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“I think it is,” I said quietly. “Lourdes made herself a stranger to her own daughter. She didn’t know she was leading another life here; she didn’t know how good of a liar her mother is. And don’t forget, Inez believed her mother dead. We thought the same when we couldn’t find her for weeks and weeks. You would have done anything for her; remember when you thought other Curators had murdered her?”
“That was before I knew how she had betrayed me,” Ricardo said, slamming the book closed. “What do you want?”
“It’s time for me to go home,” I said.
He turned to face me, his jaw dropping. “Now?”
I had looked for the parchment again earlier, but there had been no trace of it. I couldn’t ignore my family anymore—not without a reason, and I had none. “There are too many letters from home. I can’t overlook them.”
He was silent, considering. “This has nothing to do with Inez leaving Egypt?”
“Nothing,” I said. I was always going to leave, one way or another. Even if I had found what I’d been looking for.
“You still have time on your contract with me.”
I nodded. I had expected him to bring it up. “You brought me back to the living, Ricardo. I’ll always owe you. But I can’t stay any longer. My sister needs me.”
“All right,” he said, his tone cold. “Then I’ll look for your replacement when we reach Cairo.”
I gritted my teeth. He knew I’d prefer to stay. “Fine.”
“Fine.”
I turned to go, my back straight, that yawning pit deepening in my belly. I wasn’t ready for my time here to be over. I wasn’t ready for what came next. I would be a husband to a stranger. I would have to havechildrenwith her.
“Whitford.”
I paused and half turned. Ricardo approached, and he settled his hand on my shoulder. “You’ve done good work for me. I’m glad you turned your life around.”
“It’s not really my life, though, is it?”
Ricardo gave me a pitying smile. “You still have a choice.”
“No, I don’t.”
He sighed, and squeezed my arm. “I know you’ve come to care for Inez. Thanks for leaving her alone.”
I left before I had to tell another lie.
PART FOURLOST AMONG A THOUSAND MINARETS
CAPÍTULO TREINTA
True to his word, my uncle prepared for us to leave with the first streaks of dawn the next morning. I’d spent a miserable night, tossing and turning, praying that Elvira had been found. At some point, Whit had appeared at my door, as if I’d summoned him. Wordlessly, he’d held out a tin cup filled with brandy.
I took it from him, conscious of my thin nightgown fluttering softly around my body. He never once looked down past my eyes. I took a sip, and the liquid burned a path down deep in my belly.
“I heard you,” he’d said softly. “Restless. I thought it might help.”
I took another sip and then handed the cup back to him. “I don’t have a taste for it.”
He’d stared at it in wonder, the tin small against his large hand. “Me neither. Not anymore.”
“You don’t miss it?”
“I only needed it to forget,” he’d said after a beat. “But I can’t run anymore. Keep it, and drink. It’ll help you fall asleep, Olivera.” He’d turned away before I could say anything else. There was so much I wished I could say. But I bit my tongue and fell back into bed. The brandy had calmed me down enough to think through the situation logically. It took several weeks for mail to make the journey from South America to Africa. She must have written both letters back to back. For all I knew, Elvira was already home and safe.
But then, why hadn’t Tía Lorena written another letter?
