Hero (30 page)

"Some people find it a little offensive," she said in a loud whisper in my direction to rub salt in the wound. "It's not exactly the best way to honor those in the military who put their lives on the line every day so that we may enjoy freedom."

Who actually talks like that? Yet most people in the crowd nodded along with her and agreed.  The fanny-pack father looked at me and shook his head, his disapproval of Dad aimed clearly at me. I wonder what they would have done if they'd recognized me from the news, if they'd known I was his son. Burned me at the stake and sung the National Anthem?

Mom pulled me back as they started up the next flight of stairs.

"Let it go," she said in a reassuring tone. "We have bigger fish to fry."

I had to listen to that tour guide drone on for another two hours as we wound our way up the tower, before my mother finally pulled me aside and told me to crouch down and pretend like I was tying my shoe.

"Why should I do that?" I whispered.

"So the guide won't see you, and if anyone turns around, they won't get suspicious."

"Suspicious of what?"

She knocked me over and rolled me through a door into the emergency stairwell, which ran hidden, parallel to the main staircase.

"Let's go," she said, and I felt her grab my hand.

We climbed down what must have been at least twenty flights, then down again, into the catacombs below the memorial. I couldn't see anything, but Mom seemed to know the way. For a time, Mom's hand separated from mine, so I followed the sound of her voice in the darkness.

"It wasn't his fault, you know," she said. "The way he chose to handle it, that was his fault. But the event itself, he did the best he could with an awful situation. History forgets that part. Watch your step."

We stepped up and into a new corridor.

"You can't believe everything everyone tells you. Sometimes you just have to trust your gut. Do you honestly think your father would have needlessly risked all those lives just because he thought he was powerful enough to defeat that creature on his own?"

Of course I didn't think that. I always believed the best of Dad. It was the rest of the world who couldn't see him the way I did.

"You want a bottled water? You look thirsty." Mom handed me a plastic bottle of water. I felt for the cap, twisted it off, and took a gulp; the cool liquid felt good as it sloshed down my throat.

"The two things I've learned to hate most after all the years on this job are magic and outer space. Never did understand a damn thing about either of them. That goes triple for time travel."

We continued on through the corridor. Maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me, but it was getting lighter.

"Your father, though, nothing ever intimidated him. He was on the scene before anyone else in the League had a chance to respond. Even before Justice."

"Where were you?" I asked.

Mom stumbled slightly over a step, and I saw her catch her flask.

"Justice had me on assignment." Then she added softly, "Justice had me on a lot of assignments."

"Meaning what?" I wanted to know.

"That," she said in between drags, "is a story for another time."

I tripped over the same step that made her stumble and stubbed my toe. I gritted my teeth and tried not to care.

"This is it," Mom said, and flung open a door. "Cover your eyes."

My eyes immediately hurt. I squinted, but still it was impossibly bright. Shafts of light shot up through the cracks between the floorboards and pierced the darkness all around us.

"What is it?"

A crowbar floated over to the corner, and I saw that we were in what looked like the biggest basement I'd ever seen. It went on so far in one direction that I couldn't even see where it ended.

"This was the concourse level of the tower," Mom sighed. The crowbar dug into one of the floorboards and pried it up. Brilliant light burst forth into the room, and I shielded my eyes. "This is what's left of that creature after it tried to go supernova. Crystal."

It was beautiful. I couldn't understand why anyone would cover it up, keep it hidden underground.

"Here, give me a hand while I tell you a story." The crowbar presented itself to me, and I grabbed it. I looked down at the floor for a good spot to pry open.

"Go ahead. Don't be gentle." I felt Mom's hands grasp mine, and she plunged the crowbar into the floor and showed me how to give it a good yank. The boards were surprisingly ramshackle and brittle,  not as strong as  they looked,  like someone had been more concerned with getting it covered up fast than covered up well.

Another crowbar appeared, and Mom began working beside me.

"The first time I met your father I was in complete awe. I didn't even think I could bring myself to say hello. All I could think of was that he was so much more handsome in person than he was in the newspapers.

