Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I grabbed my bag from my room and took the last bus back to San José; I couldn’t bear staying anywhere near Suzanne.
Two hours later, I was buried in my bed in with the sheets pulled up to my chin, clutching at the comforter as if it could save me.
All I could think about was the emptiness that started in my body but ended nowhere.
It stretched out from me, went through my window, and into the night sky.
When I woke up the next morning, I remembered I was unhappy before I remembered why.
Cheery sunlight was streaming through my window, but it only made me wince.
Memories from last night started attacking me and I wanted to hide under my sheets, but I knew they’d still find me.
I opened my email. I needed to remember that there was more to my life than farms and Suzanne.
That my life was something vast, and that if part of it were destroyed, other parts would stretch out to cover the hole.
There was a message from my parents, and for once, that made me happy.
TO: Dee Blum
FROM: Jacob Blum
SUBJECT: Happy New Year!
Happy New Year, honey. Don’t stay out too late and watch out for the drunk drivers. Also be careful because I’ve heard that sometimes people shoot off their guns to celebrate New Year’s.
Love, Dad
Hello sweetie I’m using your dad’s email because I forgot the password to mine again and locked myself out.
Just want to say happy new year! I miss you so much, don’t ever leave home again, especially not on a holiday.
I hope this year brings you everything you wish for.
I know if you want it badly enough, it will. Love, Mom
I sat there staring at those words for so long they started to blur.
If you want it badly enough . Is that all it took?
What about all the people who spend their whole lives wishing but never receiving?
Desire wasn’t enough. That was a terrible lie the 1 percent sold to the rest of us, to keep us hoping instead of revolting.
I closed my email and got dressed. Today was the People’s Alternative World Economic Summit.
I was supposed to meet Matías before the conference to show him the evidence.
I didn’t believe what Suzanne had said—that Matías wouldn’t care if he knew about Alegre.
While I dreaded seeing Suzanne, I wasn’t going to let that stop me.
When I got to the Fantasía Resort, I passed straight through the lobby and wandered through the meticulously landscaped grounds, searching for Matías’s bungalow.
It was hard to find, because the number was half covered by paradise vines.
Lavender flowers littered the ground. I knocked, full of jittery anticipation.
Matías opened the door. I gave him a big smile, expecting the same from him.
But I didn’t get it. Instead, I got a small, perfunctory smile; the kind you give to an acquaintance. “Dee. You’re very early.” Nowhere was the hint of the person who said, ‘ I can barely wait. ’
Matías had been replaced by a stranger. Why was he so distant? What had changed? I stood there staring at his face, waiting for him to invite me in. But he just stood in the doorway.
“Can I come in?”
He ran his hands through his wavy hair, turned straighter from dampness. “I’m just getting ready. Why don’t we meet up later?”
I was completely thrown. But I pushed on. After all, I had a goal, and it wasn’t just romantic. “I’d like to chat before the conference starts and we’re too busy. It won’t take long.”
He gestured to some seats outside his bungalow.
He perched on the edge of his chair, as if he were ready to get up at any minute.
I pulled out my iPad, still mystified by his change in energy.
“I want Justice Alliance to lobby to decertify Café Alegre,” I said.
“These videos are the testimony of the laborers.”
“I don’t have time to watch them all right now.”
But that was the point of the meeting. What was going on? Then it dawned on me. “Have you talked to Suzanne?”
“Briefly.” My heart fell right down through the ground, under the hotel, into some subterranean stream that flowed to Puntarenas.
“Look, I don’t know what she said to you, but I didn’t even get to tell her all of Café Alegre’s violations. They’re buying commercially produced coffee and selling it as certified organic and fair trade.”
“Oh.” He looked surprised. “That’s not good.”
I smiled, relieved. But his expression changed from surprised to resolute.
“Listen,” he said. “I know this is really important to you, and it’s important to me, too, but this isn’t something we can deal with right now.”
“What?! Why?”
