“Which made you a US citizen,” I whispered.
“Yes. They made a home near Brownsville. My mother worked in a hotel kitchen. Jasiel began school. But the construction site where my father worked was reported for hiring illegals. He was deported, and Jasiel. They thought that because of my citizenship, my mother would be allowed to stay, but the anchor baby exemption was a myth. Immigration officials deported her as well, and she would not leave me behind. They died only months later—I can’t remember them.”
“And my uncle?” A man I hadn’t known existed until two minutes ago.
Her red eyes refilled, tears spilling down her cheeks. She held tight to Thomas’s hand. “I haven’t seen my brother or any of my family since the night I left Matamoros. Jasiel took me to the US Consulate with my birth certificate and Mexican identification and every peso Abuelita had scrimped and saved for years. I had just turned eighteen. I was granted a passport and allowed to enter the US two weeks later. Alone.”
• • • • • • • • • •
Avoiding a glance into the garage for fear my anguish was too visible, I stowed two suitcases in my car and went back to get the third and my backpack. Inside, I stood staring at the bed I’d only shared with Boyce twice, overwhelmed with the eerie sensation of overlooking something vital.
I didn’t want to leave him, that much was plain as day—but I recognized my selfish pining for what it was. I would not remain here and let his mother use him. If you love something, set it free. The rest of that insufferable adage didn’t even matter, because there was no if. The only way to free him from her coercion was to walk out his door and release him from the promise he’d made to me.
I took a deep breath, determined to paste a smile on my face and walk to the garage. Say good-bye. Assure him that we were good. Pretend that I hadn’t just stood in the center of his bedroom ripped open, heart bleeding out on the floor, aching for him worse than I ever had before. I’d known, in part, what I was wading into and how much it would eventually hurt, but I wouldn’t make it undone now if I had the power to unravel time.
I turned and there he stood, hands planted on either side of the doorframe as though he’d hold me prisoner in that room if he could. Ah, damn. My heart was still capable of wishful thinking, poor ignorant thing.
“Were you gonna say good-bye?” he asked.
“Of course.” I tried to smile, but all I managed to do was bare my teeth and raise my top lip. I must look nutty as a fruitcake, I thought, lowering my chin so he wouldn’t see through my charade and ordering myself to get a damned grip. “I was just about to come out to the garage. You didn’t have to come in.”
“I did, actually—I have something for you. Today’s your birthday, after all.” He reached into the closet—top shelf—and pulled down a plain cardboard box, a foot square, flaps folded shut instead of taped. “I can’t wrap anything worth a shit, so I didn’t try. Figured you wouldn’t mind.”
I smiled up at him, taking it. “I don’t. Wrapping paper is overrated and environmentally unsound.”
He inclined his head toward the box. “Wait until tonight to open it?” His gaze dropped to the floor, thick lashes falling against his cheeks. “After whatever you’ve got planned to celebrate your bein’ twenty-one, I mean.”
The boy who’d seen the inside of Ms. Ingram’s office more times than any single person I knew in high school—usually for cutting up or smarting off in class—was shy when it came to gift-giving? I wondered if he’d ever given anyone a gift, and how long it had been since he’d received one. My heart ached, because I knew the answer to that without asking.
“I’m having dinner with Mom and Thomas tonight, but I’m going out with classmates Friday to celebrate—La Playa and then some barhopping. Would you… want to come?”
His eyes lifted to mine and he was quiet for a long time. I realized he might have Friday-night plans. Plans he wouldn’t want to confide and I damn sure wouldn’t want to hear.
“I could do that, if you’re sure you want me along,” he finally said. “I usually meet up with Thompson Friday night for supper, but I think he can survive without me.”
Senseless relief filled me—it was only a matter of time until our lives went in opposite directions, after all—but today, I’d take it. “I’m sure. If you’re sure Randy won’t mind.”
One corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile brimming with secrets. “He won’t mind.”
I hefted the box that held my birthday gift. It wasn’t heavy. “Can I shake it?”
“Maybe a little. Just don’t drop it.”
As clumsy as I’d been lately, I decided shaking was right out. “What if—oh, never mind.” I waved a hand.
“What if what, Pearl?”
“What if you call me tonight when you go outside for your evening smoke? And I’ll open it while we’re on the phone.”
He smiled. “Deal.” He took the box and set it atop my suitcase and slid my backpack from my shoulder to the floor. “One more thing before you go.” His voice rumbled softly like the idling hum of a powerful engine.
His cool hands framed my face, and I inhaled the citrusy smell of the oil-removing soap he kept by the aluminum sink in the garage. His eyes crept over my features one by one like he might never see them again. When he reached my lips, his hands slid into my hair, cradling my head. As he bent to kiss me, I rose on my toes to meet him. Tears streamed from the corners of my eyes, and I knew he felt them connecting with his palms, baptizing his miraculous hands and giving me away.