Mikel & Nadine - "Let No Man Tear Asunder"
By Empath
Copyright, 2001

-------

Disclaimer: This story contains explicit descriptions of 
sexual activity and shouldn't be made accessible to minors.  
I, the author take no responsibility if this restriction is 
not upheld.  And I'm not even going to mention those 
perverse people who are offended by erotica yet will still 
read this, despite my warnings...

Copyright Notice: Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this 
story is the intellectual property of ME, Empath.  
(Actually my wife could make a claim to community property 
but she's got plenty of stories of her own so I'm gonna be 
selfish! :)  I hold rights to its distribution and give 
permission for it to be archived or made available in a 
non-commercial manner, under the condition that my by-line 
and this copyright notice are kept intact.

-------

Author's note: Right!  First off - this ISN'T some 'wife-
slut/cuckold' story. (Just in case you can't read story 
codes:)  The title refers to a line the priest says near 
the end of a wedding ceremony.  The reason for this title 
will become apparent as you read.

This is the first of a five-part story; each scene seems 
complete enough for stroke purposes, but you'll want the 
other four parts if you're interested in the actual plot.  
And don't forget the "Mikel & Nadine" lunchbox, screen 
saver, and matching 'his & hers' underwear! 
(Especially if you intend on reviewing it! <playful dig>)

And finally, this whole story is part of the (hopefully) 
continuing "Mikel and Nadine" series based on the real life 
of yours truly and my wife, who writes under the pseudonym 
of 'Dancer'.  If you want to find out more about Mikel and 
Nadine, look for "A Birthday Wish Come True" posted in 1998 
(check ASSTR - my copy is with Dancer) and "As You Wish" 
posted recently.  Dancer also wrote "My Best Friend's Girl"
using the characters from this plot-line, but her work was 
more like a 'M1ke Hunt' story - 'Aaron' did stop to visit 
and we were stuck overnight in 'Omaha,' but nothing racy 
happened. (Nadine and I just fucked after he fell asleep.;)

=============

"And now it's-"

"Don't say it!"

"-time for Sports."

"GOOD MORNING, SPORTS FANS!"

"Chick."

"Chick."

"ChiiiiiIIIICK!"

"Bob, Tom, Christi!  The Carolina Hurricanes played well 
last night..."

'Carolina?' I thought to myself.  I didn't think they 
covered the minor leagues.  'No, wait: Chick said they beat 
the Toronto Maple Leafs - they must be a NHL team.  Jeez, 
ANOTHER expansion I've never heard of!'

I was awake.  As usual, I couldn't tell if it was sudden or 
gradual.  I had no recollection of my dreams, but it would 
have been a rare event if I had.  It was like my short-term 
memory just wouldn't work during the transition from asleep 
to awake.  Oh well, life is more fun with the occasional 
mystery...

I just listened to the radio with half an ear, and let my 
body wake up.  My left arm tingled for a while; I must have 
been sleeping on it.  I rolled my head in that direction 
and regarded the sleeping form of my darling wife.

She was on her back, head lolled slightly towards me, mouth 
slack.  Anyone else would have looked at her and said she 
looked silly like that, but to me it was simply cute.  I 
shifted onto my side to watch her for a while and as I did, 
my morning chubby struck her left hand.  

A mischievous idea entered my mind, of wrapping her fingers 
around me and jacking myself off with her hand, but I 
dismissed that as selfish.  Instead I snaked my own hand 
across the gap between us - pausing momentarily to stroke 
myself - and placed it on her crotch, thumb pointing 
towards her far hip and fingers draped over her mound, 
aiming toward her nethermost region.  She didn't react at 
first, but after I began to massage her mons gently, 
Nadine's hips rolled and her legs slipped apart slightly.

I wasn't sure whether this was just her shifting in her 
sleep, or a conscious effort for her to facilitate my 
diddling her.  With my eyes closed I couldn't tell.  We had 
done this before, and usually us looking each other in the 
eyes broke the mood.  Today I wanted to finish her off.

My middle finger crept between her legs, and placed itself 
on her outer lips.  A slow, 'come here' curl elicited a 
stretch and a loud sigh from my wife, and now I had even 
more room in which to work. 'Guess she's in the mood 
today.'

