Beth stared, her eyes wide. “Alex,” she whispered, a protest.
“They carried pistols and muskets, too. Of course, I thought they were in costume. But they chased me through the city, Beth, and it wasn’t for fun. I was terrified. I ran into an old man’s house. He seemed kind, and I didn’t understand a word he said—but he drugged me. When I woke up this time, I was being guarded by two African slaves—and I was being held against my will by a French slave trader.”
Beth was speechless, unmoving.
Alex stood. “He sold me to the bashaw, Beth. But the bashaw’s son liked me—I married the bashaw’s son, Jebal. It wasn’t 1996, Beth—it was 1802—and I had no choice! I have been gone for three goddamn years, I have lived in a harem as a second wife, lived through war … I have been through hell!” Alex began to weep uncontrollably.
Beth rushed to her and held her. “Alex, shh. You are distraught, overtired.”
Alex jerked away. “You don’t believe me!” she accused. “Look at me! Look at my hair! You saw the clothing I was wearing! And these cuts? I just lived through Preble’s first attack on Tripoli, Beth. Jebal locked me inside my room because I wasn’t faithful to him; I had become a prisoner, not a wife. Preble attacked, not just the city, but the palace—with cannons and mortars and firebombs. God!” Alex was shouting. “I lived through a war! I have never been so frightened in my life! I thought I would die!”
Beth slowly nodded. She was grim.
Alex knew that she did not believe her. Even she herself was aware of how ludicrous and incredible her tale seemed. She gripped her own hair and pulled viciously on it. “This isn’t a wig. These aren’t extensions. This is my hair!”
“I’m”—Beth swallowed—“beginning to see that.”
Alex covered her face with her hands.
“Why are you crying? If what you’re saying is true, you should be thrilled to have come home.”
Alex dropped her hands. “Blackwell came. He was captured, with his ship and crew, in the summer of 1803. We met briefly that year, but he was sent away to labor as a slave in the mines. We all thought he’d died. But he returned. Beth, he rescued me. From the palace, from my prison, from Jebal, while Preble was destroying Tripoli. He risked his life to rescue me,” Alex cried.
Beth’s eyes were impossibly wide. She reached out and gripped Alex’s hand. “It’s all right, Alex.”
“I spent last night with Blackwell. Last night we made love in Preble’s cabin on board the USSConstitution.Finally, after two long, endless years, years in which we were apart far more than we were together, he made love to me—he told me that he loved me.” Tears streamed down her face.
“Oh God,” Beth whispered, ashen.
“And then he told me he had a wife,” Alex said.
“Alex …”
“No.” Alex shook her head, inhaling hard, a knifelike pain piercing her heart. “Now I’m here. Back where I belong. And he … he is somewhere in the Mediterranean, on board theConstitution,fighting a goddamn war Preble would win anyway, without him. Dammit!” Alex shouted. “This isn’t fair!” Alex hugged herself, rocking on her heels. “Please, God, keep him safe,” she prayed aloud.
Beth coughed. “Alex, you are not thinking clearly.”
Alex turned.
“He is not in the Mediterranean fighting the bashaw.”
“Of course he is. That is where I left him.”
“Alex—that war ended a hundred and ninety-two years ago. Preble is dead, the bashaw is dead, that Jebal is dead—Alex, Xavier Blackwell is dead, too.”
Alex woke up the next morning exhausted and incapable of functioning. She didn’t give a damn about her thesis, about her real life. She didn’t want to get up, to shower, to dress. She didn’t want to eat or work out. She didn’t want to do anything.
She was obsessed. Obsessed with a dead man, in love, once again, with a ghost.
He could not be dead.
But Beth was right. It was 1996. Alex had never known such grief.
Beth came by at noon and insisted Alex get up. “Look, I brought bagels and salmon from Barney Greengrass.” She set a paper bag down on the kitchen table while opening the shades.
“Go away,” Alex said, lying curled up in bed.
Beth faced her, hands on her hips. “You’re going to get up, Alex. You’re going to get up and get dressed and go out and do something—anything. You had an adventure. A great adventure. The memory will last forever, I am sure. But you have your entire life to live—you are only twenty-three years old. He’s a ghost.”
