American Dirt : A Novel (2020) by Jeanine Cummins Read Free Book Online Page B

the restaurants and shops. They were eager to repair the damage to their economy. They were ready for a cocktail. So, in the safest district, where tourist money had always encouraged some restraint, in a restaurant selected more for its security than for its menu, and surrounded by the shining faces of her family, Lydia blew out the candle on her thirty-second birthday cake.
    Later that night, after Luca went to bed, and Sebasti á n opened a bottle of wine on the couch, their conversation turned inevitably to the condition of life in Acapulco. Lydia stood at the open counter, leaning across it with a glass of wine at her elbow.
    ‘It was nice to be able to go out to dinner tonight,’ she said.
    ‘It felt almost normal, right?’ Sebasti á n was in the living room, his legs propped on the coffee table, crossed at the ankles.
    ‘There were a lot of people out.’
    It was the first time they’d taken Luca out for a meal since last summer.
    ‘Next we have to get the tourists back,’ Sebasti á n said.
    Lydia took a deep breath. Tourism had always been the lifeblood of Acapulco, and the violence had scared most of those tourists away. She didn’t know how long she’d be able to keep the shop afloat if they didn’t return. It was tempting to hope the recent peace signaled a sea change.
    ‘Do you think things might really get better now?’
    She asked because Sebasti á n’s knowledge of the cartels was exhaustive, which both impressed and discomfited her. He knew things. Most people were like Lydia; they didn’t want to know. They tried to insulate themselves from the ugliness of the narco violence because they couldn’t handle it. But Sebasti á n was ravenous for it. A free press was the last line of defense, he said, the only thing left standing between the people of Mexico and complete annihilation. It was his vocation, and when they were young, she’d admired that idealism. She’d imagined that any child of Sebasti á n’s would come out of her womb honorably, with a fully formed, unimpeachable morality. She wouldn’t even have to teach their babies right from wrong. But now the cartels murdered a Mexican journalist every few weeks, and Lydia recoiled from her husband’s integrity. It felt sanctimonious, selfish. She wanted Sebasti á n alive more than she wanted his strong principles. She wished he would quit, do something simpler, safer. She tried to be supportive, but sometimes it made her so angry that he chose this danger. When that anger flared up and intruded, they moved around it like a piece of furniture too big for the room it occupied.
    ‘It’s already better,’ Sebasti á n said thoughtfully, from behind his wineglass.
    ‘I mean, it’s quieter,’ Lydia said. ‘But is it really better ?’
    ‘That depends on your criteria, I guess.’ He looked up at her. ‘If you like to go out to dinner, then yes, things are better.’
    Lydia frowned. She really did like to go out to dinner. Was she that superficial?
    ‘The new jefe is smart,’ Sebasti á n said. ‘He knows stability is the key, and he wants peace. So we’ll see, maybe things will get better under Los Jardineros than they were before.’
    ‘Better how? You think he can fix the economy? Bring back tourism?’
    ‘I don’t know, maybe.’ Sebasti á n shrugged. ‘If he can really stanch the violence long-term. For now, at least it’s limited to other narcos. They’re not running around murdering innocents for fun.’
    ‘What about that kid on the beach last week?’
    ‘Collateral damage.’
    Lydia cringed and took a gulp of wine. Her husband wasn’t a callous man. She hated when he talked like this. Sebasti á n saw her flinch and stood up to reach across the counter. He squeezed her hands.
    ‘I know it’s awful,’ he said. ‘But that kid on the beach was an accident. He was caught in the crossfire, that’s all I meant. They weren’t gunning for him.’ He tugged lightly on her hand. ‘Come sit with me?’
    Lydia