Lady Superior (38 page)

“That’s not good enough to stay with him.”

“I know. I know that. I’m just saying even if I lost my temper, I don’t think I could kill him. But I could force him to sit down and shut up. I could hurt him enough to teach him he can’t keep being an asshole to me. But then he would know. And he would tell people. And we’ve been through why I don’t want that.”

Kristen took a deep breath and tried to understand. She spoke slowly. “I saw your pregnancy test.”

“What?” Emma leapt from the couch. “Why would you go digging through your trash?”

“You left it right on top of the garbage already in there. It was right on top.”

“Did you touch it? That’s disgusting. I peed on that.”

“I wrapped my hand in toilet paper.”

“Kris, that is not okay.”

“Did it happen on one of his good days or one of his bad days?”

Emma looked away. “A good day.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“No. We don’t do that on bad days.”

Kristen nodded. “Okay. I just wanted to make sure. What do you want to do?”

“About Chad?”

“Yes, but in general, too. You don’t want to be a cop. What do you want to be?”

Emma paced around the living room. “I don’t know. Whenever I think about it, I never come up with a good answer. All that comes to me is I want to be better than mom. That’s the other problem with Chad. I don’t know what’s my fault and what isn’t. I know how mom treated dad. I know she drove him up a wall and made him miserable. All dad ever got to do was what mom wanted until he just…ran away. I don’t know where to draw the line. When is he actually being a bad person, and when is he just having a good time, or a bad day? When am I justified in telling him to stop doing something, and when am I just being a nag? I can’t figure it out. So I just shut down.”

“Emma, from what you’ve told me, you aren’t being like mom. Chad is being like mom. In this scenario, you’re dad. You’re the one who needs to run.”

“And go where?” Emma threw her arms out. “Where am I supposed to go? We’ve been over this, there’s no way we can both live here. I don’t have anywhere else. I don’t have any money. I’d love to get a better job, but I don’t even know how. I don’t know how to do anything. I’m screwed, Kris.”

Kristen dug out her phone and opened her photos. She flipped to the most recent, a picture Jane had passed along. The photo showed the front of a nice suburban house with a large patio in front and a For Sale sign marked Sold. She turned the screen toward Emma and waited. Emma leaned in and peered at it. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“Where the fuck did you get money for that? Is it condemned or something?”

“Superhero signing bonus.”

“You get a house if you can punch a building down?” Emma boggled. “I think I changed my mind. I’m on board.”

Kristen giggled and tucked her phone away. “I know you’re joking, so I won’t hold you to that. Yeah, it’s mine. Bernice gave me some negotiation pointers. You’ve been to her place, right? This is only a few doors down from there.”

Emma’s eyes went wide. “Seriously? Her place is awesome. Two bedrooms?”

“Three. And you and I don’t have a lot of storage, so we can probably furnish the basement, too. I know a guy who does that stuff, and I’m sure he’ll help us get set up.”

“And if we’re living near Bernice, you can have your nerd parties at her house.”

Kristen held up a finger. “If we’re doing this, I have a couple of rules.”

Emma grimaced and took a step back. “Uh oh. If you’re going to force me to go back to school, I’m out.”

“Rule number one, Chad isn’t allowed in or around our house. If you’re moving out of his place, you’re ditching him completely. No on-again off-again crap. If you decide you want to get back together with him, I can’t help you anymore.” Kristen held up a second finger. “Rule number two, if you choose to go back to school, I’ll help you in any way I can. You don’t have to work if you don’t have the time for both. I’ll do most of the cooking and the housework. I want you to focus on school. If you choose not to go to school, you’re going to have a job, pay for your own groceries, put a little toward bills, and put some in savings. We’ll split cooking and housework fifty-fifty. Agreeable?”

“What are you, my mom?”

“I’m way better than mom.”

Emma snorted. “Yeah.”

“Eat up. Don’t drink too much. We’re going to go get your stuff from Chad’s place when you’re done.”

