Jace needed a moment to remember. “You mean the house we saw
on Halloween?”
“Yeah. Think you can get us back there?”
“I don’t know. Let’s find out.”
After driving up and down the streets they trick-or-treated on, Jace
found the house and pulled over to the side of the road. “That’s it, right?”
Victor nodded. “Yup. I remember the crack in the front window.”
“Yeah, you’re right!”
“Let’s go check it out.”
Jace stared. “What?”
“Let’s see who really lives there. Aren’t you curious to know if your
stories are true?”
Victor was already getting out of the car. Jace followed, protesting
the whole way up the walkway, his voice dropping to a whisper on the
small front porch. “C’mon, let’s go back to the car. Please!”
Victor paused, fist just inches from the door. “I’m sure a black
widow would be happy to see two handsome young men like us.”
Victor knocked and Jace groaned. The porch light turned on. Victor
shoved Jace directly in front of the door as it opened, then dodged off to
the side. The woman who answered had dark hair, slightly frizzled, as if
she’d been lying in bed watching TV. The worn nightgown she had on
played into this scenario, fabric crinkled up like the wrinkles on her face,
which deepened in worry.
“Can I help you?” she said.
“I’m sorry,” Jace replied. “I think I have the wrong house.”
The woman looked him over. “Do you know Victor?”
They both turned their heads toward the nearby snickering. Victor
strolled into view, the woman’s face lighting up with delight.
“Hi, Mama,” he said, embracing her.
“Why are you knocking on the door?” his mother said, swatting him
after their hug. “You nearly scared me half to death!”
“Oh, nothing bad ever happens in this town,” Victor said, stepping
past her into the house. “That’s my friend Jace,” he called over his
shoulder.
“I’m Victor’s mom,” she said, before looking uncertain. “Or Rachel.
Or Mrs. Hemingway. Gosh, I don’t know what I’m called anymore. Take
your pick!”
She gestured for him to enter, which Jace did, feeling slightly
overwhelmed but also excited. Victor had brought him to meet his
mother! Even if he didn’t stay here often, this was a huge part of his life.
“You have a lovely home,” Jace said, taking in his surroundings. The
house was small, the front door opening directly to the living room.
While the outside could use maintenance, the interior had the sort of
worn comfort that made any home welcoming. The living room didn’t
have a flashy entertainment center or a trendy sectional. Instead, each
piece of furniture had personality, such as the threadbare couch partially
covered by a quilt, or the pock-marked wooden coffee table in front of it.
“Get your friend something to drink too!” Mrs. Hemingway called.
Jace could see a kitchen through the doorway, Victor returning from
it and handing Jace a can. “Hope you like diet soda.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Mrs. Hemingway gestured for Jace to sit. He took a seat on the
couch, noticing a framed photo on the side table of a much younger
Victor, chubby-cheeked but still looking just as mischievous.
“Where have you been staying?” Mrs. Hemingway asked, sitting in
one of the chairs.
Victor remained standing. “Camping out. Jace’s family has some
property. I’ve been safe, don’t worry.”
But Mrs. Hemingway pressed a hand to her face. “I just knew you
were outside somewhere! It’s supposed to snow this weekend. Did you
know that?”
“No.” Victor frowned at his drink. “I’ll grab some warmer clothes
while I’m here.”
“There are fresh sheets on your bed.”
“I won’t be staying long.”
Jace felt awkward, like he should ask to use the restroom while they
figured out everything. The wrinkles had returned to Mrs. Hemingway’s
face. He wondered if years of worry had etched them there.
“And you, Jace,” she said, turning to him. “What a lovely name! Tell
me about yourself.”
“Uh…” Jace looked helplessly to Victor. “I’m a high school senior
and work part-time at Bernie’s.”
“That’s what he does, not who he is,” Victor said. “Jace has a huge
heart, is a sucker for the underdog, and likes to read books, probably as a
way of escaping this horrible town. He’d also like me to propose to him,
since he’s fond of commitment.”
“Oh, Victor!” Mrs. Hemingway laughed, shaking her head at her
son. “Maybe I should tell him about you!” She thought for a moment,
lips pressed together. “Victor likes animal crackers, but not the frosted
kind because they give him diarrhea. He didn’t sleep through a single
thunderstorm growing up, and I used to check his pockets before leaving
a grocery store because he was always stealing candy.”
