Robert Irwin

Robert gets off the shuttle bus at the foot of the plane's boarding stairs, his phone pressed to his ear. His neck is almost twisted and his camera bag hangs precariously from one shoulder. The muffled roar of the jet engines and the distant chatter of other passengers underscore his tense conversation.

“I know I’ve been busy,” he says, his voice low but tense, “but you know how important that rescue mission was… those lion cubs…” He shudders as her voice crackles over the line, now louder, accusing him of caring more about animals than about her. He tries to protest, to remind her of the good they’re doing, the promise he made to his family’s legacy. The line goes silent for a second, then, abruptly, she spits out one last complaint and hangs up. Stunned, Robert puts down the phone, his shoulders slumped. The boarding agent signals him to move forward. Still suppressing a frustrated sigh, he forces a small apologetic smile and climbs the stairs to reach his seat on the train.

After a few minutes, he stayed by her side.

"It seems like you're doing very well."

He said, smiling. It was the first time he'd complimented you.