Page 65 of Gone Before Goodbye

Tears push into Nadia’s eyes.

“Nadia?”

“It was his sign.”

“Whose sign?”

“I need more water.”

Maggie puts the straw between her lips. Nadia lifts her head to sip. When she’s done, her head falls back on the pillow.

“My mother told me that her grandfather used to brand camels,” Nadia says. “Always on the left side of the face. Always. So you knew what tribe it belonged to. Here, with him, it was always on the upper right thigh. Where no one in my village would see it.” Nadia winces and tries to sit up. “Who do you know who has it?”

“Like I said”—Maggie’s head is swirling—“a loved one.”

“No.”

“No?”

“That’s not good enough,” Nadia says. Her voice has more edge now, bordering on anger. “What loved one?”

Maggie’s mouth goes dry. She’s right, of course. She has every right to know. “My husband.”

“Did he donate a kidney too?”

“No. He was a surgeon.”

Nadia’s eyes lock on her. “Did he do mine?”

“No,” Maggie says too quickly.

“How can you know for sure?”

Maggie says nothing. She feels lost.

“Where is your husband now?” Nadia asks.

“He’s dead.” Maggie hears the distant monotone in her voice. Then she adds, “He was killed.”

Nadia doesn’t look surprised. “They murdered him?”

The question throws her. An odd question. Or was it? “What do you mean by ‘they’?”

“Who killed him?”

“I don’t know.”

Nadia shakes her head. Maggie feels cold inside.

“Nadia?”

“You’re lying,” Nadia says.

“What?”

“I see it in your eyes. Who killed your husband?”

Maggie isn’t sure how to answer that. “Marc was on a humanitarian mission in a war zone. The camp was overrun by men with guns and machetes. It was a slaughter. He…”