The House

Iris loved their new home. Two months in and she still remembered the feeling that she had when they first drove up to the house on the winding driveway. From the beginning of the driveway to the end, it was like a tour, their SUV on the smooth path flanked by a rim of well-kept manicured lawn with wild flowers and native short grasses jutting out, modern garden rose bushes sitting sensual and seasonal, supported by prim and proper shrubbery and protected by a canopy of tall trees, welcoming them through to a modern-looking house that seemed warmed by the sunlight in semi-rural suburbia. It was a big contemporary, gated, sturdy like her husband and her father, reminiscent of their loft in style and spirit, "but three times bigger" they would say to friends and family that inquired. And it certainly was.

There were five bedrooms. Of the two fireplaces in the house, one was in Iris and Barry's big master bedroom. Their evenings were comfortable in the September fall. They had already lighted the fireplace and brought a blanket to the floor in front of it to "christen" their room. On weekends, they appreciated the French doors that opened up to a terrace for their lazy, private breakfast of coffee, small talk, and Saturday errands to consider until Nora and Bart ran through. Instead of a bench under a bank of windows like in their loft, Iris had a sectional placed under the windows where the four of them could all hug up on it some nights with the fireplace crackling and lighting up the room, the beautiful apple wood smell sending off more than heat but warm memories in the making. Barry told ghost stories the best, with Nora quiet for a change, her eyes wide until she spots an inconsistency in the story and starts asking how that could be possible when this has not yet happened or that has not yet been invented. Barry didn't want to look at Iris with the answer because he knew big laughs were on their way. And she would say, 'Yes, explain that,' and Barry would half laugh out his fake version of science to make the story plausible. Before Nora could thoroughly scrutinize it, her father would say, 'Okay time for bed, guys.' And Iris would help him put the children to bed. They would come back and hug up on the sectional all alone, with soft talk, Barry's squeezy hugs, Iris's sweet kisses. Then Iris would look out into the expansive room and get comfortable in Barry's arms anew. It felt so intimate to her for such a big bedroom.

Iris and Nora were excited and had fun furnishing Nora's bedroom using Barry's credit card. It surprised Iris that Nora had rejected her loft style fun and childish pink and yellow bedroom. She wanted an older girl's room and even though she was five, her mother said, "Furnish your room the way you want, but make your choices wisely, because you've got to sleep in it." So Nora chose a queen size bed. She had her mother buy her a custom made purple silk bedspread and asked to alter it with a solid white panel running down the center of it. When Iris asked why such a specific design, Nora said she liked Iris's purple and white jacket and it would make her feel safe and secure sleeping under it. Iris could have cried. She also made the children feel safe and secure. She said to Nora, smiling warmly, "Okay. Let's get a top notch seamstress for that." Nora finished off her room with a mix of new throw pillows and her favorite old stuff toys for her bed. She had thoroughly dissed her little work table for a teen's vanity. She thanked her mommy and daddy for letting her decorate her room the way she wanted. Sometimes Iris saw Nora sitting on pillows excitedly, to get a good look at herself in her new vanity mirror, smiling, still with braids and ribbons and her grown up room, but happy, so Iris was happy too.

Bart was still a baby and still wanted his mother for company along with his puzzles and story time books, so he didn't care about his room, as long as he could get the red sports car bed that looked like the Flash. Barry bought it for him promptly along with sheets and blankets and a comforter specially made with Flash lightning bolts and asked, "Anything else? What else do you want, Bart?" And Bart would smile up at him and say, "Nothing, just my car bed and Mommy. And my baby chair." Barry smiled tenderly. He just wanted his new car bed and Iris, and the overstuffed chair in which Iris use to rock him to sleep when he was an infant, his baby chair.

They had two guest bedrooms always clean and ready for the Wests and the Allens. Barry helped Iris with those. "What color schemes for these rooms?" Iris would ask her husband as they stood in one of the empty rooms, knowing that yes, they were guest bedrooms, but that they were really being decorated for her dad and his dad. Iris brought home a catalog of Hollywood glam and Barry's eyes lit up.

The furniture itself was mid-century modern, but the accessories were purposefully flashy and classic movie-star bold and that was the point. Barry and Iris loved going into high end furniture boutiques for their fathers. They chose Art Deco for both rooms; frosted mirrored chest of drawers and vanities, frosted glass candlesticks for each room; black and white gloss on headboards, black and white patterns on the silk bedspreads, grey striped fabrics for the curtains and bold and yellow jewel tone lounging chairs for one room and a vibrant teal for the other. The claw-foot tubs in those bathrooms Barry thought were a miss instead of a hit and he feared no one would like them until Cecile and Mary Alice cooed about how relaxing their baths were going to be whenever they came to visit. "They look like five-star hotel rooms," Joe and Henry said when Barry texted pictures of their guest rooms. Barry was satisfied. He loved them both and wanted both men to feel loved whenever they came to visit him and his family.

Nora's lab and library rooms were on the second floor along with the laundry room. They put most of the family noise and the big flat screen TV in a comfortable room in the back of the house where they could spill big bowls of popcorn and sliced fruit on the floor without a hassle. They had a big room where the second fireplace was, called The Great Room, in the middle of the house, the most formal of all of the rooms, where they invited guests, but because the Allens mainly stayed to themselves, they used it for quiet time reading and journal writing, or playing board games and listening to old music, Nora trying to teach Bart what she learned in her kindergarten class at the School for Exceptionally Gifted Children, which included how to play chess, or even how to refine their games. Iris sighed and conceded to herself that she may have to invite James Hayworth, Hortense Hayworth's grandson, to their house for dinner because every now and then he would hint he would love to see Nora's new house. She didn't know for the life of her why seven year old James wanted to be friends with five year old kindergartener Nora. He seemed so sophisticated and even aloof, if always polite when he was in her presence, which were a few times when he was with his grandmother at the hospital where she now just occasionally volunteered. But she would see.

