeks with pay instead of just two, and she brought that up too, telling me how it would give us a real chance to get away.
I hoped it would blow over and I’d be able to talk her into taking the last three weeks in August. In fact, I
He put her letter in the drawer, too, stood up and clapped his hat on the back of his head. The managing editor came across the newsroom toward him.
“How’s it going, Lane?”
“Good, thanks.”
“Say, you’ll have no trial to cover down the line. The infection finally killed that Christy citizen. They didn’t get the arm off soon enough, I guess.”
Lane sighed. “That suits me.”
“By the way, that was a nice job you did on the transit squabble.”
“Thanks again.”
He left, whistling. He went down the stairs, grinned in at the girls behind the classified ad counter.
As he reached the outside door he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a girl coming quickly toward him. He turned and gasped. “Sandy! Sandy, what—”
Her eyes were shining. “Don’t talk, darling. Just walk with me.”
Her hand was through his arm as they walked down the sidewalk. He smiled down into her face and she squeezed his arm lightly.
“I had to shut you up, you oaf,” she said. “I was about to cry.”
“I remember that you cry nicely. Sandy, why did you come here?”
“To see my ex,” she said smugly.
He stopped and faced her. “I’m no good for you. Didn’t we find that out?”
“Hush. I might give you a second chance. If you want it.”
“If I want it!”
“I’ll think it over, oaf.”
“After what I did to you, Sandy?”
“Or what I did to you. Damn a wife who runs out when she’s worst needed.”
“I chased you out.”
“You did not. I left.”
“By special request. Who cares? You’re back. But how come? How did it happen?”
She took his arm again. “Come on, keep walking. You see, I got a letter. From a girl. Quite a girl, I think. She mentioned that she ran into you and you seemed to be carrying a torch for one gal named Sandy, so she wormed the address out of you. It was signed Diana Saybree.”
“So that’s what she meant!” he said.
“What, darling?”
“Never mind. Look, I’ve got a small apartment just three blocks from here. There’s ice, gin and vermouth. They need a woman’s touch.”
He quickened his pace but she stopped and made her eyes wide. “But I can’t! I just remembered.”
“What? A date?”
“No, I just remembered that I’m a single woman. Heavens! I’d be compromised.”
“Huh!” he said.
She laughed in the old well-remembered way. Again she took his arm. “Come on, you big mental hazard. What’s your address?”
Linda
LOOKING BACK, I THINK IT WAS RIGHT AFTER the first of the year that Linda started hammering at me to take my vacation in the fall instead of in the summer. Hammering isn’t exactly the word. That wasn’t Linda’s way. She started by talking about Stu and Betty Carbonelli and what a fine time they’d had when they went south for their vacation in November. And she talked about the terrible traffic in the summer and how dangerous it was. And about how not having kids made it easier too.
I kept my head down, thinking that this would blow over like most of her ideas. I wasn’t at all keen on this one. I knew it would mean more expense. Linda never thought or talked about money except when we didn’t have enough for something she wanted to do or wanted to buy, and then she had plenty to say. Actually, I never cared much for vacations. Sure, I like to get away from the plant for a while, but I’m content to stay around the house. I’ve got my woodworking tools in the cellar, and I like to fool around in the yard. There’s plenty to do.
Three years ago we did stay right at home. I thought it was the best vacation we ever had, but Linda kept saying it was the worst. This was the first year I was due to get three weeks with pay instead of just two, and she brought that up too, telling me how it would give us a real chance to get away.
I hoped it would blow over and I’d be able to talk her into taking the last three weeks in August. In fact, I
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