I dipped my probing digit between her lips and met warm 
moisture.  For a short while I slid it up and down within 
her slit, moistening the fingertip and winding my wife up.  
When she began to moan softly with a slightly plaintive 
note, I pulled out and moved up to her clit, opening one 
eye to peer at her face.  Her expression confirmed this was 
what she wanted.

At this point I realized my error.  I'm left-handed, and my 
right hand - currently in use - is just not as dexterous.  
I wouldn't be able to make the quick circular motion that 
worked wonders for Nadine.  But if I switched, she might 
want to do something else, and I wanted to complete this; 
partly out of generosity, and partly out of pride.

I moved my wet finger over her nub, increasing my wife's 
noise greatly.  I stealthily moved my left arm from under 
myself and towards her breasts.  She sighed "Yes," and her 
left hand came up to hold mine in place atop her tit.

'Crap,' I thought.  I'd planned to play with her nipples 
for a little bit, then bring my left hand down and change 
off.  Now Nadine was expecting - and non-verbally 
requesting - attention to her upper erogenous zones.  I 
would have to keep both hands busy, and a switch was 
impossible.  I might not dislocate a shoulder, but crossing 
my arms like that would restrict my dexterity too much.  
'She'll just have to get off on my clumsy right finger.'

Nadine was really responding to my tweaking her nipples, as 
always.  Her breathing was coming in heavy pants and her 
body shifted every now and again.  Her left hand had 
released mine to fiddle with her left breast, while I 
rolled the other nipple between her fingers.  My finger 
stimulating her clit started off with a slow circle, the 
fastest I could manage.  Her hips began to thrust against 
my hand, and I smiled at her positive response.

At the call of "Faster - uuunngh - f-faster!" I switched to 
a quick up-down movement of my finger, trying to graze 
lightly over her clit to tease her even higher.  This did 
the trick; Nadine started breathing in a quick series of 
short gasps, and her free hand grappled onto my prick.

She grasped me firmly - not nearly hard enough to hurt, but 
much harder than she usually did when stroking me.  Her 
motions were erratic, too.  The occasional up or down 
movement of her hand told me how close she was.  She wanted 
to help me, but couldn't concentrate enough to jack me off 
properly.  'Perfect,' I told myself.

I mulled over my next choice carefully.  This state of 
affairs wouldn't be enough to bring her off; I'd need to 
change something to 'shock' her over the top.  I couldn't 
get my left hand down to her clit now - everyone's arms 
were in the way, and the delay could break the mood.  My 
right hand couldn't make the 'magic movement' she always 
used when masturbating.  Maybe?  Yes...

I opened my eyes and regarded my wife.  Her face was 
flushed; eyes squeezed shut and mouth wide open to suck 
enough air in.  Her nightshirt was bunched up past her 
tits; she must've done that herself.  She looked busy 
enough...

I started to shift body down the bed, my cock pulling out 
of her grasp.  This caused a hurt moan from her, but I 
persevered.  I shifted over her right leg, my hand up at 
her breast breaking off.  Her disappointment increased as 
stimulation decreased.

Now I was lying off the bottom end of the bed, facing her 
quim with my right hand clumsily diddling her third nipple.  
I softly kissed her inner thigh, and my wife's moans took 
on a new tone.  An even mix of  "Oh no! Don't; Stop!" and 
"Oh no; Don't stop!"

Usually I don't go down on Nadine.  Most of the time I'm 
too lazy, but sometimes she stops me - the moustache I 
usually wear tickles her too much, I guess.  This time I 
was willing, and she was too far gone to care...

I moved in close, removing my hand for room, and kissed her 
pussy.  Nadine shook.  I slipped both arms under her hips 
and back over to rest my hands on her mound.  As I 
stretched my fingers to pull her outer lips apart, I ran my 
tongue up her slit.  My wife yelped.

I stopped and slowly pressed my lips to her cunt.  Gently, 
I worked my mouth, open and closed, open and closed.  Her 
shock changed to pleasure.  I was encouraged by her "Ooh, 
oooooooooh, OH-OHOHOH!"  I felt her legs pull themselves 
apart as far as possible without popping a hip.  I brought 
my left hand back under her, and shifted my mouth's 
attentions to her clit.

