Page 76 of The Delivery

“Minimizes any chance of rejection. Why, what did he tell you?” he asks, finally looking at me. His eyes are wide and innocent, he’s already anticipating my anger.

“Was the border crossing story even real?”

“That’s a true story, Doc. Think I could make something that ugly up in my head?”

“Of course you could, you’re an artist.”

“The only part I censored was that my mom and I both knew the guy who opened up the back of the truck. He chose the money over us, but Brisa came in handy when his new wife wanted to start a family. The man who opened the door was the same guy who slammed it closed again to shut out the light.”

I cringe at the revelation. It only makes the trauma worse. I hate Beto Miramontes. I wish I’d just taken the opportunity to spit on his stupid silk shirt. Mozey’s voice sounds scratchy from the meds. His eyes are dilated and his hair for the first time isn’t Pantene-commercial perfect.

“What else did you lie to me about?”

“Hmm, let’s see?”

“I’m serious, Moisés! Don’t ever keep anything from me.”

“I’m not a liar, Lana. I swear to God I’m not.”

“Whatever wasn’t the truth. I need to hear it.”

“That day in your office at Pathways, when I said I didn’t think you were pretty. I always thought you were beautiful.”

“Pffft. Okay. That’s stupid, what else?”

“When I told you I got in early to stock the classrooms, I did stock them, but only after I picked the lock.”

I can’t help but smile even though I’m fighting it with every muscle in my face.

“I had your home address before I took the bus to Detroit. I lifted it from the housing court letter on your desk.”

He covers his face with his hands but I can see the creep of a smile through his splayed fingers.

My face has given up against the smile, but tears are running down my face, and I’m fighting the urge to punch him, only because he’s an invalid.

“The basement sucked, but, it wasn’t that bad on the couch that night. You’re mom got up and gave me extra blankets. I really just wanted to feel your butt.”

I laugh out loud at that one, and my hand flies up to hit his arm. “You want to know the biggest one of all?”

“No, I say. Shut up!”

“The other night in the hotel…”

“Yeah?”

“When I said, it’s all right, we don’t have to fuck,”

“Uh-huh.”

“That was a lie, Lana. We do have to fuck.” Mozey licks his lips and smiles at me. It’s the warmest, most handsome smile I’ve ever seen. And it’s all mine. Mozey’s hand reaches toward me, and he grasps the arm of the chair I’m perched on dragging it screeching across the floor until it’s flush with the bar of the hospital bed. His muscle flexes in his arm, and I watch it, thinking how strong he is in all the ways that matter. He props himself up on an elbow and grabs the back of my neck. He pulls my smile to his smile, his deep brown eyes soaking up all of me. I want to drink in his beauty. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get enough. He brings his lips to meet mine and slowly begins to ask my forgiveness through the depth of his kiss. I melt into him, both body and mind syncing into his rhythm.

“That stencil of you in TJ with the eyebrows,” Mozey murmurs into our kiss. I can feel his teeth against my lips as he smiles into my mouth.

“Okay, that’s enough,” I say and kiss him so hard that he falls back against the pillow.

Mozey spent just that night in the hospital, and I slept in the chair. We said a bittersweet goodbye to Brisa in the morning with promises to visit. The guards said they would escort us back to the hotel but beyond checkout we’d be on our own. We flew out to Detroit in the afternoon. I asked Mo what he would do about a permanent visa. The Miramontes had secured him a green card so we could stay in the States. Money can buy you anything, including family and organs and country of origin.

He cheekily replied, “Marry you.”

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