Once, twice, three times, and she still couldn’t tell if what she saw was real or a hallucination. She sprang to her feet awkwardly, half trapped by the chair behind and the table in front. She almost called out to him, but had no idea why, or what she thought she was going to say. She raised her hand unconsciously, as if to wave, then froze in midair. When she realized she was standing up at the crowded restaurant table, mouth open, arm raised in a half-salute, she blushed. Everyone was staring at her. She watched the motorcycle drive away, leaving a plume of dust in the early evening air, and sank back into her chair, heart racing. I swear I know him! Of course she didn’t. But her body seemed to recognize him in some primitive way. “Are you all right, dear? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Her mother, Hannah Stevens, a professor of Ancient History, was leading her fourth annual cultural tour of the Middle East.
