When We Left Cuba(51)

“Why do you go to a house in Hialeah known for communists who are aligned with Fidel Castro?”

My stomach sinks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I sputter.

“Don’t you? I thought we didn’t lie to each other. I thought we had honesty between us, at least.”

“We do.”

“You’re lying to me now.”

I am, but doesn’t he understand how dangerous all of this is, that I am trying to protect him from the political scandal, trying to protect myself?

“This is Dwyer’s doing, isn’t it? Another plot you have going with the CIA. What do they have on you?”

“Nothing.”

“Then you’re just doing this out of what, the kindness of your heart? Please tell me you’re at least getting something out of it, that you aren’t so stupid as to risk your safety on Dwyer’s say-so.”

I bristle at the word “stupid.”

“They pay me.”

“How much?”

“Enough.”

The deposit is made into the account the CIA opened for me monthly, my nest egg growing to a comfortable amount. I’m not even sure what I’m saving the money for, only that the revolution has taught me the importance of having a safety net.

“Why are you so worried about having money?” he asks.

“Spoken like someone who has never had to worry about not having money.”

His family made their fortune in steel and railroads a long time ago, and by all accounts, Nick Preston could never work a day in his life and remain a wealthy man.

“And if someone paid you more to stop?”

I reel back as though he’s slapped me.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Worry about you?”

“There’s a difference between worrying about me and treating me as though I am for sale.”

“We’re all for sale, Beatriz. It’s just a matter of finding the right price.”

“And what’s your price?”

“Have you really not figured it out by now?”

“Political ambition.”

He almost looks disappointed by my answer. By me. “Hardly.”

“Well, you can’t afford my price.”

“And Dwyer can?”

“For the moment, Dwyer and I are on the same side.”

“For the moment,” he agrees. “But you seem to forget we’re on the same side, too.”

“Are we? It doesn’t seem like it.”

“I’m trying to be on your side. I’m trying to understand. But it isn’t easy. You’re exhausting. You act as though your indignation makes you superior to the rest of us, as though you can look down your nose at everyone for not being Cuban, for not taking the risks you take. Not all of us have the luxury of setting the world on fire, simply because we’re angry. We must work within the confines of the system, must make changes where we can.”

“These are people’s lives at stake. I can’t stand by and watch what’s happening over there. It’s killing me day by day. It’s time to fight back.”

“Isn’t that the whole problem, though? You wanted a revolution, and you got one. Now you’re unhappy with what the revolution wrought.”

“I didn’t want Fidel.”

“But he’s what you have now. So let’s say you get rid of him. Then what?”

“We have a chance.”

“Do you really think that’s what the CIA is fighting for? To give Cubans a chance? Do you think they’re overthrowing him out of the goodness of their hearts? You’re smart, Beatriz. How can you not see the deal you’ve made?

“They want Fidel out of the way because he has nationalized their sugar companies and threatened their businesses. They want to remove him because he won’t play ball with them like Batista did. Because they don’t want the Soviets to have an ally in our backyard. Because they don’t want communism to spread to the rest of Latin America and the world. This isn’t altruistic, and it isn’t about Cuba. No one cares about Cuba, not really. They care about America’s position in the world. And they’re willing to sacrifice you to achieve their goals. You’re going to get yourself killed. All because you can’t see past your anger. All because you take risks no sane person would take.”

“If I’m so reckless, why are you here with me? Why don’t you walk away? Why don’t you go back to your fiancée and your comfortable life?”

“You don’t think my life would be a million times easier if I weren’t here with you right now? If I were in Washington D.C. doing the job I’m supposed to be doing, the job I was elected to do, rather than here, fighting with you? Do you think I’m proud of the man I’ve become? That I don’t feel sick every single time I look in the mirror? I’ve broken my vows before I’ve even made them.”

“Then go.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to be here with you. I want to be here with you more than anything else. And at the same time, you’re never going to stop pushing me away, are you? You’re not going to give us a real chance. You’re just biding your time until you can return to Cuba. I’m what—a convenient distraction?”