Michael went upstairs while Sophie rested. The shower had used up what little energy she had available. He returned, having thanked their hosts and given them more medication. They’d decided it would be best if Sophie had no more contact with them to reduce the risk of infection.
He gathered up their belongings and stripped the bed of its sheets, bagging them with the towels. Then he put the dirty dishes into the sink, and covered them with boiling water. He bagged the medical waste and tossed it beside their stuff. The bathroom he scrubbed down with bleach.
“There,” he said, stripping off his latex gloves and stuffing them into the garbage bag. “That will suffice.” He took a pen and paper, wrote a quick note and wrapped it around a stack of Soviet currency. He left the money sitting on the kitchen counter.
He looked up and saw Sophie gazing at him. “What?”
“Nothing,” she replied with a smile.
He makes breakfast. He cleans. He looks after me when I’m sick. He’s thoughtful. He’s sweet. Who are you, and what have you done with my angry, misogynistic friend Michael Nariovsky-Trent?
-
At Sophie’s request, Michael kept his speed and lane changes to a reasonable rate as they drove north. He found a news station on the radio for a quick check of traffic. She gazed out the window, drowsing, until the words “Orlisia,” “Soviet Republic,” and “United Nations” in the same report caught her attention. She sat up and glanced over at Michael, who was shifting his eyes between the radio and the road. He held his hand up, listening, his face blazing with emotion.
“The United Nations Security Council has broken its deadlock, passing a resolution to send a peacekeeping force Orlisia.” The Russian-speaking radio announcer read the news without emotion. “The president of the UN Security Council has condemned the Soviet Republic’s occupation of Orlisia and has named the Parnaas refugee camp as a key area of interest.”
The two of them screamed with joy. “Shit, watch the road!” she shouted as they swerved out of their lane.
He jerked the wheel back. “Where is your phone? Quickly, call my father. He will have more information.”
Sophie dialed Maxwell’s number with shaking fingers. The call went straight to voicemail, and she left a message asking him to call her back.
Michael pulled off at the next roadside stop that featured a gas station and restaurant. “I need a moment to calm down,” he said. “Otherwise, I will kill us both with my driving. Come, we will have a warm drink.” He settled her at a table in the restaurant, then went to buy drinks. A moment later, her phone rang. It was Maxwell, returning their call.
“We just heard.”
“Good news travels fast,” he said. “Obviously, we don’t have a lot of details yet, and it’ll be several weeks before troops are on the ground. But this is the beginning.” Michael appeared at Sophie’s side, handing her a tea.
“My father?” She nodded, and he reached eagerly for the phone.
“Your son wishes to speak with you.” She smiled and handed him the phone.
He kissed her before he took it, then wandered off, talking a mile a minute. She sipped her tea and watched him walk from one side of the room to the other. He used to do that in GYL when he had a big idea in his head. Michael couldn’t sit still when he was thinking.
“What did he say?” She took back the phone and accepted another kiss.
“Not much,” he said evasively. She raised her eyebrows at him. “Well, it will take some time to get troops into Orlisia. Right now, it is very much in the planning stages.” He paused. “There will be a press conference later today to announce who will lead the mission, which countries will participate, and so on. Are you ready to go?”
She blinked at the abrupt change of topic and nodded.