“You’re right, I’m asking you to do too much. This was stupid. I’ll just flush it down the toilet.”
She took the brick and stood up, but before she could get to the bathroom, Chaz said, “Wait. Give it to me. I’ll see what I can do.”
Then he sighed and rubbed his face.
“Fuck, Joey. I would only ever do this for you.”
* * *
Three days later, Chaz was back at the motel, having procured what she asked for. He didn’t look happy.
“Everybody at the Cherry is mourning you. They’re having a little memorial service this weekend.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I really am.” She hesitated. “Aren’t you going to ask me who it was? In the fire?”
He shook his head and sat on the bed. The mattress sank under his weight. “The less I know, the better.”
“You’re not going to ask if I killed her?”
“If you did, you had your reasons, and it wouldn’t change how I feel about you,” he said quietly. “But I know you didn’t.”
She sat beside him and took his hand.
“I could go with you, you know,” Chaz said. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
“You can’t come where I’m going.” Joey leaned her head against his arm. “But I can’t tell you how glad I am that we met.”
He wouldn’t look at her as he handed over her new ID. The name on both the driver’s license and birth certificate was Paris Aquino.
Joey frowned. Paris? Aquino was fine, but she’d been hoping for a more mundane first name. “She doesn’t look anything like me.”
“She looks like you enough.” Chaz shrugged. “You’ll have to work with it. You know how hard it was to find a license and birth certificate for a Filipino girl close to your age and height?”
She scanned the stats on the license. The age was close enough; their birthdays were the same year and only two months apart. “Nobody will believe this is me. You can tell from her face that she’s heavier than I am.”
“That’s why it will work,” Chaz said. “Look at the date—the driver’s license expired a month ago. When you go to renew it, bring your birth certificate. If they question you, just tell them you lost weight. You can get a new photo taken. And then, after you get the new license, you can apply for a passport.”
Joey remembered when Tita Flora had to get a new passport. Her aunt needed to have two pictures taken, and have the backs of both photos signed by her family doctor to confirm her identity. “But won’t I need someone to verify that it’s me? And how do I know that this Paris didn’t already have a passport?”
“This isn’t without risk, Joey.” Chaz put a piece of paper in her hand with a name and phone number on it. “This guy is a friend of Reggie’s, and he works in the passport office. He’s expecting a call from you, but he knows your name is Paris. Let him know what day and time you’re coming in, and he’ll make sure he’s the one who helps you.”
She stared at her new ID. Paris. It didn’t suit her at all. But like Chaz said, she’d have to make it work.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Don’t thank me,” he said. “You paid way too much for this. The street value of that coke is around a hundred grand. A fake ID would have cost you a couple thousand at most.”
They both stood up. She reached for him and pressed her face into his chest, allowing herself the comfort of his arms around her one last time. His heart was pounding. You wouldn’t know it from the outside.
He kissed the top of her head. “I almost said I’ll see you around sometime, but I won’t, will I?”
“No.” Her voice was muffled.
“Take care of yourself, Joey.” Chaz held her a moment longer, and then he was gone.
An hour later, she stopped by the front desk to drop off the key. The same clerk was there, and just like he’d never asked her to sign anything when she checked in, there was nothing to do now that she was leaving. “Bobcaygeon” by the Hip was playing once again.
“Good luck,” he said.
“For what?” she asked.
“For whatever it is you’re running from.”
Not running from, she thought, as she caught a taxi outside the motel. Running to.
She was Paris now.
PART FOUR
Don’t think I haven’t been through the same predicament
—LAURYN HILL
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE