“That’s beside the point,” my aunt said firmly. “I want to know what happened to Cayo. I must have some way to mourn him. Has there been no word about where his… his body might be?”
In no world would I allow her to share my hope that my father might still be alive. Better my aunt thought her brother was dead than to agonize over his whereabouts. Like I did. “No word, unfortunately.”
Tía Lorena sighed. “Is there anything else you need?”
I considered her question. There was one thing. “Abdullah’s granddaughter, Farida, is worried about him, and if you could include her in your plans from time to time, it would mean the world to me.”
My aunt gave me a small nod. I would take my victories where I could get them. Then she surprised me by walking into her room abruptly. I looked at Amaranta, who delicately shrugged. My aunt returned, carrying the magic-touched teacup.
“If you’re traveling to Alexandria, then you should take this with you,” she said, handing it to me. “That way you can communicate with Ricardo whenever you wish.” She smiled faintly. “I have a feeling he wouldn’t love hearing from me, anyway.”
I forced myself to smile. If my uncle found out I was heading to Alexandria, then he wouldn’t be happy to hear from me, either.
The train rumbled along, sweeping past farmland and palm trees as we left Cairo. It was just the three of us in the cabin, Isadora at my side, Whit on the opposite bench, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.
“You are crushing the hem of my skirt,” Isadora said to Whit icily, tugging at the fabric until he finally obliged her by lifting his boots. “Isn’t there an empty compartment you can use?”
“I’m comfortable here,” he replied, moodily staring out of the dusty window.
Isadora pressed her lips into a thin line. She dug into her bag and pulled out a book. I wished I had thought to bring one.
Whit jumped to his feet, glaring down at his seat. “What the devil!”
“What is it?” I asked.
Isadora peered at him from over the edge of her book.
He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Remember when you gave me the teacup for safekeeping?”
I nodded, glancing at his knapsack. My own bag was too full, and so I had entrusted it to him, and he’d wrapped it in an old shirt of his. “Did it break?” I asked, my heart sinking. There went a way to communicate with my uncle.
“No,” Whit muttered. “Ricardo was trying to communicate with your aunt—”
“Oh no,” I said. “And the cup overflowed, getting your things wet.”
He glared down at his pants where some of the water had soaked the material. “Yes.”
Isadora laughed, and Whit shifted his glare from his pants to her. She smirked and went back to her reading.
“You should pull out your clothes so they can at least be dry by the time we reach Alexandria.”
Whit unpacked several shirts and laid them flat on the bench. Then he sat, stretching his legs, placing them exactly where they had been, crushing Isadora’s dress.
“Do you mind?”
“Not in the least,” Whit said with a cold smile.
Isadora rolled her eyes, then shifted in her seat, facing away from us and toward the window. “I’d like to read in peace, if neither of you minds.”
Whit opened his mouth.
“Where should we stay?” I asked quickly, hoping to turn the conversation from their brewing argument. I wished they would work on trying to find common ground while we were forced into one another’s company. “You’ve been to Alexandria before, haven’t you?”
Whit’s lips flattened. “I wasn’t there for the bombing of it, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I wasn’t,” I said. “I only wanted the name of a hotel.”
“We ought to stay at Hotel d’Europe,” Isadora said, not looking up from her reading. “I’ve heard wonderful things about the accommodations.”
