“You were upset.”
“His mother-in-law saw you in town. She told everyone that I’m a whore.”
A muscle in his jaw flexed. “Maybe I should go down there and kick her son’s ass to shut her up.”
Maria smiled again, shaking her head. She doubted he’d do that, but his anger over the insult was oddly comforting. “He’s her son-in-law, not her son. And it would not be a fair fight. He lost the use of his right hand in an accident.”
“Can he work?”
“Yes. He works at his father’s store.”
Ian fell silent for the rest of the ride, his brow furrowed. She didn’t know if he was broody or feverish or what. She stared out the window, soaking up the scenery. There were white-sand beaches in the distance, and dark waves lapping the shoreline. “Have you been here before?”
“No.”
“Which places have you visited?”
“Along this coast? Puerto Vallarta and Acapulco.”
She remembered him saying he’d taken a backpacking trip through Mexico when he was twenty. “Where else?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been all over. Baja California, Oaxaca, Yucatán.”
Her chest tightened with longing. He’d seen more of her country than she had. “I went to Acapulco once on a student trip. The ocean felt like a bathtub.”
“You went…once?”
“Yes. I would like to swim in the ocean again someday.”
“You didn’t swim in TJ?”
“No.”
He studied her with interest. “It doesn’t feel like a bathtub there, or in San Diego.”
“It’s colder?”
“Way colder.”
“Which do you prefer?”
“Warm is nice, but I’d say cold, especially in summer. It makes you feel alive.”
She wondered if she’d ever experience that sensation. The thought of missing out on it, and so many other things, brought tears to her eyes. She took a deep breath, blinking them away. After they arrived at the cargo station, Ian paid the taxi driver to wait. They entered the nearby camp with caution. After two close calls withla migraand the federal police, they couldn’t afford to be careless.
She still had a photo of Hugo in her bag. The health office was closed, so she approached a group of male passengers with his picture. They hadn’t seen him, but they’d only just arrived. There was a woman at the edge of the camp who offered laundry services. She had a barrel of hot water and a washboard. She didn’t stand up or dry her hands when Maria approached her. Still scrubbing, she took a quick glance at Hugo’s photo.
“He had a black eye,” Maria said.
The woman paused, as if this detail jogged her memory. “He was here with a girl.”
“A girl? Are you sure?”
“Yes, a girl. Short hair, curly. I washed her clothes. They smelled very bad.” She waved her hand in front of her nose.
Maria gave Ian a startled look. He dug out a photo of Sarai. “Was this her?”
“Maybe.”
