Chapter 1

It is the early nineties, and I am stationed abroad with my husband, Edward Linfield, a rising star in the State Department. It is supposed to be a quiet post until the country implodes into a violent civil war.

The evacuation is chaos. When the last chopper is ready to lift off, Edward, as the diplomat overseeing the withdrawal, holds the final seat.

He stands between me and a civilian geologist, a woman he has been working with. His gaze never once meets mine as he presses the boarding pass into her hand.

"Her mind holds maps of strategic mineral deposits vital to national security," he says. "You're my wife. You of all people should understand what's at stake."

And just like that, I am left behind in the war-torn ruins of a foreign land.

Three months later, a tattered newspaper from home celebrates Edward's heroism. Beside the text is a photo of him and the geologist, locked in a triumphant post-rescue embrace.

As for me, I am saved by the sworn adversary of the local rebels when a piece of shrapnel grazes my head.

Five years pass. Peace talks are convened to re-establish diplomatic ties.

Edward watches the pen slip from his grasp as I walk in, taking my seat across the table as the official envoy for the foreign government.

*****

The rains came to the capital city of Kavala in March of 1990, sudden and violent.

I stood at the second-floor window of the embassy, watching the burning carcasses of cars that littered the streets below. The air was thick with the smell of burning rubber and something horribly sweet and organic.

Three days ago, the rebel "Freedom Front" had broken through the city's eastern defenses. The Presidential Guard had blown the bridge across the river during their retreat, turning half the capital into an isolated cage.

Edward Linfield's arms wrapped around me from behind, his chin resting in the familiar curve of my shoulder. "Evelyn, get your important documents together. They've arranged for an evacuation. The first chopper arrives tomorrow."

His embrace was still the same, warm and solid, scented with the crisp aftershave that always clung to his shirts.

I turned in his arms, my fingers tracing the strong line of his brow. "And you? When are you leaving?"

"I'll be on the last transport," he said, catching my hand and pressing a soft kiss to my palm. "I'm in charge here. I have to make sure everyone gets out safely."

I nodded, not questioning it. After four years of marriage, I was used to his work coming first.

It was that very sense of duty, that "country over everything" demeanor, that had drawn me to him at a dance back at Georgetown.

I was the top student in the Spanish program, with dreams of joining the Foreign Service as a translator. Then he proposed before my graduation.

"Come with me," he said, his eyes shining. "Be my wife, and I'll be your anchor in the world."

I gave up my graduate school acceptance, tore up my offer for the Foreign Service exam, and followed him from Latin America to Africa and finally to this landlocked nation in the heart of Central Asia.

Kavala was a small country, rich in copper deposits and political instability. Edward was the Second Secretary at the U.S. Embassy, and I worked part-time, managing the library.

As I packed, I found our wedding album.

There I was, smiling in a simple white sundress in front of the presidential palace in Buenos Aires.

That was 1986. We were newly married, and Edward had promised we would start a family as soon as his term was over.

But one term led to another, each post more difficult than the last, and the subject of children was pushed further and further away.

"What are you thinking about?" Edward asked, coming into the room with two documents. "This is your evacuation form. Fill it out."

I took the paper, and my eyes caught the white bandage wrapped around his right hand. "What happened to your hand?"

"It's nothing," he said, instinctively pulling it behind his back. "I scraped it yesterday helping Clara move some equipment."

It was Clara Whitman.

She was a geologist and had arrived three months ago, a quiet woman who supposedly held the complete map of a transnational mineral vein in her head.

I had seen her a couple of times. Once was at the embassy's Fourth of July party, where she stood in a corner in faded work pants, sipping an Orange Crush.

Another time was at the market, where she was picking over withered carrots while Edward held her basket.

"Is she being evacuated too?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

Edward's tone sharpened, becoming serious. "Of course. Her value is immense, Evelyn. If that mineral deposit is developed, it could solve our country's copper deficit for the next decade."

I looked down and started filling out the form, my pen hesitating for a second over the "Spouse" field.

He must have sensed my mood because he knelt beside me, taking my hand. "Evelyn, when we get home, we'll have a proper honeymoon. The Florida Keys, or maybe somewhere in the Caribbean. You've always wanted to see the ocean."

I looked into his earnest eyes and saw my own reflection there, and only mine.

I smiled. "Okay."

I didn't know then that some promises, like rainbows. They appeared radiant against the monsoon yet shattered at the first sound of a cannon.