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Courtesy Returned

by Miles Naismith

Prologue.

I was baching it when it started. My wife was in the British Virgins, with her friend Thea, for a captained and crewed charter of an 80 foot yawl. It was supposed to be me with her, instead of Thea, but a glitch in a multi-million dollar merger sucked me in at the firm. It wasn't my client, but it was important to my partners. The charter company was sympathetic, but unbending in its assertion that we could neither reschedule nor get a refund. It turned out that our travel insurance didn't cover business problems, so Thea took my place.

I was asleep when my phone beeped. It was a text from my wife. That, in itself, was unusual. She never texts. Says she doesn't know how, and doesn't want to learn. It came at 2:43 a.m. That worried me. But it was the message that commanded my full attention:

"It will be story time when I get home."

No way I was getting back to sleep after that.

About two years ago, she wanted a story from me. I had imposed some ...

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