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In Sickness and in Health

By: CharlieB4



Hi All,

This one's a departure for me, I can't give too much away but I hope you enjoy. The only warning I will give is that if you are looking for a story to get you hot and bothered then you might have to read another one after this.

A big thank you to VR Snow for giving up some time in her busy schedule to fix up my mistakes.

This story is dedicated to those who risk their lives so that we can live our carefree existence. I apologize in advance if I have made any glaring errors in the military section of this story. I tried to be as thorough as possible in my research as I have not been part of the Australian Defense Force.

Finally let me know what you think by leaving a comment at the end.

Cheers

CharlieB4

*****

I lay on the bed my heart racing. Emily, my wife, was in the bathroom brushing her teeth before bed. There was real apprehension, as the moment I had thought would never happen again was so close. As I had crawled through the wreckage of the officer's mess in Urozgan province, Afghanistan I thought my return home would be in a box.

My wheelchair was parked at the bottom of the stairs. The plan had been to hop up the two flights with Emily's help but that had to be shelved as in my weakened state, I only made it up three of the steps. The occupational therapist at the rehabilitation centre had only let me out for the weekend on the proviso that there was a bed downstairs. However I wasn't going to let the first chance I had to sleep with my wife in six months go without a fight. So I crawled up the stairs and into the bedroom.

* * * * * * *

To understand my story you have to go back earlier than six months ago. One year ago, I was stepping off a plane having just finished a tour of duty with the Australian Defense Force in Afghanistan. I was jubilant as I had two weeks left as a member of the army and four weeks till I married my girlfriend Emily. Everything seemed to be falling into place for me.

I had been part of an engineering team in Provincial Reconstruction Project. Our job was to repair infrastructure destroyed during the war against the Taliban. My specialty had been logistics, getting equipment and supplies into and out of work zones. I had been given the nickname "Sniffer" as in my twelve months, I had not lost a convoy to a roadside bomb. They thought I could smell trouble. I just put it down to good training and planning. I always changed my routes even resorting to grading new roads to get around possible black spots. It was a record I was proud of, mostly because all of my drivers and support crew were coming home with me.

I had, in some ways, been sad to leave the army. I'd left school as a seventeen year old with no real prospects, only just an average student. My family had never reached any great heights academically and I was expected to follow into a lowly paid job or petty crime. One day there was an army recruiting van parked in the main street. I'd wandered in out of boredom really, but one hour later I had signed on.

Army life agreed with me. The discipline and structure was something I had never had before. Once through basic training I was placed into the supply section. Not a glamorous area but I thrived there and moved steadily up the ranks. My first contract was six years. When it finished, I signed on for six more. 

My first overseas placement was in Aceh Indonesia after the 2004 Boxing Day tsunami. I was there for six months helping get supplies through to the victims. Then came my first tour in Afghanistan in 2006. I was only a Corporal then, but I got through and impressed my superiors enough that they offered to put me through Duntroon, the Australian Defense Force Academy. Four years later, I was a Captain with an engineering degree and back in Afghanistan. 

While at Duntroon, I met Emily, a gorgeous brunette nurse three years my junior from the Royal Canberra hospital. She had been wary of the army recruits who regularly got into trouble at local nightspots. However, I wore her down and by the time I graduated and was headed to Afghanistan again, we were a couple. That tour of duty was tough on both of us but we got through it with a lot of Skype conversations. I had nine months back helping train new recruits at the academy. Then I was back to Afghanistan. Because it was my third tour it reduced the time I had to "pay" the army back for my degree, so after it was finished I could be a free man. 

Emily had been happy with that news but not the third tour. I told her I wasn't in the firing line, only working logistics but she knew better. Everybody was in the firing line in Afghanistan. I asked her to marry me a week before I flew out, she said yes and there were many tears. I had been given one week's leave so I had taken her to stay at a resort in the Great Barrier Reef. It was a great way to celebrate our engagement. Sun, beaches, fine food, great sex and I even managed to get in a little fishing without too many complaints.

My third tour had been reasonably uneventful, well as uneventful as a war zone can be. Two convoys got shot up but they got through and as I said before, everybody was returning home in one piece. I had sent my resume to a couple of recruiting agencies back in Australia during my last month in Afghanistan and had three job interviews in my first week as a civilian again.

I only needed one. It was with a large trucking company. They owned eighty large prime movers mostly with b double trailers and twenty smaller single trailer rigs. They were trying to muscle into the mining boom going on in outback Western Australia and South Australia. The remote mining sites were nowhere near railway lines and sometimes a long way from sealed roads. To get the heavy equipment needed, trucks were the only way and sometimes you had to build your own road. My experience meant they wanted me bad and were prepared to pay handsomely for it. 

They had wanted me to start straight away but I told them of my wedding plans so they gave me two weeks after that so we could have a honeymoon. The job meant some extended trips away from our new home in Sydney but Emily was happy no one was shooting at me.

I started the job with great expectations and high hopes but those were quickly dashed. In the army when you told someone below you what to do, they did it! When you spoke to someone above you, you showed respect. In this trucking firm, it didn't work like that. Looking back with the benefit of twenty-twenty hindsight, my people skills sucked. However, I was dismayed that so many of the people that worked at the place had not even a basic idea of manners and common decency.

The planning and logistics stuff was easy. Getting the staff to follow the plan was a different matter. It came to a head four months in. I was working on a project for a mining company getting their initial site preparation done. First, I had to make a fifty-kilometer road to the site and an air strip at the site. It was in the desert. It didn't have to be sealed but it had to handle heavy vehicle traffic. There had been two graders, a bulldozer and an excavator working on it for a month.

It was time for the first convoy to head out with the workers accommodation, rudimentary runway lights, workshop and two massive cat diesel generators powered by turbo charged V 16 cylinder motors. I specially selected the drivers, as we had to get this payload there on time. The mine construction workers were due to fly in the day after the trucks arrived. We had a briefing the night before we were leaving and I went through the whole trip with them. I had their rest breaks, fuel stops, driver changes all set out. Then at five am, the next morning, I arrived at the depot to wave them off and I noticed Frankie was in one of the trucks. Worse, it was the truck with the generators on its trailers.

Frankie was a fuckwit! There is no other way to put it. He was constantly stuffing up and I twice asked the boss to fire him. He was a protected species somehow, . I later found out he was the boss's mistress's son. It appeared one of the drivers was "sick" so Frankie had been put into the truck as a second driver. By the boss! I tried to ring him but he wouldn't answer. The other driver was fuming. He didn't want to share the trip with the idiot, either. It was fifty hours each way. One hundred hours in a truck with that fuckwit would have Mother Teresa plotting a murder. 

With much trepidation, I told them to go. The first day they made it to Adelaide without a hitch. Maybe it would workout. At lunchtime the next day, disaster struck, . I got a ring from one of the satellite phones. They were six hours north of Adelaide in the middle of nowhere. Frankie was doing his stint in the driver's seat and feeling the need to relieve himself had pulled off the road. Now as unpleasant as it sounds most of the drivers carried a bottle with them and if they needed to urinate away from a designated stop, they pissed in the bottle and then got rid of it later. Never drink from a water bottle on the side of the road! Frankie should have known better, but like most young guys, he thinks he knows it all. The truck got stuck in loose sand. The next designated stop for fuel was one hour down the road so the rest went there, filled up and waited. I organized a heavy vehicle tow truck to get their as quick as it could from Adelaide.

It was still possible to make it but I hadn't counted on dickhead Frankie. The other driver had gone in one of the other trucks to wait at the roadhouse. Don't blame him really, why stay in the middle of nowhere when it's one hundred in the shade when you could be an air conditioned roadhouse. By my calculations, the trucks should have never got below fifteen percent fuel in the tanks. The tow truck arrived and got the truck back on the road but Frankie ran out of fuel ten minutes from the roadhouse. Even if he had the truck running the whole time to keep the air conditioner going, which I suspect he did, he should have still made it. 

The roadhouse owner ran some fuel up the road in his truck and got Frankie going again. When he finally got in to the roadhouse to fuel up, we were seven hours behind schedule and there was no more allowance for delays. Again, the guys let me down, . I had asked them make sure Frankie left with them but they were keen to get going so they went while he was still fueling up. 

Unfortunately, the waitress at the roadhouse was running a private business on the side, offering sexual relief for horny travelers. Frankie opted in but left the keys in his truck. While he was out the back getting a fifty-dollar blowjob two guys drove in to get fuel. They saw the truck with the door open and keys inside. The other driver was eating in the diner and saw the truck turn out but had no way of catching it. The thieves were obviously hoping that there was something on the trailers they could easily offload into their little truck and sell later. It would have been nice to see their faces when they pulled back the curtains to see two massive generators.

They knew that someone would be on their tail so they only went ten kilometers down the road and stripped what they could out of the cab and off the generators. So the UHF radio, satellite telephone, fridge, and GPS were taken from the cab and the dual batteries of the motors off both generators. By the time the police arrived from the nearest settlement and Frankie got on the road again, he was three hours behind the others with no way to contact them. The whole thing was a disaster. The generators got there late, and with no batteries to start the motors, they were useless until more batteries were flown up the next day. The mining company had to keep the construction crew in Adelaide for an extra day and our reputation was fucked.

My boss got his ear chewed by the CEO and he offered him my head on a platter. The CEO was in my office that afternoon.

"Sorry Andrew, it's not working out. We can't afford to lose those sort of clients! We will pay out the remaining two months of your contract, pack up your stuff and be out of here by four o'clock."

"Sir, I have a report here that explains the operation and what went wrong. I know I can get this job done! If you are going to pay me for two months at least let me work for it."

"No, Craig has explained it all to me and we think it's best if you move on." 

With that, he stood and left the office, leaving my report unread on my desk.

For the next month, I tried to get other jobs but it always it came down to, "What happened at your last job? Why did you only last four months?" 

I was getting down when the job agency rang with another chance. It sounded too good to be true. Three hundred and fifty thousand for ten months work.

"What's the catch?" I asked cautiously.

"No catch! Perfect job for you. Right up your alley! You know the ground in Afghanistan."

So that was the catch. The money was great but I knew Emily would never allow it. She was five months pregnant.

"Sorry mate, Emily won't allow it in her present condition."

"I've already told them that and they are willing to fly you back the week before she is due for two weeks."

"I just don't think I could convince her." 

"Their offer stands for four days, just think about it. This isn't the army! This is private enterprise! No expense spared! Everything top notch! Consider it at least, because if you get this on your CV then we may be able to get you another job!"

I had dismissed it but it kept coming back to me. It could set us up, pay off the house. My employment options were not to crash hot at the moment. I mentioned to Emily about the offer and got my predicted response.

"No fucking way are you going back there."

"It's incredible money!" I countered.

"Andrew Hinze! You have a pregnant wife due in three months and you want to go to Afghanistan for ten months." Her hands were on her hips. God, she looked sexy when she was angry. 

"They have offered to fly me back for the birth."

"And how do they know when that will be! What if the baby comes early? Afghanistan isn't thirty minutes away!"

"Okay! Okay! Don't get upset baby. It's not good for you or the baby. I just told Jim I'd run it by you. I'd already told him you wouldn't like it." I tried to calm things down.

"Don't you sweet talk me Andrew. I know how you operate. You mention something casually and hope I soften later."

I tried my "who me" innocent look.

"No way! No how! If you go I am not promising to be here when you get back!"

I moved towards her with my arms outstretched to give her a cuddle and reassure her but she turned and fled from the room. If I was being honest, Emily had hit it on the head. I thought I would mention the offer to test the waters then let her get used to the idea. It looked like it was out of the question, so I rang Jim.

