Read Online Daughter's Keeper by Ayelet Waldman - Free Book Online

thought he was about to reassure her. Instead, he leaned over and stroked her chin with the tips of his fingers. “This is none of your business,” he said.
    Olivia jerked her face away from him. “How can you say this isn’t my business! You could get arrested . You could get deported! If they deport you for doing drugs, you’ll never be allowed back in the country. Of course this is my goddamn business!” Even as her cry rang in her ears, Olivia realized, with a sense of shame so ­profound it was almost frightening, that she wanted Jorge to be deported. She wanted him to go away, to go home, no longer to hang around her neck like a millstone of unsought responsibility. Horrified, she grabbed his hand and squeezed, as if to prove, more to herself than to him, that she cared what happened to him, that she wanted him there, that she loved him.
    Jorge stood very still for a moment, then he sat down next to her. “Don’t get so excited, Olivia. This is no big deal. Really.”
    Olivia leaned back heavily into the sofa cushion. She felt exhausted by the discussion before they’d even had it. How could she explain to this man for whom all of the United States seemed like one vast scam, one that other, bolder men knew how to work, that there were some things he just couldn’t do?
    â€œWhat’s going on?” she said. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
    For a while Jorge was quiet. Then he began to tell her about the humiliation of standing on the corner, day after day, sometimes getting picked to work, more often being passed over. She had heard this all before, but when she tried to tell him that, he hushed her and talked on.
    â€œThey drive up in their trucks and look us over like we’re cattle or pigs. And you can’t just stand there, waiting. You have to rush the truck and beg for work, because if you don’t, they choose someone else. If you don’t look eager, they won’t hire you. The worst is that that’s not even enough for them. You must look eager and willing to work, and you must also grovel. Yes boss, no boss. Otherwise they pick someone else, someone who kisses their asses.”
    â€œI know, papi , I know,” Olivia said, reaching her arms around him.
    He shook her off. “You don’t know. You can’t know. You’ve never had to feel that humiliation. You’ve never had to beg for work. You’ve never had to smile that pathetic campesino smile.”
    â€œI have to suck up to customers every day. I know exactly what it’s like.”
    â€œIt’s not the same. You know the worst, Olivia? The worst is when I do get the job. When they do choose me. Because when I jump into the back of the pickup, I look behind me at the men standing there, the ones who got left behind. And maybe one has six kids back in Guatemala who will go hungry this week because I’m taking the job that would have let him send them money. And another one has a sick wife who won’t see the doctor because the money to pay the bill is going to end up in my pocket, not his.”
    Jorge told her that a few weeks before, when he’d come by the restaurant late one night to pick her up, he’d confided in Gabriel about his difficulties finding work. Gabriel listened and sympathized. He had come to America on the Mariel boatlift, and he, too, had had problems finding a job. Then he told Jorge about two friends of his, gringos , who were willing to pay top dollar for methamphetamine. The problem was, the guys couldn’t find ­anyone to buy from. Gabriel told Jorge that Mexicans had taken over the meth market and the old biker sources in the desert were starting to dry up. He said if Jorge could find someone, or even someone who knew someone, with connections, the two of them could make some easy money. The gringos wanted about five thousand dollars’ worth. At a 50 percent markup, Gabriel and Jorge would clear a