Nickel City Storm Warning (Gideon Rimes Book 3) by Gary Ross (i can read books TXT) 📕

movement toward them. The end of slavery and eventually its pinch hitter, Jim Crow. Women’s suffrage and the still too slow infusion of women into corridors of power. The any-time-now death of the culture of workplace sexual harassment. Marriage and gender equality across the spectrums of identity and desire. Religious tolerance. Now we are more diverse than ever. Theater, film, television, literature, music, painting, and sculpture feature more artists of all races, creeds, and identities than ever before. But our diversity is not limited to artistic expression and the media. It is part of daily life. The Asian-American woman’s rights activist with blonde dreadlocks, the Latino bank manager with a Harvard MBA, immigrant doctors from India and Africa who treat white rural populations, transgender persons serving in the armed forces, Muslims and Native Americans in Congress, people of color in space—our nation is better for all of them.”

“G,” Rafael’s voice crackled in my ear. “Apparent heart attack in the lobby. One of my unis is doing CPR. A DPS guy went to get the nearest defib machine. EMTs are on the way. I’m heading down to assess. I’ll get back up here as quick as I can.”

“Got it,” I said.

“Max, pass on anything on our comms G needs to know.”

“Copy that,” Travis said.

“We are better because diversity—a dirty word only to those who would divide us—gives all our dreams, talents, sensibilities, faiths, and better angels a chance to cross-pollinate and evolve. Interfaith services, concerts that mix jazz and pop with classical music, blends of genres in literature and film, communities with outdoor murals that reflect the wide breadth of humanity, and heartfelt exchanges of social and political ideas that lead to compromise are all examples of the hybrid vigor that can keep alive American ideals long after current partisans are gone.”

Hotel staff were lined up near the buffet tables, most of them watching the stage intently, perhaps awaiting a supervisor’s signal as soon as the speech ended to begin removing chafing dishes under cover of applause. Two women, one young enough to be the other’s daughter, rose on opposite sides of the room and moved toward the entrance as if headed to the restroom. I felt tension knot my shoulders as I watched them go. We were looking for two men, Wally Ray Tucker and Stanley Maxwell, and maybe whoever did podcasts as Morgan Krieger. I had no idea whether those men had additional help seated in the audience or dressed like the staff in white shirts and black vests and slacks.

“But the future of American ideals is under threat from within, by a venomous tide of hatred that has washed over politics and public discourse and destroys lives when it spreads unchecked. I am a victim of that hatred. I was reborn in my husband’s blood the night he died in my arms. Many of you have asked why my book is narrated in the second person. Was I trying to insert the reader? No. The truth is the Andrea Gibbons everyone knew died that night. Something inside her floated into the ether to stare down with a profound detachment at what was left of her life. It was almost as if she watched herself become somebody else, somebody with the childhood nickname she had left in Buffalo when she went away to college in New York City.”

Drea paused and looked up from her papers. Amid the silence, she wiped her eyes and tried to clear her throat. Marlo Vassi stood and brought her a glass of water. Her whispered “Thank you!” caught by the mike, she downed it in three gulps and returned to her text.

“After her husband’s murder Drea discovered among his notes and clippings—papers that eventually led to In the Mouth of the Wolf—something he wrote in an article. ‘Hatred is a monster we unchain at great risk to ourselves.’ He was referring not only to the rise of explicit ethnic and religious hatreds but also to the cultural acceptance of everyday animosities that make the most extreme hatreds possible. He wrote that we have one clear choice if we want to keep a functioning democracy. We must render the venom of our politics impotent by embracing a common purpose.”

Drea took the protracted applause in stride, making no effort to stop it. The older woman who had gone to the restroom slipped back inside and hesitated near the buffet tables, perhaps overwhelmed by the clamor. Finally, she returned to her table, looking about before she sat, as if for clues to what she had missed. The man in the seat beside hers leaned over to whisper into her ear. She nodded as the applause began to subside.

“I think it’s safe to say that in this crowd most of us have never been part of the Ku Klux Klan or any neo-Nazi group.”

Laughter. More applause, brief this time.

“That suggests we can take some measure of shared pride in our core goodness, which reflects our willingness to work hard, to take care of our loved ones, to accept our neighbors. That is one of the things most of us have in common. We were taught to share, to play nice together, to take turns, to settle our differences with measured words and not threats or violence, to feel something when someone else is hurt or upset. Empathy makes most of us better Americans. We have to be repulsed by the suffering of others. We have to have empathy even for people we dislike. Empathy is what makes us help each other in times of crisis—national or human-made disasters—often at great risk to ourselves.”

“EMTs are on the job,” Rafael said. “I’m heading back up.”

“Copy that,” I said. But I felt unsettled and couldn’t say why.

“Another thing we have in common is a belief that we are better than our basest impulses. Despite moments of weakness that prove we are hopelessly human, we usually take no joy in our crueler moments. Generally, we try to do the right thing. Wishing few people ill, we care for our loved ones, help neighbors