Later that night, they paid Chad a visit. Emma walked in to a torrent of curses and demands—where she’d been, why she hadn’t answered her phone, who had she been sleeping with—and then Kristen walked in. She put herself between Chad and Emma, blocking his path so Emma could pack her things in peace. He yelled at Kristen to leave, but she didn’t move. He pushed her. She didn’t move then, either. Chad grabbed her by the shoulder to remove her from his house by force. Kristen grabbed his hand, bent it back until his fingers touched his forearm, and he fell to his knees, crying for her to stop. Only when she felt his fingers pop did she let him go. Chad didn’t bother them anymore.

They didn’t go back to Kristen’s apartment that evening. Kristen claimed the keys to her new house and they slept in a blanket fort in the empty living room. She was supposed to go to work, but the job was only a cover story, and she was sure Temple wouldn’t hold one missed night against her. The morning after, she had breakfast with Jack. That Friday, they had Martino’s and went to a movie.

Saturday, Kristen put out a call to arms and everyone answered. By late afternoon, her new house was like a bee’s nest, buzzing with activity. Bernice and Joel painted the walls. Todd and Jack slaved away in the basement, buffing the floor and laying carpet. Tara was in the back bedroom assembling a computer—Kristen hadn’t had one in a couple of years, but knew she’d need it. Emma boiled noodles on a stove—the previous owners hadn’t wanted it—and diced cheddar and pepperoni for a Midwestern noodle salad. In the back yard, Gabby cooked hamburgers on a grill he’d brought from home, and Cole drank beers in a lawn chair, taunting him. The house still lacked real furniture. Kristen’s old futon was set up in her bedroom. Emma had an inflatable bed on the floor of hers. Kristen’s exercise equipment was stuffed into the spare room, not yet assembled, waiting to be moved to the basement. No tables and no real chairs, but it was a start.

The doorbell rang—a beautifully melodic, custom chime installed by the previous owners—and Kristen hopped up from the living room floor where she’d been assembling a stand for her television. “You got it?” Bernice called from one room.

“Can’t, water’s boiling!” Emma called from the kitchen. Kristen jogged for the front door. “I got it, I got it.”

She opened the door to find Michael in a business casual suit, a Temple company car with tinted windows parked out front. He held out a dish covered in foil. “Enjoying the new place, Miss Anderson?”

Kristen accepted the dish. “Loved it before I even saw it. Did you want to come in?”

Michael nodded and stepped inside. “But only for a minute. The wife’s waiting in the car—we’re going out for the night. I told her we’d helped one of our new employees buy a house, and she insisted we give you a housewarming gift. She thought I’d leave it on your desk come Monday—she thinks you’re working at the office—but Jane told me about your shindig today and we thought we’d run it over. Jane says sorry she couldn’t make it, by the way. It’s been a busy week for her, and I told her I’d fire her if she didn’t catch some sleep. It was a joke, obviously, but it got the message across. She’s probably out for a couple of days.”

“Well, tell your wife I said thanks.” Kristen peeled back the foil to take a peek. “I didn’t think people actually did this stuff. Bake pies and housewarming gifts? Seems a little 1950s domestic. No offense.”

“None taken.” Michael stepped further into the barren living room. “My wife thinks everyone should act like they live in a small town. Meet your neighbors, be kind, be aware. Can’t say I disagree. It’s rhubarb, by the way. The wife loves rhubarb. Between you and me, I’m glad she gave that to you. I could do with a little less rhubarb in my life.”

“Well, I love rhubarb. Was it just the pie, or did you stop by for something else?”

Michael leaned back in surprise. “I can’t stop by with a pie?”

Kristen shrugged. “I’ve only worked one job where the bossman would just stop by, and it wasn’t a good thing.”

Quiet for a moment, Michael peered toward the doorway in an attempt to see who was listening. “Who’s all here? Should I keep business talk to a minimum?”

“There’s a couple who aren’t with the company, yeah. Probably shouldn’t discuss anything confidential.”

“Why don’t you take that pie into the kitchen and meet me on the patio?”

Kristen did just that, and in under a minute, the two were outside. Michael rested his hands on the railing and looked out toward the street. “Miss Anderson, would you do me a favor?”

“What kind of favor?” She eyed him warily. “A
gift
kind of favor?”

“I want you to pretend for a moment.” He raised one hand and wiped it slowly through the air. “Imagine we’re up in the Temple building. High up, where my real office would be, where you can see the city and not a sea of purple. Buildings, art, the beautiful blue Lake Michigan. Can you do that for me?”

