A man of forty-eight is boarding a plane. He is going back to Portland, Oregon. His brother has agreed to take him in—under certain conditions. The man is hopeful he will be able to meet his brother’s demands. Perhaps it is his last chance. In the last two weeks, twelve men have left El Paso, all of them having arrived here seeking children and asylum.
An underpaid lawyer who works for Legal Aid has worked tirelessly toward sending these men back to where they came from. She read, by accident, a magazine article on sexual predators who were being dumped on the border. She swore she wouldn’t rest until she made the practice stop. By chance or by design or by coincidence, she ran into an attorney at a cocktail party. His name was Dave. Nice looking. He wanted to have dinner. She had something else in mind. He was more decent than she’d expected—and ripe for what she had to say. He lent a paralegal, a secretary, his office, his phones, his faxes, everything he had. Let’s embarrass the shit out of those assholes who think it’s fine to dump their trash in our front yard.
Three months ago, today, Grace buried Mister next to Sam. She is looking at herself in the mirror. She no longer has breasts. She’s shaved her head. She is standing before a mirror as Liz hands her a red scarf to wrap around her head. Grace wraps it expertly. “Red suits you, Grace. You sure you won’t let me get a wig for you?”
Grace turns to her and laughs. “Sure. Make me a blond.”
Today, another chemo treatment. She thinks she hears Mister laughing at a joke.
Vicente is asleep in Mister’s old room. He is a sleeper, like Mister used to be. He wakes and cries, Mama Mama. His voice is deep for a child. Liz and Grace rush into the room. Liz sits on the bed and takes him in her arms. She breathes in his smell.
Grace watches them. She thinks that life is crueler and more beautiful than she had ever imagined.
Andrés is studying for a history exam. He is lost in his books. He is the best of students, a good and hungry mind. He still feels explosions in his gut—but Grace reminds him that anger’s not so bad. Just don’t go around hitting people. He smiles at Grace’s voice in his head. Cancer has made her softer.
He looks at the photograph he keeps on his desk—a gift from Dave. “This is you, Andy, before anyone ever touched you.” He looks at the photograph every day. It is like a book he is learning to read.
He looks at his watch. He works in Mister’s coffee shop—Liz’s, now. He promised her he’d work the morning shift, so she could take Vicente to the doctor.