Valley of Decision Read Free Page A

loaded their gear into the SUV, then hopped in and floored the gas pedal.
    The Rover shot into traffic. Lisbeth gripped the dash but still felt she was shaking apart at the seams. Their chauffeur dodged parked cars and bicycles that clogged the streets leading away from the airport. Windows down, they flew along the paved coastal road connecting Tunis and Old Carthage. The salty breeze kinked Lisbeth’s hair into knots almost as big as the ones in her stomach.
    As they neared the older part of the city, the crowded, narrow avenues forced Aisa to slow down. Street vendors hawked aromatic oils, brightly colored fabrics, and pottery in every imaginable shade of blue. Lisbeth’s mind traveled back to the days when this city was new. The days when the love of her life walked these streets. His kiss. The warmth of his touch. The strength in his resolve. She stuck her hand out the window and let the breeze slip through her fingers. How could someone be so close and yet so far away?
    Aisa laid on the horn and shook his fist. “Hang on.”
    At a huge clock tower, their aggressive cabbie abruptly turned east. He zipped through quiet residential streets lined with whitewashed houses trimmed in the same cobalt blue of the pottery.Leafy trees heavy with ripening oranges filled the yards. Here and there ancient stone columns converted into streetlamps embellished the neighborhoods only the very rich could afford. Grand estates like the one her mother’s father had left to Lisbeth when he died.
    Aisa whipped into a drive blocked by a massive wrought-iron gate. “Here we are.”
    â€œHere?” Lisbeth stared at the familiar gate. “This house belonged to my grandfather.” She’d sold Jiddo’s estate through a third-party transaction to finance Maggie’s steep college tuition. She had no idea the buyer had been her father’s camp cook. “You live here ?”
    â€œYes.” Aisa’s toothy grin showed his delight at her surprise. “The good professor is not the only one who knows how to turn sand into treasure.”
    Lisbeth shifted in her seat. “You sold recovered artifacts?”
    Aisa lifted his chin proudly. “My recipe for fried dough.”
    â€œTo whom?”
    â€œAn American food chain.” He pressed the remote control attached to his visor, and the gate swung open.
    In the distance, Lisbeth could see the hill where the Roman acropolis had been replaced by a huge French cathedral. All around her grandfather’s estate the palm trees had grown bigger and had acquired multiple rings of thick bark. Beside her sat a newly wealthy souk vendor who used to just barely eke out a living frying bread dough on an oil drum.
    Nothing stays the same.
    The power of time had tugged at her since the moment she’d set foot back in Tunisia. The port that had once been the spear pointed at the rest of the world was now an accusing dagger aimed at her. She’d abandoned Carthage in its hour of need. She could take no credit for its survival.
    Aisa settled Lisbeth into the room she’d stayed in the few times Papa brought her to visit on their rare supply runs to Carthage. She and Papa didn’t come often, because things were always so tense between Jiddo and her father. The two men had never had a good relationship, but after Mama’s disappearance it became even easier to beat each other up rather than themselves.
    Lisbeth showered quickly, slipped into the simple tunic she found laid out on the massive burled mahogany bed, then followed the enticing smell of roasting meat to the large, wrap-around terrace with a stunning view of the port. Laughter drew her attention to the fire pit. Aisa and Papa were one-upping each other with camp stories. But something about the scene wasn’t right. Papa was dressed in a woolen tunic that hit him midcalf. His fry cook was whacking fist-size dough balls with a tire iron and wearing Papa’s faded chambray