Sara speaks as calmly as she can. “You’re right that there aren’t as many girls disappearing as a few years ago, or even a year ago,” she says. “But there are still so many girls who go missing, like Susana Navarro last week. And what about the dozens still unaccounted for? Where are they? Maybe some of them are still alive. The fact that we’re still getting threats is proof that our articles hit a nerve. We’re the only ones keeping the pressure on the government. They’d give up if it wasn’t for us.”
Felipe rubs the back of his head. Sara knows he always has trouble responding to logical arguments. “Bad news doesn’t sell anymore. The newspaper is finally beginning to do well. We went from daily to almost dead to weekly and now we’re biweekly. I don’t want to take a step backwards here. No one wants to buy ads next to pictures of missing girls.”
“But that’s been true for a while now,” Sara says. “Has there been a specific threat?”
Felipe and Juana look at each other. Then he sighs and pushes a single sheet of paper across his desk. It’s a printout of an e-mail.
If you publish anything of Linda Fuentes we will kill your reporter and her family.
Sara reads the e-mail once, then again, pausing on the words kill, reporter, family.
“It was sent to me around six this morning. I forwarded it to you,” Felipe says to Juana. Then, fixing his eyes on Sara: “Are you doing anything with Linda Fuentes? Research, interviews, calling people?”
“No,” Sara says. She’s received threats before, but this is the first time her family has been mentioned. The thought of anyone coming after Emiliano or her mother makes her shudder. But alongside fear, something like hope blooms in her chest. If someone needs to threaten her about Linda, does that mean she’s still alive? She places the sheet of paper on the desk. “I mean, Linda was … is my best friend. I’m still close to her family. They live in my neighborhood, and I go with Mrs. Fuentes to the State Police headquarters every couple of weeks. But I’m not doing anything about Linda that’s related to my job.”
“Well, someone thinks you’re investigating or writing about her.” Felipe leans back in his chair and touches the pocket of his shirt, searching for the cigarettes he gave up smoking a month before. “There’s something weird about this threat. It’s like they know it’s you who’s been writing the column.”
“There hasn’t been a byline on the column since Sara’s article on Linda,” Juana says. “No one knows it’s her.”
“You think those people can keep a secret?” Felipe points with his hand to the room full of cubicles outside his glass wall. “And what is this about family? Since when do families of reporters get threatened? No more articles on missing girls. That’s it.”
“Someone has to keep the memory of these girls alive,” Sara blurts out louder than she intends. She takes a deep breath and looks into Felipe’s eyes. “If we don’t care about them, then who will?”
“Sara,” Juana says softly, “I’m with Felipe on this one. We lost two reporters during the cartel wars. They were both young and enthusiastic like you.” She takes a deep breath. “If our articles were doing any good, maybe it would be worth the risk. But has a single girl turned up since we’ve published these profiles?”
“No,” Sara says. “But if nothing else, the families know their daughters and sisters are not forgotten. That makes a difference.”
“I don’t want to be responsible for another dead reporter,” Felipe says with finality. “No more articles on the Desaparecidas. There’s more to life than just evil and pain, no? Think of something happy for a change. I want a proposal for a positive story on my desk by the end of the day.” To Juana he says, “You better clear your day tomorrow so we can finish that damn budget. That’s all. Let’s get to work.”
Sara stands and walks out of the office. She needs to do something before she speaks—or worse, shouts—the words on the tip of her tongue. She heads for the stairs that connect El Sol’s IT room to the main floor. They are dark and cool, as expected.
She sits on one of the steps and grabs her head. Is it true that all she can see is the suffering and injustice that need fixing? She remembers her first column about Linda, the most personal article she’s ever written. It was a miracle that Juana convinced Felipe to allow one of his reporters to write about something that affected them. In the days that followed the publication of the article, El Sol received dozens of letters from families of missing girls. The article provided hope and comfort to many, and the positive response convinced Juana and Felipe that a regular column on the Desaparecidas was worthwhile. The column has been Sara’s way of keeping Linda alive in her heart—and Felipe just killed it.
Think of something happy for a change. There’s more to life than just evil and pain, no?
She gets up and stands by the steel door that leads back to the newsroom. After a few seconds, she takes a deep breath and opens it.
Think of something happy for a change.
Yes, she can do that. Of course she can do that. Can’t she? She thinks of Mami, getting on with life after Papá left her, making delicious cakes for a bakery. Or her brother, Emiliano, falling in love for the first time, and how he squirmed and blushed when Sara finally got him to tell her the name of the girl he’s smitten with. Just thinking about Emiliano makes Sara happy. He was going down a bad path after Papá left, and now look at him, helping other at-risk kids with his folk art business. Thank God for Brother Patricio and the Jiparis.
The Jiparis, Sara thinks. They’re like the Boy Scouts, holding long hikes out in the desert that save boys from delinquency. That’s a feel-good story if there ever was one. She goes back to her desk and types out a brief proposal; then she attaches it to an e-mail and sends it to Felipe. A message from Juana appears on her screen.
Let’s talk. Can you come over now?
In her office, Juana gestures for Sara to close the door. Sara sits down in one of the yellow plastic chairs in front of the desk.
Juana’s voice is businesslike. “I’m sorry I didn’t support you in there. But this one scares me more than the other e-mails. It mentions a specific girl, and it does seem to be directed at you and … your family.”
“I agree with you that it’s written in a peculiar way,” Sara says. She doesn’t tell Juana that the e-mail scared her too. “It’s the first threat that uses we instead of I. It’s as if it came from a group or an organization of some sort.”
Juana knits her eyebrows the way she does when she’s trying to read someone. “Look, I know you, Sara, and I know that regardless of Felipe’s orders—or mine, for that matter—you’re going to try to find out who and what’s behind this. Don’t. I agree with Felipe. From all kinds of angles, this is not a good idea. You are in danger, and I don’t want anything to happen to you. But also, Felipe is right. It’s not good for business to be pushing negative news right now. We’re finally doing well enough to hire a few more people. We’re working six days a week again. I want you to stand down, as they say in the armed forces. Stand down completely.”