#bryce moore

“Sis, what are you doing?” Travis asked, grunting as he wiggled his way onto the bottom-most branch of the tree in their backyard. It was an ash tree that had seen so many kids in its branches, it may as well grow children. “Mom says it’s time to start dinner.”

He stopped when he finally saw his sister’s face. “Why’re you cryin?”

She sniffled, the way she did when she was trying to not cry, but it was too late. It had been so hard to see before, because she was all huddled up in the top branches. But now it was impossible to miss. Her face was the ruddy sort of flushed that blotted out her freckles.

“I’m fine.” she squawked.

“No you’re not.” he droned. Though ‘dummy’ went unsaid, it was heard loud and clear in his tone.

Anita made a growling noise, her legs plopping down to the next branch down. “What are you, 12?” she mumbles, wiping at her face with the cuff of her sleeves.

He made a face at her, because he was 12.

She flounced through the back door, quickly scuttling to the fridge to grab an onion. She immediately started slicing it on the cutting board as quickly as she could.

“Anita?”

Anita clenched her teeth, not looking up from her work. “Yeah, mom?”

“What’s going on?”

It was her own fault really, and she knew it. The schedule was tight for a reason, and she needed to do her part. If Anita wasn’t doing prep work for dinner then that meant dinner wouldn’t be on time, which meant everything would fall into shambles. Of course Mom would notice and get invested.

“Nothing.” she said with a flouncy little shrug, still slicing. The silence crept up her vertebrae, but she refused to break under the pressure.

“You’re sure?” That was Mom’s 'I’m not buying it’ tone.

Anita took a breath through her nose, letting the onions filter in. She forced herself to slow down, trying to let some of the tension leak out of her body. “I think my period’s about to start soon.” she grumbled, shaking her head. “I saw that old video with Jagger and Bowie singing dancing in the streets.” she let out a breathy chuckle. “It’s ridiculous.”

She knew she was in the clear when she heard Mom chuckle. She almost felt guilty when Mom patted her shoulder.

“I miss him too, baby.” she muttered before letting out a heavy sigh. “I’ll be at my bureau if you need anything.”

Mom’s bureau desk was an ancient thing she had inherited from her grandmother. A behemoth that fit snugly in the alcove hallway that led to her bedroom. It folded up nicely until she needed the desk. The shell was a weathered turquoise, while the “drawers” were all dark stained wood. Mom spent the time before dinner there, going through mail and bills.

Anita did her best to hide the sigh of relief as she continued dicing up the onions. She snatched an errant hair tie from one of the drawer pulls… Mom had them everywhere because she was used to working in a kitchen as well. Both of them were used to tying up their hair while working with food…though Anita’s didn’t look as cute as Mom’s. Mom had natural curls that just looked cute no matter what she did with it.

“I was thinking I could just.. make spaghetti tonight.” she said, as evenly as she could manage.

“Sounds good.” Mom said, in that way that she had that made it seem as though she’d heard and understood but wasn’t entirely paying attention.

All was well.

Now, if only Travis would stop side-eying her like he was a private detective and some infamous McGuffin had gone missing.

With the onions sauteing in butter and salt, she began focusing on the meat. Setting out the seasonings for that while the onions got nice and loosey-goosey. Let’s see… Italian seasoning, salt, pepper, basil, and a touch of cayenne. May as well get what she’d need for the sauce out of the pantry too-two cans of diced tomato and one can of tomato sauce.

She blinked in shock when she heard the doorbell. A visitor?…this late?

“I’ll get it.” Travis volunteered, sauntering over to the front door and freezing in place.

Anita started stirring in the spices she’d already sprinkled on the meat, so that they mixed properly. She left the spices out because she knew she’d need them for the sauce later…

“Who is it?” Mom asked.

“Uh… Mom, I know that rule we got about strangers and all, but… I mean, we kinda know him.”

“Travis Roy.” A middle name was the first warning.

“It’s Batman.”

Anita stared at the meat in the mixing bowl in front of her, the sounds of onions sizzling, and then the stark squeals of the wheels of Mom’s chair creaking as she abruptly stood.

Her chest felt tight as she saw the blur of Mom blur past the kitchen doorway to the front room. On autopilot, she dumped the seasoned meat into the pot, her ears straining to pick up any noise from the front room.

“Travis, come here.” she heard her mother say. “Bryce! Jeremiah!”

“I didn’t do it!” came the chorus from above.

“Get down here!”

Thunder from above sounded down the stairs, the pair of them crashing into Mom before Jeremiah (the youngest) crowded, “Whoooa!”

Anita took the can opener and the colander out, setting the colander aside, she started on the cans.

"Mom, why’s Batman on our front porch?” Bryce asked, stepping back and looking up as his mom.

“I am wondering the same thing.”

“We had’t done anything!” Jeremiah protested.

“You haven’t done anything.” Travis corrected.

“Yeah!”

Travis rolled his eyes.

“I mean… the compost pile’s a little bigger than we wanted it to be, but the neighbors probably need one anyway.” Bryce said with a shrug as he careened to look up at Mom.

Anita can hear Mom sigh from in the kitchen. “I don’t think Batman would be here for something like garbage sailing over the back fence, boys.” Mom said evenly, which was a deceptive tone. “Now, I have all my ducklings here… Why exactly is Batman here?”

