“And perhaps the president has allowed it by doing so little and creating a vacuum where the CIA could step in. The administration is talking about potentially invading Cuba. That’s hardly a diplomatic solution. Why can’t I be one of those solutions? Why are some more acceptable and others not?”
“Because you’re risking your life heedlessly. You aren’t a spy, and you aren’t an assassin.”
“Are you sure about that? Because I did a pretty good impersonation of one in London. You killed men in war. Why is what I am doing any different?”
“This isn’t war, Beatriz. Not yet.”
“Why isn’t it war? Because we’re fighting with other weapons? Because we don’t have planes and tanks?”
“Tell me you aren’t seriously considering this. That you can’t be this foolish.”
“I’m not foolish. You knew this about me all along.”
“I hoped you would realize your life was worth more than this. I thought after what happened in London, after you killed a man, you would come to your senses.”
“And I thought you would understand, considering how much you’re devoted to your work, the things you’re passionate about.”
“I do understand. But that doesn’t mean I don’t worry about you. You won’t let anyone take care of you.”
“I am neither a child nor an invalid. I don’t want to be taken care of.”
“Then what do you want?”
“You, you stupid man. Just you.” I reach for him, my fingers connecting with the warm skin at his neck, threading through his silky hair, pulling him close to me.
“When will you go?” he asks, as though he knows my answer was given a long time ago, his mouth against mine, his arms holding me tight.
“When they send for me,” I answer.
“Then I will pray for peace.”
* * *
• • •
Perhaps it was Nick’s prayers, or Kennedy’s cool head, or the success of diplomatic channels, or assets run by men like Mr. Dwyer, but it appears we are to have peace.
“Can you believe it?” Elisa asks over the phone the next day, after the crisis has ended.
The Soviets are to move the missiles out of Cuba. The invasion plans are abandoned, and whatever my role is in all of this, I’ve yet to hear anything from Dwyer. If President Kennedy is to have the appearance of peace, then the CIA will likely have to put their plans on hold. I can’t imagine Mr. Dwyer is pleased. In a way, neither am I.
While I certainly didn’t want a nuclear war to break out, I had hoped that this was the final straw, that the United States would finally rid us of Fidel. And once again, we are disappointed. Nothing is changed. Fidel lives to fight another day.
“I thought we would die,” Elisa says.
“I wondered it myself a time or two,” I admit.
“And now that the crisis is passed, will you stay in Washington D.C.?” Elisa asks. “Or will you go back to London?”
“We haven’t spoken of it. I haven’t decided.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. I liked London, but it didn’t quite feel like home. I’m not sure what does anymore, to be honest.”
Now that the mission with Ramon is over, there’s really no need for me to return. As much as I enjoyed attending school, there are other universities I can attend, other places to live. The problem with a cover is that it’s really not a life. You wear it like a second skin, make yourself believe the truth of it, but once the mission is over, the cover is gone, and you’re left with a sudden need to reinvent yourself.
“It’s funny how your sense of home can change, isn’t it?” Elisa muses. “Havana was home, and it still is, but there’s something about this house, the life Juan, Miguel, and I have built here, that feels right, too.”
“I’m glad you’re happy, Elisa. Glad you found what you were looking for.”
“Sometimes it’s a choice, Beatriz. You can’t always predict how things will work out, but you can still forge a life for yourself, still find a way to be happy.”
“I’m too tired to speak in riddles, Elisa. Too confused.”
She laughs. “Patience was never your strength, was it?”
“So you think I should marry and have children?”
“No.”
“Then you think I should go back to London?”
“No, I don’t think that, either. I don’t know what you should do. But I want you to be happy. You’ve been stuck since we left Havana, since Alejandro died, and you have to move forward.”
“Maybe that’s the problem then. Maybe I want to be stuck. Because I can’t move forward. This thing with Nick and me—I don’t fit in his life. And I don’t want to hurt him. He’s a good man, and the things he wants, his dreams for this country, are important ones, too. I don’t want to damage his chances of becoming president one day.”
“Then you have to let him go.”
“I don’t want to do that, either.”
“I know. It was easier when we were girls, wasn’t it? When we could do as we wished with little regard for the consequences. I miss those days. The freedom of them. But we’re not girls anymore. At some point, you will have to choose. I know you’ve never liked being backed into a corner, but sometimes you have to make a choice. It’s not fair to him otherwise.”
“I know.”
“And you can always come home. Despite what you may think, you aren’t alone. What our parents did, the way they handled this—it doesn’t mean I feel the same way. You will always have a home here. Maria misses you so much. So does Isabel.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
“She’s as stubborn as you are, albeit in a different way, but Isabel does miss you. You can’t stay angry with each other forever.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Come home. You can visit your nephew. He misses you. I miss you. You should see Maria now. She’s all grown up and ready to break hearts. Besides, the season is about to start. Your Senator Preston will likely return to Palm Beach. You can still see each other.”
“And our parents?”
“They’ll get over it. They’ll have to. You’re a Perez.”
“Our mother blames me for Alejandro’s death. For getting him involved with the rebels. I don’t know how either one of us can move past that.”