Carrie Vaughn - Dreams of the Golden Age

“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 ?”

Side by side, a matched set in their uniforms, wide-eyed and uncertain, the two of them came cautiously into the living room, hesitating like they didn’t know what to expect. Mom and Grandma, drinking in the afternoon like a couple of degenerate lushes. It must have been shocking.

Girls—they were young women. Anna at least was full grown. They’d long since lost their baby fat and had the lean frames they’d inherited from their athletic grandparents. They were both wearing bras, sneaking on mascara before school, and in a few short years they’d both fly the coop. Celia almost burst into tears.

“So,” she said. “How was school?”

“Fine,” they both said, in unison. It was kind of cute.

“The ride home was good?”

“Yeah,” Bethy said. Anna was chewing her lip, looking at the ceiling, the floor, the far window, everywhere but at her mother.

“And school was boring like it always is?”

Bethy looked at Anna, waiting for a cue. When Anna didn’t give her one, she mumbled, “Yeah.”

It would be funny if Celia weren’t so twisted up with worry. She decided not to bring up the director’s call. Celia could see how puffy and shadowed Anna’s eyes were. Arguing about it wasn’t going to change anything, since Anna would just deny everything.

Maybe she’d make Arthur talk to her. It would serve him right.

“I really have a lot of homework, so I’m going to get to it, if that’s okay,” Anna said finally, pointing a thumb over her shoulder.

“Okay,” Celia said. “I’m glad you’re home—” she called after them, but they’d already fled.

She slumped against the back of the chair. The wine in her glass had somehow vanished. On the sofa, Suzanne looked like she was trying not to laugh. Celia glared.

“Oh, honey, you’re doing fine,” her mother said. “Really, you’re all doing fine.”

Time would tell, she supposed. A few more years, and maybe neither one of them would turn out to be a bank robber, or a henchman for the next master criminal to come along. Wouldn’t that be swell?