She knew that once the words were out of her mouth, her friendship with Javier would come to an end, and beneath everything else, there was a foundation of grief to that impending loss. She wanted her discovery to be untrue, a misunderstanding.
Her husband turned toward her in the gray light of the bedroom. ‘What’s wrong?’ He knew instantly, from the pitch of her voice. He crossed the space between them and sat beside her on the bed.
‘He’s my friend,’ she confessed.
Sebasti á n didn’t go to work that morning. He called his editor and left a message that he was following a lead and wouldn’t be in until later. He and Lydia sat together on the unmade bed and talked for hours, while outside the light shifted from gray to pink to broad, sunny yellow. When it was time to wake Luca and take him to school, they managed the routine in a distracted haze.
‘I’ll take him today,’ Sebasti á n insisted. ‘You wait here.’
Lydia cried in the shower.
When Sebasti á n returned they continued their discussion at the kitchen table. Lydia’s wet hair was knotted on top of her head and her face felt blotchy.
‘Is there any chance you’re mistaken?’ she asked, her arms folded in front of her. She already knew the answer, but it made no sense. She was floundering.
Sebastian locked his eyes on her and answered in the most deliberate possible tone. ‘No.’
She nodded. ‘The piece you’re working on about Los Jardineros – does it specifically mention him?’
‘Yes, it’s all about him, his big debut. The whole Hello, World, I’m a Major Kingpin expos é .’
Lydia tilted her head to one side, placed her hand against her forehead. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she whispered. ‘It seems impossible.’
‘There’s nothing to do, Lydia.’
‘But I just can’t understand it. I know him.’
‘I know, Lydia, I know. How charming he can be, how erudite. But he’s also incredibly dangerous.’
She pictured Javier’s eyes, how exposed they looked whenever he removed his glasses. That word dangerous seemed so incompatible.
‘I know it’s difficult to get your head around it,’ Sebasti á n said. ‘I can see you’re struggling, and I’m sorry.’ He paused before he shifted gears. ‘But he’s a murderer, Lydia. Many times over. This guy is made of blood.’
This guy. She shook her head again. Sebasti á n stood up and placed his hands on the back of his chair. He pushed it under the table. ‘He’s not who you thought he was.’
‘But you said yourself, just last night, that he, that Los Jardineros, they aren’t as violent as the other cartels.’
He had said that, dammit. Lydia opened the kitchen window to the noise of traffic below.
‘Lydia, I love you. I love your loyalty and your goodness. But we are talking degrees of murderers here. Less violent or not, he’s still a major narco. And when you’ve killed that many people, killing becomes conventional. Does it matter that he’s killed fewer children than other murderers have? It’s not a moderation born of virtue. It’s a pinche business decision. That guy would kill anyone if he thought it was the smart thing to do.’
‘Not anyone.’ Her voice was a weakening plea. ‘He has a daughter.’
Sebasti á n dropped his head between his outstretched arms.
‘Sebasti á n, listen,’ she said. ‘I know it all sounds absurd but I’m not na ï ve. I’m not an idiot, right?’
‘You’re the smartest woman I know.’
‘So I’m just, I’m trying to take it all in, to reconcile everything you’re telling me, and to make it match up with the person I know Javier to be.’
‘I know, I know.’
‘It’s difficult.’
‘I can’t imagine.’
‘Because I do, Sebasti á n, I know him. And like you say, he is smart. In a different life he could’ve been someone good—’
‘But it’s not a different life, Lydia. He’s not someone good.’
‘But maybe he still could be. That’s what I’m telling you. Because
Her husband turned toward her in the gray light of the bedroom. ‘What’s wrong?’ He knew instantly, from the pitch of her voice. He crossed the space between them and sat beside her on the bed.
‘He’s my friend,’ she confessed.
Sebasti á n didn’t go to work that morning. He called his editor and left a message that he was following a lead and wouldn’t be in until later. He and Lydia sat together on the unmade bed and talked for hours, while outside the light shifted from gray to pink to broad, sunny yellow. When it was time to wake Luca and take him to school, they managed the routine in a distracted haze.
‘I’ll take him today,’ Sebasti á n insisted. ‘You wait here.’
Lydia cried in the shower.
When Sebasti á n returned they continued their discussion at the kitchen table. Lydia’s wet hair was knotted on top of her head and her face felt blotchy.
‘Is there any chance you’re mistaken?’ she asked, her arms folded in front of her. She already knew the answer, but it made no sense. She was floundering.
Sebastian locked his eyes on her and answered in the most deliberate possible tone. ‘No.’
She nodded. ‘The piece you’re working on about Los Jardineros – does it specifically mention him?’
‘Yes, it’s all about him, his big debut. The whole Hello, World, I’m a Major Kingpin expos é .’
Lydia tilted her head to one side, placed her hand against her forehead. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she whispered. ‘It seems impossible.’
‘There’s nothing to do, Lydia.’
‘But I just can’t understand it. I know him.’
‘I know, Lydia, I know. How charming he can be, how erudite. But he’s also incredibly dangerous.’
She pictured Javier’s eyes, how exposed they looked whenever he removed his glasses. That word dangerous seemed so incompatible.
‘I know it’s difficult to get your head around it,’ Sebasti á n said. ‘I can see you’re struggling, and I’m sorry.’ He paused before he shifted gears. ‘But he’s a murderer, Lydia. Many times over. This guy is made of blood.’
This guy. She shook her head again. Sebasti á n stood up and placed his hands on the back of his chair. He pushed it under the table. ‘He’s not who you thought he was.’
‘But you said yourself, just last night, that he, that Los Jardineros, they aren’t as violent as the other cartels.’
He had said that, dammit. Lydia opened the kitchen window to the noise of traffic below.
‘Lydia, I love you. I love your loyalty and your goodness. But we are talking degrees of murderers here. Less violent or not, he’s still a major narco. And when you’ve killed that many people, killing becomes conventional. Does it matter that he’s killed fewer children than other murderers have? It’s not a moderation born of virtue. It’s a pinche business decision. That guy would kill anyone if he thought it was the smart thing to do.’
‘Not anyone.’ Her voice was a weakening plea. ‘He has a daughter.’
Sebasti á n dropped his head between his outstretched arms.
‘Sebasti á n, listen,’ she said. ‘I know it all sounds absurd but I’m not na ï ve. I’m not an idiot, right?’
‘You’re the smartest woman I know.’
‘So I’m just, I’m trying to take it all in, to reconcile everything you’re telling me, and to make it match up with the person I know Javier to be.’
‘I know, I know.’
‘It’s difficult.’
‘I can’t imagine.’
‘Because I do, Sebasti á n, I know him. And like you say, he is smart. In a different life he could’ve been someone good—’
‘But it’s not a different life, Lydia. He’s not someone good.’
‘But maybe he still could be. That’s what I’m telling you. Because
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