Page 57 of What the River Knows

Tío Ricardo stood abruptly, his chair flying backward. “Did you help her on board, Whitford?”

Whit gave him a pointed look.

My uncle splayed his hands, half-angry, half-exasperated. “Why would you do this?”

I lifted my chin. “It was the only way.”

My uncle opened his mouth, and then slowly shut it. He seemed afraid to ask me what I meant, but intuition told me he already knew why I had come. I wanted the truth, I wanted answers. And I would get them any way I could.

I swallowed hard. Sweat beaded at my hairline.

“Get Hassan,” Tío Ricardo quietly.

I blinked in confusion—did he want me to… no, he’d spoken to Whit, who remained motionless against the wall, his hands tucked deep into his pockets. He might have been posing for a photograph.

“Let her stay,” Whit said. “I think she’s earned the right to be on the team.”

I swung around to face him, my lips parting. He didn’t look in my direction. His attention remained focused on my uncle.

“Have you lost all sense?” Tío Ricardo asked.

“We can’t turn around, and you know it,” Whit said. “She figured out a way on board with no help from either of us; she just survived swimming in the Nile. She’s theirdaughter.”

“I don’t care. Bring Hassan to me.”

“We turn around and we’ll lose days that we don’t have. Are you sure you want to risk it?”

My uncle swiped at the contents on the table. Everything went crashing to the ground. He breathed heavily, his buttons straining against his broad chest. His hands were clenched into tight fists, his knuckles turning white.

I jumped back with a squeak. I’d never seen such violent temper. My father had been a mild-tempered man, his tone soft and approachable. My mother was the yeller, but she didn’t throw anything when in a rage. Tío Ricardo paced, tugging at his beard.

Then he stopped and faced Whit with a calculated look.

Swift comprehension crossed Whit’s face. “No,” he breathed. “I won’t do it.”

“I pay you a great deal to do what I need,” my uncle said. “You’ll take her back after we disembark.”

Whit pushed off the wall. “You need the crew, and I can’t sail theElephantineby myself. Consider that she won’t ever give up, and short of going with her to Argentina—”

Tío Ricardo’s head snapped back, his mouth going slack. Panic stabbed me in the gut. I didn’t like the look on his face at all. Neither did Whit for that matter.

“Absolutely not,” Whit snapped. “You’ve gone too far. I didn’t agree to the job only to become a babysitter.”

I flinched.

Desperation carved deep grooves along my uncle’s brow. “She can’t stay here.”

I cleared my throat. “I might have to, if only to help you.”

My uncle inhaled deeply, clearly fighting to keep calm. “My dear niece—”

But Whit cut him off, his eyes narrowing in my direction. “Explain what you mean.”

My attention flickered to my uncle. “When my father sent me the ring, I felt an immediate reaction. It was a spark that I felt everywhere. And then I tasted roses.”

Whit shut his eyes and let out a humorless laugh.

“Roses,” Tío Ricardo said in a hollow sort of voice. “Are you sure?”

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