“Sharon Moore?” Batman’s voice was like distant thunder.

“Yes.”

“May I come inside?”

Bryce tugged on Mom’s sleeve, whispering, “Don’t invite him inside, Mom. He can’t come in if you don’t.”

“He’s not a vampire, Bryce.” Travis whispered back.

Bryce half hid behind Mom before sulking. “At least with vampires, there’s rules.” …he was such a strange and endearing child. He stared up at Batman, nuzzling into Mom’s left hip.

“Batman makes his own rules, because he’s Batman.” Travis grumbles as he steps closer to Mom, bumping Jeremiah behind him.

Mom put a hand on top of either of the boy’s heads without breaking eye contact with Batman, and they both went silent. “Boys… The house makes the rules, and the house always wins.” Perhaps it was because she sensed the growing panic in the smols, but Mom’s voice was eerily calm. Like… gothic-victorian-lady-barely-containing-the-inner-psycho calm.

“I assure you, I have no intention of bringing any harm into your house.” Batman began. “But there are things that I must discuss with you, and I’m certain those things are better left behind closed doors.”

In that weighted moment when Mom considered those words, Anita drained the grease from the cooked meat into the grease jar and dumped the tomato cans in with the onions and meat. Then the seasoning.

“Please… come inside.”

Anita feels her shoulders droop as she hears the front door close.

She seasons the sauce, getting another pot ready with water for the pasta.

“Are these all of your foster children?”

“They're my children.” Mom says with such severity, that it’s enough to make Anita smile even through her nerves. “My daughter is in the kitchen.”

“Your daughter Anita?”

Anita stirred the meat-onion-tomato mixture together and salted the pasta water. She swallowed hard, reaching instinctively for the beaded bracelet on her left wrist, her fingers rolling over the crystal and jasper beads.

The pause is too long. Way too long.

“Anita, can you come in here, please?”

“I’m waiting on the pasta water, Mom.” Anita croaks.

“Put it on simmer.”

Anita nods, to herself mostly, putting both burners on simmer and trudging into the front room. Mom doesn’t look at her, maintaining eye contact with Batman. Anita keeps her eyes down…. The boys are watching everything, little heads swaying and bobbing back and forth like there’s a tennis match going down in the living room. Mom’s gaze slowly shifts, her eyes coming to rest on Anita’s left wrist.

She knows. Of course she knows. Anita knows it too. Everyone knows that when Anita starts fiddling with her bracelet is a tell, but in spite of the dead give-away, she can’t help herself. It’s her coping mechanism, and dammit she needs help coping right now! She doesn’t really focus on the soft click-clacking of the beads, but the way the oils of her skin smooth over the stones’ surfaces.

Mom turned back to face Batman. “Speak your piece.” she demanded, her stance relaxing. 

Batman’s eyes narrowed somewhat. “This morning our team encountered an individual on the Metro-Narrows bridge. This encounter led to an altercation. We have reason to believe that your daughter intervened.” he paused, weighing his words. “And when I say 'intervened’, I mean with abilities not common to an average teenager.” The boys heads all swiveled to stare at Anita.

Mom arched an eyebrow, unperturbed. “Do you have any proof of this.”

“We do.”

Now, it was Mom’s eyes that were narrowing. “Exactly what sort of proof do you have?”

“Her fingerprints are on the crystal-kryptonite that hung around Superboy’s neck.” Batman said, his tone becoming firmer.

“Fascinating.” Mom butted in, “I do recall seeing that report on the news as it was happening, and I don’t recall seeing my daughter anywhere in that fight.”

“Her prints are on the crystal nonetheless.” Batman rebutted. “Which leaves her holding the crystal. That leads us to believe—”

“I’m largely uninterested in what you believe.” about as bland as Siri, Mom was starting the 'I don’t need this’ routine. “What do you want?”

“Simply put? We want access to your daughter.” This sentence caused the smaller boys to draw in even more tightly to Mom. Anita felt her eyes bug out as she stared down at the off-tope carpet that really needed to be shampooed. 

“Huh!” Mom’s laugh was... interesting. More like a donkey’s bray, really. “You’re hilarious.” She kept chuckling.

She gave Bryce and Jeremiah a single pat on the back. “Is your homework done?” the stared up at her blankly. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” she nodded towards the stars. “Go on then. You too, Trav.” The boys scurried away. “Anita.”

“Dinner?” Anita pleaded, like it was a prayer.

“Dinner.”

Anita raced back to the stove and turned the burners up onto high. Then she reminded herself that 'high’ was not her friend and turned the meat sauce back down appropriately to 7. She stared at the nob for a moment before twisting it down to 6, and then back between 6 and 7.

“Mrs. Moore, your daughter’s abilities are not something that can be ignored. We’re not suggesting this become a witch hunt, but the fact remains that we can provide her with the support she needs to better establish control over her own powers.”

Without being in the room, Anita knew that Mom had crossed her arms. Possibly nodding.

“I think you should get out of my house now.” Mom says.

“I understand.” Batman says. “If you change your mind, press the button on this communicator, and someone will contact you. Day or night.” Anita does not see what Batman is referring to or where he leaves it. “None of you have to do this alone.”

There is utter silence before finally the sound of the door closing. But the following silence does not necessarily ensure peace.