Of course Celia remembered, and just the mention of the baby brought the scene back: the overheated bus, the baby screaming loud enough to rattle glass, the horrific moment when they all believed they were going to die, the bus launched into the harbor by a homicidal driver. Celia had stopped him. Killed him, actually, but no one seemed to mind that part. The faint scar on her forehead from her own injuries twinged at the memory.
The girl, a skinny thing who hadn’t grown into herself yet, smiled awkwardly and looked both embarrassed and awestruck. “You saved us,” the mother said, tearfully. “You saved us.”
Celia had hugged them both. The girl was just a few years older than Anna, and she was alive because of Celia. For a moment, she understood her father a little better.
When she got back to her office, she found a message waiting from Director Benitez at Elmwood. Please call back, no details. This was almost certainly about Anna. Celia checked the time—the kids should be getting home from school soon. Steeling herself, she called the director.
“Hello, Ms. West? Thank you so much for returning my call. I wanted to talk to you about Anna.”
“Yes, I expected that you would,” Celia said. “What’s the problem now?”
“She fell asleep in two different class periods today. If it had only happened once, I wouldn’t worry, I know how teens are. But this really isn’t like her. Ms. West, I’m sorry for asking this—but is everything all right at home?”
No, it wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t. Might not ever be again. But she couldn’t say that to this woman. “I appreciate your concern, Ms. Benetiz, really I do. I’ll talk to her, I promise.”
Celia could hear frustration in the director’s reply. “Yes, I’m sure you will, but there’s only so much a simple talk can do, if the underlying issues aren’t resolved.”
“What do you suggest then, Ms. Benitez?”
“Have you considered counseling for Anna? She comes from a high-profile family, and I’m afraid she may be finding ways to act out in response to that.”
Oh, honey, you haven’t seen acting out. More polite, she said, “You may be right. I’ll definitely consider it and speak with her father about it. Thank you very much for calling.” She hoped the dismissal was obvious, and sure enough, the director signed off, and Celia sighed.
She didn’t want to deal with this. Her daughter was falling asleep in class, neglecting her studies, and Celia somehow couldn’t care all that much. Anna was a good kid. Falling asleep in class was not a moral failing. She wasn’t getting enough sleep, obviously. Because she was running around all night hiding the fact she had superpowers. Mark called her—two kids matching Anna’s and Teddy’s descriptions had been seen wearing masks and wandering City Park. No, not wandering, Celia had told him. Walking patrol, like good little superheroes. Mark hadn’t done anything about it, thank goodness. The cops were keeping tabs, letting the kids practice, that was the whole point.
What the hell kind of superpowers Anna had that she needed to practice using—that was Celia’s real concern, her most pressing question. If only Anna would just tell her. Which was really rich, considering what Celia was hiding.
This had gotten very complicated.
Her parents never kept secrets from her. They might have been vague on a lot of the points of what exactly their superheroing involved, but they never tried to hide the Olympiad from her, and their secret identities were never secret to her.
But this was different. Celia kept telling herself, this was different. It was personal, and painful, and she didn’t want the pain to spill over to her mother, her daughters. This wasn’t like a kidnapping; nobody could swoop in to rescue her.
Celia picked out a bottle of wine, got a corkscrew and a couple of glasses, and went in search of her mother. She found Suzanne in the living room, stretched out on the sofa in yoga pants and a T-shirt, reading a book and absently twirling a strand of gray-roan hair around a finger. She looked so comfortable, and Celia would have loved to join her. Take the time to read a book, God, what a concept.
“Mom, you have a minute?”
Suzanne folded the book closed and sat up. “Yes, of course. What is it?”
How had Celia ever thought that Suzanne was a terrible mother? “Want a drink? I could use a drink.”
Suzanne agreed, and Celia set to work uncorking the bottle and pouring.
“Well, cheers,” Suzanne said, raising her glass. She sipped and waited. Celia sat in the armchair opposite and pondered. She wasn’t even sure what she wanted to talk about, she only knew that she wanted to talk, and the blank wall of her father’s grave wasn’t enough. So here she was. Her brain was full and she didn’t know where to start.
“How did you do it?” she finally blurted. “How did you put up with me, when I was being so awful?”
Suzanne took another calm sip and smiled affectionately. “Funny, I’m usually asking myself how you put up with us. We didn’t exactly provide an ideal home life for you.”
Celia couldn’t count how many times her parents left in the middle of dinner, or skipped some school function, or missed Christmas, to don their skin-suit uniforms and jet off on an adventure. Celia came second.
“At least you had a good excuse,” Celia said, which was not something she’d have been able to say when she was seventeen.
Suzanne gave a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe, maybe not. I really don’t remember how we put up with it. We mostly didn’t, if I recall. I’m just glad we managed to get through it and survive. Mostly.” A sad smile for the absent figure in their lives, an acknowledgment of the great gaping hole Warren West, Captain Olympus, had left behind.
Celia had reconciled with her father there at the end. She hadn’t had a chance to enjoy the reconciliation. He’d died in her arms after saving her life, and she held on to that.
Celia said, “I’m worried that Anna’s not doing well and I don’t know what to do about it.”
“This is the moment when I’m supposed to feel a sense of sweet revenge.” Suzanne did seem rather pleased, and Celia didn’t blame her for it.
“I’m sorry. For the record, for all records, I’m sorry.”
“Water under the bridge. We all made mistakes.” She took another sip, considered. “You know, your father couldn’t see past his nose sometimes, but he was always there when he needed to be. Always.” Emphatic, it was a statement on her own life. A declaration that Celia wouldn’t argue, however much she might have wanted to.
“Celia, you and Anna and Bethy will all be fine,” Suzanne declared.
The door to the penthouse foyer slammed open and shut again, and teenage footsteps, like a herd of antelope, pounded in.
“… I don’t care. If she asks I’m telling her, I’m not going to lie to cover your ass.” That was Bethy. Bethy swearing. The word sounded odd in her young voice. They were both growing up. At least her parents only ever had to deal with her. Celia had two of them. Double the revenge for her own teenage sins.
Suzanne arched a brow at Celia, asking if she knew what that was about, and Celia only sighed, because she suspected she did.
“Hey, girls,” she called to the foyer, and the footsteps stopped. A moment of quiet, and she could imagine them standing there, looking at each other, trying to figure out why Mom wasn’t in the right place for the afternoon routine. “How was school?” Celia added as a prompt. She rejected the very notion of asking, “Tell me what?”