He met my gaze. “Café Alegre is too big for Justice Alliance to take down.” It was so hard to process the words, especially since my blood was seeping through the stones, feeding the waters of Costa Rica.
“We have to pick our battles,” he said. “Once a farm gets certification, it’s very hard to remove it.
Ethical Coffee International, understandably, would rather work with the farms on improving conditions.
Café Alegre would put on a big show, clean up their act for six months, then go back to business as usual.
It’s whack-a-mole for the certifying organizations—they really don’t have the time, or staff, to make sure farms stay in compliance. ”
“So once a farm gets certification, they just keep rubber stamping them?”
“No, it’s not that bad. They would remove certifications for egregious violations. But I’m sure the folks at Alegre are clever enough to hide their tracks.”
“But these are egregious violations. There are kids there.”
“So Alegre pays off someone inside Ethical Coffee International to tip them off when an auditor is coming. They make sure the kids aren’t there for that visit.”
“They can do that?!”
“It’s not that hard to bribe the cousin of someone’s assistant to look at their calendar.
So we’d need to be there every step of the way, applying pressure, maybe even applying financial incentives ourselves.
” He was running his hands through his hair again and it was getting frizzy.
“Justice Alliance is spread too thin for that.”
I scrambled, looking for a solution. “What if I presented the evidence to Ethical Coffee International as an individual, with Eugenio? Not as representatives of Justice Alliance?”
“I don’t suggest you do that without approval from Suzanne. And I doubt you’d be successful. Do you two personally have the resources to fight this when Café Alegre starts playing dirty?”
I just stared at him. Of course we didn’t.
Matías stood up. “Look. I’ll try to convince Suzanne that Alegre shouldn’t be part of the Truth Trips, but that’s the best I can do right now.”
Matías wasn’t looking at me anymore. He was looking at his phone.
I couldn’t believe this. All this excitement, promise, belief—it was all crumbling into nothing right in front of me.
This man that I counted on, this man that I believed in, this man I had thought I was falling for—was he going to let me down, too?
I stood up and faced him. “You’re saying this isn’t your problem?”
“I’m saying we have a lot of priorities as an organization.
This is not how we want to use our political capital at the moment.
” He looked regretful. Could this truly be how he felt?
Or had Suzanne pulled rank on him? “I really have to go, now, Dee.” He reached for his key card.
Before he could swipe it, I heard a sound from inside the bungalow .
We both looked toward the door. Matías’s face reddened as it swung open.
“Where’s the hair dryer?” And there was Suzanne, in the doorway, dripping wet, in nothing but a towel. Bile came up my throat. This is what had changed.
“It’s under the sink,” he said, trying not to look at me. “I’ll see you at lunch, Dee. We can talk more then.” He grabbed his computer bag from inside the door and left.
Dazed, I watched him head toward the conference rooms.
Suzanne opened the door wider. “I can’t stand here half naked.
Come in, Dee.” She rubbed water out of her eyes and crossed the room as I followed.
She pulled on a robe and took in my crestfallen expression.
“Are you still upset about Café Alegre?” She sat on the couch across from me.
“I know how difficult this is for you, but I promise, you’ll get over it.
Politics is the art of compromise.” When I didn’t respond, she looked at me closer.
“This isn’t all about Café Alegre, is it? ”
I averted my eyes and looked at the door. As Suzanne followed my gaze, her face went through a series of ah-has. She leaned back into the couch and wrapped her hair up in a hand towel she was holding. “It’s about Matías.”
My cheeks were burning and my eyes were stinging, but I didn’t say anything.
“You’ll get the next one.” She tied her robe tighter.
Her skin was absolutely perfect. “This wasn’t a fair contest. You’re too young for him.
He’s not one of those disgusting jerks who goes after college girls.
He’s an actual gentleman. In five years you can catch your own Matías.
Now you need to settle for boys your own age. ”
My head sank into the chair cushion. Why had he slept with her when he cared for me? How had his feelings changed so quickly? Or had I been wrong about everything?