Dios, por favor. Let it be Mamá.
Please, please,please.
Whit tucked his index finger under my chin, and my eyes flickered back to his. They were a pale blue to match the waves gently prodding us to shore. “We should swim to the coast.”
“I can’t swim.”
“It was implied that I’d help you.”
I smiled at his aggrieved tone. “Can we wait five minutes?”
He narrowed his gaze at me. “Why, sweetheart?”
“Because my mother is going to come out of that canal any second.”
His next words were impossibly gentle. “I don’t think either of them made it.”
“You’re probably right,” I said. “But I have to know for sure.”
“Inez…” His voice trailed off before he gave me a nod. “Five minutes. I can’t keep us afloat longer than that.”
His legs were steadily kicking underneath us; I felt them brush against mine every so often. “Really?”
He rolled his eyes. “No.”
I arched a brow.
“Fine. I am alittletired.” He twisted his lips. “And hungry.”
I leaned closer and kissed his cheek. “I promise to feed you falafels after this.”
He ducked his head and smiled. A loud splash had us spinning toward the noise.
“Please,” I said.
A moment later, Mamá’s head appeared above the water. She caught sight of us and waved her arm wildly. “¡Ayuda!”
“I think we better help her.”
“Ugh,” Whit said.
Whit dragged us up the sandbank, and I got onto my hands and knees, coughing up seawater. He dropped Mamá next to me and then settled onto the ground on my other side, breathing heavily.
“If you make a run for it,” he said after a moment, “I will catch you.”
“You haven’t changed, Whit,” Mamá muttered.
I shifted around until I faced the rise and fall of the sea, and sat heavily on the damp sand. The waves crashed against the shore and the water reached my toes. Whit leaned forward slightly, looking past me to narrow his eyes at my mother. His wet eyelashes were pointed darts.
She glanced at him warily, her eyes flickering over his shoulder. Moonlight not only illuminated the shadowy outline of Alexandria, but also her calculating expression. I reached out to grab a hold of her arm.
“You’re bleeding,” I said, gesturing to the cut across her brow. “We ought to return to the hotel. Call for a doctor.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine.”
Whit pulled a small container from within his jacket and then reached into his holster for his gun. With quick efficient movements, he loaded his weapon. “Your daughter would like to spend more time with you. Are you really going to deny her?” he asked mildly.
My mother’s eyes dropped to the revolver in his hand. “It won’t work. That powder is useless by now.”
