“Enough, Inez,” he said, striding away from the table. “It will only give you pain to think of such things. Why don’t you rest?”
“We’ve barely begun—”
“You and I can talk after you’ve calmed down.”
I stared after him, furious at him and at myself for my inability to control my temper. Kareem stepped inside, a fresh pot of coffee in his hands. Silently, he poured me another cup.
“Shokran,” I said. Then I glanced toward him. “How much of that did you overhear?”
Kareem smiled. “It’s a small boat.”
So it was. My uncle couldn’t avoid me forever.
*
I found Whit journaling on one of the plush chairs out on the deck. Beyond, the Nile swept past a land patterned in greens, browns, and blues. Palm groves dotted the landscape in regular intervals. The beauty surrounding me didn’t soothe my frustration. I sank down in the available seat next to him.
I blew the hair from my face. My gaze landed on the page he wrote in. I caught a glimpse of confusing numerical scribblings and drawings before he snapped the journal closed.
He looked at me narrowly. “How did your talk with your uncle go, nosy?”
I blushed. “I lost my temper.”
He tsk-tsked.
“I think my parents went out in that desert, searching for an artifact, a place, or . . . I don’t know. Something,” I said, watching him carefully. “My uncle is desperate to find it, too. Do you know what it could be?”
Whit lifted an indolent shoulder. “In Egypt? We’re all looking for something.”
There was note in his tone that gave me pause. Was he looking for what my uncle wanted, too? But the wistful quality in his voice made me think he was looking for something intangible. Nothing that he could hold in his hands or that had a price.
“I don’t understand him,” I fumed. “I don’t understand his decisions, his behavior. I really don’t understand why he won’t talk to me.”
“Your uncle has a reason for everything.”
I detected a note of disapproval in his voice. Something that begged a question. “Whit . . . do you trust him?”
He pierced me with a direct look that didn’t match his lazy grin. “Why, Se?orita Olivera, there’s only two people in the world I trust.”
“So few?” I eyed him, holding back my hair from flying into my face. The breeze had sharpened considerably. “Your family, I’d guess. Parents?”
The corners of his lips tightened. “My brother and sister.”
“But not your mother and father?”
“I wouldn’t trust them to save my life if I were on fire,” he said with a slight smile.
I couldn’t read him. He didn’t sound the least bit upset, but his lips had twisted wryly, as if he knew he couldn’t quite pull off a cavalier facade. A part of me understood. I was beginning to understand that I didn’t trust my own parents. It was hard to when they kept so many secrets. They loved me, but hadn’t shared their lives with their only child. It was hard to accept, hard to fathom. Another blast of wind whipped between us, and the boat lurched sharply.
I startled and looked around in alarm.
Whit abruptly sat up in the lounger. “That wasn’t—”
The deck of the Elephantine groaned as it rocked sharply.
“Is that normal?” I said, my unease rising.
He pulled me up from my seat and to the railing and pointed his finger at the dark river churning as the wind blew around us like a shrill tempest. The water grew tumultuous, rising and falling in between large protruding rocks. “I must find Reis Hassan,” he said grimly.
“Will we be all right?” But he wasn’t listening to me, his attention was trained on the water. A chill gathered over my skin, making the hair on my arms stand on end. I gathered the front of his shirt in one hand. “Whit.”
He looked down, lips parted in surprise. The full force of his blue gaze met mine. He brought his hand up to my cheek, hesitant and slow, almost touching. Something flashed in his eyes, and he dropped his palm. I missed his touch even though I hadn’t felt it. Gently, he pried my fingers loose and stepped away from me, his face closing as if it were a doorway he refused to allow anyone through. But his words to me were a promise. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
The boat dipped again, and something dragged along the underside of the Elephantine. “What was that?”
“Go back to your cabin.” He left me on the deck. “I mean it, Olivera.”
The boat heaved to the right and I stumbled, swinging my arm wide to right my balance. I took a hesitant step forward, and then another, but the boat pitched again, and my stomach dropped to my toes. I doubled back to the saloon. The rest of the crew rushed past me, speaking in rapid Arabic. They all wore expressions of panic.
“Sitti! You must go to your room!” Kareem said, sweeping past me. “It’s not safe!”
“As soon as I find my uncle,” I said.
But he’d already gone from my sight. I ran into the saloon and found him rolling up a map spread wide across the table. Something struck the windows and I spun around, letting out a gasp.
“Is that sand?” I asked.
In two strides Tío Ricardo was in front of me. “It’s coming from the desert.”
The boat groaned loudly as it struck something hard beneath our feet. His face paled, then he turned me around and pushed me toward my cabin. “Stay in your room until I tell you it’s safe to come out, Inez. If we capsize, go out through the window. Leave everything behind. Do you understand?”
Numbly, I nodded and rushed to do what he said, my heart in my throat. I shut the door behind me and sat on the ground, my knees close to my chest. But no, staying inactive during such a time was immeasurably foolish. Suppose we flipped over, what then?
I looked around the room with a critical eye.
What could I stand to lose?
None of my parents’ things. They weren’t special items to anyone else, but because they had belonged to them, it made them priceless. The boat rocked, groaning from being thrashed around by the heavy blast of wind. It howled outside my window with murderous intent. I stood on shaky legs, my arms windmilling, and took cautious steps toward the drawers under my bed.
A loud curse brought me up short.
That sounded like my uncle.
I rushed to the door and peered across the short corridor. One of the doors on the opposite side was ajar, swaying in rhythm to the movements of the ship. It creaked loudly. I stepped out into the hallway, my mouth opening—
Through the gap of the door, I caught sight of my uncle. The door swung forward, blocking my view, but then moved back the other way. I moved closer, my steps light against the wood. I thought I’d seen something familiar . . .
Tío Ricardo was rapidly going through his things—not unlike what I had been doing. But in his hands was a notebook, the cover painted with lush peonies. They were my mother’s favorite flowers. I’d recognize her diary anywhere.