April 1982 – Panama City, Panama

"I told you not to wear cotton," Michael smirked across the back of the cab seat at Angela.

Her teeth were pulling at the cuff of her herringbone jacket like a pit bull, sweat rolling down her chest. "I'm sorry!" she whisper-snapped. "My polypropylene blouse was in the wash!"

Michael gave her a side-eye through his sunglasses but reached over to hold the back of her cropped jacket down so she could finish pulling it off.

Angela furiously balled up the designer jacket in her lap and huffed. "Thank you," she said begrudgingly and slipped on her pink sunglasses. She looked out her window and tried to deepen her breaths.

Michael laughed softly to himself as he stared out his own side of the cab. Angela's eyes narrowed, and she subtly shifted her gaze to him. He looked perfectly comfortable - and irritatingly sexy - in a half-buttoned-up, synthetic shirt and cargo shorts.

Angela's level of annoyance surprised even her, but then she remembered. I'm due next week… Oh. Rolling her eyes at herself, she turned to focus on the tropical paradise scrolling past her.

It was only a four and a half hour flight, but they had definitely entered another world. The airport thermometer had read 91 degrees, and with the way sun mirrored off the sand, Angela wondered if her sunglasses were even doing anything. She was so ticked off, all she could do was lay her head back and let her body sweat.

The last thing she saw leaving the office yesterday was Peterson smirking as he walked past her. Fortunately, Joe was able to cover for her in the meetings, and besides her rightfully-discounted commission, it only cost her a box of donuts. But Jim never missed an opportunity to delight in her misfortune, and Paxton's normally-pleased attitude toward her had noticeably chilled this last week. It's all so high school, she glared through her shut eyes. Get a life, asshole. She wasn't sure if she were referring to Peterson, Paxton, or the cabbie who didn't believe in air conditioning, but she felt like tackling all three of them. Come to think of it, Michael had better give me a few minutes, too.

They rolled up the inlaid-stone drive of their hotel, a glorious, contemporary, architectural achievement right on the beach, where each of the 18 stories were lined with private balconies. Finally! Angela got out, and immediately twisted her hair into a bun and skewered it with a pen from her purse. Michael helped unload their suitcases from the trunk, and the bellhop carted everything inside.

While Michael walked to the front desk, Angela decided to wander the expansive lobby, eschewing any more chance to be rude. She stopped in front of a large painting of a native woman looking out to sea, probably around the 1500s. Angela's heartrate started to slow, taking in the peace of the setting.

"We're all set," Michael said, barging into her dreamy state. He had a dopey-happy smile she wanted to clear. Why am I so angry? He's not even doing anything. Still, Angela's pulse involuntarily picked up a testy gate, and she flatlined a smile behind which to hide.

Walking into their room, they dumped their luggage and plopped on the bed. Angela laid back, and squeezed her eyes shut, her arm falling across her wrinkled forehead. Ugh. The Heublein meeting is in an hour.

She felt Michael's hand slide across her ribcage.

You've got to be kidding. But aware of her current oversensitivity, Angela thought it best to force diplomacy. She turned her head toward him and made her best effort at a genuine smile. "Hey."

Michael lied down next to her and kissed her cheek. "Hey," he said quietly, and gave her a sweet smile.

Appreciating his presumably-holistic restraint, her smile came more naturally. She brought up a hand and slid her fingers back through his hair. "Baby, I know we've been stressed, and we finally have a minute. But I actually only have about 60 of them before my telephone conference, and they're going to go fast." She could see his face start to tighten, and her own serenity felt like it was slipping away.

Anything to do with our conflicting work schedules now seems to bug the hell out of both of us.

She decided to explain, already knowing it was probably pointless. "I need to gather my thoughts and lay out my paperwork." She dipped up her eyebrows, "Can we wait to destress? Please?" and signed her request with a kiss.

By this point, she didn't feel like she was lying. She felt like she'd lost nearly all bearing on reality and was giving this coping thing everything she had.

Michael stared at her for a few moments, clearly irritated, then got off of the bed. He unlatched his suitcase and pulled out his swimming gear. Without looking at her, he walked out of their room.

When the door shut, Angela exhaled.


