“What, are you kidding, Mom? You mean they’re tapping the line or something?”

“No, no. It’s just—”

“So tell me. That’s what phones are for.”

“All right,” she said. “But you’d better sit down. This isn’t going to be easy for either of us.”

“I can’t sit down, Mom. I’m in bed.”

“All right.” She took a deep breath. “Karim, darling, I’m your mother, but I’m not who you think I am, who other people think I am. I didn’t want it that way. I had to do it. But now it’s time for the truth.”

For the second time that night, she told the story.

As it slowly sank in, Karim began to interrupt. His pain and confusion were palpable—and infused with growing anger.

“You’re telling me this guy, this prince, this creep that Malik killed—this guy was my father?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then what about Jacques? What about Jacques?” “I made him up. Please believe me, I did it for you.”

“Believe you? How can I believe you? None of this is real. It’s just—it’s crazy!”

“It’s real, Karim, and there’s more to it.” She closed her eyes. “Please come out here, sweetheart. Or I’ll come back there, forget about the trial.” “Mom, whatever it is, tell me now.”

“I killed him, Son. Not Malik. I did it.”

In the next few minutes, she learned exactly how her brother had felt on that plane taking Laila out of al-Remal. She would never forget the words Karim used, the hatred he expressed. That she knew it was a defense reaction made it no easier to hear. And nothing she tried to say got through.

“How could you do this to me? You think about it! How could you do it? How?”

The phone clicked violently. He was gone.

When the tears finally came, it seemed as if they would never stop. She felt Brad’s arm across her shoulders, shrugged it off: no one could help her in this, no one could comfort her. Yet in all the agony, there was something else, a feeling long forgotten, a mingling of exhilaration and fear that approached pure joy.

She had stepped off the cliff. Was she falling or flying?

O

Morning spread colors slowly across the desert. Jenna ordered breakfast for two. Brad had fetched his one piece of luggage from his room two floors below. Karim’s phone was disconnected. Jenna, eyes still red and puffy from crying, wanted to go to Boston.

“Don’t,” advised Brad. “It won’t do any good now. Let him cool down a little.”

He didn’t add that something remained to be done here, but it was on both their minds.

Jenna sipped coffee and nibbled a cinnamon roll. For the first time in weeks, food tasted good.