"It's not going to fly, Jim. Emily hasn't just put the foot down. She drove it through the floor!"

"Come on mate, who wears the pants!"

"Emily wears the panties and they are much more important."

"The old furry magnet, heh. Oh well, I'll let them know. They will be disappointed."

"Thanks. Anything else on the horizon?"

"No sorry, but I'll keep looking." 

Emily came back into the room as I put the phone down. 

"I just told them I wasn't available." I said flatly.

"Good" Emily replied coming over and putting her arms around me. "I just don't think I could handle you being so far away for that long."

We kissed, just a little 'I love you' smooch.

"Can you come and help me put the cot together?" She asked.

We went to the nursery and spent the rest of the day unpacking our baby stuff and setting it up. Two days later, I was on the internet job hunting. I'd given up applying for management positions and was sending out replies to everything for truck driving to nurses aid. Reality was creeping closer, our bank account was being drained. I wanted my child to come home to this house but the repayments were really starting to hurt. The telephone rang again. It was Jim.

"They want you bad mate! The offer is now $400,000 for eleven months, they will fly you home two weeks before the due date and you get one week off after."

Shit! That would cover the mortgage. One year and the house would be ours and my reputation would be restored with prospective employers. Emily still wouldn't agree but maybe I would have to pull rank.

"Andrew? Are you still there?"

"Yes...I'm just thinking." If they wanted me that badly, maybe I could push for more.

"They want to know today." Jim added.

"It's a yes but two conditions. One if anything happens to me, Emily gets paid out for my entire contract, even if I only last one day. Two, I have complete control of how I move the freight and who does it!"

"I'll get back to you!" Jim hung up and I was left wondering what I had done.

The phone remained quiet for the next hour and I thought they must have rejected my demands. I was half hoping they did, so I didn't have to tell Emily what I'd done.

Then the phone rang, . I picked it up with a shaking hand.

"It's on! You leave tomorrow evening. Be at Sydney international Airport at 5pm, the Qantas VIP lounge. You sign the contract there and leave at 6.30pm."

"That's quicker than I thought, . I was hoping let Emily down slowly."

"That's the deal mate! See you tomorrow."

I went and started to pack. I was concentrating on not forgetting anything and didn't hear Emily get home. She entered the bedroom and saw me packing. The smile died on her lips and she dropped the bag she was carrying.

"You fucking cunt! When were you going to tell me, you lying shit!"

"Honey... It only just happened...they increased the offer, it's too good to refuse." 

"You can't spend the money when you're dead! You got through three tours without a scratch, your luck is due to change." Tears were appearing in her eyes.

"Just eleven months and the house is ours! I'm doing it for you and the baby!"

"Don't talk shit! You're doing this for you! I wouldn't care if we lived in a tent and as for the baby." She crossed her arms protectively across her baby bump. "Who says you will ever see your brat!" she stormed out of the bedroom and made for the front door.

"Wait Emily! I love you, please let me explain! I'll be back two weeks before the due date!" I shouted after her.

"Don't fucking bother!" The front door slammed and she was gone.

By the time I got to the door and got it open, her car was backing out the driveway. I set off after her but she left me in a cloud of burnt rubber as she floored it up the road.

I didn't follow any further, I thought it would be best to let her cool down a little. I was sure she would be back that night. She wasn't. I rang her mother and her sister but they hadn't seen her. At least, that's what they told me. She wasn't answering her phone. I left multiple messages but on my way to the airport the next day, I still hadn't heard from her. When the taxi got to the airport, I rang her mother again worried she might have hurt herself. 

"She's alright Andrew, she doesn't want to talk! Why are you going back there? Don't you know how hard it is to wait not knowing?"

"I don't have any option Jane! I can't get a decent job. These eleven months will pay off the house and then the pressure will be off."

"She just wants you, not a house. Why didn't you come to us? We could help you out."

I sighed. "There are some things a guy has got to do for himself. One of those is look after his family!" 

"Even if it costs you your life?" Jane asked.

"It won't come to that." I replied.

"What if it's already cost you your family?"

"I've got to hope I can get it back. Can you talk to her for me.?"

"You are putting Des and me in an impossible position. I can promise you we won't work against you but at the moment if we mention your name then Emily leaves the room!"


In Sickness And In Health



This is a dark one that has been rattling around for a while.

Be warned, it's way darker than most of the stuff I write and it does not end well. 

This also has the distinction of being a mostly true story. I've changed names and locations and obvious embellished some of the background, and the ending is mine (since I don't know what the real ending is). While it seems unreal, this is reality.

It was a guy I met while at a conference in the great North West a few years back. We got drunk – or at least I did -, traded bullshit and then, when I asked why he was single, he told me this incredible story. I'm in two minds about whether it's all true and whether I should actually document it, but as many have said, there is nothing stranger than the truth.

I've never seen him again, even though I've been to that conference a few times now.



In sickness and in Health.

John Stamper sat in his usual place in the diner. It was lunchtime on a Friday, his day for the diner. The waitresses – Betty and Veronica (he'd had a quiet smile about that; these two were as far from the Betty and Veronica of the comic books as it was possible to get. Betty was three hundred pounds and a brunette with scraggly hair that was slowly coming out and Veronica was a red head, with bad teeth, chronic halitosis and a tendency to swear at the littlest thing.) – smiled at him, like they always did. He just looked back and said nothing, as he always did.

He knew he was an enigma to the locals, and he was fine with that. He was part of the local scene without actually being involved in it. John had long ago come to the conclusion that should they know his full story, he'd not be welcome here. Ignorance and fear would see to that. So he limited his involvement to having lunch at the diner when he was in town and very occasionally a nice dinner at the local Outback. He was still puzzled that Heron Falls was large enough to support an Outback. He hadn't worried about it too much though, instead preferring to just enjoy the steak and lobster they carried. He didn't do it too often though – too many memories of meals there in the past.

He'd been around for almost three years – longer than he'd stayed anywhere in the last eight years. It would be time to move on some time soon, he could feel it. But he quite liked his solitude. If you had to remove yourself from humanity, northern Oregon was the place to do it. Quiet, views that took the breath away, and his nearest neighbor was almost thirty miles away.

John came to town once every couple of weeks – to stock up on groceries, send out any packages he needed to, which wasn't often and to get his physical mail; FedEx wasn't going to deliver to him where he was. His little cabin wouldn't show up on their GPS for a start, and knowing the trails to get to it required local experience.

The one thing John did have was a satellite Internet connection. It was required for his profession, that of contract software developer. He worked mostly in mobile development, for Ipad's and Android phones and tablets. His small company had had some success a few years back and he'd earned enough to live simply and not worry unduly about money, although he was by no means wealthy. He drove an old Ford F250 pick up – a fact that made him smile. His old friends would have been astonished to see him pull up in the old, beat up pickup, given the kinds of cars he used to drive. He and his Lexus were inseparable. But the Ford was serviceable, reliable and he could attach the snowplow to it if need be. It serviced his needs, and they were simple these days.

The small two bedroomed wooden cabin he lived in had been built for hunters in the early nineteen sixties. He'd rented it from the owners – a family from Canada – and in exchange for a lower rental rate, he'd spent some money upgrading it and ensuring it was habitable – a new roof, a drainage system so when the snow melted, it didn't inundate the cabin, a new sewage filtration system and had the satellite system installed. He'd even got the generator in the outside shed upgraded. He knew he wouldn't be there more than two or three years, but it was worth it for that time period.

He rarely left the area – only when he had to, for a specific contract that required him on site, or for his yearly check up back in San Diego, where his blood was tested and his medication adjusted if need be. Going back to San Diego was hard. He had to resist temptations to visit old stomping grounds and so far, for the past eight years, he'd managed. But it was hard.

He knew he was a figure of some myth in Heron Falls. He didn't socialize, didn't respond much when involved in conversation. He was civil but never volunteered much about who he was, his history or what he did for a living. He knew some people might have some ideas – you couldn't have the boxes delivered to you that he did without some people picking up on it – but he was surprised to come to understand that for the most part, he just didn't care any more.

He had no possibility of a deeper or closer relationship with anyone, and in the past, he would have enjoyed being a figure of mystery, playing up to it. Now, knowing there was no chance of a successful relationship, his whole outlook had changed. He was human, but not part of humanity in general any more. The small things that consumed people's lives he just didn't bother with. He had no idea who was in the top forty of the music charts, or who were the successful actors and actresses and he just didn't care.

There were only two things he cared about, and they'd made it clear they didn't want him to.

It was a clear March day when it happened. He was sitting in the diner, ignoring Betty and Veronica who fussed around and yelled weird lunch orders to the short order cook.

He almost always sat in the window area, so he could see out. And he saw her pull up. A big red shiny mustang convertible. His experienced eye saw that it was a 2015 model, GT and from the sound of it, it had some exhaust work done.

He watched her climb out – her long black shiny hair tied up with a scarf to keep it out of her face while she drove.

Internally he debated what to do. He could be out the back if he moved fast enough, before she walked in. But if he did, it would be obvious that he was avoiding her, and the locals would have one more thing to talk about. And if she spoke to them, to ask about him, or revealed any of what she thought she knew...

Either way, he concluded, his time here was done. Might as well stick around and see what she had to say, even if he didn't much care to hear it.

So he sat, spooning his chicken soup, and waited. And in she came. Same face – just more grown up. No acne now, he noted. Same hair, same smile as she looked around, taking in the room. Smiling at no one and everyone, as he remembered, with a tightening in her chest.

He saw her eyes alight on him, and their eyes met. He held it for a second, then looked down at his soup and carried on eating.

He could feel her standing over his table.

"Hello Dad."

He glanced up at her with dead eyes. He wasn't her Dad. Not any more. She'd made that clear.

"I'm not your Dad," he hissed.

'Yes, you are, " she said, pulling out the chair opposite his small table and delicately placing herself into it. He couldn't help noticing how she checked the chair for crumbs first though. Her mother, through and through.

His eyes flicked at her and he said, quietly, and with no emotion, "No, I'm not."

"Whatever Dad. Whatever makes you sleep at night. We both know it's not true."

John took a deep breath, and glanced around. He could see Betty and Veronica at the short order hatch, looking over and murmuring to each other. He knew this would provide fodder for months for them. Old Joe had a girl at his table, and a Chinese one, at that.

"What do you want, Grace?" he asked at last, putting down his spoon and pushing his chair back.

"Dad, we've been looking for you for years. Sophia and I. Hell, even Mom. Eight years Dad. Eight years. Do you have any idea how much it cost to find you? Even Uncle Tony wouldn't help. I didn't think he would, but Mom did. It put a strain on their relationship for years."

Internally, John Stamper nodded. That sounded like the Tony Duzlick he remembered. Straight Gman through and through. FBI tattooed on the inside of his body. No sense of humor lived for the job and lived by the rules, down to the smallest thing. He wouldn't have gone outside the rulebook to find him; he was still glad he hadn't though. 

Not that it would have mattered. John Stamper just didn't show up on most Internet searches any more. He had no Facebook presence; well, he did, but it hadn't been updated in eight years, any more than his twitter had been. He didn't have a police record – the only way to track him would have been through bank records, although even then his address was a P.O. box in Atlanta, that he then had a service forward on to his local P.O. box in Oregon, or via the IRS, but with the same cut outs.

John was aware of how the authorities worked. If they really wanted to find him, they could. But they'd have to really want to first, and they had no reason to, certainly nothing that would authorize the work required. He'd put just enough cut outs in place first to make it unobvious and that, in most cases, was enough.

Obviously not though, or Grace – his Ex Daughter, as he thought of her – wouldn't be sitting in front of him.

"How did you find me?" he asked.