Their basement was like their Starchives, where they lovingly wrapped and put away their West house picture albums, from Barry's middle school backpack to his double master's degree chemistry and physics textbooks; their old loft bed that was now retired God bless it; Bart's outgrown crib, Nora and Bart's outgrown baby clothes, and other things they couldn't part with. It seemed they could walk through their house for days discovering new places.

When they opened the door to the outside world, acres surrounded the big contemporary and their yards, but especially the backyard which spanned wide and long and kissed the beginning of the forest where Barry and his children could run throughout without anybody noticing the speedsters or their lightning.

And finally, Iris had her own Central City Citizen home office on the first floor, between the garage and the kitchen, where she could come and go and cook and watch Bart and proofread and copy edit and prepare the roast and run outside with Bart so he could have fun on the playscape.

Her office was like the space at the loft, just bigger, with a real desk, a dedicated filing cabinet, a small sofa for interviews and other assorted work interactions; a big table to lay out her mock-up copy and printed drafts. When she wasn't working, she'd walk past the door and peek her head in and run her eyes over her awards on the walls, her certificates, her CCU journalism degree, her first press pass on a display table as well as pictures of her at events, she and Barry out together celebrating those awards, and during those times, Mr. Barry Allen accompanied Mrs. Iris West-Allen.

They had been in their new house for two months and there was no going back to the loft. As a matter of fact, a bidding war for their apartment high in the sky made them much richer than they had expected, and finally, they found themselves without their loft. Barry decided to put the money in his children's accounts so he could promptly forget about it. The loft was his first offer to Iris to come and be happy with him, and Iris had said yes to it.

But Iris loved her new house. She loved lounging with Barry on their sectional, comfortable with each other being warmed by the crackling fire of their bedroom fireplace, watching the flames dance, and falling asleep on each other, in a new and happy state.


Bart and the Citizen

"This is Iris West-Allen. Welcome to the show."

"Thank you, Mrs. West-Allen for taking my call, and for having on the Flash."

Iris sat back in her chair. She was really all business with her podcast. It was making a name for her, not to mention revenue. It sent hundreds, then thousands of viewers to her blog, and in turn, more revenue. She knew she needed help, happily, she could hire two people. The Central City Citizen was growing. "What's your question for the Flash?"

"I just want to say thank you, Flash, for keeping our city safe."

"You're welcome."

Iris waited for a while then mouthed, "That's all?"

"And…." Barry said. "It's actually my obligation because I'm a citizen of Central City like everyone else and we all should do our parts. We shape our city in the way that we live our lives." He looked at Iris and she gave him a thumb's up.

"Anything else, Caller?" Iris asked.

"Flash, are you married?"

Barry looked at Iris as she rolled her eyes as he tried to remain in Flash mode and stay in Flash attitude. He answered, "I'm sorry, but that's something I can't discuss. Too many villains want to know who I am."

"But don't you date? I mean, you're so young and cute, what I can see of you anyway."

"Thank you, caller," Iris said. "Next caller: This is Iris West-Allen. What's on your mind?"

But what was on Iris's mind was Bart Allen. She thought she would like the quiet afternoons for the podcast, and even though Bart went willingly with the daycare teacher, she hated to leave him at that school. She needed to focus, but what was on her mind was how Bart looked back at her as the teacher closed the door and that was enough to make Iris want to burst out crying. But she felt foolish immediately and put on a cheery face and walked out of the school. Why did she want to cry? She had the best kids. Her attention scattered. Barry nudged her and she came out of her thoughts and said, "Caller?"

"Well, actually, Francine West is on my mine."

"What?" Iris said, her eyes flashing, completely forgetting about Bart's daycare. What did she just hear? She glanced at Barry.

"Caller?"

"I was cleaning out my apartment," the caller said. "I couldn't believe that I was getting a divorce after all these years."

"Excuse me, Caller, did you say Francine West?"

"Oh, yes, sorry, one reason why he's divorcing me. I never get to the point."

"And your point is?"

"I was cleaning out a drawer and I came across some of your mother's articles from years ago. You must have been a baby. I use to read her articles all the time. I was so proud that a black woman wrote that column. Then she just disappeared. Well, I thought of sending them to you. You probably have tons of her—"

"Please do."

"I will. I enjoyed following her column. It was a house and garden column if I remember and it was a prop garden but the way she stood there in it, it looked as if she belonged there. I was so proud."

That night Iris was restless. She sat up in bed and called her father. She knew it was either too early or too late, three am but she had to ask him. He took his time but finally he answered the phone, "Yes, baby girl." His voice was not sleep heavy or sleep weary. He sounded as if he had been awake, maybe lying beside Cecile with the thoughts in his head that she had.

"I hope I didn't wake you."

"No…you didn't."

"You caught my podcast yesterday?"

She heard him sigh. "Yes, I did, baby girl. It caught me too, her name being said from someone's mouth other than from us."

Iris listened to her father and watched her husband slowly turn to her, then pull himself up and sit beside her. She took his hand, they knitted fingers, and she watched him as he watched her.

"Why didn't you talk more about her being a journalist?" Iris asked.

"Why didn't you ask me more?" Iris heard.

"I was…afraid…I didn't want to know."

"Iris, I didn't know what you wanted to know about your mother."

Iris faltered, "I feared…you would tell me that she was a bad journalist, who wasn't serious, who ran away when the going got tough…like she did everything else." Iris turned away from Barry's sympathetic eyes and accepted his arm around her shoulder, he feeling the same comfort in the big new bed. They both leaned against the headboard. There was silence for a long while. Then Iris heard her father say, "She was a great journalist. What I mean is…she was thorough, researched, sourced. And she had integrity."

