Page 131 of What the River Knows

A memory flickered in my mind. Elusive and hazy. “What did it say?”

He laughed humorlessly. “I was chasing a rumor, Olivera. It probably doesn’t exist, or if it did, it was destroyed a long time ago.”

“What did it say?” I repeated, the memory becoming sharper. Cleopatra had been preparing something, reading a… had it been a scroll? Or a sheet? I couldn’t remember.

“It’s time to go,” Tío Ricardo shouted down at us from the dahabeeyah.

All thoughts of Cleopatra and her ancestor scattered. Neither of us reached for the other. I didn’t think I could, disappointment clouding my vision. Whit remained silent, too, as if he couldn’t bring himself to say anything else.

I joined him on the deck, the distance between us stretching, as if he’d already gone.

We arrived in Cairo on a sunny afternoon, the last day in December. The rest of the journey had been slow, and there had been trouble with theElephantinethat kept us from sailing for a few extra days. The hours were filled with long evenings spent alone. My uncle had kept to himself, writing letters and sending them off when we stopped in Thebes for food and other supplies. Whit was friendly when we had to be around each other,but he never sought me out for conversation and he often retreated to his room after dinner. I knew it was for the best. But my heart was still broken and my emotions swung wildly. I was anxious to be on my way, to help find Elvira. I was desperate to stay and help them find my traitorous mother. I promised myself I’d make things right, but now I was leaving.

Back and forth the pendulum swung, leaving my nerves raw and wrung out.

“I’m going to book your passage to Buenos Aires,” Tío Ricardo said as we walked up the steps leading to the front door of Shepheard’s. The front terrace was as crowded as on the day I’d first left it. Travelers enjoyed tea and catching up with old friends. The street below bustled with its usual familiar activity, hackney cabs clamoring up and down the main avenue.

I’d miss Cairo, and grief gripped me like a too-tight dress clenched around my ribs.

I was making the right choice. Elvira needed me. But I couldn’t seem to forget how badly I’d failed—everyone.

“Would you like to send a telegram?” Tío Ricardo asked, jarring me from my thoughts. “It’s faster than regular post.”

“Sí, por favor,” I said in Spanish. I’d gotten in the habit of conversing with my uncle in English, but now that I was leaving for Argentina, my mind had already made the switch. “How early do you think I can depart for Alexandria?”

“That depends on you,” he said. “Would you like to hear word from your aunt? It’s possible that Elvira might have already been found.”

“I thought of that as well,” I said, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of Shepheard’s lobby. People milled around in small groups, chatting gaily, while others were seated in the various couches along the walls. The granite pillars stood tall and imposing, reminding me of the ones found in Philae. I missed the small island, an ache that tore at my skin, my breath, my heart. I had no way of knowing when I’d ever see her again. “There might be a letter waiting for me.”

We hurried to the front desk and Sallam’s familiar smile greeted us. “Hello, Señor Marqués, Señorita Olivera, and Mr. Hayes. It’s wonderful to see you again, and in time for the New Year’s Eve ball, too.”

He gestured to several hotel attendants carrying vases of beautiful blooms to the ballroom. They were a riot of colors, bold reds and pinks and purples. I would most likely be missing the night’s festivities, but I returned his grin with a faint smile of my own. “Sallam, is there a letter here for me?”

He immediately began checking the drawers, and rummaging through stacks of paper and letters. After he looked though everything, he checked again and then looked up at me. “There’s nothing for you. Were you expecting something?”

My uncle placed a tentative hand on my shoulder. Whit shot me a look filled with sympathy. Worry seeped under my skin. I had really hoped that there would have been word about my cousin’s welfare. The silence spoke volumes; Elvira still hadn’t been found.

“Is it possible for Inez to send a telegram?” Whit asked.

“Of course,” Sallam said, frowning slightly. “Señorita Olivera, would you like to sit? You look pale.”

“No, I’m fine, please, let’s just send word—”

“Inez!” a voice called from behind me.

The floor tilted under my feet and I clutched the front desk, my knees wobbling. I whirled around in time to receive the hug thrusted on me. Blue feathers tickled my nose, and I stepped back, my eyes watering. “Elvira!You’rehere—”

My voice broke. She wasn’t missing, she wasn’t in danger.

I hadn’t lost someone else.

Hot pressure built behind my eyes. Elvira laughed and went for another hug, smelling like orchids, like the garden back home. “I arrived a few days ago.”

I squeezed her back, and then I pulled away, halfway between relief and exasperation. “I received a note from yourmother,who thinks you’ve gone missing! She sent two letters, Elvira, terrified out of her mind. What were you thinking?”

“I left her a letter!” she exclaimed. “The same wayyoudid. She must not have found it.” Her face scrunched in bewilderment. “At least, IthoughtI left her one.”

“Por el amor de Dios,” Tío Ricardo muttered. He stepped forward, looking harassed and annoyed. “Your cousin, I take it?”

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