"Really? That's it? I find you after eight years and the first thing you want to know is 'how did I find you?' Jesus Dad, have a soul?"

He just stared at her and said nothing. She rolled her eyes.

"Fine. Sophia's boyfriend was playing some game on his Ipad. Roller Blow I think it was called."

John winced. He remembered the work on that. The developer he'd been working for had been clueless and he'd ended up pretty much running the technology development for it single handedly.

"Anyway, He finished the levels it came with, and then the credits came up, and they were all flashy and he laughed about it, and showed Sophia, and she saw your name in there. She was beside herself."

John shut his eyes to mask his annoyance. He'd made it very clear to the developers WinkyWoo Inc, that his name was NOT be used in anyway, and they'd ignored that. There would be words with them come next week.

"When they showed me, and I looked at the game, I could see you all over it. The particle effects, the flow, the response. It was all you. I remember all the times we'd made small game together when I was a kid. I know what your style looks like Dad. I knew it was you."

John took a long sip of his water, trying to mask the rush of memories her words invoked.

"From there, we contacted those developers with the dumb name, and told them we were looking for you. Told them we were a Chinese conglomerate, looking to hire them and you, and we needed to talk to you. They fell over themselves to give us your email address and the bank details of where they'd been direct depositing the checks. We followed some convoluted path – thanks for that, by the way - and that brought us here. So we hired a local PI – they really have been reading too much Raymond Chandler up here, haven't they? – and it took a while. You threw us with the whole Joe Stamper thing Dad. Why did you change your name?"

"I didn't. My card has J. Stamper on it, and when I asked what the J stood for, I never responded. So they started calling me Joe and I just never corrected them."

Grace nodded and then Betty came up, pen and pad in hand, just bursting with curiosity. 

"Hey Guys. Joe, I see you have a guest, can I get you anything?"

Grace gave Betty her winning smile, and said, "Do you have any berry pie? Ala mode? It's my Dad's favorite."

"Your Dad eh? Well, honey, you are in luck. We do have a berry cobbler. It's home made here and the best in the state. I'll just go and get two slices. Hot? Ice cream?"

"Warm and with whipped cream. Right Dad?" said Grace, whipping her smile over at John. He just sat there, immobile.

Nothing was said for a moment and then Betty, breaking the awkward silence, said, "Well, I'll just get those going then. Nothing to drink Honey?"

"Just water, thanks."

Betty walked off and they were alone again.

"So, you look a bit different Dad. The beard thing... not sure it suits you. Makes you look like Uncle Gordon."

Gordon was John's older brother. A faded hippy, he had a big bushy white beard, bald as a coot on top, but with a ponytail from the tonsure he sported. It all looked ridiculous on his brother, but John, having been clean-shaven all his life, had let the facial hair just go. John's head was still bald, but there was nothing he could do about that.

There was nothing John wanted to say in response to that. This conversation would be all on Grace and he'd respond when he had something to say.

"Ok then," said Grace, grimacing as she did so, "the hard way then."

"Again, Grace, what do you want?" he asked quietly.

"What the fuck Dad. What do you think I want? Jesus. It's been eight years. Not a fucking peep out of you. No idea where you were, what you doing, if you were even alive. What the fucking HELL do you think I want?"

John looked at her sharply and said, "You know better than to swear at me, Grace. You want that, go play with your college friends."

Dammit, thought John, shouldn't have said that. Grace was smart and she'd pick up on that. And she did.

"College friends? How would you know if I'd been to college, Dad?"

John didn't reply.

"Been checking up on us, have we? Well, that's you all over. I suppose you know I'm married now?"

John knew. He'd even been there that day, on a motorbike and in full leathers so no one would recognize him. He'd been in an alcove of the church, until a warden had noticed him and insisted he leave. He'd watched the post wedding party in the gardens of one of the wineries just outside Chicago from the outside bar area of another bar, nursing his one and only drink of the day.

He'd seen Grace walk down the isle, with Sophia as her maid of honor, seen the man she was marrying. He'd even seen the woman he'd married, holding hands with her beau, oblivious to anything but the event in front of them.

He looked at Grace, looking at how she'd changed from the fifteen year old she'd been when he'd left to the twenty three year old she was now. She'd lengthened a bit – almost five ten now he judged, five inches taller than her mother. Her olive skin was clear now, free of the acne she'd had when he'd last seen her regularly. Same fine black hair that all Asians have. A wide smile, brown eyes. The same girl he remembered, just the adult version of her.

She took a drink of her water that Betty had just dropped off, watching him watch her, some amusement in her eyes.

"Yeah, you knew, didn't you? No surprise on your face. Dad, where the HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?" Graces voice raised at the end of the sentence, and John's eye's flicked around the diner. Others had taken notice.

"You really wanna do this here? Now?" he asked.

"Why the hell not? At least you are here. I don't know if you'd show if we arranged to meet later. You do a very good disappearing trick, Dad."

"Stop calling me that, Grace. I'm not your dad, either biologically or any other way. We both know that."

"Oh fucking really? You weren't in any of those pictures of you and Mom being handed me in the hotel in China then? You weren't there with all of us when we got Sophia, three years later? My last name isn't yours? You weren't the guy who taught me to ride my bike? Who taught me Aikido? Who consoled me when Brad dumped me? Who made me smoke that pack of cigarettes till I puked? Who hugged me when I was scared and sang to me when I was sick? None of that was you then?"

"Enough with the swearing young lady," John replied. "You are smarter than that."

"See, Dad? You just can't stop being my dad, even when you aren't there."

In an attempt to change the subject, John made a show of looking around and then asked, "No Sophia? She's not with you?" 

"She's on bed rest. The pregnancy isn't going so easy."

"Pregnancy?" asked John, before he could stop himself.

"Yeah. Something you didn't know? You are slipping Dad. She's pregnant. For a second time. She lost the first one. She spent a month crying. Mom and I couldn't do a damn thing to make her feel better, and nor could Clark. You know about Clark, do you Dad? Her guy?"

John didn't, but again, there was nothing to say.

"What the fuck Dad? You just sit there with nothing to say? What the hell is wrong with you? You vanished, no one hears from you for eight years, and now here I am and you've got nothing say? Mom was right, you are just a coward."

That was too much and Grace knew it. She sat back, mouth open at what she'd said.

John sat very still. He didn't move a muscle, and just held the table, to stop his hands making fists.

"I think you'd better just go Grace. I see nothing has changed," he said, in a very low and controlled voice.

"No Dad. Not till I understand what happened. You ran out. You just vanished. Didn't you love us any more? What happened? I know about the shit with Mom, but you threw her away Dad. You pushed her into Greg's arms. Practically gift wrapped her. I mean, what the fuck? Giving permission for an affair? What the hell man does that?"

Grace voice was rising again – there were strong feelings being expressed, eight years of repression and bewilderment coming out.

John gritted his teeth. This was going to be harder than he thought when he saw her pull up.

He just breathed for a few moments, willing his blood pressure down.

Eventually, he said, in as normal a tone as he could manage, "As I recall, the last time I saw you, you made it perfectly clear what you thought of me being your 'Dad'," – he even made the quotation marks, something he'd never done before. "You were quite clear about your – and Sophia's – feelings on the matter. I wasn't required. I think your words were 'Who needs a dad who throws Mom away? Not with a better one in the wings'. Those were your words Grace. You wonder why I vanished? Ask yourself that question in light of that."

There was silence for a moment, and then Grace leaned forward and carried on the attack.

"For Christ's sake Dad, I was fifteen at the time. What the fuck did I know? I just said any old thing that got me a nicer room and the promise of a new car. I didn't have a clue what I was doing or what I was saying or the impact it would have. I was just following Mom's lead."

"Yes, I noticed the car when you pulled up," said John, thoughtfully.

Grace made a dismissive gesture and said, blithely, "It's a rental, Dad. Don't get your panties in a bunch."

Very quietly, looking into her eyes, John said, "No, it's not. I'm aware of the car you have Grace. It's not lost on me that it's the very same make and model of Mustang that I always said I wanted and would never have. Thanks for that, rub that wound. Do you want some salt with that?"

Grace had the good grace to lean back and look away, caught in a direct lie.

"Ok, so it is mine. I bought it because I knew it was what you wanted. I thought it was the only way to get close to you. I'm sorry. Perhaps driving here in that wasn't a good move. I just didn't think about that."

"Yeah, well, why change the habit of a life time?" asked John, instantly aware of what a nasty and malicious thing it was he said. It came out instantly and he regretted it.

Grace swallowed and he could see she was on the edge of tears.

"Well I'm sure I deserved that. Doesn't hurt any less though."

John slumped back, looking at his daughter, trying to decide how much he was being played. Grace was a master class manipulator, but even manipulators have feelings, and he wasn't being particularly nice to her, it had to be said.




In Sickness And In Health



Although, on the other hand, did he owe her any? She'd kicked him when he was down – down in ways she'd never guess. How much forgiveness and lightening up did she deserve?

No one said anything for a few moments, and then the deserts ordered arrived. Grace spent the time blinking and doing everything she could not to have tears ruin her makeup. When the food arrived, Betty put it down silently, giving both a sympathetic smile and then almost running back to the hostess stand, were Veronica was standing and blatantly watching.

They both took a few bits in silence, neither looking at each other.

Then Grace blurted, "Why dad? Why did you throw us away? Why did you push Mom into that guys arms?"

John considered his options while he ate, not looking at Grace. Trying to decide how much of the truth she could both handle and deserved. Finally, after finishing the cobbler he'd made his decision. This needed to end, so it had to come out. He knew that in doing so, his life would end in this little town, but that was just the way it happened. It had happened before and it would happen again. Time to move on anyway, now they'd found him.

"Fine. You want to know, here it is. You won't like it, and I know there is a lot of stuff Mom never told you. You can choose to believe that was out of support for me, but I suspect it's more about her looking bad, because once you know it all, you'll see she doesn't come out so lily white.

"I never 'pushed' her into the other guy. I gave her a gift, one that I had to give her for her own sanity. For reasons I'll get to, your mother's and my sex life had to end. I couldn't...be physical with her any more. The problem was all mine, not hers. Just because I couldn't have sex any more didn't mean she couldn't. It just couldn't be with me.

"So I gave her a gift. Once a month, she could go out, get it on and come home and that would be that. She'd at least get that itch scratched. There were rules though – it could not be the same person twice, no one we knew, and not meeting in a place where we were known. No repeats, and nothing that could get back to us, she had to be discreet and not embarrass either me or her. Or you, for that matter. The fact is, your mother was never that needful for sex – I needed it way more than she did, but still, there's a difference between saying 'I'm not that interested' and 'I'll never have sex again'. I get that. I understood that. Hence the once a month idea.

"Needless to say, she broke some of those rules, but we'll get to that."

John stopped speaking for a moment and took a sip of water, while Grace digested this.

"Ok, so that's almost jibes with what she told me. She didn't tell me about the rules, and she made it more like you pushed her into this. I mean, I don't get it Dad. You are a proud man, what the hell happened that you and her couldn't get it on any more? Are you impotent? Have an accident?"

John took a deep breath. The moment of truth. "No. The truth is that eight and half years ago, I was diagnosed as HIV positive."

There was silence and a stunned horrified look on Graces face. 

Eventually, she gathered herself and asked, "How did you get it?"

John laughed, mirthlessly. "It's always the same question from everyone. They sense a bit of titillation; some real life drama and they always want to know that first. Says a lot for people, you know?"

"Well, do you? I mean, were you messing around?"

John looked at her sharply and said succinctly, "No."

"Well, how did it come about then? It doesn't just happen?" Grace wanted to know.