"Then what happened?" Iris asked.

"She got tired of the house and garden stuff and started to ask for pithier subjects, and not the Saturday and Sunday evening inserts."

Iris thought for awhile. She got tired of the house and garden stuff. That could mean so much. At three a.m. how could her spirits be deflated over a mom she barely knew, especially when Barry had her in his arms. She said, "Oh…fluff stuff…"

Iris's head fell heavily on Barry's shoulder. She got tired of the house and garden stuff. "Dad, I'm so sorry I disturbed you this early."

Two weeks later and nevertheless Iris was convinced that the caller from the podcast had forgotten her and was not going to send her Francine West's forgotten articles. She knew she shouldn't worry about years old articles. She had her own weekly to get out and she was producing it by herself. When Barry offered to help, she was mortified. It meant he knew she was maybe in over her head.

A week later, she had ventured from the big contemporary and was sitting in Jitters, just a few blocks from CCPD. If it went well, she'd stop by Barry's office to tell him the good news.

Iris glanced at her watch and just as she did, she saw Cindy pulling into a parking spot across the street from Jitters, where Iris waited for her with a breakfast order of poached eggs, buttered toast, and a small kale smoothie for her and for Cindy. Iris smiled nervously. She glanced at Bart, sitting in the booth beside her with his own breakfast, a bowl of oatmeal and banana pieces alongside a breakfast plate of French toast strips and steamed broccoli florets, she feeling kind of guilty because he could be in school with Nora. It was just that Bart would be in their daycare section in a separate wing and wouldn't see Nora all day, and Iris said no to Barry about that.

She brushed through his thick curly hair that the October breeze had played in, then slipped his arms free of his jacket and laid it on the seat beside him. The diamond birthstone sitting in the head of Bart's safety pin and hiding one of his father's inventions blinged at Iris, and she tucked the pin deeper in his shirt pocket. Bart was always obedient but sometimes he was impulsive and if he saw something he liked, like the sugar cookies in the dessert display, he would be out of the seat and over there in a second, happily asking Iris to buy some, and not making a fuss if she said no, but giving everyone a dazzling show of his purple and yellow lightning streaking from the booth to the dessert display. "I should have pinned this in," Iris said to herself, "but too late now." She whispered to Bart, "Here she comes. Let's hope for the best, all right, little guy?" and Iris put a few banana pieces in Bart's oatmeal and said, "Okay, Bart?" Bart smiled, his amber eyes bright and always accommodating Iris. He said, "Okay, Mommy," and picked up his spoon and started on his oatmeal. Her eyes went back to Cindy's car across the street.

She hadn't seen Cindy Holmes in years; just saw her byline in Central City Picture News, and liked her work. She remembered Cindy being hired just as she left the newspaper when Nora was growing inside her and she needed safety and calmness at the loft. The last contact from her was a congratulations card for the birth of Nora. Now here Iris sat, beside her second child, his long legs swinging contentedly as he ate his oatmeal. She ran her hand across his cheek gingerly, his eyes glancing up from his oatmeal, Iris getting a quiet smile from the little boy who was really a toddler at two and a half years old, but whose height made him seem older until you looked into his freckled and pale baby face. He went back to eating his oatmeal. He would do fine during the interview, Iris thought. Bart was always content as long as he sat beside her.

Iris gave her attention back to Cindy who was getting out of her car. She watched Cindy as she grabbed her purse from the back seat, closed and locked the door and when she turned her playful braids swung as she ran across the street. Iris brushed back her hair, feeling that her own wash and blow-dry hair-do looked amateur compared to Cindy's obviously professional do. She saw Iris sitting by the window and waved as she headed to the door. The bell rang as Cindy walked in, her eyes spotting Iris's booth and as she did, Iris stood and waited for Cindy and they hugged each other. Bart stopped eating his oatmeal to look up. "Iris, you gorgeous girl. Still so pretty. I haven't seen you in ages."

Iris smiled, feeling full and not knowing why she wanted to cry. Iris said, "You look gorgeous yourself. You look professional, like you're going to work, unlike me, who has, nevertheless, been working all morning."

Cindy didn't comment to that. She seemed unruffled as she sat across from Iris, who looked perfectly fine in a blue sweater and gray slacks. "Well," Cindy yelped, "the Central City Citizen," and they both giggled. Now they sounded like the dorm roomies at CCU.

"Iris, your blog is actually a newspaper. I read it all the time, even your paywall exposés. Very informative and very fair."

Iris smiled. "Thank you. I'm only interested in the truth."

"Thank you for the breakfast," Cindy said jovially, as she lifted the cover from her breakfast plate. "So, this is the little man up close," Cindy said, changing the subject abruptly.

"Up close?" Iris gazed at Cindy, puzzled. "Oh," Cindy said, "I saw him with Barry one morning. I forgot which, but a few months ago."

"It had to be a Saturday," Iris said.

"Maybe, I forgot. Just that I thought of you then and our college dorm days. I can't believe Barry looks the same, still so taut….what's his secret?"

"He runs," Iris said, laughing nervously.

"Well, you look the same too, the same petite and trim Iris West."

"Plus two pounds," Iris said.

"Iris, I think I hate you," and Cindy laughed in such a way that Iris was not sure if she meant it or not." Cindy said, "Just kidding. You probably work hard to keep yourself in shape, and knowing you, you don't have a housekeeper."

"Well, actually Barry was going to hire someone, but I said no…so no, I don't, but how could you know?"

"You have your son with you. What I remember about you is that you're very cautious. You don't have non-family members in your house, and everybody is at work—right?" Cindy smiled to Iris's surprised subtle little shake of the head yes, her little conceding gesture of throwing her hands up just a little in perceived helplessness. "And that's why you didn't invite me to your office—it's at your house, and…." Cindy got quiet, not helping out Iris, because it was Iris who contacted her and arranged the meeting. Then Iris saw the young college roommate and as Iris remembered, she felt that during sophomore year Cindy was attracted to Barry and Becky was his on again off again girlfriend then, and so yes, Iris was cautious. "I'm so sorry, Cindy."