"After a few months on the probationary squad, one day I gathered up the nerve to ask him to help me with my hand-to-hand combat training. No, actually, I just worked up the nerve to say yes when he offered to teach me. I'd had my ass handed to me when I'd tried to stop an attempted break-in at Fort Knox by some two-bit hood that wore a glorified doggie costume and went by the name Anubis the Jackal. Unfortunately for me, his bark wasn't worse than his bite. Your father showed up with the rest of the League before the guy could do any permanent damage to me, but I was pretty beat up. I'll never forget the drubbing your father gave that man. Captain Victory had to pull him off the mongrel.

"I spent a week in the hospital, and your father came to visit me every day and read me the minutes from the League meetings I'd missed. He offered to teach me to defend myself better, and I knew I needed the help if I wanted to make the big time. He'd been generous the same way with Right Wing when Right Wing was his sidekick, always showing him ways to make himself better, not to rely solely on his powers. Honestly, I don't know where your father found the time, but he always made a point to be there for anyone who needed him.

"So he made time for me, a second-stringer. We began a daily routine, staying late after League meetings every night when he'd teach me how to work the punching bag."

I thought about Goran. I'd never had much of a right hook until he showed me how to push off with my back foot.

"I started to get pretty good. In a few weeks, I could beat the stuffing out of that bag. It did not go unnoticed that I was better in my fights with supervillains, too. I moved up the ranks, and your father kept practicing with me after the rest of the Leaguers had gone home. One night, later than usual, he told me it was time to learn to kickbox. He said I had great power in my legs and could do more damage with a kick than with a punch, and he didn't want to see me ending up on the wrong side of a fight with someone like Anubis ever again. At first I thought this was criticism of my punching skills from the master, but it was really something else. I figured out later that your father lived in mortal fear that something bad would happen to me. So kickboxing was the next answer to the question of my safety in the field.

"I didn't take to it at first. In fact, the first few times I tried to kick the bag, I was so shy that I stayed invisible. I didn't want to look stupid in front of him, especially with my legs splayed out in different directions. You have to understand, Thorn, I'd had a deep crush on this man for a very long time."

I understood what it was like to have those feelings for someone. If she'd stuck around the past few years, maybe she would have known just how much I understood.

"Your father asked me, very politely, to make myself visible so he could see me to make sure I was doing it right. I became so self-conscious with him watching me that when I tried the kick, visible, I completely missed the bag. I lost my balance, and instead of connecting with the bag, I kicked him in the gut, knocked him to the ground, and fell over on top of him.

"I was so embarrassed I thought I'd die. But he didn't laugh at me. He was careful with my feelings back then, really kind. I was so mortified that instead of getting up off of him, I just lay there frozen. My hands were still resting on his chest, and I must have had this look on my face like a little girl who'd been caught with a broken cookie jar she'd knocked off the counter. He gently placed his hands around my wrists—your father had such strong, smooth hands—and asked me if I needed help getting up. I couldn't move, I was utterly enthralled. When it became clear that I didn't have the wherewithal to pull away from him, he leaned up, his face inches away from mine. And then he kissed me."

I found myself wishing that I'd asked Goran to show me how to kickbox back when we still worked out together. I wondered if I'd ever have the chance to see him again.

"Are you listening, Thorn?"

"Yes." I stopped thinking about Goran and pulled up another board.

"So our late-night workouts turned into dates. We'd work out, clean up, then go out to a midnight movie or dinner at some quiet cafe, where no one would see us. We kept our relationship a secret from the rest of the team for as long as we could. This was my request, not his. No one would take me seriously as a hero, I thought, if they knew what was really going on. Plus, I didn't want people to think I was trying to sleep my way to a top spot on the League. Do you remember Velvet Vixen? No, of course you don't, you're too young. Well, she was a real slut, and I didn't want anyone thinking I was easy like her.

