The apartment door opened and Arama saw in her sister’s eyes the anger she expected, but it was now dressed in the latest style. A dark blue suit of impeccable taste and expense, like so many American women wore on TV.

Arama gazed into the apartment. It lacked warmth and light, from the straight lines of the furniture, to the hardwood floor, and venetian blinds shut so tight that light had to squeeze into the room. And there was a fragrance she’d never smelled before. It must’ve come from a bottle, not nature, she thought.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Isabel said, jarred at the sudden presence of her sister.

“May we come in?” Arama asked, pointing to the two others, as if there was nothing bizarre in this sudden appearance in her sister’s life after so long a time.

“This is the young girl I left you the message about who cured the boy. Her name is Jhana-Merise. And this is her father, Vincente. They’re friends of mine.”

Arama saw Isabel’s body stiffen and her jaw clench. She used to be afraid of her sister’s anger, but standing here at the threshold of her sister’s life, and looking into the apartment with its cold modernity, she felt pride in how she’d chosen to live. She was a worker from a poor land, but that land bred dreams of family and unity, not the arid dreams of greed and separateness she saw her sister had fallen into.

“You can’t show up like this,” Isabel said in an angry whisper, her hands clenched by her side.

The distance had allowed Arama to deny the extent of rage to which her sister was capable. Yes, they had walked different paths. They’d walked them for decades, but Arama hoped that something this magnificent could break through Isabel’s emotional wall. They weren’t from two separate countries, they were human beings connected by God, no matter how much Isabel needed possessions to prove her worth.

Arama told Isabel of Jhana-Merise and how she healed the boy. She also told her of dreams Jhana-Merise had of Hashim teaching her about the butterfly, and how she saw him clean-shaven, with hands and feet chained. Arama could see her unexpected presence and all the information she’d blurted had her sister reeling. She also saw Isabel take a deep breath, collect herself, as she always had in her drive to be superior, and in true lawyer fashion cross-examine the young girl she just met.

“You’ve seen Hashim in dreams?” Isabel said, her facade masked the alarm running through her.

“Yes,” Jhana-Merise replied.

“Who else knows of this?”

“Don’t worry. God will protect us,” Arama answered.

“This is serious,” Isabel said to Arama, pointing a finger like a gun. “Have you told anyone else about these dreams, Jhana-Merise?”

“Only a nun in a convent where we stayed before coming here.”