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sister must have gone swimming at night. Her body washed up on the beach. People from her hotel called.”
    â€œWhat about the man with her? Did he drown too?”
    â€œAs far as I can tell, she came to Anguilla herself. That’s what they told us at the hotel.”
    Her face red with anger, Allison shot to her feet. “No way. Vanessa would never go to a Caribbean island for a vacation herself. And damn it, she’s an excellent swimmer. You made a mistake. It’s not my sister,” she screamed. “I should kill you for doing this.”
    â€œI’m sorry, Miss Boyd, but the photo on her passport clearly matches. And we found a Chopard wristwatch with her initials on the back. She had a scar on her left leg at the ankle. Did your sister have one there?”
    Allison felt as deflated as a helium balloon that had struck a spike. Some Washington bigwig had given Vanessa that watch last summer. The scar was from Vanessa’s skiing accident.
    â€œShe’s my sister,” Allison managed to stammer as she collapsed back into her chair.
    She thought of their blood oath, taken as twelve year olds. Always stick together, no matter what. “Vanessa, Vanessa,” she mumbled. And she wept what felt like a torrent of tears.
    It was her fault, Allison thought. She should have moved to Washington. She could have gotten a teaching job at one of the universities in the DC area and shared an apartment with her sister. Then this would never have happened.
    â€œWhat about the body? Where shall we ship it?”
    Allison recalled her uncle’s funeral last year. “Blake’s Mortuary on Main Street in Oxford, Ohio.”
    â€œWe’ll do that. And I want to tell you how sorry I am, and so are the people of Anguilla.”
    Allison hung up, put her head in her hands, and cried again. She couldn’t believe it. This all seemed like a terrible dream.
    Looking sympathetic, Zahava touched her shoulder.
    In a fog, Allison said, “I have to call my mother.”
    â€œWould you like me to call for you?”
    She dreaded making the call, but she knew she had to do it herself. Pushing the buttons on the cell like a robot, she doubted she’d be any comfort to her mother.
    â€œI have bad news.”
    â€œWhat happened? Is it Vanessa?”
    â€œA policeman in Anguilla just called. She drowned.” Allison couldn’t continue. As the word “drowned” came out of her mouth, she broke into sobs.
    â€œOh no, no, Allison, no.”
    After a time, she forced herself to finish. “They’re shipping the body to Blake’s.”
    Her mother was now shrieking and moaning.
    Allison waited until her sobs quieted. “I’m in Israel now on a dig. I’ll get the first plane out. I should be there Tuesday morning.”
    * * *
    On Zahava’s recommendation, Allison booked a plane to New York, three hours after they’d arrive at Ben Gurion Airport. “You’ll need the time,” Zahava told her, “between our endless security checks and the miles of walking.” At JFK she’d connect to Cincinnati.
    Now, she was standing in a long line, moving slowly toward the El Al ticket counter, astounded at the high ceiling and vastness of the spanking new state-of-the-art terminal. In the polyglot of humankind around her, a few were pushing and shoving. But most were patiently keeping their places in line. There were Christian church groups, Muslims, and school children. She saw bearded Hasids, American Jewish tour groups, Asians, and the diversity of Israelis with every imaginable skin color from Ethiopian to Scandinavian. There can’t be another place like this in the world, she thought.
    Damn it, this is taking a long time. I hope I make my plane. Her mind turned back to Vanessa. Last year she’d read a book called The Black Swan about significant, traumatic events people never see coming, never in their wildest imagination.