"Does it really matter Grace? Does knowing where it came from suddenly make having it any easier? Does it make it suddenly go away? I don't think so. But since you ask, no, I was not messing around – with anybody. I wasn't – and am not – a drug user, no needles, nothing like that. From the specialist report, it looks like I'd had it a couple of years before the diagnosis. I was sick then, and now I look at the initial infection symptoms, it matches. We thought it was mono at the time, since the hospital had no idea what it was. The best we can judge, it actually came about because of a fight I was in. There was an altercation in a bar, punches where thrown and blood was spilled. I had scratches on my face, arms and hands from hitting the other guy and being dragged along a wall, and he did as well. Blood was mixed. That's about as much as we can honestly figure out. It's a very rare thing to happen – as far as the CDC knows, there have only been three reported cases of infection this way in thirty years, but there you are. I know how it sounds, but I was not screwing anyone else. Nor was I any kind of drug user or exchanging fluids with anyone."

John could see that Grace was having trouble coming to terms with what he'd said, so he plowed on.

"You are now going to hear some things about dear old Dad that you might wish you'd never heard, but what the hell, you can come here in your fancy car – did he buy that for you? I'll bet he did – and swear at me, so you can hear this too.

"The fact is that once I was diagnosed, I knew where it was all going to end. And it did end up exactly there. I knew that eventually your mother would leave me and that's exactly what happened. I tried everything I knew to head it off at the pass, but realistically, I knew what was coming. The only thing I did was put it off a few months.

"Once I was diagnosed, I knew I could never have sex with your mother – or anyone else – again. Do you know anything about HIV?"

Grace, the tears starting to tumble just shook her head, miserably.

"Ok, well, it's always present in the blood and other fluids. Even with the medication today, which is pretty amazing, and that kills almost all of the virus in the blood, it deposits its RNA – it's building blocks – into healthy red blood cells. Basically, even if you kill everything that is in the blood, your own blood will create new HIV cells that then go and destroy your immune system white blood cells, called T cells, that have a compound in them called CD4. CD4 is what allows the HIV virus to bond with healthy T cells and, basically, destroy them.

"The fact is that even with a reduced viral load – and mine is pretty undetectable with the medication I take– you are a carrier. It's there, and your fluids, if they are ingested into another body directly, like via a cut or a needle, will result in infection in the other person.

"I couldn't take that risk. Not with your mother. Just couldn't. I could barely look myself in the mirror anyway, the idea that I had infected someone else...well, you know me Grace. What do you think?"

Grace was struggling. Some many pieces were falling into place now, but she still kicked out at some of the facts.

"What about condoms? Can't you just use those?"

"Well, yeah. But...and here are the details you won't want – condoms aren't 100%. They tear. And with me, I have a particular issue. I'm uncircumcised Grace. I still have my foreskin. When I'm...um...erect, it's fine and the condom stays on. But if there is any loss in...rigidity, then the foreskin tends to start unrolling, and it takes the condom with it, since that's tight against the foreskin. I've had more than one experience where it's rolled off entirely and I've had to fish around in the lady to find it afterwards."

There was an even more incredulously stunned silence as Grace digesting this tidbit about her father. She was both grossed out, embarrassed and horrified, all at the same time. Children should not know these kinds of things about their parents.

John, going for broke, plowed on. "The fact is that condoms, while useful, weren't going to cut it. And there's the other aspect of this that, yeah, we could have tried, but that would have meant your mother actually wanted to. The fact is, once she knew I was HIV positive, she was both extremely pissed that I had been having sex with her and exposing her to potential infection – even though I didn't know I had it – and she had zero intention of continuing to take that risk. She made it very clear to me that our sex life was over. Not that I really blame her. I probably would have said the same thing, to be completely honest. 

"But there is more. The fact it – and more details you won't want to hear – is that I'm like the Anti-Rapist. I literally lose hardness if I don't think the woman is into it. And trust me, your mother wasn't. She just couldn't overcome the fear of infection, and I don't really blame her. But it all but guaranteed I'd lose some steel and then you've got the condom unrolling and well, that just increases the fear and it's all cyclical.

"I also think she also didn't quite believe how I must have caught this. I think she believed in her soul that I caught it by some weird sex thing, even though I kept telling her that wasn't so."

John sat still, then took another drink, and noticed one of his hands were shaking.

Grace sat there, shaking her head, not wanting to believe what she was hearing.

"What about... other things? Toys? Um... " she thought hard about how to put the next idea, "tongues and stuff?" 

She shifted, very uncomfortable and now, for the first time, really aware of the listening ears in the diner.

"You aren't listening Grace. She was not interested. She was just too afraid. No amount of education was going to shift the inherent beliefs she already had, all fueled by scary pictures from the 1980's and that damn movie with Tom Hanks. She was part angry but mostly just scared. I was the bogeyman. Hell, she wouldn't even let me kiss her, even though there is zero chance of transmission through a kiss."

"So, you couldn't do it, so you gave her the gift of getting it elsewhere? I kinda see it," said Grace, trying the idea on for size now she knew the reasons for it.

"Well, that was a risk. The fact is Grace, I loved your mother and always have. I wanted her to be happy, so I bite the bullet and told her to go out and get laid. It fucking killed me when did – sorry, shouldn't have sworn then. But it did. As a man, it just is the lowest thing. She never talked about it and I didn't want to know, but she did it. She at least had the decency to not dress up in front of me. God knows where she went – I couldn't handle knowing and just.. did the best I could. I couldn't even have sex with her when she came home. It was....very hard. Very. Hard. But I did my best to bear it, since it was the only thing I could do.

"The reality is that I knew that if anything happened to me and your mother, I would never have another significant relationship with a woman. So I did everything I could to ensure that this one continued – as much as I could anyway.

"I didn't 'push her into another guy', I gave her a gift and some freedom. She is the one who broke the rules. It started out once a month, and for a few months, it was just that. It was hard but I just tried not to think about it. And then it became twice a month, and I didn't feel like I had the right to say no. Then once a week, and at that point I asked her what was going on, and she told me she'd met this group, and she wasn't doing anyone repeatedly, but it was fun and she was going through them, and if I had a problem, I knew where the door was.

"Did I mention that she'd already told me that if I left, she'd take you guys to Chicago? We were in San Diego at the time, and I knew I'd never see you if she did. I mean, she was right. Sitting in court and having to admit I was HIV positive, what outcome that would give? I would have lost you."

John sat back in the chair and played with his fork, finally meeting Graces eyes.

"I dunno Grace, looking back and being totally honest, I think all this just revealed more cracks and issues in our marriage than either one of us would admit at the time. This just brought it all to a head. I mean really, I was in shock and so was she, and she wasn't willing to even think about meeting me half way, although what that would have been I don't know. I think any gesture would have been welcome, just so I didn't feel like I was in this alone."

There was another beat of silence, before John took up the tale again.

"So what could I do? When she asked to go away for a weekend, it came to a head. And that she wanted to take you guys – I guess to meet whomever it was she was nailing, I lost it and told her no. She was pushing it too far. I had given her a foot and she'd taken a light year. She told me she was going to anyway. I guess you guys went to Sedona? Where he could meet you? That's what I gathered anyway.

"And it went of for another month, and that's when I gave her the ultimatum that it had to stop and she told me she was leaving me for this new guy. He could, and I'm quoting here, 'give her a life beyond caring for a sick guy'. She was very apologetic and wanted to 'work it out and make it up to me'. I asked her how and she had no answers. It just words to make her feel better. There was nothing she could or would do in reality. Any more than when she went off for her adventures and she promised to 'make it up to me' afterwards, that she had neither any intention nor any method to do any of that anyway. They were just words. So much with your mother is just words, Grace, I'm pretty sure you know that by now."

Grace sat there, blinking away the tears and said, "I'm so sorry Dad. We had no idea."

"No, I wouldn't expect you would have. There was no way I was going to tell you. I couldn't risk you thinking that badly of me, and it would have gotten out and I would have lost work and you'd have had to deal with it at school. Not that it mattered anyway, you ended up pushing me out anyway."

"Dad... all we knew was what Mom told us. You'd thrown her away. Pushed her into this guys arms. I mean, she said right out you had told her to go get laid. I mean, it was gross, but we figured she had no reason to lie. And, I guess from her point of view, she didn't. But she was a bit selective with what she said, obviously. We just...didn't know what to think. We saw you two drifting apart, we saw what was going on, but you just didn't...connect. With her. With us. And we believed what she told us. We thought it was all the truth. Obviously it wasn't. Greg was....well he was nice to us. I don't think he knows the truth. He did his best not to run you down, but you could see it in his eyes. He honestly thought he was rescuing us from our lives with you, and Mom, she just went along with it."

"Yeah, I figured. But I couldn't fight that without the whole truth coming out and the last thing either of us wanted was that. I knew it was a risk, giving her that gift. I knew from the moment I did it what the likelihood was. Your mother, Kathy...she equates good sex with emotion. She has the best sex when she is with someone she feels something for. I knew that, but I just couldn't tell her she could have no sex life. That wasn't right either. She wasn't willing to do it with me, so what else could I do? I loved her. That's why the rules were there – never twice with the same person and so on, designed to stop her falling for anyone. And she just ignored those rules. I still have no idea where she met this guy and why she met him more than once, but honestly, like how I got HIV, it doesn't really matter. I wasn't there, I couldn't stop it and I never knew what was going on anyway, by design, to keep my sanity. It was inevitable really."

There was a pause and he looked at Grace, the memory of the pain still etched in his face.

"Do you have any idea of what that is like for a man, Grace? Sending his own wife out to get laid with someone else, and then her not even wanting to hold him when she got back? The total absence of any physicality in a relationship? It was doomed from the start, but I just wanted it to keep going. I realize now how stupid that was, but at the time, I was still in shock from the diagnosis. I think she was too, but she was the one with all the choices. I had none. It ate at me, constantly. Not able to be man enough, because I didn't want to infect any one, and having to watch her go out and get what she needed elsewhere."

He stopped and took another drink of water and then said, reflectively, "And honestly, I can't even blame her too much. I mean, I can see it from her point of view. I can see her being burdened by this. It's too much. For anyone to have to deal with. She didn't ask for my disease – neither did I – and the implications are just...significant. And in the end, we couldn't over come them."

Grace bit her lower lip and then said, "Why are you alone now Dad? I understand why she left – why she decided to, but why are you alone? I mean isn't there anyone for you? Maybe a lady who is...the same. As you I mean."

Suddenly the bitterness held in check for so long just poured out of John.

"You can't even say it, can you Grace? I am HIV Positive. Yes, it can – and probably will at some point – become AIDS, at which point I will die of some ridiculous disease like the common cold, when my immune system is so destroyed I won't be able to fight it off. I have it. I don't damn well want it, but it's there now and it'll never go away. I can take medication to control it, but my immune system will never be as good as yours and one day that medication will stop being effective, and then it's Good Bye John. It's my reality. Who the hell wants to live with that, I ask you? I know I don't. You have no idea how hard it has been just to not give in and end it all, over the years. And I've been tempted, believe me.

"Any non-infected hetro woman is not going to give that a chance, and why should they? There are one hundred and fifty million men in this country not infected. Why have more than coffee with someone who is? And you have to tell them, you know. You can't not. It's a felony to have sex with someone when you know you are infected and you don't tell them. That's attempted murder otherwise. There are people in jail right now serving 25 year sentences for that. Hell, a woman can know, then get pissed at you, and claim you never told her, and then what? How do you prove you did say it?

