Meadowville, Part 1
Miranda says she's fine, so she's fine.
Welcome to Olympus City Meadowville, where super-powers, physics-defying tech, and unearthly creatures are all possible now everything is nice and normal. Human nature, however, remains unchanged.
No one is born a perfect superhero, but a few strive to live up to the ideal anyway especially not in this town, but an imperfect superhero was born here and has returned for a visit.
Part 1
Bianca agreed to pick Miranda up at the airport, but it took some convincing. Miranda had thought it would be an easy sell, given that anywhere qualified as an airport for Ultra Woman. Even Bianca’s backyard was as good a runway as any other. Bianca, evidently, did not care for Miranda’s expansive definition of airport and would have preferred the traffic, crowds, waiting, and all other headaches associated with a narrower interpretation of the word.
“So, our parents once again threw away their money on your plane ticket,” Bianca said as Miranda tossed her travel bag in the trunk of the hatchback. “How much have they wasted on airfare now?”
Miranda smirked in a way that was certain to annoy her sister. “I prefer to think of it not as a waste but as an investment in their peace of mind.”
Bianca slipped in behind the wheel and blew out a long sigh. “And now I have to lie to everyone about where I’ve been today.”
“Not if you choose your words correctly,” Miranda said, plopping down in the passenger’s seat.
“Still a lie by omission. Or is that not the sort of truth and justice Ultra Woman fights for?”
Affected innocence spread across Miranda’s face. “Thank you for picking me up from the airport, Bianca.”
Grumbling, Bianca pulled out of the narrow driveway, and her cozy starter house faded into the distance. Within a year, she’d move into a new home and embark on married life. The impending transformation seemed surreal to Miranda, who had once tackled fifty-foot chickens.
“What’s bothering you?” Bianca asked.
“What makes you think anything’s bothering me?”
“Ah, I see. That’s how you justify it. You can’t say, ‘Nothing is bothering me,’ because that would be a lie. So instead, you twist it around into a rhetorical question, because questions can’t be lies, can they?”
Peaceful suburbs breezed by out the window. No one here was developing the ability to melt walls because they accidentally inhaled some bleach too soon after chugging an energy drink. Odds were, no one was transforming into any sort of violent criminal, not in Meadowville. A tax evader may have lurked within a quiet neighborhood. Perhaps someone somewhere among the McMansions was hatching a scheme to commit insurance fraud. Such crimes were not cause for Miranda to whip out the cape and tights.
She imagined it: Ultra Woman vs. the Embezzler! But the hypothetical showdown failed to amuse her, and Bianca pressed again.
“Really, what’s wrong? I’ll get it out of you eventually.”
Miranda selected from various options. “Okay, fine, there was this woman who could drain people of, well, life. Her power was death, and it was out of control. She didn’t mean any harm, but I had to get close to give her the treatment she needed, so she hit me with a rather hefty dose. It was like catching a terrible flu. That’s probably what you’re seeing.”
Bianca’s eyes widened throughout that summary, alternating between Miranda and the road. “Are you okay? You should have told me when you first landed. Or before that, even. Should you have been flying yourself across the country right after an ordeal like that? Did you give your body enough time to recuperate?”
“Yes, yes.” Miranda waved away her concerns. “I bounce right back from these things. Just some residual fatigue. That’s all.”
A cocked eyebrow conveyed considerable skepticism.
“When was the last time you saw a doctor?” Bianca asked.
Miranda tossed her arms up to dramatize how much this line of questioning exasperated her. “How can I possibly see a doctor? They’d notice something was a little off about me.”
“It would all be confidential. Any legitimate doctor would keep your secret, which, again, you don’t really need to keep, do you?”
Fortunately, their parents’ house was only a few miles away.
*****
The house never changed, not really. Sure, the dogwood tree on the front lawn might grow taller, or landscapers might trim any branches that ventured too close to a window. The grass rose and fell depending on the season. But the house was always The House. No matter how long Miranda lived in Olympus or how far she strayed from the Earth itself, home remained right here, fundamentally unchanged, a constant.
And yet it always felt different whenever Miranda returned to it.
Bianca turned off the ignition and unbuckled. “You could do it in three words: ‘I’m Ultra Woman.’ ”
“Isn’t that four words?”
“The contraction counts as one.”
“Does it? Hmm.” Miranda tapped her chin in a show of confusion, then wagged her finger. “Better hold off until we get an accurate count.”
Bianca grumbled some more, but she kept her mouth shut until they entered the house.
“We’re here,” Bianca called out from the foyer.
Naomi was already halfway there, arms extended, ready to wrap her wayward middle child in the longest hug she could get away with. Vern followed a moment later, bursting with questions about traffic, the flight, and the layover that Miranda had allegedly spent in Dallas. Miranda deployed the suitably vague responses she had prepared.
Then, even earlier than expected, Naomi asked, “What’s wrong?”
Bianca said nothing, just wore her usual I told you so expression, which only Miranda could perceive.
“I’m fine.” Miranda gave a stellar performance of a young woman who was perfectly fine, thank you very much.
“So, nothing’s wrong?” Bianca asked. “You can honestly tell us that everything is great? Your entire life is proceeding precisely as you want it to?”
Suspicions aroused, Naomi studied her daughters. “Do you know something, Bianca?”
“She knows nothing at all,” Miranda said, “which is very concerning for a medical student. She should know a few things. Four or five at least.”
Naomi leaned in for a closer inspection. She squinted gravely, as though she had spotted a concerning mole. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look exhausted.”
“I just flew across the country,” Miranda said, a glint in her eyes. “And boy, are my arms tired.”
After token resistance, Naomi succumbed to laughter and hugged her again. “You’re a nut.”
Light, springy legs came bounding down the stairs, saving Miranda from further interrogation. Peyton rounded the corner, and there was no faking that grin.
“Hey!” the kid said, if sixteen could still be called a kid. And yes, with enough denial, it could.
The grin had room to expand, though; the cheekbones could reach higher still. So, Miranda crossed the kitchen and pressed the back of her hand against Peyton’s forehead while mimicking their mother’s voice.
“Are you okay? You feel slightly warm, maybe even an entire ninety-nine degrees. Do you need to lie down? Do you?” She tickled the back of Peyton’s neck, eliciting a squeal of laughter. “Reflexes look all right, but let’s not take any chances. Eat a vitamin nice, and let’s monitor.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Peyton said between giggles.
A newspaper dominated the kitchen table. An actual physical newspaper, printed with actual smudgy ink. It had spread across the smooth tabletop, forcing back the napkin holder and placemats. Miranda couldn’t resist.
“You know, you can read this on the computer. Save some trees.” Miranda scanned the headlines: Board updates noise ordinance. New elementary school breaks ground. Deputies seek missing person.
Missing person?
“It’s not the same.” Vern wagged his finger, ever the authority on print media despite his actual vocation of architecture. “There’s nothing like holding it in your hands and feeling the ink on your fingertips.” He pantomimed doing just that.
Forfeiting the opportunity to pick on her father, Miranda read the brief article. The young woman in the picture looked familiar, and the name confirmed it.
Olivia Moore, 24. Missing since the previous weekend. Miranda had known her back in grade school, and now she was missing. The sheriff’s office suspected no foul play, and yet a woman had vanished and no one knew where to. The situation was inherently foul.
“Miranda?” Naomi asked. “Are you okay?”
Miranda sprang back up and forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
To Be Continued Next Week!