"It's quite all right, Iris."

"No, what can I say, but that you're right," Iris confessed. "Next time we'll meet at my office at my house."

Cindy cut into her poached eggs and toast with her fork, dipped her toast in it, and brought the egg on toast to her mouth. It was quiet at the table while they both ate their breakfast, taking a few sips of coffee obviously each woman thinking about the moment and what had transpired. They smiled at each other, still eating, mouths closed. Bart was finishing the last of his French toast sticks and used the paper napkin to try to get the syrup from his fingers. Iris went into her purse for a plant-based handy wipe and cleaned Bart's hands. "He said, "Thanks, Mommy." Iris watched Cindy's smile in watching the mother son interaction.

After awhile, Cindy said, "What can I do? What jobs are you offering me?"

Iris put down her fork. "I don't need help with the podcast, but I do need help with the hard copy and with the weekly features. I also need someone to proofread my copy and spot inconsistencies in my layout. Some regions buy the hard copy versions and I need it to be perfect. I can't go back in and change a mistake like I can on my blog page. Hard copy is forever, and hard copy is important to me and last issue I saw a couple of mistakes. Thankfully minor typos but two mistakes in one issue are unacceptable so I need another pair of eyes."

"Iris, I'd love to do that, but it seems to me you need more help than that."

"Oh?" Iris said.

"I don't mean I've seen mistakes in the hard copy version, but I'm sure if we searched through it… because no one's perfect."

"Can I just hire you right now, on the spot?" Iris asked with a nervous laugh.

"Yes," Cindy said, "you sure can."

"Good."

"But I have an article to submit to Central City Times and I've got to proofread that first. Your perfection bug is catching. And then I'm free."

Iris laughed. "Okay, when can you get started? Can I email you the copy?"

"Sure…." and Cindy dropped her eyes and Iris immediately knew where the taut 'Sure' came from. "Cindy, it's not that I don't want you to come to my house. It's just that…we just moved in and I don't want to mix business with my home life."

"Well, if no one can visit your home office, then maybe you need a suite of rooms in town? For the Citizen? I mean, whatever you say, Iris." But Cindy couldn't hide her hurt, swinging her braids from her face, and Iris felt awful because they were two black girls, similar in background, gone down similar paths, both had high hopes in their careers; both had taken out college loans to supplement their scholarships and grants, but she bet Cindy was probably still paying hers off, and she wasn't. Iris took out a pen and scribbled her address on her napkin. She folded it up and gave it to Cindy, and immediately she felt as if she was handing Cindy over the nuclear codes, but more literally, the codes to her happy and private life. She got the feeling that Cindy felt the same, so Iris said, "I apologize, Cindy. It's not that I don't want you to come to my house. It's that, I guess, I don't want anyone to come to my house." And Iris sighed, because she had been denying that, but that was the truth.

"Don't worry Iris, I'll memorize this sensitive information and then burn it," and they both started to laugh, but Cindy took another look at Iris's address, and said, "You live out there? Gosh. I mean…damn…big money."

Iris's eyes widened, not knowing if she was defensive because she lived in such an exclusive neighborhood and in such a big and expensive house, or prideful that Barry could buy it for her. She said, "Barry's more than a CSI. He's even more than a director at CCPD. He's a scientist. He holds copyrights to intellectual properties and patents to several inventions." She said that clearly and slowly and looking directly at Cindy, and Cindy got the point. We can afford it. She was not going to feel bad because Barry was accomplished and could buy her whatever she wanted, but more importantly, he would buy her whatever she wanted.

Cindy said, "I apologize. And I just proved your point, so let's get back on track. You were going to offer me freelancing work."

"Yes," Iris said, feeling less desperate. "Proofreading my articles, and pulling out the gems in the mountain of submissions, for starters."

"I can do that," Cindy said. "I remember an article I read by your husband when I was still at the Picture News. It was about meta-human psychology. It was a wonderful article."

"Thanks," Iris said. "He has a great writer's voice."

"And Iris, your podcast with the Flash was a great interview. Too bad your husband wasn't there. I would have loved to hear those two go back and forth. They are both so smart."

"Yes, they both are," Iris said."

"But, Iris, you were kind of…flirting with the Flash. Was that okay with Barry? Or was that part of the script so people would talk about the podcast and tune in again?"

"I wasn't flirting with the Flash," Iris said, laughing nervously.

"Go back and listen to it again. You may want to stop that cute little back and forth if you book him again."

"Thanks for the tip…er, advice. I'll do that."

Cindy had out her phone and was scrolling through a previous issue. She said, "Boy, Iris, you really have an interesting table of contents. I love your layout style as well as the features and articles in here. I've been wanting to tell you that."

Iris said, smiling, "Thanks."

Cindy raised her eyes from her scrolling and said, "That caller, who brought up your mom…"

"Yes…." Iris said.

"If we could get your mom's old work, we could have a look back at black brilliance, where we feature her articles. That is, if you own the copyrights. If Picture News owns them, then we're out of luck."

"But maybe when she was free lancing," Iris said.

"Yeah, they would be hers, and as a part of her estate, they would be yours—and your dad's."

"She left all she had to me and my brother, and it wasn't much."

"But those copyrights are," Cindy said with a finger raised.

"Yeah," Iris said smiling, dreaming really. "It would be great for someone to publish her again."

"What's next for the podcast?" Cindy asked.

"I do it twice a month, so I'm not sure, so I have a little time."

"Will Barry be there?"

"No. Why should he be?"