"And we were still taking the training very seriously. The more your father grew to care for me, the more he cranked up our workout sessions. We did a pretty good job keeping our relationship under wraps, but it became a problem sometimes during fights. He literally wouldn't let me out of his sight, he was so protective of me. God knows how he could see me, but somehow he always knew where I was. Some of the Leaguers began to notice that he was often out of position during combat. Right Wing especially: he even brought it up in a meeting.

"We couldn't keep it a secret forever, now could we? One night, Justice—sorry, Right Wing—walked into the gym. I'll never forget the look on his face. Your father and I were kissing—your father's back to the door, and mine against the punching bag. I was the first to see him. Then he started at your father.

" 'I was wondering why you weren't training with me anymore,' he said. Our eyes locked—mine and Right Wing's—and I saw something in his eyes. Betrayal. Your father turned around and hurried over to explain. More for me than for him. I don't think he thought it was any of his sidekick's business who he decided to fall in love with. And I was right: Right Wing did feel betrayed. But not by your father. Neither of us found out about that part until later.

"Before long your father convinced me that we should come clean with the League. He made a smiling announcement in front of the members that after years of my refusing his advances, he'd finally worn me down. Your father could still charm the socks off of any group back then, and nearly everyone in the League was nothing but happy for us. But there was strain. Between your father and his sidekick. They no longer trained together, no longer sat together at League functions; they didn't even go out on patrol at night anymore. Right Wing made up excuses at first, but then he just stopped showing up entirely.

"Captain Victory assured us that this was all natural. He pointed out that your father had done the very same thing— pulled away from him—when he was ready to move on from sidekick to a full-fledged hero in his own right. So your dad let Wing have his space. Which gave him more time for me. This is all going somewhere, don't worry."

"I'm not." I wanted to know where I came from.

"I wanted your father to ask me to marry him so bad. We'd been together for over a year, and we'd started to talk about marriage, what it would mean for us to build a life together. He resisted the idea at first. Not because he didn't love me. I thought he wanted the tension with Right Wing to die down first, but then I realized there was more to it than that."

Mom stopped talking. I looked up from the boards, in the direction where her voice had been. I knew that pause of hers. It meant she was looking at me.

"Children," she said. "He was thinking about our children, and what it would mean for two heroes to raise a family. You don't have to be Einstein to do the math from there. We weren't your average couple. One of us would have to retire. You can guess who was the logical choice."

Yeah, I could guess. Dad was old-fashioned in so many ways. Mom knew what I was thinking.

"Your father was never sexist, mind you. Quite the opposite, in fact. He'd been the first to throw his support behind the idea of letting women enter the League. That was a big deal back in his era. And he wasn't just thinking of the ones who wore fishnet tights as part of their costumes, either.

"Our discussion about the future was more about what our commitment to a family would mean. And there wasn't much question about which one of us would step down. Your father was the world's biggest hero. I was still second rate at best.

"Second rate?" I asked, somewhat defensive. She didn't sound second rate to me.

"Oh, I found out I'm good at lots of things the League isn't capable of, don't you worry."

Was she grinning? It's hard to tell when your mother is invisible.

"But don't get me wrong, I was thrilled to step down. I had gotten what I wanted: your father.

"Once we talked the family part through, we started talking nuts and bolts. When and where to get married, where to live. But there was one thing your father wanted to save as a surprise for me.

"Lift with your knees, Thorn, not your back."

I bent my knees and not my back and yanked up another floorboard, letting more light into the room. "What didn't he want you to know?"

"The proposal. He wanted to keep that part a surprise. He was a hopeless romantic, your father. You'd never know it now."

But I did know it. She left—I stayed, and I knew. He kept all of her clothes in the closet, just as she had them. He even dry-cleaned them once a year so they'd be fresh, in case she ever came back. He didn't know that I knew this, but I'd learned from him to see what people didn't want you to see. I saw him at night sometimes, looking out into the backyard through the window over the kitchen sink, watching tree branches blow in the breeze, the wind rustle the sheets on the hanging line, hoping it was Mom slipping back to the house, finally returning home.