As two fingers slipped into her hot, clenching hole, I 
glanced up.  My wife was really close.  Her chest was 
bright pink from her pre-orgasmic flush, and she was 
tearing at her breasts.  Her fingers would mash her nipples 
one moment, then rip over her skin the next, shaking the 
mammaries.

I returned to my work, thrusting my fingers in and out of 
her cunt, and latched my lips around her clit.  Sucking 
gently brought out a shriek.  Two more sucks and I could 
vaguely hear pleas of agreement to the almighty.  I 
switched to lapping at it with my tongue, and I knew - even 
without feeling the bed being pounded by her limbs - that 
she was cumming.

I still can't describe it; I've been present for a goodly 
number of my wife's orgasms, and every time it seems like I 
feel it along with her.  Usually I'm busy fucking her, too 
wrapped up in my own activity to take much notice.  But 
I've even been sitting across the room while she's 
'polishing the pearl' and I can feel this...I dunno, a 
'mental jolt' when she climaxes.  But when *I* cause it in 
her, it's even greater, and somehow more satisfying.

We calmed down, my body slipping off the bed to a kneeling 
position.  After a chance to catch my breath, I got up 
alongside her.  Tears streaked her cheeks; I doubted either 
of us would know whether she'd been crying afterwards or 
during.  Nadine's face was set in a combination of 
satisfaction, awe and exhaustion.

"Good morning, honey," I whispered.  I prevented her from 
replying by pressing a clean finger to her lips.  

"Don't bother; I went and made you rip up your throat with 
all that wailing, didn't I?"  She thought for a second, 
then pouting, she shook her head in agreement.  

"And you're too tuckered out to fuck me so I can get off?"  
I got another regretful nod.  

"I suppose a blow-job's out of the question?"  Nadine stuck 
her tongue out in response.  I chuckled, and hugged her 
limp form close. 

She tapped me, and when I pulled away to look her in the 
face, she held up a finger to delay me.  My wife pulled off 
her nightshirt and proceeded to clean my lower face with 
it.  Once we'd dried off my moustache, she held her arms 
open as if asking for a hug.  I smiled and returned to her 
embrace.
     
           *           *           *           *

I managed to get to work on time, despite my dalliances.  
As I passed through GTC's reception area, Linda put a hand 
over the phone she was speaking into, and gave me a worried 
look.  "He wants to talk to you.  Now."

I cringed, thanked her, and made my way to my boss's 
office.  Pausing outside to remove my coat and preen myself 
a little, I knocked on the closed door.  I was met with a 
gruff "Come in!" and I complied.

Tom looked to be in a foul mood today, shoulders hunched 
slightly and brows beetled.  He looked on me, and his 
tension didn't fade - I had to assume I was the reason for 
his ill humor.  "Ah, Mr. Torsson; sit."  My surname was 
given an odd inflection as I took the chair across from my 
employer.

"Torsson?  I have to speak with you about something that 
has been upsetting me for some time.  It may well affect 
your continued employment here."  Tom Gibbons wasn't much 
older than me, though taller and a little thinner.  With 
his demeanor, however, he looked much, much older.

I swallowed subtly and tried to recall anything I'd been 
doing that might get me fired.  "Yes, Mr. Gibbons?"

"When I hired you, Mikel - may I call you by your first 
name, Mr. Torsson?"

This formality made me start.  "Uh, certainly, sir!"

"Thank you.  As I was saying, I hired you almost two years 
ago aware that, since you are not an American citizen, I 
would have to file requests and petitions and such with the 
immigration people so that I can employ you."

'Aw, damn - something's gone wrong,' I thought.

"Because you are from a foreign nation, certain things 
about you are rather different-"

"But sir: Canada is hardly an alien nation to the U.S. - 
you could be hard pressed to find two countries more 
alike!"

My interruption was not well received.  Gibbons gave me 
look of annoyance, and carried on with what he was saying.  
"-Rather different when compared with my other employees.  
I was not referring to your nation of birth, Mikel, but 
your ancestral home."