Angela increased the speed on the treadmill. She was exasperated. Nothing was going right. She'd heard the irritation in the voices of the Heublein reps. There had been a lot of dead air, and requests to repeat what was said. At one point, she'd realized she didn't have a comparative file, and wished like a child that she was back in her office, able to dig through her files and find what she needed. Ugh! This is not the way to run a business! Paxton was furious! Angela tipped up the incline of the track, wrenching the frustration out of herself.

Adding an extra half-mile to her regimen, Angela finally slowed to a walk. She stepped off, threw her towel around the back of her neck, and gulped a long drink of water. Gasping, she dropped her water bottle to her side, and stared into the floor-to-ceiling mirrors siding the hotel gym. Her clothes were soaked, and the harsh lights glared down like a prison search beam on her ratty, frizzed-out hair, smeared eye makeup, and blotchy, life-drained face. What a lousy day.

Slumping out of the gym, Angela drug herself up to their room. She stepped out of the elevators on their floor, and almost walked right into Michael, Tim, and a 20-something woman she didn't recognize.

"Angela!" Michael said. "Wow. Good workout?" He laughed.

He's making fun of me? I look like death, and he's bringing attention to it. Nice…Not that he'd have to…

Both men looked casually dressy in their light, baggy slacks and breezy shirts. The woman's perfect makeup and low-cut maxi dress had nothing on her stunned expression.

"Uh, h-hi," Angela stammered. Instinctively holding out her hand, Angela retracted it right before they took it. "Sorry: sweaty." She laughed self-consciously and looked at the woman. "Um, I'm Angela, Michael's wife."

"Donna," the woman said, and Angela was pretty sure she saw a hint of condescension Donna couldn't conceal with mere surprise. "I'm here with Tim."

"Hi," Angela forced a smile, and made her obvious excuse to leave. "It was good to see you again, Tim." Tim's blonde curls wobbled when he nodded his frozen face. Angela looked to Michael, "I'm going to go get cleaned up," she said quietly. Stepping past them, she started running as soon as she rounded the corner.


Angela hugged herself as she people-watched off the balcony in her robe, a towel wrapped around her hair. Everybody here looks amazing! Regardless of age, there was a youthful prance to the populace, and, as a matter of percentage, she couldn't remember ever seeing this much skin. She twisted her torso to glance back toward her Louis Vuitton. I feel like a Martian here. While she did pack her red dress, for luck, I guess, generally, her wardrobe was…professional, she euphemized. She walked back toward the suitcase and unzipped it. Pulling out pieces, she started to troubleshoot.

These shoes are good.

This top might work, if I had a different skirt.

I guess, if this one was unbuttoned a bit…she thought of Michael in the cab, the tiny breeze that had slid in through the driver's cracked window ever so slightly billowing Michael's open shirt... She bit her lower lip. Damn, he's sexy. And he knows how to translate his wardrobe. I never thought I'd be taking fashion cues from Michael... Angela shook her head and started putting away her clothes.

Staring up at the thick materials in her closet, the poor outcome of her meeting and its impending fallout already making her itch, Angela came to one, obvious conclusion. I need to go shopping.


With a list of nearby boutiques from the concierge (and a fresh brow beating from Michael – 'You can't spare me a little alone time, but you're going shopping?'), Angela hurried to as many stores as she could before they closed. He may have had a point, but she needed relief – partially from him.

At the last shop, Angela opted to wear her purchases and exited in a burgundy floral, halter-top sundress. She opened the door to their room the very minute she told Michael she'd be back and found him resting on top of the covers. Walking over to the bed, she sat next to him and leaned down to kiss his lips. He opened his eyes and started to smile as his gaze dipped down her chest.

"Thank you for being patient," she said softly. Her gratitude was real, even if her depiction wasn't. "I had a bad day."

Michael pushed himself back to sit up against the headboard. He looked at her and smiled but folded his arms. After a couple seconds, he spoke. "I didn't have a very nice day, either." Her eyebrows dipped up, listening.

"I pictured us getting comfortable in our environment," he smiled and ran his finger along her knee. He tilted his head, "Then I wanted to go out for a walk along the beach, check out the local scene, maybe get some drinks with Tim and Donna..." Angela exhaled for patience. Ugh!

