When We Left Cuba(49)

“I doubt they want my input considering Isabel and I don’t exactly have the same taste.”

My sister’s wardrobe is unremarkably beige.

“I don’t want you to give your input. I want you to make a good impression on Thomas.”

“Why? Why does it matter what he thinks of me? He isn’t marrying me; he’s marrying Isabel.”

“It’s nearly February, Beatriz.”

“It is.”

“The season will be over before you realize it, and then where will you be? Another year lost, another year older, another year unmarried. Thomas’s cousin would be a good match for you.”

“Why? Because he has money? Because I need a husband? We’ve never even met. You know nothing about him.”

“I know you might have a chance with him. If you continue the way you are, no man will have you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Do you think I haven’t noticed how many walks you go on now? How often you disappear for hours at a time?”

Is she suspicious of my political activities or my relationship with Nick?

“I could speak to your father about it. He gives you too much freedom,” she snaps.

We’ve never been particularly close, my parents leaving the raising of their children to others, but the anger in her voice, etched all over her face, catches me off guard.

“Whatever you are up to, you will put an end to it. I will not let you ruin this family. Our reputation and good standing are all we have.”

I laugh, the sound devoid of any humor. “This isn’t Cuba anymore. And we aren’t the same family we once were. Can’t you see we’re already ruined?”

Her cheeks flush with anger. “You go too far.”

“I have to leave. I’m going to be late.”

I don’t give her a chance to respond before I walk out the door and head to my meeting with Mr. Dwyer.



* * *



? ? ?

    “Tell me your impressions of the Hialeah group,” Mr. Dwyer commands when we are seated across from each other at what is becoming our usual table at the restaurant where we met in Jupiter last year. I drove myself, Eduardo once again suspiciously absent.

I sip my coffee, still rattled from my earlier fight with my mother.

“They’re children playing at politics.”

“We said that of Fidel and his friends once,” Mr. Dwyer cautions.

“That may be, but it doesn’t change the reality that they sit around speaking of things they do not understand, their rhetoric bombastic and hyperbolic, but devoid of any practical considerations. They are children, with little understanding of the world outside of the books they read.”

“They’re not much younger than you, Miss Perez.”

“Why do you want me to watch them? Is this another test?”

“Not at all. The group is a very real threat, their support for Fidel unshakable. Did you not feel the zeal rolling off of them?”

“What can they do at the end of the day? Two American university girls, a boy . . .”

“What about the brothers?”

“The brothers are more interesting,” I admit.

“They are. What have you learned about them?”

“Not much.”

“Come now, Miss Perez. You are a beautiful woman. Surely, they’ve expressed interest.”

“They haven’t.”

“Perhaps you haven’t given them enough of an incentive.”

“I have plenty of experience knowing when a man is interested in me. They’re not. In fact, I can’t quite figure out why they’re in the group besides their hatred of Batista. They speak little; they don’t appear to have a relationship with the other members. They’re—”

“The ones you should be watching.”

“Why?”

“What do you know about Fidel Castro’s father?”

“Are you always going to answer a question with a question, or will you ever give me an explanation straightaway?”

He smiles. “This is your training, Miss Perez. Preparing you for bigger and better things. Now, what do you know about Fidel Castro’s father?”

“Not much beyond the salient points. Like my father, he made his fortune in land and sugar.”

“He did. Those boys—Javier and Sergio—their father worked for Fidel’s father. Fidel is older than they are, of course, but they knew him when they were children. They looked up to him. I believe they are loyal to him.”

“They’ve never mentioned knowing Fidel. Not once. The rest of the group speaks of him as though he is a messianic figure, but the brothers have never shared that they have a personal connection to him.”

Dwyer smiles. “It’s curious, isn’t it? You would think they would want to share their infamous connection with their newfound friends. And yet, they’re silent.”

“What do you think their aim is?”

“I think they’re recruiting for Fidel. Now they’re in the Hialeah group, but they’ve popped up in other places before. Fidel wants to spread communism through the world; what better place than to have it spring up in the United States, to have it infect our country.”