Ah, Norway where dad's from.  I tried to predict where this 
conversation was going - was there a problem with me being 
a dual-citizen?

"Because your father came from there, a nation with a 
rather differing language, and many differences in custom 
and tradition, it has made your integration in this office 
strained on occasion.

"In particular, your name gives people pause.  When looking 
at it for the first time, many of my clients are completely 
out to sea when trying to say it."  Apparently my 
precognition needed work.

"Take your first name - Mikel."  He pronounced it 
correctly, like 'Miguel' only with a hard 'k' in the 
middle.  "I've heard everything from 'Michael' to 'nickel', 
but no one I have come across can get it right the first 
time.

"Even more distressing is your surname.  I know the Norse 
have a proud tradition of patronymics, but your family's 
particular choice over which letters to double in 'Torsson' 
cause people many problems - myself included."

He held up a hand to stay my explanation.  "Yes, you've 
shown me how the name is structured and given exquisite 
descriptions of its origins.  Yet somehow I persistently 
fail to type it correctly.  I've even added the correct 
spelling to my spell-checker, and I'm greeted with a red 
underscore every time I put your name into a document!  I 
can only imagine that my mind has a preconceived notion 
about your name, and I cannot break it.

"For this reason, I must ask you to change your name.  
Mikel will have to be anglicized to Michael, and you'll 
have to add another 'r' to your surname - my hands insist 
in typing 'T-o-r-r-s-s-o-n'.  Otherwise I cannot employ you 
any further."

I struggled to keep my composure.  "Yessir.  May I ask how 
many generations I should be expected to change 
retroactively?"

"All living ones, I would imagine.  I'd hate to write your 
grandfather, and - oh, for FUCK'S sake, Mik!  What do I 
have to do to make you laugh?"

We both broke our pretenses, sharing amusement.  Resting my 
head in my hands, I replied "Oh.  At first I couldn't tell 
if you were acting, and after you started on about my 
ancestry, I just got curious to see where you were going 
with it."

Tom shook his head in disbelief.  "Christ, son - have you 
ever considered a career in acting?  I thought the 
ultimatum would put you over the top!  You've been 
practicing with Nadine, haven't you - admit it!"

I raised one hand and covered my heart with the other.  "I 
have not played poker with her since that night, I swear."  
Tom rolled his eyes at the memory of last year's Christmas 
party.  "So why did you REALLY call me in here, Tom?"

"What else?  I just wanted to make sure you're okay with my 
promoting you."  He cut me of in mid-interruption.  "I know 
you don't think you're ready to manage other people, but 
you look at yourself from inside.  I've watched you, Mik, 
and you handle people just fine.

"You take genuine interest in them, and that makes them 
like you.  You share yourself with them, gaining their 
trust.  You are also an annoying perfectionist; your 
attention to detail means you'll never miss someone's 
mistake.  You're the natural choice to take over for 
Sebastian when he leaves."

Tom made a good case, but I felt I had to trot out my 
tired, old misgivings.  "But Tom, I've never had any 
management experience in my life; not even a camp 
counselor!"

"Everyone's gotta start sometime, boy!"

"But I don't have the credentials - not even a Bachelor's 
degree-"

"Which we have more than made up with in technical 
certification: A+, Microsoft, a raft of Cisco courses; 
you're qualified."

"Ha!  I still don't know word one about C++!"

"You don't need to; you deal with abstract algorithms most 
of the time.  And remember, you'll be a MANAGER - less 
grunt work."

"I *like* grunt work!"

Tom shook his head in amusement.  "Look, Mikel.  I need 
someone to manage that team when Sebastian quits.  Most of 
our employees are just college graduates that drift through 
here building up work experience.  You're not like that."

"Yeah, I couldn't make a go of academia; thanks for 
reminding me," I retorted with a smile.

