CHAPTER 34

Ipace 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 tshirt, 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 selfrighteous 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-thingthat- 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.