"Let me tell you how it goes Grace. You meet for coffee. You get on well, she's cute and laughs at your jokes. Then you have to drop into the conversation your status and then it's all less laughing and more checking of the watch and 'Oh, it's late, I have to run. It was so nice to meet you, I'll call you.' And they never do. Or they do but it's all 'I had a nice time, but I don't think we clicked'. It doesn't take long to get the message Grace. You don't have to do it too many times to be tired of the inevitable rejection.

"You say 'find another HIV positive woman'. Easier said that done. Right now the stats are there are about one point one million people infected in the US. Of that, eighty seven percent are gay men. So that leaves thirteen percent that are hetro people. Lets assume that half are women. That's seven and a half percent. In real numbers, that's about seventy two thousand. Spread out through out the country – not located in one place. It's hard enough to find a soul mate with the normal numbers, let alone that amount.

"And then we consider that how many of those women are already in a committed relationship? The fact is it's almost impossible to find a woman you are interested in long term who has the same condition.

"And even if you did, it's not like 'Well, lets throw away the condoms'. There are about fifty different HIV strains at the moment, each with it's own resistance cluster. That's a definition of which medication that strain is resistant to. If you have unprotected sex with someone else who is HIV positive, but they have a different strain from you, it's additive. It means their strain joins with yours, and if they have a different resistance cluster from you, congratulations! You've just made a new strain that is resistant to two different sets of medications. And that is just awesome.




In Sickness And In Health



"It's just fucking you up coming and going. The reality of this disease is that once you have it, no one wants anything to do with you. And I understand it, because I feel I'm toxic myself. I want to be around people about as much as they want me around, to be frank.

"Do you know I cannot give blood now, or be an organ donor? If you needed bone marrow or a kidney and I was a match, I couldn't give it to you, not without giving you a death sentence at the same time.

"Do you have any idea of how that makes a man feel, Grace? Do you? No, of course not. How could you?"

There was a pause, then Grace blurted out, "Mom still talks about you, you know. She knows what she did. She's not entirely devoid of guilt. She cries on your birthday. It takes days for her to settle down. She tried to find you once, but came up dry. Even her own brother won't find you for her."

"Well whoop de do, Grace. I'm sure her tear fest is every bit as equal to the life I've endured over the past eight years. Do you know what it's like to be among people and know you can never be a part of them? That if they knew, they'd treat you like a leper? That's the reality of HIV. All people really know about it is that damn movie with Tom Hanks and some nasty pictures of people dying from related illnesses during the eighties. I'm absolutely full of sympathy for her."

John stopped, understanding he was just being sarcastic because the hurt, for him, was still there.

"You know I suggest counseling to her? We went a few times, to a specialist, who worked with hetro couples. She was all attentive and full of good words, and promised to do things and try things to the counselor, and then did none of them. Not one. Eventually she just stopped going because she didn't want to admit she wasn't doing any of what she promised. Oh, there were 'other reasons' – she didn't have the problem, I did, so I should be finding the solution. Never mind she had no clue what she wanted me to do, no that was for me to figure out. Even though I had no clue either.

"I literally live alone, far out, because I have to. Being here, among people, just makes me understand what I've lost. I can't look at a woman without knowing I'll never touch her, that it'll never go anywhere. So I just don't.

There was a moments silence, and Grace rubbed her face, to wipe out the tears filling her eyes.

"You know, I picked up a stray once. A young girl who was obviously down on her luck, nowhere to sleep. I gave her a room and food, just for the company. I woke up one morning, three days later, to her trying to give me a blowjob. It was her way to say thank you. I mean, in some ways, it was awesome. But I had to literally throw her off me. Literally. Pick her up and throw her off. For her own good and health. She left the next day, and again, I don't blame her. I couldn't explain it without her knowing the full truth, so she just thought I was an angry gay and left.

"You honestly have no idea how it feels to know that the best thing you do for others, to avoid both the awkward avoidance of anything intimate and to avoid any possibility of your own heartbreak is just to avoid them entirely? You don't. How could you? But that's my life now. I can't even have female friends, because none of them understand and are always trying to 'fix me up', and get offended when I say no. 

"I'm not gay or part of the gay scene, even though there is a ton more understanding and education in that group. I even tried going to a support group for a while, but the guys there just didn't have the same way to relate to my life. They were worried about their next fuck, not having children and trying to be celibate in a hetro sexual world."

Grace reached out to take her fathers hand, and when John saw her doing that, he withdrew his own.

"And then there's your behavior Grace. Yours alone. Well, yours and your sister. If I recall, the last thing you told me was that the new guy, Greg, would make a better father than I would. And your mother went along with that, lovely caring woman that she is. Not only had I lost her, I lost you too, and you made damn sure I knew it. I don't care if you were fifteen or not. You were old enough to know right from wrong and you did it anyway. You and your sister took my broken heart and smashed the two pieces into a million smaller ones. You don't get to come here and plead 'oh, I was young', call me a coward and then have me just drop everything because you found me. You don't get that right. You gave that up years ago. 

"Sure, you can argue I over reacted, but what the hell? I think any man would understand why. I had lost the only anchor in life I had, and now the wind had taken me far from land as well. I was fucked up, had no idea what my life was going to be – although a pretty good idea, and I've been right so far – and then you and your sister pulled the last thing I had to stand on our from under me. And you knew what you were doing when you did it. Hell, you didn't have to know my medical condition to know what you did was fucking wrong."

John stopped again, to control his breathing. He was getting angry again, lashing out at his daughter, and while he didn't want this meeting to be about that, after eight years, it was not going to be contained.

"So yeah. Screw you Grace. Screw you and your sister and your mother. I'm not your Dad. Apparently I never was, even though the only reason you are here in the US at all is because of me. God knows your mother didn't do shit to make it happen. It was me that filled in all the forms, and went to the social worker to be judged, and paid all the money, and waited. It was me that arranged the trips to China to pick you up. It was me that made your mother happy bringing you home. Me. But what the hell, right? This other guy, because he had money, would make a much better Dad than me. Money, it always makes right, doesn't it? No one would get hurt when you said what you said, right? You certainly didn't.

"Well guess what Honey? I had my own problems to deal with. I'm sure it didn't compare to you having a nicer room and a new car but there you are."

More anger was surfacing now, anger that John thought he'd left at the roadside years ago. It was still there – the bitterness of how he'd been treated and how life had been since then.

"And while we are on that subject, how do you think you went to college? Who do you think paid for that? I'm sure that your mother and her asshole husband were happy for you to believe that they paid for it, but news flash, ex daughter of mine. They never once stuck their hands in their pockets. I'm sure he could afford it, but he never had to. I paid for it, out of the money I sent your mother, every month, for your upkeep, even when she told me – via his lawyer of course – that she didn't want it. That she was marrying the asshole and I didn't need to do it. Where do you think that money went? 

"Frankly, right now, I'm about sick of the sight of you. I'm sick of you coming here, with your holier-than-thou and my-shit-doesn't-stink attitude, venting about things you do not know the true story to, with your fifty thousand dollar car outside and no worries in the world. I left for a reason and I can't see anything different now than I did then. All you've really done is remind me of that time, and I've spent a lot of time and effort trying to get past it. Obviously not enough.

"I feel bad enough about what I have, and the way the world views me, without you reopening old wounds.

"Tell you sister I said Hi and tell your mom...well, tell her anything you want. I have some place to be."

And with that, John got up from the table, ignoring the weeping girl sitting opposite him, dropped a twenty on the table and left.

Veronica and Betty stood aside to let him leave, mouth agape. He didn't even bother to nod to them; he was never coming back here anyway.

Three days later, Grace drove her car along the track she'd been assured led to the cabin where her father – "Joe" Stamper lived. It was covered with leaves and twisty and turny and she was worried that her Mustang wouldn't make it.

She'd spent a considerable amount of time going over the past in her mind, and trying to match what she knew and had felt with what her father had told her. And, terribly, it all fit. She'd spent one night getting very drunk, after the realization of his life, and what it was, finally broke through.

She'd spent some time skyping with her mother, asking her questions. Most of the time her mother wouldn't answer direct questions or tried to change the conversation, which had given Grace all the answers she'd need. Right then and there she'd vowed that her relationship with her mother would change. What her mother had done was understandable but just not right. And worse still, through her thoughtless and greedy attitude, she'd made it so much worse.

Her heart ached for her Dad – living alone all those years. An outsider to the rest of the world, doing his best not to be judged, but it happening anyway.

She had no idea what she was going to do, only she wasn't going to let him go like that. Not again. She deserved the pain in her heart, but he did not, and yet he'd carried it for years. She needed to get him to see that she understood. That she wanted to be his daughter, and no one else's.

When she arrived at the small cabin, she clambered out of the car, in the clearing in front. It was literally in a small clearing, with forest around all sides. A large hill stretched off a mile or so north, with small clouds wasping around the top.

She looked around, but didn't see the truck her father had driven off in. But there was a small man in dungaree's sweeping the front porch. He saw her, straightened up and cam over, extending a hand and a smile.

"Damn, that was quick. I only put this back on the market yesterday! That Lucy at the agency does a great job! I'm Bruce, I work for the rental group for this here cabin. You looking for a short or long term rental?"

"Err, rental? No, I'm not here for that. I'm looking for John Stamper? I was told he lived here."

Bruce lowered his hand and the smile faded a bit.

"He's gone miss. Called me two days ago and told me he was breaking his lease and he'd be gone by morning. I'll give him this, he did a good job of tidying up. There was one of those goodwill trucks outside and he had a bunch of stuff shipped off to them. He didn't have much though. Then he loaded up the truck and he was gone."

Grace was aghast, her plans dashed. "Did he say where he was going? A forwarding address?"

"No miss, sorry. He just said it was somewhere he'd never be followed. I figured it was Atlanta – he'd been talking about that probably being his next stop. You his kid I guess?"

"Yes, his daughter, Grace."

"I'm sorry we had to meet like this. He always spoke so highly of you, the times we spoke. I did wonder why no one ever came around but, well, family, you know," Bruce shrugged. "He was a great tenant though. Did some great work to the old place. Made it liveable. I have no idea how I'll rent it, all the way out here, but faith manages."

Grace just stood and looked at the cabin. After a minute, she just smiled at Bruce and said, "Thank you for your time. I need to be going," doing her best to get in the car before the tears started.

Grace never saw her father again. She never found where he went, despite looking for years. Her relationship with her mother was also never the same again, and neither was Sophia's, once Grace clued her in on what had really happened. Her mother, Kathy, spent three months coming to terms with what John Stampers life had become since she left him, and never did deal with it completely.

Grace sold the Mustang and donated the money to a hospice, dedicated to AIDS sufferers in San Francisco.

Sophia named her first boy child John, after his grandfather.

Four years later, a couple hiking in the forests north of Heron Falls in Oregon came across the remains of a body. There were some torn clothes, a couple of bones that had obviously been attacked by the local wildlife, and strangely enough, a rusted Heckler and Koch .45 automatic, with one round missing from the magazine. Whatever had happened, it was obviously it had been years ago.

Despite poking around and the police doing a small search, they never found the pants, dragged off a hundred yards away, with the ID in it. 

The John Doe was marked off as Death by Misadventure and the case left open, with a note from the forensic coroner that the one thing he could tell from examination of the remaining bones was that the person who they belonged to had probably been infected with an auto immune disease.



In Sickness And In Health Ch. 01



"Mmm dear god yes! Yes!" Cried Prisca, her hands tangled in Stuarts thinning black hair pushing his face into her dripping pussy. "Stu! Ayeee!"

Stuart smiled at his wife's obvious delight, taking pride in the fact she was still vocal after more than 19 years of marriage and redoubled his efforts; suckling on her engorged clit and humming tunelessly knowing the vibrations would make her lose the shreds of self control she had left.

