The Delivery (24 page)

Chapter 34

I
pace the hallway for two hours before I agree to let the security guards take me back to the hotel for lunch. Mrs. Miramontes left for the news station to appear on a morning talk show. Mr. Miramontes isn’t even around. I agree to go back because I’m anxious, and I think maybe booking our tickets to Detroit would make me feel useful. I could use some distraction and something other than hospital coffee.

As soon as I’m in our room, I breathe a sigh of relief. This feels like our space, somehow protected and separate from everything. I shed my clothes and grab his t-shirt, yanking it down over my head. I hunt down a pair of his boxers and put those on too. I welcome the sensory immersion in his musky scent. I crawl under the covers and roll myself into a ball, shutting out the world and its lousy complicated mess.

I awaken to an old fashioned, shrill telephone ring. For one second I’m sleepy, fuzzy-headed Lana, and the next my heart is on fire, adrenaline flooding through my veins. I snatch the receiver off of the night table and smash it to my head.

“Hello?” I say on the verge of tears.

“Hey, it’s Lex.”

“Oh God!” I exclaim, and now, I am crying. Warm tears of release roll down my face. “I thought maybe, never mind—” I say, trying to get a grip. I glance at the clock and see I passed out for a few hours. I stretch Mo’s t-shirt, slipping my knees inside and pulling them up to my chest.

“How’s it going? Is he out yet?”

“He should be in recovery now if everything went okay. I guess I fell asleep.”

“Did you call the hospital to check?”

“No, I was sleeping. It’s supposed to be routine, non-invasive. Don’t make me more nervous than I already am, Lex.”

“Sorry. I guess I’m anxious too. Do you know if his sister’s immune system was compromised, say from cancer, aids, hepatitis C or an autoimmune disease, perhaps?”

“What? I don’t think so. I mean—I haven’t even met her yet. I know she was right on the edge waiting for a donor.”

“Do you know why it had to be Mo?”

I stand up and run my fingers through my wavy hair trying to finger comb away the curls.

“Why? You’re scaring me, Lex. What are you getting at?”

“I don’t know, sis. I started reading about it, you know, just to see what it was like, what he was going through. I did a little bit of research, and it’s true that kidney transplants started out with identical twins and what not, but it’s not that way now.”

I cradle the phone to my neck and pull on a pair of jeans over Mo’s boxers.

“What are you saying?”

“It can be anybody who donates a kidney. It doesn’t have to be your brother. These people have money, right? It just seems weird that they let her get so close when it didn’t have to be his organ, you know? They could have bought one. It didn’t have to be Mo.”

“Maybe her immune system is compromised. I don’t fucking know. Now I’m terrified, Lex. Thanks. I gotta go.”

I slam the phone down and jam my feet into my shoes. I open the door so fast the security guard leaning against it practically falls into the room. He straightens up and pulls on the lapels of his jacket. His hair is slicked back, and he’s got a tiny mustache that runs right along the edge of his upper lip.

“Any word yet? Can you take me back to the hospital?” I ask him. He nods his head and starts to proceed down the hallway. I guess he didn’t catch what I said.

In the back of the SUV, I take out my phone to text Lex and tell him I’ll give him an update as soon as they let me see him. I scroll through my email thinking this fifteen minute ride might last an eternity. An email from Gunnar Anderson catches my eye. I forgot I’d asked him to do a run on Brisa’s stats through the state registered database. He’s a little too late if he’s identified Brisa. I wipe sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.

His email starts out with a thousand pleasantries, I scan through them, my fury building although all he’s done is oblige my favor. Then there it is—the information I want.

His searches for her age, birthday and given name resulted in nothing. She either never made it to California or if she did it was under a different name. But there are data rows cut and pasted into the email and the next few words almost stop my heart.

I did do another run on Moisés. I think it’s pretty obvious I always had a thing for you. I ran him against federal records just to be safe. If he’s gonna be the guy for you, I thought I’d make extra sure you knew what you were getting into—not only that but I want you to be happy. You deserve it probably more than anyone else I know.

Turns out “de la Cruz” is an alias, the kid’s been arrested under multiple names. He’s the founder of the radical street art crew called the Dibujeros. They’re your run of the mill, outlaw punks with some pretty anarchist views on government and such. Their stuff is graffiti based so it’s not like capital one or assault or anything violent, but painting on the side of the courthouse is still a federal offense, and they’ve racked up a lot of them. The police for the most part don’t know their identities. I broke the code just by running criminal DOB’s against Juvie ones and adding in physical stats. And bang! You got your man! I should get a bonus for that. Lol! But don’t worry, I won’t turn him in. You can google him as Moisés Miramontes. Check out his record and all of that fun stuff. I hope the guy has been upfront with you. Sorry I couldn’t be of much help with the sister. It’s a sad story, but the really sad thing is, I’ve heard worse.