"If you invite the Flash again, maybe he should be?"

Iris laughed nervously. "Okay, when I invite the Flash on air again, I'll make sure he's there."

"Let's come up with some ideas for advertising the podcast as effectively and economically as possible. But with a splash!"

Iris smiled. "Okay." Then she felt Bart's tug at her sweater. "Mommy," Bart said, "Excuse me please." Iris looked at Cindy embarrassed. "That means…excuse us, Cindy."

"Sure," Cindy said, as she watched Iris stand and then brought Bart out of the booth and sat him on her hip and she moved through the crowd to the ladies room. Minutes later, when Iris stepped out of the bathroom, she was holding Bart's hand and listening to her son and smiling as he talked. Then Bart pulled Iris over to the dessert display and Iris waited in line for a few minutes and bought her little boy one big sugar cookie. When Iris got to the table she was met with Cindy's smiles.

Iris said, "I'm so sorry. But he's been such a good boy." And she helped her son into the booth. "Right, Bart?"

"Yes, Mommy," Bart said.

Cindy said, "Iris, we can cut this short. He has been a patient little boy."

"Thanks," Iris said. "He does need to get home. He needs his routine, to play a little, read a little, construct a building with his Legos, then break it back down then rebuild it, then a snack and a nap."

Cindy laughed, but endearingly and took Iris's hand and squeezed it. "When do you need a proofreader?"

"Tonight, by six o'clock?"

"How about if you send me the doc by two and I shoot the proofed copy back to you by five, six pm tops?"

"Oh, Cindy, thank you."
"Thank you, Iris. You're hiring me."

"Oh, yes," Iris said, happy and relieved. "Money. We can talk about it now."

"We don't have to," Cindy said. "We'll talk after it's done, and if you like my work, we can go from there. What I know about you is that you're fair and honest."

"Thank you, Cindy."

"Well, I have to go," Cindy said. "The freelance life is unstable if one doesn't hustle, and I have to pay all of my bills." But Cindy's look let Iris know that she wasn't resentful, just a little envious that she had, not Barry necessarily, but someone to help her. Cindy gave Bart one more look. "Boy, you are a little gentleman." Bart looked to his mother and she said, "What do you say?" And Bart said, "Thank you, but my sister said I'm Master Bart, so I'm a boy, not a gentleman."

Cindy leaned into the booth again. "How old is he?" And Iris said, "He is a smart kid. They both are. Honestly, Cindy, they take after Barry."

"You're pretty smart," Cindy said, almost sounding indignant.

Iris said, "You're right. They're both of us."

"What school did you say your daughter was enrolled in? A private school no doubt?"

"The School for Exceptionally Gifted Children."

Cindy's eyebrows went up. "You mean that elementary school housed, but more accurately cocooned in Central City University?'

"Yes," Iris said, since it was obvious Cindy knew about the particulars of the school. "Not any smart kid can get in there. I know, because my niece is really smart but she was turned down. She can't pass the entrance exams and I mean exams, plus there are other batteries of tests, the verbal ones the most important. You must be able to express yourself at that school and to defend your ideas. Some of the topics my sister, who's a teacher, had never heard of, let alone my niece. But of course, you already know," Cindy commented. "I thought that exceptionally gifted name was just a way to keep poor kids out. But I did my research and there are some poor kids enrolled there."

"Yes," Iris said, "the school is very fair or Barry and I would still be teaching her at home, which we did, until she was ready for kindergarten."

Then Cindy said, "Aren't meta-children enrolled there? Because I heard they were, all with specific powers and gifts, which is why the school is housed on the CCU campus."

Iris grabbed a napkin and started cleaning cookie crumbs from Bart's face, but making sure that his diamond-centered safety pin was tucked to the bottom of his pocket, and said, "Meta-humans are everywhere, Cindy."

"Yeah, but concentrated in Central City," Cindy said. "Harrison Wells? Star Labs? The particle accelerator explosion?"

"That's what people say how they came to be," Iris said.

"Have you ever thought about interviewing the Flash about that night? That is absolutely how he came to be and everybody knows it. He likes you…your blog, I mean, maybe you can get him to… Man, talk about the ratings…."

"No, Cindy. That wouldn't be fair to him and his family, if he has one. Talk about a target on his back."

Cindy thought for a little then said, "Yeah, I was talking out my ass," and they both laughed some, Iris a little nervously.

Cindy got up. "Shoot me the doc to proofread."

"I'm doing it right now," Iris said, retrieving her phone, searching for the article in question then sending the document from her phone to Cindy's email. Cindy took one last look at Bart, and said, "So Bart is Bartholomew?"

Iris said, "Yes. Bartholomew the Second."

Cindy said, "What a cutie," turned and started to walk away from the booth, but turned back and sat back down, on the edge of the booth, like she had to leave, wanted to leave, but….

"Yes?" Iris asked her.

"Don't think I'm crazy or nosy but… but…."

"Yes, Cindy?"

Cindy asked, "How many bathrooms do you have in your house?"

Why wasn't Iris surprised? It was that kind of morning. Iris said quietly, "Seven. And two powder rooms."

"Iris, I just want to say, I'm glad it's you, because you're such a decent woman, and you might as well know, I got married…."

"Oh congratula…."

"…and divorced in the span of two years. Right after you had your first child, your little girl. I thought, like the journalism inspiration, I would follow your lead and…."

"Oh, Cindy, I'm sorry."

"Don't be, Iris. It just didn't work out."

Iris said, "Thanks for rooting for me, because I know you did. Staying away from Barry when we were in college was so decent of you, because I had no girlfriend ties to him then, just emotional ones."