"Jees-ahhhh!" She squealed, clamping her thighs around her attentive husbands head and smashing her pussy onto his face with wild abandon, before going completely stiff as her body reached its peak, and shaking slightly as her body flopped back onto the mattress.

"Oxygen is good you know." He joked with her, panting slightly.

"Sorry Hun," She replied bashfully, mildly embarrassed at the power of her lust and its control over her, "I hope I didn't hurt you." She paused for a second and then, in a worried tone asked "Did I hurt you? I didn't mean to"

Stuart laughed as he crawled up the bed to embrace her, "I think you've given me a fat lip, but don't worry yourself about it."

"Hun I'm so sorry, it was..."

"...just too damn good" He finished her sentence for her, and felt her face heat against his chest. 

Careful not to tug on his wiry chest hair, Prisca drew his nipple to her lips and sucked until it stiffened in her mouth then kissed her way down his hairy belly till she was just above his pubic bone. Instead of going lower, she wanted to tease him, nibbling along the bottom of his belly. For 52 years of age he wasn't in horrible shape but fell easily into the "huggable" category. Exercise and Stuart had never been friends, but she could still feel the muscle under his padding, possibly owing to the mechanical work he did as a hobby.

"Kissing my keg again are you?" he teased, earning himself a playful swat on the chest. Stuart reached down and stroked her short hair, encouraging her to continue. He was actually quite flattered at the attention she lavished on him. He joked often to his mates that they were beauty and the beast, him with the body of a shaggy bear and her, just an ordinary 37 year old woman, who he saw as the embodiment of lush natural beauty.

Prisca nibbled her way down his hips, along the edge of his pubic area to the top of his legs. She nuzzled his perineum, the soft area under his balls, for a few moments before turning her attention to his inner thighs. Kissing and nibbling down to his knees then moving back up again. This time on the way up she flicked her tongue across his balls, before moving away. 

"Tease" he groaned. Prisca played with him this way for a while longer, before swiftly engulfing his semi-hard cock in her hot mouth, eliciting a surprised "Ahhum" from the only man she had ever tasted. 

She flushed with pleasure and continued her ministrations, alternating between sucking firmly and licking up the underside of his shaft. She bought one hand up to cup his balls, rolling them with her fingers. A small noise made in the back of her throat encouraged him to let her know if this is what he needed.

"Yes beautiful, don't stop" He whispered in response. Unlike Prisca, he was a quiet lover; vary rarely calling out and often forgetting that she couldn't instinctively know what his mood was. She often told him, "If you want it rough let me know, or if you're in a gentle mood, tell me." Then she'd whisper in his ear, "Your pleasure is the fulfilment of my fantasy".

She felt his member stiffening in her mouth and her own arousal responded, rising another notch. Her pussy ached for him, and he could feel the heat coming off it as she straddled his leg, not for a moment lifting her mouth from his delicious cock. Prisca could feel an intense pressure inside her chest, the love for him she held there was almost painful and she wanted nothing less than to use her body to the full extent of her considerable abilities to show him just how much he was to her.

Stuart bent his leg up a little, pressing lightly into her wetness.

"Mmm Hmm" she moaned, rocking her hips in rhythm with her long sensual movements over his cock. Sliding downwards she cradled him on her tongue, and as she drew backwards, she sucked harder stretching him upwards just enough to be on the edge of pain.

His breathing started coming heavier, and Stuart gasped "Beautiful... Please... I'm going to cum... Gahhh... Stop!" 

"You're sure?" She asked playfully, stroking him with one hand, her face inches away from his crotch.

"I want to cum inside you" He said between shaky breaths. "I want to feel your burning pussy milk my cock"

Taking just the very top of his cock in her mouth she gave it one last hard suck before agreeing. "Want me to kneel for you?" She asked, letting him up.

"What are you waiting for?" was his reply as he moved into position behind her, stroking himself while he drank in the sight of her perfect arse on display, gleaming white in the darkness. "Tell me what you want" he teased rubbing pre-cum into her curvy rump.

"I want you to join with me and fill me up with your cum" She smiled over her shoulder at him "I want your flesh as my flesh"

He drove balls deep into her in one swift stroke causing her to cry out from the pain of being stretched suddenly. He knew she loved that moment, that it ignited something within her, she had once told him that it reminded her of their wedding night when she had given him the most valuable gift she had: her sweet virginity.

Prisca pressed back, making small circular motions with her hips. 

"You might want to hold on" Stuart remarked, pressing lightly on the centre of her back until she pressed her chest to the mattress. "Ahh that's better... Oh!" He exclaimed as her slim fingers wrapped around his balls.

They moved together as though they were dancing to a beat only they could hear; filling the room with the strong sent of their love-making.

Muffled moans escaped Prisca as she climbed towards another orgasm. "Will you cum with me?" she asked, moving a hand underneath herself to pinch her clit. 

"Yes beautiful." Stuart dug his fingers into Prisca's hips pulling her back roughly and slamming her onto his cock, but something didn't seem quite right to her. "Mmm. I don't know how long I can... mmmph... hold on for..."

He continued to thrust into her, each stroke punctuated with the sound of their skin slapping together, but she could barely feel her husband inside her despite the fact he wasn't a small man. Frantically she rubbed her clit trying to keep his pace, ready to cum as he did, but all too soon she realised it wasn't working.

Prisca wasn't getting stimulation anymore, rapidly dropping her away from the peaks of passion, but if Stuart noticed a problem he wasn't saying so.

Suddenly one of Stuart's knees slipped to the side and he swore. He flopped down violently onto his back and started rubbing his inside thigh. Prisca noticed that she didn't feel his member pull out from her body at all when he moved away, but instead of mentioning it she asked what was wrong, curling up beside him.

"Oh I'm sorry Beautiful, I've strained the muscle on my inside leg." He replied, sounding more sad than in pain. "We can snuggle for a little while; give each other a bit of a rub. I'm not finished with you tonight"

Relief washed over her at his last words as she was still extremely aroused and more than a little confused at his behaviour. She rubbed her man's thigh, trying to soothe the muscle, occasionally brushing against his balls to show him she was still very interested, but before long she heard the sound of faint snoring and rolled away.

For hours she lay in the dark, guilty and confused. Little did she realise this was the first in a long string of incidents that would test the very bonds that held her marriage together. 



In Sickness and in Health



"Thanks Jane, I'll be back in nine weeks for the birth. Look after her for me."

"That is something we have always done Andrew, it's just a shame you can't." Jane hung up.

The call put my mind at rest, Emily was safe and her parents would look after her. I had to believe I could repair the damage I had done. It's what all this was for.

On the plane trip, I got up to speed with my job. The new government was trying to get some interest from the world's mining companies in the untapped mineral and gas resources of the country. With foreign government aid winding back, they had to get some investment going to keep their heads above water. My employer was an exploration firm that had been doing aerial surveys for the previous twelve months. Having identified potential sites, they were at the ground proofing stage. They had four large drilling rigs and eight smaller ones ready in Kabul. My job was to get the rigs, the employees and supplies to the sites. Also, I had to get the cores back to Kabul and back to Australia for analysis.

There was a large security force to move, as well to keep everybody safe. All fairly straight forward but for one hitch. Thirty percent of all employees were to be locals. It was understandable for the Afghan government to want their people trained to do these jobs, but as someone coordinating the safe passage in a war zone, it made it tough. In my days with the ADF in Afghanistan, I had always used our own personnel. As with any counter insurgency, it was very hard to identify your friend from your foe. All the checks in the world won't stop all of them and it only takes one to wreck everything. 

By the end of the first nine weeks, I had three teams on site and drilling. The first batch of cores was on its way back to Australia and I was preparing to head home for the birth of my first child. Emily still wouldn't talk to me but her mother had kept me up to date and assured me Emily was doing well and at least tolerated her parents talking about me. As long as they didn't mention Afghanistan.

I was flying home that night but was going to visit with my old unit at the Australian base for lunch. It was great to be back with my "family" again and I felt at ease. As it turned out, I was way too relaxed. For the last nine weeks, I had been wearing body armor and a helmet. Some of the people I worked with thought I was mad but with a wife at home and with a child on the way, I was taking no chances. At "home" here among friends, I dropped my guard and removed my protective clothing during lunch. 

My sixth sense was still tuned for danger and as I sat in the officers mess, I looked out the window and noticed some Afghan trainees loitering around outside. I dismissed it as the main thrust of Australia's presence was to train local forces so they were always in the compound. Then dessert came and the attendant left the trolley in the middle of the room. As I watched, he hustled away a little faster than was normally necessary. Looking outside, the Afghan troops I had seen now had their attention firmly focused on the mess.

I have replayed the next minute over and over in my head ever since. With hindsight, I probably should have jumped up and told everybody to get out. I didn't, I wanted to be sure so I got up and went to the trolley. It was a stainless steel box on wheels with doors on both sides. The desserts had been arranged on top but the attendant had never opened the doors. I leaned down to open one of the doors and then it happened.

I didn't hear or sense an explosion, it was just one second I was bending down, the next I was on my back in agony. I thought I had been electrocuted, every muscle in my body was shuddering. Thinking I was in contact with live wires, I rolled but the shaking wouldn't stop. I pulled myself up into the fetal position and tried to ride out the pain. With my experience, I should have realized it was an explosion but I was messed up.

It seemed to last an age but eventually it subsided and I stretched out my legs again. I opened my eyes but everything was black. Holy shit I'm blind. I blinked and rubbed my eyes. Thinking there was some improvement, I continued to do this until I could see to a limited extent. Everything was in black and white and it was like watching a television with the brightness turned down. Even though it was the middle of the day, it seemed like dusk.

I rolled on my side trying to work out what was going on. I was behind an upturned table. Looking down my body, I was basically nude. The waistband of my trousers were still around my middle, the shirt's cuffs on my wrist and my underpants flapped like a loin cloth. I was told later that the first thing that comes from an explosion is flame and heat which had charred all but the thickest bits of clothing and then the pressure wave had turned the charred drill cotton into confetti.

Looking down further, l saw that I was missing a boot. 'How can I be missing a boot?' I thought. Then there was the sickening realization. Lifting my leg, I could see the two shattered bones. My tibia and fibia protruded from a bloody stump just above where my ankle should have been. 

Shit! At that moment holes began to appear in the table I was next too. Jagged round holes in a line about four inches above my body. The Afghan soldiers! I had heard about "green on blue" attacks, where the Afghan recruits in blue uniforms attacked their trainers in green, and now I was in one. I admonished myself for not having seen what was going on. The places the Afghan soldiers had been standing were perfect to create a deadly crossfire in the mess. I wondered why all hell wasn't breaking loose. It actually was, it's just I couldn't hear it as both eardrums had been perforated in the blast. All I could do was keep as flat as possible and hope no stray bullets made things worse.

I didn't have to wait for stray bullets to make things worse. The explosion had started a fire and I now had to move as it encroached on my position. The bullets flying around had slowed as, no doubt, Australian soldiers responded to the gunfire but they were still impacted on things around me.

I made it out. Dragging myself through the rubble, I tried to stay as low as possible and behind what cover there was. Without a foot, it was slow but not painful which surprised me. Running on adrenalin, I guess. What I didn't realize was as well as blowing my clothes off, the blast had burnt my skin and combat crawling away was pulling strips of it off. Out the back and sometime later, I had no idea how soon, a soldier appeared behind what was left of the mess. 

I propped myself up on an elbow and said, "I think I need a medic!"

He must have been a recent arrival because after seeing me, he went white and then threw up. He disappeared back around the corner and shortly after returned with a medic. The adrenalin was starting to wear off and my whole body was sending me pain signals. As well, shock was setting in and I became very cold and started shaking. The medic squatted down beside me and placed his little backpack in front of him. He began pulling out dressings and drugs then looked at me again and stopped.