Jace grinned at this, Victor shrugging as if it didn’t matter. “Does he
ever get embarrassed?” Jace asked. “I’ve never seen him blush.”
“Oh, there’s an easy way to make him do that!” Mrs. Hemingway
said.
“Okay!” Victor said loudly. “We’re going down to my room now.
You’ll have to humiliate me some other day.”
“All you have to do is call him Pooky.”
“Mom!” Victor complained.
Jace laughed. “Pooky?”
“Remember Garfield?” Mrs. Hemingway said. “He had a little teddy
bear named Pooky. Victor thought he was so cute that he wanted to be
Pooky, and used to pretend he was.”
“How do you pretend to be a teddy bear?” Jace asked.
“By sitting very, very still,” Victor said with anything but patience.
Mrs. Hemingway clapped her hands. “Show him how you used to do
it!”
“No,” Victor said. “We’re going to my room.”
“Oh, fine. Are you hungry?”
“We already ate.”
At Victor’s insistence, Jace followed him down a set of stairs to the
small basement. The concrete walls were painted maroon and had a few
band posters taped to them, but there were also elements that were
surprisingly juvenile. An old Star Wars toy in the corner—the robot-
looking thing with four long legs. Or the lamp next to the bed that
resembled a catcher’s glove and ball. Some of the room felt like Victor,
such as the plastic milk crates full of records, or the stereo next to them,
but the rest of the room seemed like it belonged to a kid.
“I don’t stay here much,” Victor said dismissively, heading for the
dresser. He pulled out sweatshirts and grabbed a battered bomber jacket
off a chair. “Ready to go?”
“We just got here,” Jace said.
“So? She’s probably already up there trying to figure out what to
cook. It’s better if we leave now.”
“Okay.” Jace hesitated. “She seems to miss you.”
Victor’s eyebrows rose, like a father whose kid had talked back to
him. Then he gestured with his head. “Come on. Let’s go.”
When they returned upstairs, Mrs. Hemingway appeared in the
kitchen door, holding a can of tomato soup and an opener. “Oh! Are you
leaving?”
“Yeah.” Victor kissed her on the cheek.
“Okay. Well, come visit soon. I don’t want you out somewhere when
it snows.”
Victor was turning to leave. “I know.”
“Star called.”
This stopped him in his tracks. “Really?”
“Yes. She said something about coming home for Thanksgiving.
You’ll be here, won’t you?”
Victor nodded without turning around. “Yeah. I will. Don’t go crazy
though, okay?”
Mrs. Hemingway ignored this and smiled at Jace. “It was nice
meeting you!”
“You too,” he said.
Once they were back in the car, Jace put the key in the ignition but
didn’t turn it. “She’s really nice,” he said.
Victor eyed him. “And I’m a dick for making her worry.”
“I didn’t say that!”
“You thought it.” For once, Victor looked agitated. “There’s a lot
you don’t know.”
“Then tell me,” Jace said. “No limits, remember? That includes
keeping secrets from each other. Right?”
Victor stared through the windshield, nodding when he came to a
decision. “You up for a longer drive? It’ll make more sense if I show
you.”
“Yeah, okay. Where to?”
“Mexico.”
Chapter Nine
The story went that settlers, traveling across Missouri, stumbled
upon an old wooden sign. Pointing to the southwest, the sign read
Mexico. Putting down roots at that spot, the settlers chose to name their
town Mexico instead of taking down the wooden sign. Jace had read this
anecdote when researching the city’s name. He supposed it was meant to
be charming, but to him it made the town founders seem lazy and not
very creative. Then again, Columbia was a city in Missouri too, as well
as Paris, California, Houston, Washington… The list went on and on.
Maybe, like Jace, those town founders were eager to be anywhere but
Missouri, and had to settle for pretending.
Mexico the town didn’t resemble the country in the slightest. Like
Warrensburg, many of the homes were small and uninspired, constructed
in a quality that made them seem temporary, as if the builders never
expected anyone to live there for long. At least that was the impression
Jace got from the outskirts of the city. Victor had guided them not
through the downtown area but along the fringes, his scowl deepening as
they took a left turn.