All the best to you, Lana. I’m still around if you ever want to catch up.

Gunnar

My foot is slamming an invisible brake on the floor of the SUV. I scan the email maybe ten times, my thoughts swinging vertiginously all over my head. Jennifer did mention the Dibujeros, so that doesn’t surprise me. What surprises me is that Mo asked me to marry him without ever coming forward with the whole truth about who he is. But what’s got me speechless and raging is the surname; it’s a full-on, nasty, slap across the face.

It tells me he lied to me with way too much ease. His entire story has been a fake. Moisés intentionally deceived me, and he knows these bad people much better than you would think. What kind of co-conspiracy are they cooking up? And where the hell exactly do I fit in? Am I being used as some sort of cover for Mozey? Or am I the red herring in a retaliation against his parents? I’m so confused. I slip the beautiful ring off my finger and shove it into the pocket of my jeans. No way in hell I’ll marry some guy who lies to me.

I jog through the lobby of the hallway until I make it to the nurse’s station. I ask for permission to see him, only to be told that he’s in recovery and still waking up. After wandering lost for what seems like ages, I finally locate the waiting room near recovery and plop myself down in the chair. I text Lex to tell him I’ve arrived and Mo isn’t dead. Lex texts back:

“Did you find out what was so good about his kidney?”

“Turns out he’s a huge fucking liar. Tell Mom and Dad that we’re not getting married.”

“You’ll figure it out. Go easy on him, he just had surgery. Tell Mo he’ll always be my brother.”

“Traitor.” I text back to him.

“That’s what you get for hooking up with my best friend.”

I toss my phone onto the chair beside me and cross and uncross my legs. I scratch my scalp like it’s louse infested and then tie my hair back with a clip from my purse. I’m about to start pacing the hall again when I see Beto Miramontes exit a door and close it softly behind him. It looks like he’s sneaking away. I shoot up from sitting and shout, “Hey!” to him.

He turns and brings his finger to his lips. I gesture for him to come over, and he quickly throws a look over his shoulder. A security guy or two are lurking down at the end of the hall. His leather shoes are expensive; they don’t make a sound on the tile as he comes toward me, but I can hear the swish of his tailored slacks. Without realizing it, I’m already tugging down on Mozey’s shirt, feeling messy and underdressed.

“He is just now waking up. Very tired. Thought I would let him sleep some.”

“Are you his father?” I ask, bringing one hand to my hip.

Beto Miramonte’s eyes flinch just a tiny bit, and he brings his fingers to his face to stroke his chin. I’ve seen the exact same chin-stroking gesture before, from a boy who I’m beginning to realize, looks quite a bit like him.

“Yes. Why? Did he tell you that?”

“Nope. He lied. I found out from a friend. And you know what’s the funny part? He actually asked me to marry him. I hope you all have fun with your fucked up reunion. You can tell him I left. I’m catching a flight back home tonight.”

Miramontes cocks his head looking slightly confused.

“I don’t know what he told you about us. But I only came to him when he was a teenager. He obviously chose his drug-addicted mother over me when I gave him the chance. Even at six-years-old, he wanted nothing to do with me. His mother put too many notions inside of his head.”

“I thought you were a waiter,” I say, my anger leaking out between every word.

“No. I have always been a businessman. I started small and worked my way to the top. Moisés could have started at the top, but he’s too self-righteous to accept anything from me.”

“He had me believe that he was looking for Brisa—that he thought she was dead.”

“He was looking for her. I contacted him once on his thirteenth birthday. I told him he could inherit my assets, be the next in line in the kingdom I’ve created. He nearly spat in my face. I told him Ana María wouldn’t make it to adulthood without him. He still walked away saying he didn’t believe me.”

I’m proud of Moisés for standing up to this man. I feel a fresh surge of admiration for Mo flush me with heat.

“He probably took that to mean you would kill her. Not that she needed an organ donation.”

“I paid him fairly for the surgery. I hope he recovers well. The man in there is not my son. He is foolhardy. An idealist. A belligerent one. Painting walls will never accomplish anything. My guess is he’s met his match, I hope you both will be happy. “

With that Beto Miramontes turns and strides away down the hall. I fall back into the chair and run my hands over my face. I hate being lied to more than anything else. But somehow my heartstrings are pulled even tighter for Moisés even though he didn’t feel like he could share his whole truth with me. I stand and numbly walk to the room he’s just exited. I put my hand on the door, but instead of pushing it, I lower my face and bang my forehead against it.