"We will get you out of here, mate." I think he said. Then he stood and began speaking into his radio. 

Kneeling down beside my head, he spoke again. "I've got to get help! We need to medivac you ASAP. I'll be right back, hang in there!" 

Well, I wasn't going anywhere. They both disappeared again and I was losing hope. The shaking wouldn't stop and I closed my eyes hoping to pass out so I couldn't feel the pain anymore. Before I did, I said goodbye to wife and unborn child. Then said a prayer for the big guy upstairs to look after them. Somehow I relaxed, the pain began to lessen and it all went black.

I came to and the scene around me had changed. I was surrounded by people and there was a base ambulance parked beside me. Now I was awake, the pain was back and I asked for some drugs to stop it. Everybody ignored me. I had been covered with a sheet but soon after it was removed. Must be getting ready to move me, I thought. I saw a guy walking towards me with a large water container that he began to pour over me.

"What the fuck are you doing! Get me out of here! Don't pour water on me I'm already cold!"

Once again, my rantings were ignored and yet another container of water was poured on me. I didn't know I was burnt, I didn't know it was the only thing they could do before the rescue chopper with a doctor onboard got there. I closed my eyes and pass out again.

I woke up in a hospital room. I was alone, flat on my back with no pillow. Looking across, my arms and hands were bandaged, as was my torso. My hands were tied to two tables that had been placed on either side of the bed so my arms were outstretched perpendicular to my body. Remembering some of what had happened, I looked to the end of the bed and only saw one bump under the covers. So I hadn't dreamt about losing the foot. I had an IV line attached to my hand. A tube up my nose, I found out later, was a feeding tube. A bag hung beside the end of the bed with a yellowish liquid inside so I assumed that I had a catheter inserted. 

People moved up and down the corridor outside but showed no interest in me. Eventually, a man came in wearing a hospital uniform.

"Morning Sunshine!" He said in a chirpy voice. "How are you this morning?"

"Umm I'm not sure... Where am I?" 

"In hospital mate, Royal North Shore, Sydney to be exact. My name's Steven and I'll be looking after you today until shift change at four. Now I understand you are new in this ward today. You only came in from intensive care last night, so I'll just give you a quick rundown. The lever on the stand near your hand is attached to the call bottom. Just whack it when you need some help. Breakfast will be in about twenty minutes, I'll just get my other patients started, then I'll come in and feed you."

"How long have I been here?" 

"Best wait for the doctor to come and explain that. I understand your wife will be in about eight as well. She will be glad to see you awake and so alert." He left before I could quiz him more.

I lay and waited. A lady came in and left a tray with breakfast on a table at the end of the bed. The nurse came back and fed me like a baby, but I couldn't get any more information out of him. He turned on a little television and left. I couldn't hear it very well but I was preoccupied with my own thoughts about how I got here, and what sort of reception I was going to get from Emily.

The doctor arrived first, he introduced himself and made some small talk while he checked a few things, then dragged a chair over and sat down beside the bed. 

"Andrew, what do you remember about what happened?"

I went into my explanation of the incident through my eyes, he interrupted a few times to clarify a few points but mostly sat and watched me over his reading glasses. 

"So you have no recollection of things that happened after the army base in Afghanistan?"

"Not until I woke up this morning."

"It's my understanding you were airlifted by chopper to the capital Kabul and stabilized before being flown to Europe. The Americans have a hospital in Germany specifically for war casualties. They put you into a medically induced coma. You stayed there for three days till they thought you were stable enough to take the trip home. There were two others there injured in the same incident and you were all flown back here in a C 130 that was borrowed from the US 34th Aeromedical Evacuation Squadron. I had heard of these flying Intensive care units but had never seen one till then. Just as well really because you had a bad turn six hours out of Sydney, they kept you going, amazing what we can do nowadays!"

The door to my room swung open and Steven, the nurse, came in. "Sorry doctor, Andrew's wife is here. Is it alright if she comes in?"

"Of course! Of course!" he said standing up. "I'll come back later after I've seen some other patients." He was walking out the door when he stopped and stepped back inside. "You've got a good one there son. You're a lucky man!"

My heart was in my mouth, what was I going to say? How would Emily react?.

Emily came into the room and gave me a tight smile as she approached the bed. She was as beautiful as ever but there were some lines at the corners of her eyes I hadn't noticed before. 

Leaning across the bed she gave me a kiss on the cheek. Placing her hand one my bandaged one she asked. "How are you this morning?"

"Umm... A little fuzzy. You look great!" I tried for some flattery.

"Liar! I have seen the lines on my face. You're the cause of them and you will be paying for a surgeon to flatten them out." She replied with a humorous tone. 

Maybe I wasn't in too much trouble, now it's time to be humble.

"I'm sorry Emily, I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have..." Emily interrupted me, putting her hand up to stop me speaking.

"Don't bring all that up! There has been way too much stuff happening to worry about what 'should have' and 'could have' happened We just have to concentrate on the future now, our future, and the future of our family." 

As she finished speaking, she looked down and her hand went to her stomach. Fuck! The baby! I suddenly remembered. But Emily didn't have a stomach anymore, what had happened? 

"The baby?" I croaked, dreading the response.

Her face brightened. "He is outside. The nurses are playing with him in the nurse's station. Can I bring him in? The psychiatrist wasn't sure what you would remember and didn't want to stress you!"

"You had bloody better!"

Emily smiled broadly as she left the room returning with a bundle in her arms. Placing the baby on the bed, she carefully unwrapped him.

"Andrew, meet Edward James Hinze!"

My son was sound asleep in a little red suit.

"He's a big boy!" I said.

"Well he is seven weeks old." Emily replied beaming down at our boy.

"Seven weeks?" I was stunned. She must have had the baby while I was still in Afghanistan. 

Emily looked up and sensed my confusion. "What has the doctor told you?" She asked.

"Just how I got back to Australia." 

"Umm... Andrew, you have been in a coma for sixty days!"

"Oh..." I didn't know what to say after that.

"It was bad, Andrew. They nearly lost you a few times. The burns and the infections, we were all so worried." Emily had tears in her eyes.

"Burns?" The bandages made sense now.

"Yes, to seventy-five percent of your body. Some were full thickness, especially on your chest, leg and arms. They did some grafting but they didn't have too many places not burnt to get the donor skin from. They used spray on skin on some parts as well." 

"Oh... Um... What else was wrong with me.?"

"All the bones in your face were fractured, skull was fractured at the back and of course your foot was blow off."

"Yes, I remembered that one." I said looking down the bed at my hidden stump.

"They put you into a coma so your body could devote all its energy to healing. All the heads of department were in to consult on your case but they weren't very hopeful at first."

There was a quiver in her voice and her hand was shaking as she sat down in the chair the doctor had bought close to the bed. 

Putting her hand back on mine she continued. "They called me into family conferences numerous times to tell me to prepare for the worst. They said if by some miracle you survived then there was a high probability of brain damage. You had bruising around the base of your neck, like a whiplash injury, from being blown backwards. If your spinal cord was damaged then maybe you wouldn't be able to walk again. They couldn't do a CAT scan to find out the extent of the damage because you had too much shrapnel in your body that they couldn't remove."

Emily's shoulder were shaking as she sobbed, tears were in my eyes as well.

"Did they ever ask to turn the machines off?" I asked, rather morbidly.

Emily's chin came up and defiance flashed in her eyes. "They never dared! On your first night in Sydney, they sat me down and told me that given the severity of your injuries that you had a 115% chance of mortality. I said to them that I thought doctors were good at maths and they should know that you can't have 115%! They thought I was being irrational but I just told them, 'You Don't Know Andrew Hinze!'"

She wiped her eyes and brushed her hair back from her face. In a softer voice she continued, "I slept on the floor of your ICU room that night. The last thing the doctor said to me was if your core temperature didn't improve they weren't going to intervene further. I prayed that it would go up. It did a little. Then it dropped the next day. It was three days and I never left your side. By then I knew you weren't going to give up."

Her eyes were shining now, staring into the middle distance, but not looking at anything. Her hand gripped my bandaged one tightly. She was in the zone. I felt guilty. Emily hadn't given up on me, but I had, laying out the back of the mess in Afghanistan. Edward woke, stretched, yawned, then started crying. 

"I'll just go and change him, then I'll be back." She gathered him up and leaned over to kiss my cheek again.

"I love you!" I said, but it seemed really pathetic in comparison to what Emily had endured.

"You had bloody better!" She replied and then she was gone.

The doctor came back in. 

"Gave the ICU doctors merry hell, that one did!" The doctor said with a laugh, looking in the direction of the door through which Emily had gone. "She was at them every morning except for two days after the birth of your son. Wanting to know whether you had improved overnight, what the next step was. Really kept them on their toes!"

"Yes, I'm very lucky. I should buy a lottery ticket." I said trying to keep things light.

The doctor gave me a stern look. "I wouldn't bother. You have used up all your luck son. I read the report on the explosion. Three others in the mess died that day, one more three days later. Mostly from shrapnel. You were so close you actually moved with the explosion rather than being hit by it. There are still quite a few pieces of metal inside you but they aren't going to pose any threat, so it's best to leave them."

"My foot? Was it cut off by shrapnel?" I inquired.

"No, purely by the force of the blast. It was found thirty meters away, too badly minced up to think about reattaching it. The heat from the blast that burnt your skin partially sealed the wound preventing you from dying from blood loss. You still needed a lot of blood. There were a lot of puncture wounds. A bullet must have grazed your skull. It took fifteen stitches to close it up."

"So where to from here?" 

"You will be here, in the burns ward for quite a bit of time. Probably about sixty days, maybe more. We haven't got a lot of unburnt areas to use as skin donor sites. As a result, we are going to have to wait for your own skin to grow again where it can. Then it will be off to rehabilitation for further recovery and a prosthetic leg.

"Total timeframe till I'm back at work?" I asked.

"Don't count on getting there before eighteen to twenty four months." he replied rather gravely.

"Oh"

"I'll be back tomorrow and you're sure to have more questions then. Just a tip, if you think of something to ask, get your wife or a nurse to write it down. You're on 20 ml of methadone twice a day, so you are going to find it difficult to focus and you will sleep a lot."

He waved and then headed out the door. I was left with my thoughts, how was I going to stay in hospital for that long? How would my family survive? With this stuff whirling in my head, I closed my eyes and slept.

My wife woke me when lunch arrived. I ate a little but I soon felt full. After living off a feeding tube for sixty days, my stomach had shrunk. I also found out that my sense of taste and smell were gone. That did little to help my desire to eat although my wife said, wrinkling her nose at the plate, that it might have been a blessing.




In Sickness and in Health



Over the next couple of days, I found out just how helpless I was. It was like being a newborn. Somebody had to feed me. And wash the few bits of my body not bandaged. The biggest thing for me was the toilet stuff. I had a tube taking my urine away but when my bowel kicked in, it got more humiliating. The bedpan was bad enough but having to get an orderly to roll me away and then back onto it, followed by a nurse wiping my bottom after was terrible. With my bandaged hands, I couldn't even hold a drink bottle. When I was thirsty, I had to ask someone to get me a drink.

Any improvement was very slow, almost imperceptible even to me. It was like I was marking time. I'd wake up, get fed, go back to sleep. At ten o'clock, physical therapists would come in, manipulate my limbs and give me small exercises to try, more sleep. Next was lunch, then more sleep. I always looked forward to the afternoon because I got to watch my son. Emily was with me most of the time but a hospital crèche looked after Edward in the mornings.