“There it is,” he said, venom in his voice.
A lawn ran along the side of the road, leaves blanketing the ground.
What lay beyond reminded Jace of a university. A number of three-story
rectangular brick buildings could have been anything from housing to
classrooms. The most central building was domed, with four white pillars
holding up the roof over the ornate entrance.
“That’s the military academy?” Jace said, not hiding his surprise. Of
course he’d heard of it. Depending on who you asked, The Missouri
Military Academy either provided one of the best foundations a young
man could receive, or was a dumping ground for troubled teens. One
thing was certain: It cost money, a fact made plain as they drove past
sculpted lawns and a lake that reflected yellow-lit windows of the
building nestled against it.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Victor said, but he sounded repulsed. “You should
see it in the spring. It’s absolutely gorgeous.”
The academy was much better looking than CMSU, the state
university in Warrensburg. Jace had suspected the drive to Mexico had
something to do with the military academy, but he doubted Victor went
there. Being sent to the academy was a standard threat from parents in
the area, but as Michelle once said, “Don’t worry, you have to be fucked
up and rich to end up there.”
“Turn here,” Victor said.
Past the lake and a much less scenic parking lot was a large sports
field surrounded by a competitive running track. Victor instructed him to
pull off onto a small dirt road just on the other side of the field. As they
parked and got out of the car, Jace began to feel nervous.
“Will we get in trouble for being here?”
“Probably,” Victor said, but he didn’t sound concerned. He held out
his hand, offering it to Jace. “Come on.”
Jace accepted, intertwining their fingers together and shivering in the
cool evening weather as they strolled across the field.
“I was a bad kid,” Victor said. “I’ve never liked authority. I would
talk back to teachers, break every rule at recess, and twist homework
assignments to upset my teachers.” He looked over at Jace and grinned.
“My first book report was on Stephen King’s Carrie. Everyone else was
doing theirs on Where the Wild Things Are or The Little Prince. Me? I
stood in front of the class and talked about a prom queen covered in pig
blood. I hadn’t even read the book, but I caught the movie on TV when
my mom was working a night shift.”
“I bet that went over well!”
“My mom thought it was funny. At first she was angry, of course,
but later she asked me to perform the book report and laughed her ass
off.” Victor smiled at the memory. “That was about the worst of it. All
the trouble I got into was just little-kid stuff—being a smart ass—until I
was older and started hanging around with my cousin.”
They stopped at the far end of the track. Where one playing field
ended, another began, this one dedicated to football, judging from the
goals. Jace could see tennis courts farther away, and the brick buildings
they’d passed earlier. From the rear, the buildings looked more like an
institution than part of a beautiful campus, which was probably Victor’s
reason for bringing them here.
“My cousin, Andrew, he was wild. I was tame by comparison. When
he was eight, he stole the family car. He made it about five blocks before
wrecking it. I think he hit a parked car or something. Andrew is four
years older than me, so I was really little at the time. Do you want to sit?
We’re less likely to be noticed.”
Jace nodded, reluctantly letting go of Victor’s hand as they sat on the
rubbery track surface. “So you and Andrew started getting into trouble
together?”
“Yeah. I was in junior high. Hanging around someone his age felt
cool, like I was already in high school. Andrew was a freaking mess, but
he was popular and well-connected. That he welcomed me into his world
felt like an honor. At that age you want to grow up quick. Andrew made
that possible. I was thirteen years old, drinking, smoking pot, and getting
laid.” Victor took a deep breath and exhaled. “Of course one thing my
family never had is money, but Andrew knew a number of ways to
compensate.”
“You started stealing.”
“Yup. I was arrested for shoplifting when I was fourteen. We’d steal
from any retail chain, drive to the next nearest location, and return the
stuff for cash, like it was gifts we didn’t want. Easy money. When they
caught me, I had an air pistol shoved down my pants. This made me look
violent, or like I was going to start holding up places. I only wanted the
gun because it was expensive.”
“So what happened?” Jace asked. “You can’t get arrested when
you’re that young, can you?”
Victor shrugged. “I don’t know. In my case, they called my mom.
When she showed up they started with the threats, saying they could
prosecute, have me thrown in juvenile hall, make her pay fines. I hated
seeing her talked down to like that. She was angry with me, but even
