As humiliating as the weekly ritual was, it turned out to be one of the best decisions Will could have made. In retrospect, Sophie realized she should have made it herself, if nothing else than to maintain one of her guiding principles: Always be planning.
Sophie had learned this at the feet of a young development worker to whom she’d been assigned during a volunteer opportunity in China as a teenager. The woman’s name had been Kei-Yee, but Sophie had been startled to learn that the woman also had a Western name – Vivian – that she’d expected Sophie to use because it was easier to pronounce. Sophie had refused to call her anything except her Chinese name. Amused by her stubborn charge, Kei-Yee had relented, but hadn’t hesitated to turn it into a lesson on cultural sensitivity.
“Many Chinese professionals take Western names in addition to the names they were born with,” the woman had explained. “This is the way of business here. Always know the customs of the country you are entering. It creates an atmosphere of goodwill and respect from the start.”
Kei-Yee had shown her how to respond to floods and earthquakes, two of the most common disasters in China. Their refugee infrastructure was immense, designed to work with huge populations of displaced people. Sophie had learned more in that week with Kei-Yee than she had in two months in the classroom.
“Planning, you must always be planning, Sophie. One billion people – always plan. No disaster today, maybe one tomorrow. Plan.”
Kei-Yee had been right then, and she was right now. Sophie needed to be ready to go to Orlisia on a moment’s notice, personally as well as professionally. She put her weekends to good use.
Promptly at seven on Friday evening, her language teacher, Alex, knocked on the door of her apartment. Mugs of tea steamed on the table while they spent two hours in intensive Soviet study. Ninety minutes for language, thirty minutes on culture and social customs. Sophie’s Russian had slipped over the years, and she needed it in top form for this trip. Alex had immigrated to New York from the Soviet Republic just two years ago, and had brought with him an excellent understanding of its rapidly evolving society.
“Use the fact that you are a woman to your advantage,” he urged as they role-played. “Soviet society is historically patriarchal, of course, but there has been a dramatic culture shift in the last twenty years to improve women’s rights, among other things. We’ve had nothing less than a cultural revolution. My country has instituted and upheld strict laws against the abuse of women in all member nations – look at the success we’ve had in ending honor killings in our Muslim societies!”
“Should I be more feminine?” she asked. “Appear helpless?”
He shook his head, grinning. “No. Be more dominating.” Alex reached out to tip her pointed chin higher. “Deep inside, every Soviet solider holding an AK-47 is still afraid of his mama.”
-
Sophie rose at six on Saturday and spent two hours at the gym: one hour of cardio, one hour of weights. Then she meditated, no small task for someone as intense as she. But Anjali wouldn’t let her go into the field with sky-high blood pressure, and she had to find peace somehow.
She spent the afternoon running errands, then worked at home until midnight. As she did almost every night before she went to bed, Sophie picked up her phone, dialed Michael’s cell phone number, and listened to it ring.
“This is Dr. Michael Nariovsky-Trent. I regret that I have missed you. Please leave a message, and I will return your call.”
His voice left a dull ache in her chest as she clambered into bed. A picture of the two of them sat on the bedside table, a snapshot from the year they’d spent together more than a decade ago. They were on the bus, sleeping. Sophie lay against Michael’s chest, his arm curved protectively around her. She looked at the picture, swallowed her sleeping pill, then turned out the light.
Michael’s voice followed her into her dreams.
Chapter 2
Eleven years earlier