Please note that this is not a stolen story. It is my second and definitely final rewrite of this tale. After my first attempt, I received some excellent constructive criticism (as well as the usual toxic crap from the nameless, brainless trolls) and tried to incorporate these thoughtful suggestions. Chapters two and three will follow shortly.
Chapter One
Dan's POV (Point of View)
Exhausted after a sixteen-hour flight and nearly an hour in customs, I was still as excited as a kid before Christmas. In a moment I would be seeing my gorgeous wife for the first time in six weeks. She would run to me, leap into my arms, we'd both be laughing and crying, then home as quickly as possible for some passionate love making before I surrendered to fatigue.
I emerged into the large, crowded arrivals area, pushing my trolley and searching for her joyful face. Everywhere people were embracing family and friends with cries of delight but there was no sign of Tina. She's short, only 5'3", easy to miss in a crowd but I thought she'd be right up front, bouncing with anticipation. Disappointment, anxiety and anger took turns kicking me in my stomach. I phoned her cell, our home number and her office, leaving urgent messages on all three.
It was embarrassing standing there alone, obviously waiting while couples and groups went off happily together. When almost all the passengers from my flight had gone and passengers from another flight were coming through I finally gave up and despondently took a taxi home. Some triumphal homecoming!
My taxi driver was Indian and laughed when I told him I had just flown in from Kolkata.
"I bet you thought you'd seen your last Indian for a while, eh Mister." he laughed then noticed my expression.
"What's up Mister? You look like your dog just died."
"I was expecting my wife to meet me... really looking forward to seeing her... but she wasn't there."
"Don't worry Mister. She's probably waiting at home wearing a big smile and nothing else."
"Yeah I hope so." But somehow I doubted it.
The forty minute ride gave me time to think. The last email I had from Tina arrived three days ago just after she had won her case; since then nothing. It was a high profile, first-degree murder, the biggest case so far in Tina's career as a defence attorney. Her client was a French nightclub owner called Robert (he pronounced it Row-bare) Menard . The victim was William Hurst, a prominent banker who I used to know. My Dad had employed Bill, many years ago, mentored and promoted him. The poor guy had turned up dead on the river bank naked, wearing only handcuffs and a ballgag.
A BDSM session resulting in a fatal heart attack had been the initial, superficial conclusion which had caused outrage among all Hurst's influential friends. Deeper investigation found convincing evidence linking Menard to the murder.
I'd researched the case and I didn't want Tina to take it. Of course a highly respected VP murdered in a salacious manner had the press all over it and Tina would be at the center of the feeding frenzy.
The last time I had met Hurst was at my father's funeral where he had given a moving eulogy. This connection wasn't enough to disqualify Tina but was enough to make me challenge her, resulting in a heated argument..
"Your case made the news again today...it's a real media circus. You sure you want to be involved?"
"Of course I am! That's like asking Nadal if he wants to win the Grand Slam."
"But from all I've gathered, this Robert Menard's guilty. Everybody's saying that he obviously killed Bill..."
Tina snapped back. "And everybody has no right to say it! That's why I've got to take the case. Innocent until proven guilty remember."
She calmed down a little. "Anyway I've had two meetings with Robert already and he's not the monster the press is making him out to be. He's intelligent, well mannered and respectful. Quite charming actually."
Annoyed, I responded unwisely. "Tell that to Bill's family."
Tina stormed out of the room and slammed the bedroom door. Our bed was icy that night which was a shame as it was the second to last night before my trip to Nepal for Doctors without Borders.
Yes I'm a doctor, a reconstructive surgeon and yes, I've heard all the jokes about rich arrogant surgeons. Eg "What's the difference between a surgeon and God? God doesn't think he's a surgeon." Honestly, the prestige didn't matter to me and if money was my motivation I'd be doing facelifts and nose jobs. What gave me satisfaction was fixing the face of a kid born with a cleft palate and split lip or recreating the breasts of a woman after a mastectomy, helping restore her sense of self-worth and beauty.
I had been on two other missions with Doctor's without Borders and found them demanding but tremendously worthwhile so when I was asked to serve for six weeks in Nepal I was keen. Of course I discussed it with Tina and she agreed that I should go, although neither of us was looking forward to six weeks apart.
When the murder trial cropped up it was too late for me to pull out of the DWB team but I was sorry I wouldn't be around to support her.
Things were a bit warmer at breakfast and before rushing off to the office Tina had given me a real kiss.
"Don't overdo it today DD. Tonight I want enough loving to keep me going for six long weeks."
I was still grinning about her remark when I received a call from a flustered and apologetic airline agent. My flight to India the next morning was overbooked; and my seat had gone to another passenger. They could get me on a flight the following day meaning I'd miss my connecting flight to Nepal; or they could find me a seat on a flight leaving at 3pm that afternoon, in just a few hours time.
If I took the later flight, people who desperately needed my surgical skills would miss out; but if I took the earlier flight there would be no proper goodbye to Tina, no make-up sex or farewell love making. It was a tough decision but in the end the needs of those Nepali people outweighed a night of pleasure.
I tried to reach Tina as I scrambled to get ready, but she was tied up in meetings all morning. At 2pm, sitting in the departure lounge, I still hadn't managed to get through. I felt like running out of the airport and taking the first cab home. Instead I wrote the most loving, apologetic email, explaining my predicament and sent it off, using the local wifi.
The Nepal trip was exceptionally worthwhile and fulfilling. While the country was poor and filthy, the people were friendly and the scenery majestic. I'll always remember looking up and up, past the foothills to the clouds and then to the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas, floating there in the blue, disconnected from the world.
The other doctors and nurses on the team were first rate and a strong bond of camaraderie quickly formed. I worked most with John Taylor, a hard case Aussie anesthetist with a heart of gold and Katie Olsson, a superb surgical nurse and a beautiful person inside and out.
A lot of our patients were burn victims. A pregnant woman, for example, had fallen into her open fire and her face had largely been burned off. It would have taken multiple surgeries to restore her appearance but at least I was able to rebuild her nose, lips and eyelids, improving her ability to breath, eat, speak and see.
The downside of the trip was not being able to communicate often with Tina. In Kathmandu the internet access was OK but out in the remote towns and villages where we did most of our work, there was no coverage. The fourteen hour time difference made things worse. During the six weeks we only managed two Skype conversations and a handful of emails. Tina's first email was short and anything but sweet but once she accepted that I had to leave abruptly she was more affectionate although still clearly distracted by the trial.
Her last email was ebullient. She had won the trial and was about to celebrate her greatest victory. No mention of missing me or looking forward to my return.
I was fortunate to be sitting next to Katie on the long flight home. We reminisced about the trip. I teasingly reminded her of the incident in a marketplace where a guy tried to grope her. She turned around and knocked him over with one hard push to his chest. He got up and scuttled away while the crowd laughed. He'd probably never live it down.
Katie was a big, strong farm girl, 5'8" with wide shoulders and hips, but don't get the wrong impression. She was splendidly feminine with hair so blonde it was almost white, sparkling blue eyes, a superb figure and an unbeatable personality, kind and generous, fearless and funny. Her parents were good, hard-working Swedish farmers who settled in Idaho. Back in 60s their favorite TV show was Katie the Farmer's Daughter hence Katie's name. Definitely corny but they were grain farmers after all. Katie's favorite memory of Nepal was our last afternoon at a leper hospital, so high in the foothills that we became breathless just climbing the stairs but we still managed lots of excellent work. We were taken to the flat rooftop; wreaths of flowers were placed round our necks and the patients sang songs of gratitude while an eagle swooped over the forested hills. We had both been moved to tears.