I wished she would stop talking, even as her words came from far away. As if they’d been buried under sand. I had to dig deep to finally understand her meaning.
“Evenwhat?”
“Her mummy. My father took her, too.”
Horror gripped me. “You mean…”
Isadora nodded, acute misery twisting her features.
Mr. Fincastle had stolen Cleopatra.
“This trip was supposed to be about our relationship,” she said, her voice louder, more like herself. “It was meant to bring us back together after what happened.”
“What happened?” I asked through numb lips.
“Here it is,” Isadora whispered. “The reason why I care so much about what you think of me.” And then she took my hand and held on, as if for dear life. “My parents had been lying to me for most of my life, until I found out the truth. Father had an affair with a married woman.” She inhaled deeply, visibly fighting tears. “It explained so much—why my mother was gone for half the year, every year, for some mysterious job in South America.”
“South America?” I repeated dumbly.
“In Argentina.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, the darkness a pit yawning wide, and I wanted to throw myself into its depths. Again, I knew what she was going to say before she said it. I bowled over, having to put my head between my knees.
She reached for my hand, held on tight. I barely felt her touch. Instead, I braced myself for what was coming next. But there was no preparing for the depth of my mother’s deception and how badly she had betrayed Papá and me. And when Isadora spoke again, I felt her words like a kick to the teeth.
“I’m your sister.”
CAPÍTULO SIETE
I splashed cold water on my face and avoided looking in the mirror. The wake of damage my mother had left behind overwhelmed me. This entire time, I had thought my mother had her affair with Mr. Burton—a man she later betrayed. But no. She had cheated on my father with Mr. Fincastle.
Mr. Fincastle, whose first name I never learned.
The brawny, rude, and domineering Englishman with a penchant for guns, who had managed every minute of Isadora’s day. The one who spoke down to the rest of the digging crew, who looked at everyone and everything with suspicion and disapproval.
I couldn’tbelievemy mother had been with such a man.
Surely she had better sense. Surely she had better taste. My father had been two decades older than her, but he had been kind and thoughtful and clearly supportive, he hadn’t minded her lifestyle while in Egypt, so different than his own. She had left his side for months at a time, when I believed them to be together. A sharp ache bloomed in my heart, and I knew that it’d never heal, no matter how much time went by, no matter the distance.
My mother had broken us.
And she knew the truth about my father. I knew Whit and Tío Ricardo believed him dead, and the longer Papá remained unaccounted for, the more I believed it, too. I leaned against the washbasin of the small water closet adjoining Whit’s room. My face felt warm still, despite the number of times I’d pressed a cool washcloth to my cheeks. I didn’t knowhow long I’d been inside, with Isadora still waiting on the bed where I’d left her.
My sister.
Hermana.
My emotions were all over the place: disbelief and confusion and heartache. And a surprising happiness that covered everything else. When Elvira had died, I’d lost someone fundamental, and the days since, I’d felt discordant and unsettled.
But now I had a sister.
Then it hit me. Isadora shared many of the same qualities Mamá had. Back in Philae, I had witnessed her moments of manipulation and cunning, her tendency to weigh her needs above others’, and a penchant for getting into trouble.
She and I had all those attributes in common.
I gripped the edge of the wooden counter, still unable to look in the mirror. Were we both doomed to become like our mother? Repeat her same mistakes? Hurt people without thought or consideration? The idea terrified me. Because I knew if I looked into the mirror, it wouldn’t be my face reflected back at me.
I’d see Elvira.
