Page 65 of What the River Knows

“Were they looking for something?” I asked, a sudden idea striking me.

“What?”

“Were they,” I said slowly, fury lacing each word, “looking for something? Did you send them out there?”

Emotion flickered deep in his hazel eyes. It might have been guilt. But my uncle remained silent, even as my pulse thrashed in my veins. He adjusted his glasses, averting his gaze from mine. My heart sank. That was it, then.

My uncle had sent them on a wild hunt and they’d lost their lives because of him.

“Tell me about their last day, tell me what they were doing.” My voice cracked. “Why weren’t you with them?”

“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 off my face, my gaze landing on the pagehe wrote on. 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.”

Hetsk-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. His unwillingness to 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, Señorita Olivera, there are 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.

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