“No, I suppose I’m not. Please don’t hate me. I never meant to hurt you.”

“What’s happened to us? How did we get here?” I shake my head. “When we left Cuba, it was supposed to be temporary. A few months at most.”

“The world changed. Left us behind. I have to change with it. I want to be home. And maybe things will get better. Maybe he will bring freedom to the country.”

“And if they don’t get better?”

He doesn’t answer me.

Once, I would have felt anger. But we’ve all come too far, seen and done too much, for there not to be a sliver of understanding inside me.

I can’t agree with what he has done, can’t condone it, but I know more than anyone how far one will go to return home.

And that is enough.

“She’s a beautiful city,” I say softly, taking Eduardo’s hand, lacing our fingers together.

Saying good-bye.

“A heartbreaker,” he replies.

“Do you think I’ll ever see her again?”

Eduardo squeezes my hand, pressing a kiss to my cheek before he releases me.

“Of course you will. We’ll dance at the Tropicana someday.”

* * *

? ? ?

The boat begins to move, cutting through the sleek water, through the dark night. The waves hit the sides with thick slaps. Havana drifts farther and farther away, until the city is little more than a speck in the distance, the open water ahead.

Dreams never die all at once. They die in pieces, floating a little farther and farther away each day. So there’s no longer an island before you, no longer Havana, the crash of waves along the Malecón vanishing, until the speck disappears completely. All you once clutched to your breast and held so deeply in your heart ceases to exist, slipping through your fingers like the sand that once lay beneath your feet.

And you are alone. And in that moment, you have a choice— You can either succumb to the deep dark, cast yourself unto the sea, the weight of all you have lost simply too great and impossible to regain. Or you can turn around, putting the past behind you, and look forward.

To brighter days, to the future, to freedom.

To home.

chapter thirty-six

When I return from Havana, the Palm Beach house is as I left it, save for the fact that Nick’s things are gone. And still, I am immeasurably grateful for the comfort and familiarity of it in the face of all that transpired while I was gone.

Even now, without Nick here, it feels like home.

I send my report off to the CIA, hearing nothing in return from Dwyer. A week passes, and I spend my days alone, but for the occasional walk with my sisters. I crave the solitude now, a mourning of my own, perhaps. I don’t tell them about my trip or about Eduardo. We all have our secrets.

A man waits for me near the veranda when I return from my walk one morning.

“Beautiful house,” he comments when he sees me.

I smile. “It is, isn’t it?”

“Yours?”

“It is. Would you like a drink?”

Dwyer nods, following me through the enormous glass doors, into the sitting room, where he sits while I pour him a drink.

I hand him the glass and take a seat opposite his, sipping the mimosa I poured for myself, needing the liquid courage.

“I’m glad to see you are alive,” Dwyer says after a beat. “I heard things were complicated in Cuba. You have my apologies. I didn’t know about Eduardo. We do our best to prevent these things from happening, but sometimes they’re outside of our control.”

“I don’t blame you. I’ve known him since we were children, and I never suspected he would work with Fidel.”

“You were close.”

“I thought we were,” I admit.

“I read your report. You said he saved your life.”

“He did. Javier would have killed me. I doubt I would have gotten lucky twice.”

“Then perhaps there was still enough of the man you knew in him.”

“How do you do it?” I ask. “The secrets? The lies? How do you trust anyone? How do you stomach it?”

“It’s a cliché, of course, but it becomes easier. And you learn. Not to trust anyone but yourself.”

“Are you saying I shouldn’t trust you?”

“You most definitely should not trust me, Miss Perez. Eduardo was a lesson for you. A hard one. We all have one in our career. You won’t forget it.”

“But how could I have been so wrong about him? I thought we understood each other, that we were the same.”

“The truth is always so very complicated. I’m supposed to say people rarely surprise me, that I’ve become so good at reading them that I can predict their actions and all that nonsense, but that’s not true at all. People are constantly surprising me. The world is not so black-and-white, Miss Perez. There is a great deal of gray. And the truth is, there is a possibility that you and Eduardo Diaz are similar, that you do understand each other, and that you still stand on opposite sides.”

“So where does that leave us then? Is this all for nothing?” I take a deep breath. “I failed. Fidel is still alive.”

“I wouldn’t judge yourself too harshly. You’re in good company. Everyone we’ve sent in has failed. Some men are simply harder to kill than others.”

“It seems unfair that he should live when so many good men have died for his revolution. I wanted revenge for my brother. Where is the justice?”

“There is very little fairness in my job. There is luck, and planning, and grueling hours, and hard work, but sometimes these things happen. It can be discouraging. Can make you question why you do the work.”

“Why do you?”

“Because I like it. Because I’m good at it. Because I believe everyone has a purpose to their life and this is mine. Because sometimes we do win, even if we lose a fair share, too. There’s always another fight. Another problem to solve. Another country to fix.”

“You could always let them fix their own problems.”

“We could. But often their problems are America’s problems. Besides, no one complains when we intervene in situations where our presence is needed, where it’s welcomed. The line between villain and hero is whisper thin and, very frequently, a matter of perspective. Gray, Miss Perez. We operate in the gray.”

“And Cuba? What will you do about Fidel?”

“Keep trying. There’s always another plot in motion.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t kill me.”

“These are dangerous times for Castro. He has to know we’re looking at him for Kennedy’s assassination. He can’t provoke us further. We’ve shown a remarkable amount of restraint so far, but if we throw the weight of the American government and military behind removing him from power, he stands no chance.”

“Do you think he killed the president?”

“I don’t.”

“But you saw it as an opportunity to remove him regardless.”

“That’s my job, Miss Perez. Seeing opportunities.” His gaze drifts around the room. “This really is a beautiful house.” He turns his attention back to me. “What will you do? What are your plans for the future?”

“I don’t know. Continue my education now that I have the means to do so regardless of my parents’ wishes. I wanted to be a lawyer when we lived in Cuba. Perhaps I’ll go to law school one day.”

He smiles. “For what it’s worth, I think you would make an excellent lawyer. I take it then our days of meeting in roadside diners and hotel bars are behind us?”

“My cover was blown. Fidel knows everything.”

“That cover is useless to us, yes. But that’s the beautiful thing about covers. You can always reinvent yourself.”

“But Fidel—”

“Not Cuba, no. Indirectly, perhaps, you could still keep a hand in, but it would be too dangerous to have you actively involved in missions now that your cover is blown with Fidel. But like I said before, the world is full of many conflicts, and someone like you would be well-placed to help your country.”

“I’m not American.”

“Aren’t you? Building a home here does not make you less Cuban. Even spies need a home to lay their head every once in a while. You could still go to school, visit your family, live the life you’ve chosen. We would be in regular contact, would look for ways our relationship would benefit each other. It wouldn’t be Cuba, but this war with the Soviets will be a long one, carried out by proxy in many countries. Communism has destroyed Cuba. This is your chance to keep it from destroying the rest of the world. You said you wanted to avenge your brother. There are other ways of honoring his memory. Other ways to serve.

“Our work is often thankless. Soldiers come back from war and are praised for their heroism. We live in a constant state of war and operate under a cover of invisibility. But what we do saves lives. If you’re looking for something to give you purpose in the future, for what it’s worth, I think you would be very good at this line of work. And you would enjoy it.”

“Where would you send me?”

“How do you feel about Europe? I believe your mother has a cousin in Spain, correct? Married to a diplomat?”

He smiles, as though he knows I am already his, the decision already made. Perhaps Cuba is lost for now. But there’s still a fight to be had.

“When do I leave?”

* * *

? ? ?

NOVEMBER 26, 2016