Between them, they kept my spirits up. The uncertainty of my future still hung over me but with them around, I was sure I could make it. Except for every third afternoon. Every third day they changed my dressing in the morning. It took between two and three hours with three people working on me. First they unwrapped m. Apart from my groin, bottom and head, the rest was covered in light compression bandages. Then the wound dressings came off and I lay naked on a table while they inspected and discussed how healing had progressed or in some cases regressed.

The final ignominy was the endless photographs, fucking digital cameras. There must be one hell of a big digital file on my doctors, occupation therapists, and burns dressing nurse's computers. Why the hell they couldn't just take one series of pictures and share them I'll never know? They said they needed them to track my progress but it felt very invasive at times.

I was often told that the skin is the largest organ of the body and one of its main tasks is temperature regulation. After forty minutes laying naked on a table I knew all about it. Despite having the heating turned up to the maximum, my teeth would be chattering and sometimes I shivered uncontrollably. They would put a heated blanket on me but it would have to come off to re wrap my body.

The first time I saw my naked body, I was shocked. Sixty days on a feeding tube and glucose drip meant there'd been some dramatic weight loss. I'd gone from ninety two kilograms down to sixty. My legs and arms were skin and bone. My muscles had just wasted away. I was really disappointed to look down and find I still had my little pod stomach. While I'd been in the army, I hadn't been in special forces so as a guy sitting in logistics I had developed a minor middle aged spread. It appeared to be still steadfastly attached.

Not only were the muscles gone but the ability to coordinate them was mixed up as well. My fingers had been splinted straight for the same reason I had been laid out like I had been crucified. To stop the healing skin from contracting and forming scar tissue. When the splints were removed, the therapist asked me to bend my fingers, . I sent the message from my brain but they steadfastly refused to move. 

"Try again," she said, this time putting pressure on the tips forcing them to move.

"Arghh," I groaned pulling my hands away.

"Those tendons are rusted up aren't they." She retrieved my hand and this time holding it firmly began manipulating each finger individually.

I gritted my teeth and tried to breathe through the pain. Hand therapy, started twice a day and it became my second most hated part, just behind the dressing changes. After two weeks, I could hold a water bottle to get a drink but I couldn't undo the lid. They gave me a knife, fork and spoon with big handles like old people with arthritis use. Even then, the simple act of picking up food with a fork or scooping up some with a spoon and getting it into my mouth took practice and intense concentration.

Slow progress got me down. When you are unable to perform simple everyday tasks and are trapped in a bed, there is too much time to dwell on what's been lost. Emily fought hard to keep me going, I leant heavily on her seemingly boundless reserves of strength. Of course, Edward always cheered me up, even when he was crying. 

Friends and family visited, which was a double-edged sword. It was great to see them but I'm not sure they enjoyed seeing me. They would have been warned about my appearance but seeing it first hand is something else. There was often a double take or a sharp intake of breath as they looked at my shrunken bandaged body. My hairless, red and scabby head and face didn't help much either.

Still there were many repeat visits and more importantly, they rallied around Emily to keep her going. The boss of the company I worked for in Afghanistan came in after three weeks. Emily regarded him suspiciously but they had kept paying my contract and insurance was covering the hospital stay. He told us they were organising a place for me at a private rehabilitation centre when I was ready to leave the burns ward. Then he hit me with an offer from left field.

"When do you think you could come back to work?"

"Don't you think..." Emily started raising her voice but he cut her off.

"All from Australia, no more overseas work." He added quickly to placate her.

"What could I do?" I shrugged helplessly and gestured at my body.

"We are really impressed by the procedures and protocols you put in place. As of yesterday, we still haven't had an incident with any of our crews or convoys. We want to keep it that way so if you could look over your replacements reports and future plans, then hopefully we can spot any problems before they happen."

"One of my eyes has been damaged so reading's difficult..."

"I can help." Emily interjected, suddenly enthusiastic about the idea.

"Look. I'm not saying today. Just whenever you're ready. The company considers you an important asset."

After a brief hesitation I agreed, holding out my bandaged hand to shake his. He took it uncertainly holding it like he was shaking hands with a child.

"That didn't hurt did it?" He inquired.

"No, no," I assured him. "I haven't had too much pain. They are cutting back on my meds but I haven't noticed."

I didn't do any work in the burns ward. After five weeks, they felt I was ready to move on to rehabilitation. My skin was mostly healed but still delicate. My bandages had been replaced by a compression suit that I wore twenty-four hours, seven days a week. Except for when bathing every second day. It wasn't as bad as it sounds, more like a full body support stocking. It came in four pieces, two gloves, a facemask and the body suit with a zipper up the back.

After bathing, any trouble spots would be identified and dressed before I put on a freshly laundered suit. I had two and they had been hand made to fit my exact measurements. I was in a wheelchair, while I could hop in a Zimmer frame, I didn't have a prosthetic leg. The skin covering my stump was still too tender to withstand the rigors of walking.

The rehab centre was modern and sleek. Nursing care went down and physical activity went up. There were exercise sessions twice a day in the gym and self-help skills workshops squeezed in either side. Work had set up a small workstation in the corner of my room and in the evenings Emily and I would spend a couple of hours looking over whatever they e-mailed through. It was great to feel like I was contributing again. The first weekend I had to stay 'in house' but the occupational therapist in charge of my case told Emily that I should be allowed out for a night the next weekend if it was passed by the doctor.

That's when some anxiety crept in. On my third day at rehab after I had finished my allotted tasks for the day, I was laying on the bed with Emily relaxing. Edward was asleep in his stroller, gurgling occasionally. It was all very innocent, just lying on top of the covers side by side. I turned and put my arm across her chest and put my leg over hers, snuggling close, and it happened. I started getting an erection.

I must admit the thought of sex hadn't entered my mind before then. Although the fact that area had remained unscathed was a great relief. Emily noticed my arousal as well and she turned away slightly so it was no longer touching her. It was subtle but I began to wonder just how close we were going to be. The fight before I left and now my disfigurement and disabilities. Hardly the things to stir the blood of a young beautiful woman.

It ate away at me the first weekend at rehab. Emily had to return to her hometown to attend the wedding of her sister. We had both tried, half-heartedly, to get the doctor to agree for me to go. In the end, he said no. It was relief for me because I was sure I didn't want to become the freak show attraction at the wedding. Emily needed a break away from me too. The last one hundred days were probably tougher on her than me.

She left on Friday morning so she could be there for a pre wedding dinner the night before. Her not being there in the afternoon left a big hole in my day. I spent an extra hour in the gym but the evening dragged on. The weekend was worse, the gym and other activity rooms were closed. I spent a lot of time thinking and thoughts of my future with or without Emily festered. I spoke to her on Saturday morning briefly. She was hung over and trying to get ready for the lunchtime wedding. 

I didn't want to appear needy but I rang her back three more times that afternoon and evening. I didn't get an answer, just her message bank. It didn't help my unease. The next morning I rang again and her mother answered. She was the only one awake, having risen to feed and look after Edward.

Emily's mum assured me that she would get Emily to call when she got up. For all I knew she hadn't even made it home. I admonished myself for thinking that way, she didn't deserve it. All she had done for me and I was thinking the worst of her. I wondered whether I would have been able to cope as well if it had have been Emily who was sick or injured.

I swung between love and hate for the rest of the day. Emily rang about two in the afternoon. She was very apologetic, said she was just about to leave and she would make it to rehab in time for dinner that night. I tried to be calm and watch television the rest of the afternoon but I was clock watching for most of it. When she walked in pushing Edward in his stroller, I almost cried. She noticed I was upset and came and hugged me in my chair. 

"Heh, are you okay?"

"Yes," I wiped my eyes trying to hide my weakness. "It's just been a long quiet weekend."

She hugged me again, kissing my cheek and stoking my head. "We missed you too."

Edward protested that he was being left out so Emily unstrapped him and placed him on my knee. Then she retrieved her camera from the basket under the stroller and she went through photos from the two nights. I lost it completely when she plugged in a memory card that she had stored little video messages from family members and friends for me. I was so guilty for thinking the worst.

The next week I threw myself into my rehab with renewed gusto. The messages firing me to get better as quickly as I could. Before I knew it, it was Friday and I was going home for the first time. The nurses and Emily washed me and got me into my freshly laundered compression suit. An hour later, I was being wheeled down the hallway of my house.

In the kitchen, I was greeted by three old army friends and their wives. They had a beer waiting for me, my first since the accident. I'd love to say it tasted great but I struggled to finish it. The boys took turns to lie and say how great I looked,. I tried to steer the conversation away from me. It didn't work so I had to relive the bombing and its aftermath again. I was comfortable doing it but wished I could just melt into the background, as I would have before.

After dinner they left, Emily put Edward down for the night and then tried to help me upstairs. Hopping was easy on a flat surface but up the stairs was a different thing. 

"I can make a bed downstairs if you want?" Emily said after I nearly collapsed on the third step.

Did she want me up there? Was this the excuse she was looking for? I was tired, frustrated that I couldn't get up the stairs and more scared than ever about our relationship.

"Do you want me up there?" I asked slumping down on the next step.

"Yes," she sat down beside me, "but I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"Then I'll get there, I'll just have to crawl."

And that's what I did. I crawled up the rest of the stairs, then along the corridor to our bedroom. Emily brought in a bowl, a glass of water and my toothbrush so I could brush my teeth, then went to do her own. Lying back after I had finished, I waited for her to return. She came back, took the bowl and toothbrush away, before returning in her pajamas. I had my compression suit and a pair of boxers on, but I'd removed the mask as I had found it interfered with my breathing too much at night.

She got in and turned her back to me pulling my arm around her, then shuffling back so we were spooning. My heart swelled and I kissed the back of her head.

"I love you, thank you so much." I was battling tears again.

Emily pulled my arm tighter around her, then lifted my hand to her face and kissed it. "I love you, too."

She kissed it again then put my hand back down so it was encircling her rib cage. We lay like that for a short period, being that close to my wife again I became aroused. Not wanting to push the issue, I twisted a little so I was pressing against the mattress not her body. My hand was just beneath the swell of her breast, I moved it slightly higher so three of my fingers were in contact.

There was no adverse reaction so I went further, lightly tracing the outline of the curve before moving towards the nipple. It was erect, straining against the fabric. Emily reached back with her arm placing her hand on my butt as she pushed back so my erection was again pressed into her. I kept playing with her breasts sliding between the two. 

Lifting her shirt, Emily put my roaming hand under so I was making direct contact with her flesh. Then she pressed her hand between us and inside my boxer. She found my hard cock. She stroked while I caressed, flicked and twisted. Both of our breathing became elevated. I was unsure how I was going to proceed,. I was quite happy to continue playing but Emily's need was greater.

She rolled on her back and pushed off her pants. I was still on my side facing her, playing with her breasts. After she lifted her closest leg over me, I twisted a bit and slid my leg between hers bringing my cock up against her opening. Emily reached down impatiently and put my head at her entrance then pushed down groaning as I entered her.

"Is that okay?" She panted.

"Yes." 

"I'm not hurting you?"

"Oh god no!"

I thrust a few times but that wasn't enough for Emily, using my leg as a lever, she slammed herself against me.

"Fuck I'm going to cummm.." 

"Me too."

She was first but I wasn't far behind. It was no sexual marathon, probably less than a minute but it was the most intense sexual experience of my life. After, as we cuddled I knew we were going to be all right. It was ridiculous really, after all she had done to prove her love, I still had doubts until that sweaty minute. Men, we can be such shallow creatures. Whatever the cause, from then on I knew I would get through this, and see my child grow up. I had a future with my wife. My beautiful loving wife.