America's Dream Read Online Free PDF

she’s underage. There must be a law—”
    “Of course there are laws, but these things are better handled privately” Ile gulps the drink down, avoids her gaze. “There was no coercion involved. They’re mixed-up kids who think they’re grown up.” He sets the glass down delicately, as if afraid to break it. “Of course, it’s something else if you or Correa start making trouble.” He looks at the scratches on her arms, at her puffy cheeks.
    “That woman has a mouth on her,” América says, turning away from him.
    “I bet you can keep up with her.”
    “I don’t let anyone insult me, if that’s what you mean.” She sniffs.
    “You can get arrested for assaulting a person, especially in their own home.”
    She faces him again. “But some people’s sons can’t get arrested for raping someone else’s daughter.”
    “Who said anything about rape?”
    “When a girl is fourteen years old, it’s rape.”
    “América, you’ve been listening in on too many conversations at La Casa.”
    “The people who stay there are well educated. They know what’s going on. Doctors stay there, and lawyers.”
    “And they’re on vacation. And the last thing they want to do is bother with the problems of a maid.” He stands up. “Where did Correa go after he dropped you home?”
    “How should I know?”
    “I can find out if he was on the ferry.” “Good for you.”

    He stands so close to her his lemon-scented breath fans her bangs. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m trying to help you. If he does something stupid, we’ll all be sorry.”
    “Correa is all talk, nothing else.” América bites out. “If he finds them, he’ll give them a lecture and bring them home.” She feels the lump on the inside of her lip with her tongue. “Besides, Correa thinks the sun rises and sets on Rosalinda. He wouldn’t do any- thing to make her hate him.”
    “Did he do this?” Pagan asks, touching her lip with his index finger.
    She moves her face away, and he backs off.
    “He took the afternoon ferry to Fajardo,” Ester grumbles from her end of the table. América glares at her.
    “Do you have any family there?”
    “No,” América responds, aware that Pagán is just doing his job as investigator. Everyone knows she has no family in Fajardo. Everyone knows that’s where Correa comes from.
    “I have a sister in New York,” Ester mumbles out of nowhere. “Haven’t seen her in years.”
    Pagán and América stare at her for a second, then exchange a look that might make them both smile under other circumstances. América is the first to recover.
    “Rosalinda sold her clothes, probably her jewelry and boom box, too.”
    Pagán seems startled that they’re not still talking about Ester’s long-lost sister. He blinks uncontrollably for some seconds, as if mentally searching for what it is he’s supposed to be doing. “The boy took two hundred dollars out of his savings account yester- day,” he says finally. “Didn’t know there was that much money in bagging groceries, did you?”
    “Who knows what else he’s been bagging.”
    Pagán doesn’t smile. He’s an investigator again, on official business. “I’d better get going,” he says briskly, moving to the door. América walks him out.
    It’s early evening. The street is empty, but from inside the houses, televisions drone competing programs and commercials, drowning out the sounds of insects hiding in the grass. In a few

    minutes the church across the street will begin its nightly services, broadcast to the neighborhood over speakers placed near the front and side doors of the church. The air is scented with roses. On the porch, Odilio Pagán puts his hand on América’s shoulder, squeezes it gently. “Don’t worry,” he says softly, “everything will be all right.” She turns her face away from his gaze. He dodges the gauntlet of spiny roses to his patrol car, opens the door, looks at her longingly, then steps in and drives
    off.
    She could