"I didn't mean that and you know it."  He grabbed my hand 
and held it in his.  "Mik?  I'm asking you as a friend.  I 
know you have misgivings.  So did I when I started this 
company.  You don't know for certain that you'll succeed at 
this, and you don't like it.  I'm here to tell you it's 
okay - you won't drive GTC into bankruptcy if you aren't a 
perfect manager.  All I need is someone who can take care 
of a handful of junior programmers.  And if you let someone 
screw up a contract, so be it; he gets some hard-knocks 
experience, and we make a little less money.  Hell, the 
fact that you're worried about this responsibility *proves* 
you're ready for it!"

I let each statement sink in and thought things over.  Tom 
had managed to cover all my concerns.  All but one.  "Okay, 
but if you send me off on another management seminar or 
training session, I gotta take Nadine with me; I've gotten 
to missing her."

"Done!  And relax; managing is fun when you get right down 
to it - you can get a lot more done in a day, with less 
actual effort on your part."  My face must have still 
showed some doubts.  "Christ, if you screw up bad enough - 
and I'm betting you won't - *I* can always take over.  Feel 
better now?"

I smirked at my boss and friend.  "Not really, but not bad 
enough to turn your offer down.  It's good to be needed, I 
guess."

           *           *           *           *

When I got to my desk, there was a phone-message slip 
sitting on my keyboard.  "Beth Borden" and her phone number 
were the only things on it.

I dialed up my contact with the Immigration and 
Naturalization Service, wondering what they needed from me 
now - they'd gotten family histories of both me and Nadine, 
fingerprints, photos, medical exams; the works.  

"Borden, Omaha Service Center."

"Hiya, Beth.  It's Mikel - what's up?"

I heard a sharp intake of breath.  "Are you sitting down, 
Mik?" she asked with a worried tone, that made me instantly 
uneasy.

"Yes.  Why?"

"You know we've had to run our checks and everything for 
you and Nadine.  After we're satisfied, I have to send your 
case-file to the State Department where they-"

"They check me out themselves and then they issue me my 
immigration visa.  We've been over this dozens of times, 
Beth."

"And the INS has completed its checks."

"Well, good."

"I got all your stuff together, all the documents, 
affidavits, and suchlike, and sent it by government courier 
two days ago.  Mikel?  It never got there."

My stomach felt like a deep, cold pit.  "So?  It's 
delayed," I said hoping beyond my expectations.

"No, Mik - the National Visa Center got the transfer pouch 
I put your case-file in.  They couldn't find anything 
relating to a 'Mikel Torsson'.  I hate to tell you this, 
Mikel, but we've lost you."

"You're right in that respect; why don't you just send them 
more copies?"

Beth sighed sadly.  "Mik, we don't send State copies - too 
much chance for forgery or misunderstanding over a blurred 
entry.  When we finish with you, we send your originals to 
them.  I've checked with everyone here, and I couldn't find 
your things here, either.  They're just lost."

Maybe today wasn't such a good day, after all.  "So what do 
I do now?"

"It means we have to start over at the beginning, with 
Nadine petitioning us on your behalf, again."

"Oh, well.  It's a bitch, but nobody ever said life was 
fair.  So I'd better get Tom to file for another work visa 
for me."

Another sigh told me fate wasn't finished screwing me over.  
"Uh, would that be a Free Trade visa?"

I slumped in my chair.  "Yes," I said flatly.  "What more 
bad news do you have for me."

"Mik," she pleaded, "I'm really sorry, but I got a memo 
yesterday saying the quotas are filled for the next period.  
It stuck in my mind because I was tearing the office apart 
looking for your case-file and-"

"And you thought that'd make things even worse for him.  
Fine.  Fine-fine-fine.  I'll just sit at home for six 
months while Tom gets me a visa for later in ought-one."

"Mik, you're here on a work visa, when that runs out you 
*have* to leave."

"But I'm MARRIED!  Nadine's a citizen; it's not like I'm 
breaking the law - I've filed all the papers and stuff!  
It's not my fault!  You said it yourself - the system lost 
my file; can't you make an exception?"

Beth's anguish was clearly evident over the phone.  "No, I 
said *I* lost your file, and I'll probably get raked over 
the coals-"

"No you won't; you said you stuck my stuff in some kinda 
interdepartmental transfer pouch.  You're certain it went 
in."

"Yes, I signed and initialed the outside of the packet."

