Isadora knew all the rules of perfect etiquette—but she had been allowed to explore and shoot guns and excavate. She had been allowed to be herself. While I’d had to resort to trickery and secrecy and lying. It dawned on me how my mother had to do the same in order to lead the life she wanted.
With a whole new family.
The plate of food in front of Isadora sat untouched. The warmed pita had long since cooled, along with the ful mudammas, a savory fava bean porridge flavored with cumin, fresh herbs, and a lemon-garlic sauce and then slow-cooked overnight. I’d watched Kareem make it while on board theElephantine, and the dish was a personal favorite of mine.
“Have you tried the tomato-and-cucumber salad?” I asked. “It’s delicious dipped in the—”
“I’m not hungry,” Isadora said.
Frustration and concern pulled me forward in my seat, and I leaned across the table to push the pot of tea toward her. We were in the dining room, surrounded by tourists and waiters, the noise level bustling and loud.
“Eat a little something.”
Isadora’s lips twitched. “You are so…sisterly.”
“Am I?”
“Need I remind you that I know how to take care of myself?”
“And need I remind you that you’ve barely had anything to eat in the last couple of days? That you’re under enormous stress?”
She smiled.
“Why are you smiling?”
“It amuses me that you’re concerned about my nutritional intake.”
“I’m only being practical,” I muttered, leaning back against my chair, breaking one of Mamá’s rules. “What would happen if you fainted in the middle of the street?”
“That has literally never happened to me.”
“Papá always said he felt better when he’d eaten something after going through a trying day.” He used to leave alfajores for me before voyaging to Egypt. The sandwich cookies were coated in powdered sugar and filled with layers of dulce de leche. Because of him, I’d developed quite a sweet tooth.
“What was he like?”
I looked at her sharply. “Did my mother ever talk to you about him?”
Isadora pushed the plate away. “She didn’t. I think she wanted to keep that part of her life separate.”
“Did you know our mother had another daughter?”
Isadora gazed at me unflinchingly. “No. Not until after you, Ricardo, and Whit left Philae. My father told me then who you were.” Her eyes flicked down. “In a way, I wasn’t surprised. I’d been drawn to you ever since you were pulled out of the river.”
“But my mother kept me a secret,” I said, bitterness stealing over me.
“I think she’s an unhappy person who tried to make a new life for herself.”
A new life that had set fire to our family. A new life that had turned her into a criminal. I couldn’t believe Isadora was defending her. It seemed incredible that she didn’t know who Mamá really was.
“You know,” I began slowly, “that our mother is just as guilty as your father.”
Isadora’s jaw dropped. I startled, realizing that it was the first real expression I’d seen on her face. She leaned forward, her breath coming out in quick huffs. “What? What are you talking about?”
“Where do you think she is right now?”
Isadora frowned. “Back home, of course.”
“Where ishome?”