Cindy squeezed Iris's hand. "Thanks for giving me work. And one more thing, because I see the Citizen as an amazing opportunity for you—to really grow, and you can only do this one-girl, jack-of-all-trades with the weekly that you have, but it's growing, Iris, so let it grow. Sooner than later you will need a team, even if small. As a matter of fact, make it small, so it's manageable." And Iris sat and took in Cindy's words, and thought it ironic that it was Cindy's words that were now helping her and not the other way around. Cindy said, "Now I've got to go." and she stood up and was about to leave, but Iris said, "Oh, Cindy, one last thing…."

Cindy turned. "Yes, Iris?"

Iris asked, "…who does your hair?"

With Cindy's help, the Citizen was a success that week. Perfect copy, an interesting new feature: "A Closer Look at Our Meta-Human Neighbors: Meet the Rivers Family." Cindy was hired to also help get through the submissions pile up. When Iris had time, she scanned the rejected submissions and Cindy was on point. She understood the Citizen. Iris felt confident that she had made a right choice in hiring Cindy. Her salary was a fair wage as well, and Iris promised Cindy that it would grow as the Citizen grew. When the direct deposit hit, Cindy was happily surprised at her pay and gave her extra energy in helping Iris meet her upcoming deadline.

On a Thursday, the day the hard copy issue would go out and the digital issue posted, Cindy was in Iris's big contemporary, in her home office, a temporary home of the Citizen. Iris had decided to get a suite of rooms for her business in downtown Central City, not too far from CCPD, because she'd never be too far from Barry.

But the evening before, Iris and Cindy were at the office that Iris had, and yes, she could see that it was too small, and that she shouldn't be afraid to venture away from her house and for now, the two of them were halfway through a pot of coffee, the mock-up on the table, the final in digital format and up on the big screen of the desktop computer.


Finishing Touches of Iris

Iris had her hair in the shampoo bowl. Her favorite stylist was giving her that shampoo massage that was about to put her to sleep. She closed her eyes, loving the pulsating warm rinse, the re-lather, her stylist's nimble finger tips and Cindy came to mind. In a way, Cindy reminded her of her mother. Married and now single and trying to make it as a journalist on her own, and with no support, Iris guessed. Then after they proofed the final copy for the current issue something came to mind that Cindy had said and had her thinking. "Hey, did you ever get that info from the woman on the podcast?"

That had caught Iris off guard. When Iris confessed her disappointment with the lady forgetting, Cindy said, "On second thought, why don't you go to the Picture News and ask if they could give you a copy of everything that she wrote. But Iris had already done that and they said they no longer had a file on a Francine West. As if they didn't know her. On a Francine West.

Iris was ready to forget, just another part of her mother that she couldn't reach. And there was nothing of Francine West on the internet, not on Google, not in Wikipedia, not even in the old journalists' directories. Why? Even Iris herself was in a few of the Picture News directories. She felt warm tears running down the sides of her face, then heard her stylist ask if she was okay, hoped she did not get any product in her eyes. Iris assured her that she was okay, and she wiped her eyes with an offered tissue from her stylist. She just decided to block those thoughts and let the warm water and her stylist's hands rejuvenate her hair. She held out her hand and felt Bart's little hand grab hers and she held it firmly, gently. At that moment and sitting in that chair, Bart was all that was real. Finally, she sat up, towel wrapped around her head, she still holding Bart's hand.

"Welcome back, girl," her stylist said. "Now watch me work my magic."

After the conditioning, the stylist gently combed through Iris's hair, then plugged in her blow dryer. Iris sat and watched Bart play with toys she had put in a little carrying case for him. "You certainly got your son trained, Iris. He's so polite," her stylist said.

Iris brushed over Bart's head gently. "He is. Thank you."

Iris's stylist was working through her hair with a product that was rejuvenating more than Iris's hair, but her spirit. She use to love her standing appointments, where, because she always showed up and was always so punctual, her stylist's chair was always ready for her, no flipping through magazines while she waited because she didn't have to wait. And Iris's big tip insured that she would be one of her top and cared for clients. Iris watched Bart with his dinosaur. It was a serious representation of the tyrannosaurus rex, a scary creature to Iris, but Barry and Bart both loved it and spent time together as Barry explained the pieces and systems to Bart as Bart built it.

Bart said, "The house that came with this tyrannosaurus is not the right size.

"Is that right?" the stylist humored Bart. Bart said, "Yes, ma'am. It should be smaller."

The stylist looked at Iris and Iris smiled and said, "He knows scale."

"He can pronounce his words too," the stylist said. "Your children certainly are smart, Iris. That little girl of yours would be in here giving me a lecture on that dinosaur. I guess they get their brains from the Wests. Y'all are so smart." Iris used to hear that growing up a lot. How she missed that, and appreciated hearing it now.

"Thank you," Iris said.

"Where's that big white boy you married to, at some crime scene?"

Iris laughed. "He could be," and Bart interjected with his enthusiasm when talking about his father, "He's not a boy. He's a man. I'm a boy."

"And that's right, sweetie," the stylist said, laughing some. Then she started commenting on Nora and her head of hair and when was she going to get her hands in it.

Iris loved the fact that it always only took her stylist an hour and some change to do her hair. Now her curls bounced thick and shiny as she walked through downtown Central City with Bart beside her. She wanted to pick him up and put him on her hip but she knew Bart wanted to walk it. He had rejected the stroller and loved walking and was getting antsy like Nora in his desire to run, to take off, just for fun. He said, "Mommy, when my speed force can carry you, we can run together. You can run with me and not just with daddy."

She looked down at her son, whose stride was surprisingly strong and full of energy and said, "Yes, Bart, that's going to be fun."

For a treat because Bart was so patient at the beauty salon, Iris took him to Big Belly Burger, and she and Bart ate their hamburgers and fries and Bart asked for a milk shake and Iris laughed because his appetite was getting to be as big as his daddy's.