"But I swam laps by myself, paid two dollars for a Pepsi in the hotel gift shop, and watched from a plastic lawn chair as Tim and Donna went for a romantic walk along the beach. After you were done doing your "mandatory" work thing, you took a long ass run, and then literally left me to peruse the sights by yourself." He shook his head at her. "You look beautiful…but, damn, Angela. I had a bad day, too."

Angela's face showed her empathy as he spoke. She dropped her head. "I'm sorry, Michael. I'm not dealing with all of this very well." She looked back up at him. "I don't know what you had on your agenda for tomorrow, but I don't think it's going to get any better 'till about 4:01pm. I have to be available to field calls for this Heublein account." Michael slanted his jaw sharply and stared at her.

Still, Angela continued, trying to put all her cards on the table. "Thankfully, they're only one hour ahead – but that also means I'm starting at 8 tomorrow morning."

Michael exhaled sharply, "Angela, I wanted to take you on a hike in the mountains tomorrow!"

Wow. That is too bad…

"Michael, I have to be on call during the workday. But then, it's the weekend, and we can relax however you want."

"The awards are Saturday night. I don't know much about woman stuff, but I'm pretty sure you're not going to be up for an all-day hike before a fancy event!"

Angela saw an exit and ran for it. "True!" she pointed her finger in the air and smiled. Leaning forward, she started to place light kisses at his open collar. "But what if," she mumbled, stabilizing herself with her arms straight on either side of him. "What if, you organize a hike with the boys during the day tomorrow," she flicked open another button, and kissed farther down his chest. "And when you get back," Michael's eyes drifted shut as Angela continued her slow descent, scooting down as she went, "I'll be all ready to do my cardio." She rested her chin on his belt buckle and rolled her head so she could look up at him. "Then, we can freshen up, and hit the clubs 'till the locals send us home."

Michael opened his eyes and looked down at her. His smile parted, but it took a second for him to speak. "That could work…" he staggered. He shook himself sober and took a breath to steady himself. "But I wanted to hike with you," he said clearly.

Angela pushed herself up so she was at his eye level. She squinted and scrunched her nose apologetically. "You might want to brace yourself, Michael, but I'm not really an outdoorsy girl. Mountains, rainforests…they make really nice commercials."

Michael smirked and leaned forward slowly. "Ahh," he gloated, kissing the cheekbone her new smile perfectly revealed. "But that's how you know what you're offering people when you dangle it in front of them."

Like a pirate, out of nowhere, he flipped her backward onto the mattress, one hand braced behind the small of her back. His hips held her down, and he propped himself up on his arms above her. She looked up at him in wide surprise, but her lids started to close as he put his hand around the left side of her neck and gently kissed back toward the right. "You experience it for yourself, first," he whispered seriously.

Angela tipped her head back into the covers, allowing herself to feel all of the mini explosions Michael was setting from her ear to her throat. "Okay, Sunday," she finally rasped. "We'll go hiking on Sunday."


"I love Panama," Angela said dipping a spoonful of respado as they walked down Amador Causeway. "Where else can you neutralize 80 degree heat with a creamy snow cone at midnight?"

"Almost every other Latin country," Michael smirked, tossing his paper wrapper in a trash can.

"No, seriously." She waved her spoon around, "It's Thursday, and look, everybody's awake - and it's almost tomorrow!" Angela said excitedly, the light breeze whispering playfully against her new dress.

Groups of people walked around - talking, shopping, and laughing - as they continuously stepped into the lights of the streetlamps placed every few yards.

Michael smiled over at her and shook his head. Angela looked down at her treat and took another bite. "This is really good," she said with her mouth full.

He leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Thank you for coming here with me."

She stopped walking and looked up at him, surprised.

"I mean it," he said softly. "I wouldn't want this without you, Angela."

She didn't know what to say. Not only was this the first time her husband had recognized this trip as voluntary, but then to say that

Angela blinked and swallowed the last bit of flavored ice in her mouth. She reached up and gently pulled behind his neck for a soft kiss.

He tasted like vanilla and raspberries. She kissed him even more earnestly, doing her best to keep the rest of the ice from spilling on them. It was probably a minute before they carefully pulled apart. Angela opened her eyes and saw Michael looking down at her kindly.

"I'm really glad I'm here with you, Michael," she said quietly.

He smiled at her and took her hand, leading them back to the hotel.