Kristen scrunched up her face. “I guess so.”

“Thank you. I think this would have more impact if you could see it. I hate that damn view in that office. The purple one, I mean.”

“Are you going to give a speech?”

“A short one.” He took a breath and put his hand back down. “Miss Anderson, I love our city. It isn’t much, but it’s more than people might think. We don’t get any recognition for it, but we built America. We built the factories that built the factories. We built the machines that built the machines. We made American industry possible. And we still do. When you think spaceships, you probably think Florida. Sure, they launch shuttles in Florida. But we build the finest aeronautics right here in Milwaukee. Between Milwaukee and Madison, Wisconsin has some of the greatest medical researchers in the world in our universities. We are, and we always have been, progress. We do it all. But we’re a hard-working, humble people. We don’t ask for recognition. We keep our heads down and we keep working. We make the best of what we’ve got, and we don’t ask for more.”

Kristen smirked. “You don’t sound very humble.”

“You can’t be humble when you’re the one trying to protect something precious. I protect my city. Now you will, too. You have to believe it’s worth saving. But that’s what this speech is about.”

“If I didn’t think it was worth saving, I wouldn’t have done it.”

Michael shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. The recognition is the problem. We don’t get any. I want you to temper your expectations. As wonderful a person as you might be, as powerful and selfless and capable, the rest of the country—the rest of the world—isn’t going to pay much attention. To them, it’s just Milwaukee. They hear Milwaukee and think of a backwater with cows and corn, not a city, not something worth two seconds of thought. I brought you into the spotlight to start a movement. For now, you’re on everyone’s mind, but it’ll fade. The Templars around the world don’t have any choice but to move with us—others like you will know about you. That means Chicago will have heroes. New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco…they’ll have their heroes, too. And when they do, the world’s going to forget about you and about us.”

Kristen blew out a stunned breath and leaned against the railing beside him. For all Bernice had hyped Lady Superior with potential comic sales and merchandise, Kristen knew Michael was right. “Fifteen minutes of fame, huh?”

“You’ll still be a hero to us. The world won’t care, but Milwaukee will. You’re one of us. You’re—“

Kristen hardened her voice. “Michael.”

“Yeah?”

“If you say Maiden Milwaukee right now, I’m going to dropkick you to the moon.”

THE END

Author’s Note

I hope you enjoyed Lady Superior. This book was written from a place of love—both a love of the joy of superheroes and a love of my home town of Milwaukee, Wisconsin. In cartoons and comic books, only the precious few A-list heroes stand guard over cities with populations counting in the millions. It’s those more numerous, varied B-list heroes who protect cities more reflective of urban America—cities in the hundreds of thousands. Milwaukee sits firmly in the B-list, but as someone obviously biased towards the place he calls home, I find my city to be criminally underutilized. Despite being an American city—one that survived the collapse of the Rust Belt mostly intact—you simply don’t hear much about it compared to cities of comparable size. Personal (but long-distance) friends of mine still ask me what it’s like to live on a farm from time to time. There’s no farms in the city, folks. You’ll need to do some traveling to experience Wisconsin’s dairy industry up close.

Michael Gruber said it best: We don’t ask for recognition. We keep our heads down and keep working.

Me, though? I’ll toot this town’s horn until my dying breath. In that vein, I do sincerely hope you enjoyed your time in Milwaukee. If any locals read this, I hope you recognized the city we call home.

I’d like to say thank you first and foremost to my girlfriend for, once again, putting up with me during the process of this book’s creation. Sometimes speaking my ideas aloud to someone I trust helps me untangle certain knots—and those knots don’t always arise at the most convenient of times. I’d also like to thank her for the creation of this book’s cover, a task neither of us expected would end up on her plate, but she rose to the occasion. I’d also like to thank all of the other people I consulted in the creation of this novel, ensuring my characters accurately reflected the cultures and backgrounds represented throughout to the best of my ability.

Credit for the font used on the cover of Lady Superior goes to League Spartan from League of Movable Fonts.

If you did enjoy this book, please let me know. You can reach me at
[email protected]
or on Twitter at @AlexZiebart. Let your friends know, too! The more people reading Lady Superior, the more likely it is I can continue her adventures—and those of her friends.