"And did this visa center acknowledge the manifest?"

"They called me up about it."

"As long as you're certain you put my documents in, it's 
not your fault.  Either someone else at Omaha took my file 
out by mistake afterward, the courier lost it in transit-"

"Very doubtful," Beth interjected.

"-Or the State Department people lost it after they 
accepted the package."

"And I spent yesterday checking with everyone here, so it's 
not even the INS's fault.  Thanks, Mik."

"It's okay.  You're no help to me paralyzed with misplaced 
guilt!  But as I was saying, if State lost my file, can't 
they apologize and give me some sort of waiver to allow me 
to stay until we sort everything out?"

"I'm not sure - it may make sense to a civilian, but these 
are public employees we're talking about; blame is 
something to be avoided at all costs.  An apology is an 
admission you made a mistake."

I had gone beyond despair in trying to talk my way out and 
found myself mingling around in resignation.  "Shit.  I 
just spent a half-hour letting my boss talk me into taking 
a promotion!"

"Mik, I've said how much I'm sorry - you don't deserve 
this."

"It's nothing new - bureaucracies lose me all the time; I 
ever tell you how I had to register for classes three times 
when I started college?"

"Get out!"

"No, Dalhousie's Registrar lost me once, then the Bursar's 
office lost my tuition payment - had a horrible set of 
classes by the time things got sorted out.  Set the stage 
for my failure in academia."

"So you're used to this sort of thing by now."

"Not really, but it doesn't surprise me as much anymore."

"I'll talk with State to see what I can wrangle out of 
them, and again, I'm sorry."

"Thanks for all your help, Beth.  Don't worry; Nadine and I 
waited all our lives to find one another, a few 
bureaucratic delays aren't going to change that."

           *           *           *           *

I spent the day playing 'apprentice' to Sebastian, whose 
mind was only half on his job.  Two months earlier, he'd 
gotten an offer from a friend back in college to join him 
in a startup business.  Something to do with 'b2b - 
business to business'.  

I didn't understand it much beyond a sort of web-based 
forum for resale of unwanted company assets.  Even if it 
failed, Seb would get a tidy sum in exchange for blood, 
sweat and tears to get it started.  

He really couldn't pass this chance up, and was planning to 
relocate to San Francisco before the year was out.  In the 
meantime, Seb was getting me up to speed on what our 'team' 
was doing right now, how we did things, and who needed 
nudging to get the best work out of them.

It was four o'clock when I got back to my cubicle.  I was 
doing up a progress report for one client, when the phone 
rang.

"Gibbons Technical Consulting, Mikel Torsson."

"Mik?  It's Beth."  She sounded tired.  "I've tried 
everything; the NVC won't admit to taking the documents in 
question.  It'll be a few days before we can nail down 
exactly where your file was last seen."

"Oh, well."

"That's just the start; I asked them to cut you some slack.  
They couldn't since they haven't seen a single thing about 
you."

"Predictable."

"Then I called up the head of Visa Services for Canada in 
Montreal.  I explained your situation and asked him for 
some help.  I faxed him all the receipts and references 
I've got to your paperwork, and he said he'll look it 
over."

"Really?"

"I don't want to get your hopes up too much, though.  He 
couldn't promise anything.  I have to say likewise; there 
really isn't a lot we can do for you, but by God I'm going 
to do everything I can!"

I was touched.  "Beth, I--thank you."

"Bah; you sent the office a Christmas card last year - the 
first we've EVER gotten!  And I've met you two enough times 
to know that this isn't just a marriage of convenience.  
You don't deserve this sort of problem."

"Thanks again for all your help; I'll wait for your call?"

"Yeah, bye."

"Bye."
 
But it wasn't very long before Beth called again.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry, Mik.  I just called the guy with the consulate 
in Montreal.  He can't help us; he doesn't know anything 
about this situation, and can't make an exception."

"It's okay, Beth.  You've done a lot, already.  And I 
couldn't expect the State Department guy to bend the rules 
for me; if you approached me with the same situation, I 
wouldn't stick my neck out either."