He says he wants to marry me but he can’t even be honest enough to share his identity. I’d love to imagine that he believes he’s keeping me in the dark for my own safety. Or that he himself was unsure of all these connections. But all of those things are excuses and not part of the reality I need to face.

I turn and walk away down the hall. My heart is so heavy with this painful burden called love. I’d like to drop kick it like a football with all of my might. Kick love for being so optimistic and eager and willing to forgive. Love needs to grow some balls and stop flitting around all flushed and tipsy from something he said—from-every-single-little-stupid-thing-that- he-ever-said to me. I spent three years of my life pining for him. Now I’ll probably spend three hundred regretting that I ever laid eyes on him.

Chapter 35

I
get in the taxi line outside of the main entrance. I try not to think about his paintings or his smile or the silver rings against his brown skin. I will myself to forget his smell and the way his arms feel when they’re wrapped tightly around me. I force myself to walk away from his wounded body and extinguish the need to go to him. One of the Miramonte’s security guards spots me in the line. He moves down the walkway with a meaningful gait, his jacket flapping open in front from the momentum. I turn my body to angle it away from him, even though he’s already seen me. I look like a fool standing the wrong way in line with everyone else facing me. We have a whispered yelling argument about my transportation back to the hotel. I prefer a taxi while he prefers dragging my ass out of line by the arm. I hit him in the bicep, which is like a bunny paw slapping a boulder.

“Let me go, you fuck! I’m done with this job, finished. I’m leaving today and without him!”

“I’m under orders to provide you security. If you just come with me then I won’t have to hurt you.”

There’s the heartbroken Lana who wants to give up because I don’t care if they kill me. Then there’s the Lana the fighter who wants to go live the best life she can just to show Moisés that she’s perfectly fine without him. I give in somewhere in between because I’m too tired to fight him and plus, he’s got a gun and all I’ve got is a sweaty t-shirt and a purse full of tissues and crushed vending machine donuts.

I’m silent in the back of the SUV on the way to the hotel. I lay my head back and meditate on trust and it’s necessity in life. I can’t have a relationship with Mo if he can’t tell me the truth. What would that even be? Like I’m going to marry some guy with a secret identity—a husband who lies to me.

I jump out of the car before the security guard can get down to let me out.

“Thanks for the lift,” I say, slamming the door. As I stride away from him toward the hotel, I look back to make sure he’s not following me and then I flip him the finger. It feels good, so I do it with both hands and hold them extended in his direction. I almost walk into a family exiting with two little children. I stuff my hands in my back pockets, nod “sorry” and then keep my head down, eyes glued to the floor.

Back in the room, I have to physically hold myself back from smelling his stuff. I dump my clothes in my rolling suitcase, dirty mixed with clean, and throw in all of the remaining hotel amenities. Now that I’m broke, I’ve got to take advantage of free things. I lie back on the bed and think about how I could have faired better if I were honest from the beginning. Honest with Mo, when I first met him. Honest with Dale about how I wasn’t in love with him. Honest with my parents about how much it sucked to support them. Honest with myself about not wanting this to be over. Ever. I’m not ready.

I’m splitting into a million pieces as tears rush down my temples, wetting my ears and my hair. I’m no longer a whole person, just a mess of fractured, meaningless orbiting pieces.

I don’t know where to go. I don’t have a plan. Anything I come up with only sounds miserable without Mozey. I’ll be relegated to toil the boring earth for eternity always searching to replace his singular beauty. Not only that, I’ll never meet anyone else who can tease me and make me feel silly and loved and turned on with a joke at my expense or a punch in my arm. I love how he laughs when I’m grouchy and forces me to speak about my feelings. I love how his searing kiss can steal the breath out of my lungs and the beat from my heart.

My phone rings. It’s Lex. I pick it up even though I don’t feel like being lectured.

“What’s happening, Lana? Did he pull through, is he okay?”

“What about “how are YOU feeling, Lana, after being nothing but lied to?”

“So he’s fine?”

I feel mean because I can hear the panic in his voice.

“He’s okay, he’s going to be alright. I just don’t think I can do us, because I don’t even know who he really is.”

I’m folding and refolding Mozey’s discarded shirt. I won’t let myself pick it up because it will cause me to do something pathetic like nuzzle my face into it and jam it in my suitcase so I can sleep with it under my pillow until it’s lost every trace of his scent.

I do it anyway. I can’t help myself, because his scent is the only thing that can comfort me right now. It’s the closest I’ll get to having him near me. Even though it hurts to smell him it still makes me feel better.

