Carrie Vaughn: Dreams of the Golden Age

“Dad, I can’t read people like you can. But I still feel it. I don’t think I can handle it. Mom, when I thought you were gone I didn’t know how I was going to handle it, and then it turns out you’re sick, and someday you’ll be gone. And…” She looked at Arthur. “How do you keep from hurting when you lose someone?”

“You don’t. It overwhelms you, and then you move on. You must move on or you die, and there’s too much to live for for that.”

She frowned. “You make it sound easy.”

“Oh, no, it isn’t easy. But the strength comes to you.” He brushed Celia’s cheek. “Though I would very much prefer it if you waited to leave until after I’m gone.”

It would be better that way. She wouldn’t have to sit there, watching his very mind fade. She would try to last long enough to save him from that. Sighing, she said, “I’m trying.”

Anna’s face had puckered, a young woman trying very hard not to cry. She’d asked how she would ever survive one of them dying, and what did they do? Gave her a picture of both of them leaving her. I’m a terrible parent. I had nothing to do with my daughters turning out so well.

Celia reached out her other hand, the one not claimed by Arthur. Anna might just as easily have walked away from it, but she didn’t. She took it maybe just a little too hard, but Celia wasn’t going to complain.

“What’s it like for you?” Celia asked. “Knowing where we are, being able to feel us?”

“It’s hard to explain. All I have to do is think of you and you’re there, in the back of my mind. It’s like the world is full, my brain is full. But that’s okay—it felt worse when it was empty.”

“The power means you’re never alone,” Arthur added.

“Yeah, it’s like that.”

“I can’t even imagine,” Celia murmured. She turned her gaze back to the volleyball game, which had degenerated into some kind of kickball-tag mashup that traveled down the beach. The kids ran ahead, and Suzanne and Analise trailed behind at a slower pace, side by side. They were talking—Suzanne giving the younger woman advice, Celia hoped. On how to be superpowered, how to be superpowered and a mom at the same time. How to get over losing a heroic husband.

Bethy stopped in the middle of sprinting, looked over, frowned. Arthur waved at her, and she stumbled through the sand to them. With a lack of self-consciousness that probably wouldn’t last too much longer, Bethy flopped into her father’s chair, half sitting on his lap and forcing him to make room for her. He put an arm around her, anchoring her.

The whole family. My family, Celia thought fiercely, proudly.

“What’s up?” Bethy said. A loaded question that also asked: Is something wrong, is everything okay, and you’re not leaving me out, are you? A teenage girl testing out her place in the world. For the first time ever, Celia wanted her babies back. The babies were so much easier to comfort.

“Family bonding,” Celia said. Amusingly, Bethy wrinkled her nose. But she didn’t run away.

Anna studied Celia’s hand, and the screwed-up expression on her face meant another question was coming. She waited. Finally, Anna said, “Mom. Can you tell me about when Grandpa died?”

Oh, is that all … The family history that they all knew and never talked about. All those lurid biographies and exposés, and the poor kid had probably read them all, without any context. Celia never talked about it, she realized.

But she owed this to Anna. To both of them.

“I wish you could have known him. He’d have been so proud of you both—”

“Even if my power isn’t—”

“Yes,” she interrupted. “He’d have understood.”

Clearly skeptical, Anna looked at Arthur, who would obviously know the truth about what Warren West had or hadn’t thought. But Arthur was very good with other people’s secrets.

He said, “We can’t say exactly what he would or wouldn’t have done now. I will say, he knew he’d made mistakes. He simply wasn’t very good at expressing himself.”

Celia rubbed at her eyes. Her father had never been able to admit he was wrong about anything during his lifetime. But maybe she just hadn’t been paying attention. “Oh, no, he was excellent at expressing himself, as long as he could punch through a nearby wall.”

“Well, yes. He was excellent at expressing anger and frustration.”

Anna and Bethy both blinked at them in wide-eyed horror. Yeah, this stuff wasn’t in most of the biographies.

“He sounds kinda scary,” Bethy said.

“You would not be wrong,” Arthur said, his thin smile showing clear amusement.

Anna said, “So you never actually, you know, talked to him about this. Powers, or what happened with you and the Destructor, or anything?”

“Oh, no, he was right there when the chief of police questioned me about the whole thing,” Celia said, grinning.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do. And no, we never really talked about it. Seems pretty typical for me. Girls, I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you because I thought I was protecting you, that it would be easier for you if I didn’t tell.”

“Yeah,” Anna said. “Me, too.”

Celia smiled, and Arthur’s grip on her hand gave her the strength she needed, as he wrapped her up with the warmth of his mind.

“Anna, Bethy. We kept the command room and most of the other equipment operational for you. Just in case, whether you had powers or not. It’s yours, if you want it.”

They both looked like lemurs, processing that. Celia still didn’t know if this was the right thing to do. They were too young. But it was out of her hands now, and that was okay.

“Do you want me to? Do the vigilante thing? I know that’s what your dad wanted you to do and you didn’t—but what do you want us to do?”

Be safe, be happy …

—You’ve done all you can on that score.—

—I know.—

“It’s not up to me,” Celia told them. “To either of us. You have to decide.”

“I want it!” Bethy said, coming abruptly to her feet. “I know I don’t have powers, but the Hawk didn’t, and I can do it, I know I can!”

Celia winced. She was way too young. “You’re still on an eight o’clock curfew, my dear.”

“Anna?” Arthur prompted.

The young woman’s face was puckered in thought. “I have to think about it,” she said.

That was fair. Celia settled back in her chair. “Now, what else do you want to know about the family business?”

They talked for a couple of hours. Celia had ended up telling so much more than Anna had expected. Not just about the day Captain Olympus died, but about everything leading up to it, the years Warren and Celia West had refused to speak to each other, the fights, the reasons Celia joined with the Destructor, and why and how she left. All very sensational, and Celia told it all, only from her it was family drama, not superhero mythology. Celia had cried, some. It had happened so long ago, Anna figured it was old news to her, that all emotion would have been drained from the stories. But no.

Arthur added some commentary. Celia still partly blamed herself for the death of Captain Olympus. Arthur explained that this was a common result of the survivor’s guilt that plagued her.

Survivor’s guilt. That was what Anna had felt in Sam’s hospital room.

And then there was the rest of it. Celia gave them the command room. Anna still didn’t know what to think about that.

Telling the story had drained Celia, and she slept, right there in the lounge chair. Arthur stayed with her, Suzanne went in to start dinner, and the games ended. Thoughtful, Anna walked out to the beach to sit and watch the waves come in. She understood why her father liked it so much out here. The motion of the water cleared her mind like nothing else. She needed her mind cleared.