"It just pisses me off that I'm part of such a screwed-up 
system.  This isn't fair; I see plenty of couples that I 
*know* are just married for the Green Card get right past 
us because we can't prove it; why couldn't this happen to 
one of them?"

"Like I said, Fate doesn't like me dealing with 
bureaucracies.  Let go of that anger now, Beth; it may have 
helped you strive to do what you could, but anger isn't any 
good now.  You did everything possible.  I thank you for 
it."

A heavy sigh was the response I got.  "You're taking this 
way too well," Beth commented with a rueful note.

"I haven't got any choice; ranting would only make you feel 
like shit when you shouldn't and give me an ulcer!"

"Okay.  So what are you going to do now?"

"Tell Nadine, I guess."  That wouldn't be fun.

"Well, keep in touch with me; if your papers turned up and 
I couldn't find you, I'd really feel like shit!"

"I promise, Beth.  I won't go anywhere without informing 
you."

"Thanks and again: I'm sorry."

"Thank you.  See ya."

           *           *           *           *

I sat in the car, parked outside the hospital's kitchen 
entrance.  The night was cool and clear, and even close to 
this lit building, I could still see more stars here in 
Geneva, Nebraska than I'd ever seen in Halifax.  I'd miss 
it.

I still had my head stuck out the window when Nadine came 
out, snuck up and gave me a quick kiss.  My maudlin 
pondering dispelled; I gave my wife a warm smile.  She 
walked around the car and got in.

"So, where's my supper, bitch?"  Her favorite little joke 
was asking me this - I'd taken to cooking our dinner when 
she worked; her job was to *cook* for an average of a 
hundred staff and patients; by quitting time she was sick 
of kitchens!

"BLTs sound good?"

"BL for me."

"Naturally."  Nadine's family had digestive problems with 
tomatoes.  We drove home with her telling me of the notable 
things that happened today at work.  I listened with half 
an ear, and bided my time.  I waited until Nadine cleaned 
up, changed and we'd had supper. 

We sat back on the living room couch, and I refrained from 
turning on the TV.  When she looked at me, I confronted her 
with a "We have to talk."  I added, "Beth called me today."

"Yeah, how's your Green Card coming?"

"It's not."

"Huh?"

"They lost my papers."  I then explained to her everything 
I knew about the situation.  Nadine remained silent 
throughout the retelling, though some tears appeared on her 
cheeks.  When I got to the point where I would HAVE to 
leave at the end of the year, she started to sob and pulled 
me into a hug.

"Think of sad things: dead puppies, a child holding a burst 
balloon-"

"Margaret Thatcher strapping on a dildo!"  Her sobs stopped 
as she completed the weird list, and she giggled against my 
shoulder.  

This needs some explaining: one time Nadine had been 
laughing so bad she started hiccuping, so I tried to calm 
her down by giving her sad images to visualize.  

Unfortunately, we had a George Carlin tape playing in the 
background and the comedian finished his 'Things you never 
see' list at the same time I paused to think of a third sad 
sight.  By the time we both finished laughing at the 
juxtaposition, she had stopped hiccuping, but I had begun.

Fortunately the in-joke worked here.  Nadine was still 
tearing up, but she gave me a grin when she sat back.  "So 
what will we do?"

"Survive.  Tom'll have to find someone else for a few 
months..."

"So will I," she joked.

"You wouldn't dare."

"Where's Aaron right now?"

"Back in Halifax, visiting his mother for Christmas...of 
COURSE!"

I'd startled Nadine out of her senses; she tried to catch 
up with my train of thought.  "You want to have another 
three-way with him?"

"Maybe; whatever.  What I was thinking of was us both going 
up to Halifax to see my folks for Christmas."

That idea sat well with my wife.  "I've never seen your 
hometown."

"It's the perfect time - I have to go up there anyway."

"Right, it's a plan."

We kissed to seal the deal.

=============

Author's Postscript: Well, there we go.  That's what 
happened, a JANFU* between the INS and the Dept. of State. 
I'll get to the trip and all the fun stuff we did in Canada 
later.  Thanks for reading!

* - Joint Army/Navy Fuck-Up: like SNAFU, but used when two 
or more organizations screw up while trying to work 
together.
