“Are you ever planning on telling me where we’re going?”
Juan caught flash of bright red from his peripheral vision and heard the scuffle of boots as his friend climbed into the shotgun seat. This drive was the first time Mariko had emerged from her hotel room since they had departed Ohio. She had been near-furious with him after they had first left, and while that wasn’t a particularly unusual turn of events when it came to Mariko, Juan still thought it best to proceed with caution. He replied with measured levity, “And here I thought you rather enjoyed opportunity to hone your investigative skills.”
Mariko only narrowed her eyes at his comment, which disappointed him a bit, if he was being honest. Mariko was both his friend and his co-worker, it was true, but some part of him wanted to parent, her just a little. She was the same age as his grandson, after all. The problem was much more reserved and often harder to read than either Mateo or Andrea had been (now, with some distance from the situation, Juan finally was able to admit to himself that stepdaughter or no, Andrea had been just as much as his child as Mateo had been--and that, in some ways, his failure with her had been even greater); still, light teasing was typically an effective way to get some kind of reaction of her.
After a moment of tense silence, Mariko said in clipped tone, “You know, keeping things from me causes more problems than it solves.”
Juan raised his hand to his forehead in exasperation. Confiding in Mariko about this issue went against his every instinct, every principle he had tried to abide by as a parent. But, as he kept, reminding himself, young though she may be, Mariko was his equal, at least in this context. And wasn’t going against his instincts the whole reason he took a job that sent him from city to city? To have a reason to stop staying still, barricading himself in the house and wallowing in misery. Following his gut had gotten him where he was now. Where Mateo was now.
“Wheaton,” Juan said finally. “We’re going to Wheaton.”
Mariko glanced his way. “That’s just outside of Chicago, isn’t it?”
“Correct.”
“Have you been there before?” She was testing the waters, tentatively assessing how much he was in the mood to give.
“Yes. I have,” Juan said simply. He had learned long ago that small bits of truth could go a long way when it came to Mariko. It was best to find an area where you could give a little and let her dig.
She was now studying his face intently. “That place… it means something to you, doesn’t it?”
Juan said nothing. He couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t increase the quietly building tension present.
“Was it your home?”
“For a time.”
She scoffed. “You know, you’re really good at finding some pretty fancy ways to say nothing.”
“Be that as it may,” said Juan. “You must admit that I am not the one currently dancing around what they truly wish to say.”
“You want to hear what I have to say?” She said in a quiet hiss, now turning so that her whole body was facing him. “You hung me out to dry. You knew how important that presentation was to me, how much blood, sweat, and tears I poured into it. And yet the day of you are nowhere to be found. Not even a courtesy voicemail.” Mariko slumped slightly in her seat, the anger in her voice fading. “It isn’t like you. And I know that for you to do something that...extreme...you must have had a good reason for leaving. But I don’t know what that reason is, because even after everything you still don’t trust me. “
He sighed, feeling the truth of what she was saying and yet debating how to phrase what he knew he must say next. “It’s. There was an article on a local news site for Wheaton. I still try to check it from time to time, you know. And I saw… someone I know had been an accident. I was trying to find out what happened to them.”
“And so you convinced Yara to set up a meeting for us in Wheaton? To have an excuse to go there, when you were asked about it?” Mariko asked, without missing a beat.
“Something like that,” Juan said wryly.
Mariko huffed faintly, but still replied, “Well, whoever you’re worried about… I’m sure they’re okay..”
“Yes. Yes. I…” Juan broke off, surprised with how heavy his voice had suddenly become. “I may have made a great oversight when it came to the..handling of him and his situation. If something happened to him or...worse..., it will be due to my selfishness. That is, in part, why I insisted we leave with such haste.”
Mariko was silent, but she did not look away. Perhaps she sensed that her best chance for getting more information was not to press Juan, but just to let him speak.
“I should have known,” Juan laughed. “Only Mateo’s son could raise so much trouble.”
Mariko stiffened. “Mateo? Your Mateo? Mateo had a child?”
“More than one, actually,” Juan said with a small smile.
“Wow. I thought that type of thing wasn’t allowed for you religious types,” Mariko said, quirking an eyebrow. “Not without a ring, anyways.” Juan frowned at the casual way she said you types and lowered his head to avoid meeting her gaze; even now after twelve years, the guilt about how he had left things with the Church still haunted him. It may not have prevented the nuclear family fallout that was to follow, but he had a feeling it could have made picking up the pieces easier. For him, at least.
“Well, you know Mateo,” he said even as he thought how ridiculous the statement was. Mariko didn’t know Mateo, beautiful, stupid Mateo, no matter how many stories she had pried out of him. She could never know Mateo, and he had no one to blame but himself. “He was always a bit of a, ah, rulebreaker.”
“Took after his dad, then?” Juan nearly jumped from surprise at the sudden warmth engulfing his shoulder. He looked up and saw Mariko with a slightly terrified expression now attempting to remove her hand, but he caught it with his own. The two shared a hesitant smile, perhaps the first real one they’d had in months.
“I supposed you could say that.”