After lunch, it was time for the long drive back to the big contemporary. She loved the countryside as it went past her, and talking with Bart and singing songs with him, the SUV driving through the scenic beauty, they taking their time, headed for home, but she admitted to herself that she missed the loft and its close proximity to all of the stores and shops, the restaurants and night club venues, casually bumping into old friends, the haunts that they loved to frequent. That was so a part of their lives. But sometimes one plus one makes four, and so she understood why he moved them out there, primarily for the Flash's safety reasons: eyes off his family.

The next day Iris was in a good mood. It was Bart's last trial day for the School for Exceptionally Gifted Children, Pre-K Section. He was better about being left with the daycare teacher this time and asked questions in the car on the way there. "Will I see Nora?"

"No, honey, sorry. She's in a different section."

"How long do I have to stay?"

"They're testing you, four to five hours."

"For a test, like Nora's?"

"It's just to see if you like being at their school."

"Do they have Legos there?"

"You should see the building blocks that they have. A bunch, and all so many different forms. You'll love those."

"How about car parts…can I build one?"

Iris smiled in amazement. What two and a half year old says "car parts," understanding the idea of parts that make a whole thing, He wasn't yet three and he knew how to break down a model car and put it back together. Now he was learning about cars in general, out of his own curiosity.

"Bart, you are just going to be fine at that school, okay, Baby?"

"Okay, Mommy."

She had dropped off Bart. So now, walking through downtown Central City was new and strange. She had free time to herself and even though she loved Bart being with her, she looked up into the bright day, loving her solo stroll.

When she got to the office building, she stood outside and took it in for a minute. "The rooms are right up there," Iris said, looking up, making a mental note. She would be on the third floor but at the front. Safe, but she could see all the action below. Before she took the walkway to the door, she stared at herself in the reflective window. Her hair was softly parted, one side sweeping her face. Her luscious glossy loose curls were back, just as Barry liked them. But she reminded herself of her mother in the picture that her father kept under his dress shirts. She wondered if he still kept them there what with Cecile in the house. She thought, no, but if he still had them, she'd go get one and frame it and put it on her desk in her new office. The other she'd take to the house. After all, Francine West belonged on the table with Joe West, and Henry Allen, and Nora Allen. As she went up the walkway she was making a mental note that that night's story time was going to be about a journalist in the West family, and it wasn't going to be her, and that they could ask any questions that they wanted. She smiled. She was making a mental note to go get that teal sheath day dress with the bateau neckline with the dip in the back. It was still in that corner boutique's window. As a matter of fact she was going to buy it and wear it right to CCPD and surprise Barry, but first things first. Right after she surveyed her new office space. He had said, "Take time for yourself." Well, now she had time and the time that she loved always had him in it.


Finishing Touches of Francine

Hours later of that day, Joe West was ready to give Iris everything of Francine's that he owned and could get. It was in a sad manila envelope. He wanted to cry. He had nothing more of her mother to give her, other than the articles he had just that morning made CCPN give him. The two pictures, a few minutes of Christmas video of her and a toddler Iris sledding in the snow, was all he had. The only title he had remembered was the Iris title, for obvious reasons, but when he re-read the article, it really wasn't about Iris, but about the Iris plant, and how Francine was once a journalist, who once had a life. Joe took the stairs to Barry's office briskly. He was at the door. He knocked, still thinking about his ex-wife, the envelope in his hand, his hand shaking a bit. He knocked again and heard a quick rustling, then actually a quiet. He knocked harder, more insistent.

Barry finally came to the door. He creaked it open and it was obvious it was dark inside. Joe didn't want to, but he stood in uncertainty, right now his whole life was uncertain where just a second ago, he would never consider what he was trying not to think about. Not this guy. But what did he know about people, about the ones he loved? "Who's in there?" Joe asked, certain of this guy, yet not certain of the moment.

"Umm…." Barry muttered.

"Goddamn it, Barry that better be Iris." Because, at that moment, Joe's life depended on it, his idea of family and love depended on it.

"It is, Dad," Joe heard from within the room. "Could you give us a minute?"

Barry grinned sheepishly. "We weren't quite finished…."

"…christening this office," Joe heard. Then he heard his daughter's soft giggle. He keyed in on Barry. "You're the director of CCPD, CSI Unit and you and Iris are playing house in the police department?" So why did an unexpected joy fill his chest?

"Not house, Dad. Could you give us a minute?" Iris insisted, and before he answered, Barry closed the door and Joe saw the Flash's lightning at the bottom of the door, and before he could become angry anew, Barry opened the door. Joe walked in, flicked on the light. Iris was sitting perfectly and fully dressed with a smile on her face. Barry walked over to Iris and kissed her on her face before he sat down beside her. Her new teal sheath dress was hugging her butt and Barry couldn't keep his hands off of it. Iris said, "Dad, who did you think I was? Who could be in this office with Barry with the lights out, but me?"

"I'd like to know too, Joe," Barry asked. "There're no rich women working at CCPD, so…." and Iris hit his arm, and they both laughed softly, making eye contact and smirking playfully, as Joe said, "Okay, I deserved all of that."

"Yes, you did," Iris said.

"I just came to bring you this." And he placed everything that he had of Iris's mother on Barry's desk. Iris knew what it was, and said softly, "Thanks."

Her father went to the door. "You look good, Iris."

Iris said, "Thank you." She knew he was approving of the time she had taken for herself. Before he left, he said, "You keep this up, you hear?"

She said, "Don't worry, Dad. I will."


Gideon and the New Time Vault

Iris awakened from her sleep; somehow she knew he was not there. She sat up, and looked to where he would be, listened to the quiet of their bedroom, and just through emotional memory glanced at where Bart's crib would have been at the loft. No loft, no crib, Bart was in his own room—and Barry? She was in pajamas that Nora and Bart had picked out for her the month before with their father's help, their first Christmas in their new house. She got out of bed and slid her feet into her bedroom slippers, then grabbed her robe.