“Lana?”

“What?”

“Just wondering if you were still there. Can you hear me out for a minute?”

“Lex, I’m done. It’s not like you can talk me back into it.”

“I know about the stuff that’s bothering you. I respected his need to tell you at the right time and right place.”

“You fucking knew and didn’t tell me—wait that is seriously wrong. I’m family!”

“I know that he loves you. I was trusting his timing. When Mo came to Detroit, you were ashamed of our house, our parents, and our lack of jobs. Shit, Lana, you were probably even ashamed of me. We were at our lowest point ever and you know what? He wanted it. It wasn’t just like he was willing to accept it. He wanted it, Lana. Because it was part of you.”

“Very nicely put, Lex. But I’m still not marrying a liar. I’m on the noon flight out tomorrow. Will your ass pick me up or not?”

“Of course I’ll pick you up. I just want you to be happy.”

I hang up the phone and toss it onto the bed. I do a double take at a voicemail notification that I didn’t know was there. I check the number and it’s Mozey’s. I check the time and see it came in last night. He left me a voicemail while I was in bed sleeping next to him. I push the button and bring it to my ear in slow motion—then throw it down like it’s hot. I don’t want to hear what he has to say. There is no excuse for not telling the truth and not being upfront.

I use the room phone to order steak and then a bottle of Merlot. If the Miramontes are still paying, I’ll have a last supper on their bill. I flip the channels until I find an old movie, a classic, with a very young Clint Eastwood. I power through the dinner and then order chocolate cake with ice cream. I could go downstairs and check out the hotel bar, maybe hunt for some casual sex. But I’m too miserable and angry. I decide to take a hot bath. I hate hotel bathtubs because I can’t help but think of micro-organisms. And by micro-organisms, I mean really disgusting things belonging to other people. I scrub the tub out first with blue shower gel and a washrag, then run it hot and deep. I soak for an hour until my skin looks bloated and waxy and fittingly corpse-like.

I rub hotel lotion from my feet and keep going up all the way to my face. It sort of stings and smells vaguely of ammonia mixed with air-freshener flowers. The lotion makes my eyes water. I wrap my wet hair in a towel and put on the provided bathrobe. I notice there are two. I never got to see Mozey in one. The cake and ice cream are on the coffee table and the ice cream is soup. I pick up the bowl and drink it up anyway. At least the ice cream didn’t lie to me. I eat the cake in four grotesquely huge forkfuls. It’s probably all over my face, but I’m reveling in the gluttony.

I flop on the bed and roll on my back. I grab the phone and press play and listen to his voicemail.

“Lana, you’re sleeping and you look fucking cute. Even though you drooled on the pillow and almost kneed me in the balls. I don’t want to scare you, but I also don’t want to kick it without setting some things straight for you. The question you always
ask about the underground—the answer is yes. I can’t tell you more, cause I’m sworn to secrecy. But I don’t like to keep things from you so someday I’ll tell you the rest. The other thing, that you might already know. Miramontes is my father, like the real one, but biology’s as far as that goes. He came and found me when I was thirteen. Wanted to take me, threatened to kill me if I didn’t come. He wouldn’t answer my questions about Brisa or what exactly he’d done. I could tell what he was and it was against everything I believed in. I told him to go fuck himself and he said he would kill me. I would have gotten to Brisa sooner had I known how bad off she was. The only thing I could get when I started looking was that he had compounds in Juárez, Tijuana and Mexico City. I’m sorry for taking so long to let you in on that stuff. I wanted to be what you wanted maybe even more than I wanted to be myself.

So if I kick it, the money is in the account. It’s dirty as fuck and covered in blood—but put it toward the kids who need it. Nobody else does that better than you. And the only favor I’ll ask is that you paint my portrait if I go. I want you to do it, not one of the members. Because the way that you see me, Lana is the way I want people to remember me. It’s the way I want to be. I love you, Lana and I love how you love me.”

I can’t even cry the emotion comes so hard, like a swift moving tsunami, knocking out everything I could hang onto and shoving me wherever it wants me to go. I believe this is it; I don’t think there will be another time. The love between us is the only thing in this whole world that I can really call mine.

I pull Mozey’s t-shirt over my head and I pull on his jeans. I’m slightly disappointed that they aren’t all that big on me. There’s no reason to bother with a bra or makeup or fixing my hair. Mozey loves me, I’m not perfect, but neither is he. I roll the cuffs of the pants up twice and slip into my shoes. Something tells me to hurry. If Miramontes, in truth, ever threated to kill him, then it’s my job to save him and get him the hell out of there.