“Didn’t Mom and Dad go there after they retired?” Suzanne and I were going through the stacks of paper after Dad died.
“Yeah, maybe that’s Dad on a camel in the foreground,” I said. I was kidding. Dad went everywhere in a car for as long as we could remember.
“They are beautiful,” Suzanne said. “The pyramids, I mean.”
I looked at the photo. It was all golden, the sand a light gold, the pyramids a darker gold, terraced, precise.
“You couldn’t go there now, too dangerous,” I said. “Pirates, kidnappers -”
“Pirates?!” Suzanne exclaimed. She was always the expert. The Older Sister Who Knows All. “There’s no ocean! How could there be pirates?”
It’s true I was on shaky ground. I had been thinking of Somalian waters. “I mean, kidnappers,” I said firmly.
“Maybe,” she admitted.
She put down the postcard and kept leafing through the stack of papers on the dining room table.
Before we left that evening, I pocketed the postcard. I thought they were beautiful too.