She was out in the hallway, pulling on her robe quietly, slowly taking steps to where she thought he might be. It had been six months living in the big contemporary and it felt new still to Iris. She stopped at the window at the end of the hall and looked out. He had gotten into a schedule like an ordinary guy, an ordinary husband, an ordinary dad. "But there's nothing ordinary about him," she said aloud as she looked down to the front of their house. When he drove up to the front with Nora in the SUV every day, they knew she waited in the hallway by the window and they would both look up and wave. If Bart were not asleep, he would be on her hip, looking down also.

She took the stairs up to the attic, to Barry's new lab, like a home office that was becoming more of a Star Labs than his big monstrosity in the middle of Central City. She got to the top and the door was open, which meant come in, but when he was in his lab, the door was always open. She loved that she could go into every room in her house and so could Barry.

It was dark in the room with just a light over his work table, Barry standing up straight, his feet apart, his back to the opened door. He also wore pajamas that Nora and Bart had bought him with her help. He turned and smiled in the early morning. She came into the room and stood alongside him. He was working on something but he brought his head down and met her on her tiptoes and kissed her on the mouth. She said in almost a respectful whisper, "I didn't mean to disturb you, just wanted an excuse to walk through my beautiful home to look for you."

He smiled tenderly, loving her words. "Yeah, me too," he said. "I love this house. And I want you to continue to love it. That's why we're getting a cleaning service, on the regular." It was quiet. She let out a little sigh. "Thank you, Barry." He turned back to his work and she watched him for a little while. "Can I ask what you're working on?"

He said, "Her name is Gideon."

"Gideon?" Iris asked. "I know I rarely go to Star Labs but don't you already have a Gideon?"

"She's due for an upgrade. She's past Thawne's time. She's mine now." Then Barry looked at Iris with marvel in his eyes. "Meet Mobile Gideon. She's a more advanced A. I." Barry smiled really at Gideon lying in the middle of his palm, in his big hand but said, "When I told Cisco what was on my mind, he said I could do it, that I was a genius, and that it was time."

"You are a genius," Iris said.

Barry offered her the delicate earpiece, "Put it to you ear, but not in your ear, not yet."

Iris took the device and gently placed it near her ear. Barry said, "Say 'Hello, Gideon.'"

And when his wife's melodic voice of "Hello, Gideon," rang through Barry's lab into the early morning at his attempts at making Cisco's 'You're a genius' come true, Gideon replied in her old Star Lab's voice, but crisper, with more energy, somehow happier, more confident, ready for her new adventures and replied to Iris, "Hello, Mrs. Allen, also known as Iris West-Allen, mother of Nora and Bart Allen, wife of Barry Allen, also known as the Flash."

They smiled at each other, laughed quietly, deeply. She gave him back the earpiece, gazed up at him lovingly and said, "What kind of amazing adventure are you taking me on, Bear?"

He said, "Our adventure, mine and yours. I'm selling Scientific Technological Advanced Research Laboratories to Cisco Ramon. He has an idea. Well, he has plenty of ideas and wants to work on a few."

Iris said, "I see." And Barry said, "Yes. He says he needs room for his ideas, for his mechanical gadgets, his technical imagination." She still looked up at her husband and it was amazing to hear him say the laboratories true name, because she hadn't heard it in a while, his home away from home since the lightning strike. She said, as if it were related, "We've been married for six years, Barry."

He said, "Yes," as if he understood what she meant, understood that the lightning strike had prompted them to live their lives, and somehow, live them together.

"And your other properties?" she inquired.

He said, "We'll decide those together, but Star Labs is like my baby bassinette that has outgrown its usefulness to me. And sooner or later people will tie the Flash to Star Labs and tie Barry Allen to the Flash; better that the Flash hangs out in the lab attic of Iris West-Allen's big contemporary."

"So this is Iris West-Allen's house."

He said, "Baby, yes, like Gideon said, my wife, my love." And his mouth searched for hers and as she raised her head, her arms went around his neck, his hands slowly pulling her closely to him at her waist. Their kiss ended, but he felt her soft full lips on his jaw, then cheek. He brought his arms around her and hugged her, loving her familiar Iris smell, as fresh as the teen girl he wanted. He whispered, "I'll always love you, Iris. Always."

She said, "I know. I'll always love you too." Then they came away from each other and Barry secured Gideon at his work station, turned off the light from over his lab table, took Iris's hand and led her out of the lab. She followed him down the stairs, to the third floor, the bedrooms floor, they called it.

When they got in bed again, they sat up, leaned against their headboard and into each other. She felt his mouth kiss her in her hair. She said, "Two months from now, it'll be your birthday, and Nora's."

He said, "Yes, "Thirty-three years old and six years old respectively."

"She'll start first grade where she is. It's a great school and she loves it."

"And Bart?" Barry asked gingerly. His wife leaned in him, ran her arms around his waist and said, "In April, Bart will be three and I've decided to accept their invitation to enroll him in their daycare."

Barry said, "I'm glad, Iris. That school is just waiting for him and the Citizen is waiting for you."

"I agree, but if he doesn't like it, I'm going to go get my child and he'll be with me till he turns five and we'll teach him here until he starts kindergarten, like we did with Nora at the loft."

Barry said, "Okay."

Then Iris laid her head on Barry's shoulder and said, "I never thought I could ever leave the loft, I loved it so much. It was the first place where I could just get away from the world and just be with you." She felt his mouth in her hair again, on the top of her head. She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling in the dawn. She said, "Now I have Nora, Bart, and you. Do you know how lucky I am?"

Looking down in her gentle, contented face, he said, "What's luck got to do with it, Iris? It was all love," and she burrowed next to him, getting even more comfortable.