Page 48 of The Delivery

I smile and cry a few tears and pass the picture around to my friends. When they give me back the phone, I comment underneath the picture. I tag Lex so he can see it and also just to let him know how close I am to finding Mo. I hashtag the image #likefamily #bestfriends. I grin down at it and feel good. I’m still staring at the picture five minutes later, settled into a chair next to Rocco.

“What are you doing? Willing it to life?” Rocco asks, running his fingers through my hair. “Comment on his account, try to get this attention!”

“I already did,” I say, focusing back on the frame. My hands shake when Mozey comments back.

“#bestfriends? Really, Lana?”

“Whatever you want to be.” I write without thinking.

“Did you make that stencil? It was sick! I tried to reproduce it.”

“I had help. Let me find you. I want to see you—help you get to Mexico.”

“If I’m so off limits, I don’t want to tempt you. Make you lose the no job that you don’t have.”

Uff. That one bites. He’s belittling my work. He thinks I used it as an empty excuse. He’s got his reasons to be angry with me—maybe I deserve it.

“I need to see you.” I write back, stating the simple truth. It does flash through my mind that I’m creating a public record here—evidence to keep me from getting hired at my next job for inappropriate relationships with clients.

“I’m out back by the pool.” Mozey writes back, and I look up, glaring at Rocco.

“Did you know he was here? How long has he been at Paradise? Why didn’t you call me?”

“Just go,” Rocco says, waving me away with his arm.

“You’ so right, Lana, mi vida, es divino! Sooo sexy and strong! Muah!” Coco shouts, kissing her fingers as I run through her creepy garden with statues of naked men their pale limbs crawling with moss and ivy as if reclaiming them. I bang open the door and step out into the night. The air is still hot and heavy, and the lights at the bottom of the pool cast watery shadows that bounce and play on the wall.

Mozey stands at the far end clad all in black. He’s just adding his signature to a painting that covers the only wall that divides this oasis from an industrial sized parking lot. His mural is a lush garden riddled with birds. This had to be a comish piece because it reads Coco all over it, from the cheesy gold-braided rope framing to the intertwined lovers held in a naked embrace.

“Turned out well. Not really my style, but I dig her enthusiasm.”

“How long have you been here? When did you find out?”

“I saw your stencil this morning. Watched you paint it actually. Then I came over and started working on this.”

He shakes the can he’s holding to see if there’s any left and unzips his backpack, throws it in and moves toward me.

I want to run to him. I still want to do the Dirty Dancing lift. I want him to kiss me forever like I’ve never been kissed. I stand still and selfconscious instead, wondering if he thinks I’m too much of a stalker. Mozey probably gets more female attention than he can handle. What if I’m just a figure from a past he’d rather forget?

“So, now you found me.” He shrugs, jamming his thumbs into his pockets.

“Are you hungry? Do you want to get something to eat?”

“I’d rather just talk.”

I’d rather just fuck. Pull your hair, have you inside of me. Scream your name, grab your ass, suck you off until you come on my face. What is wrong with me? I scold my libido for acting like this. What is it about Mozey that turns me into an animal? He’s probably devastated about his sister, overwhelmed with the lack of choice he now has regarding his own life. Can I cool down the cave-woman and maybe try to comfort him?

“I have a room here. Or we could go to the garden?”

“What’s wrong with right here?” Mozey says, stepping down on the heel of his shoe and pulling it off. He then steps on the other heel and starts to peel off his socks. He plunges his feet into the blue chlorine-smelling water after rolling up his jeans. I step timidly toward him, and when I get near him, I crouch down to take off my own sneakers. I’m close enough to smell him. I want to hug him and hold him.

We both have our feet in the water, and I notice mine are almost as big as his are, yet he’s so much taller. Our feet look so naked, and I freeze up, wondering if I’ve already crossed into inappropriate behavior just by getting close to him. But if anything is inappropriate, it’s me leaving the country to stalk and track down a former client from Pathways. I’m nervous enough to panic, and when Mozey casually moves his foot over through the water and runs his toe up the side of my arch, I shiver and feel the nerves run clear up my spine.

“So, Lana, what the hell are you doing in Mexico?”

His smile is wide, so I can tell he’s teasing, but it’s suddenly so blatantly obvious that I’m obsessed with him that I can feel nothing but embarrassment. Have I just spent the last four years of my life unhealthily pining for something that’s impossible? Did I leave a decent relationship because I’m delusional about a man who isn’t even interested in me? I’m older than him, we have different citizenship, and he’s got a criminal record. He’s got a kid and an ex-wife. The list is endless. What are we going to do to do? Get married? He’s only twenty-one, and I’m almost thirty. He probably doesn’t even want my help getting to Mexico.

“What’s up, Doc? Talk to me. Feel like going for a swim?”

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