Chapter 8

The birthday cake was double-decked and ornate—the first layer was chocolate, the second layer vanilla. Twenty-one candles surrounded the words Happy Birthday, Twins! in cursive lettering. The twins were standing behind the cake and posing the photos. Emma had her hand on William's shoulder and she morphed through an endless array of poses—from sultry to ridiculous; from swimsuit model to cross-eyed jester. William stood stiffly the entire time.

Finally, Clark appeared at the opposite side of the table. In his hands was a large, old-fashioned camera with a bulb attached to its front. He was sliding in the film.

Emma giggled on William's shoulder. "Uncle Clark, where did you get that thing?"

Clark patted his large camera. "We cleaned out the old archives of the Planet last month. This baby was sitting in the basement for years."

Lois appeared next to Clark with her smart phone. "And that baby can only take one picture-at-time. Which makes it nearly useless."

"Sometimes the old ways are the best," said Clark. He raised the camera. "Alright, guys. Get ready, one, two . . ."

"Would it kill you to smile once, Will?" asked Diana.

A wave of easy laughter echoed throughout the party. William smiled tightly.

"And three!" sang Clark.

There was a great big flash. William's began to water.

"Ah man, it went off early," groaned Clark. He got the camera ready for a second photo.

"Happens often," murmured Lois.

The party erupted again into laughter. William found himself laughing as well.

"Got it!" said Lois triumphantly. She was holding her smartphone. "It doesn't get better than a candid. Look at this."

On her photo screen were Emma and William laughing. They looked relaxed and at ease.

"Now one with the mother and father. Di, Steve, get in there."

Diana went next to William; Steve next to Emma. They had their arms around each-other.

"Hold it," commanded Clark. He peered through the view finder of his abnormally large camera. "One, two, three!"

There was a blinding flash of white light. Lois's camera snapped furiously as well.

Lois groaned. "William, you had your eyes shut."

William rubbed his eyes. They were watering from Clark's camera.

"Alright, again. On three: one, two, three—!"

William opened his eyes. For a split second, he thought he was hallucinating. There was a stranger standing in the far back of the party dressed in dark grey fatigues. A long sword hanging at their hip. Their face was shrouded by a grey hood.

"Cheese!"

William's eyes blinked from the flash. When he opened them again, the grey stranger was gone.

"William Trevor," said Lois, annoyed. "You were rubbing your eyes again."

"C'mon, Will," teased Emma. "Now that you're a cop you need to wear sunglasses all the time?"

William paid no attention to the any of them. He was looking for the grey stranger. Was he seeing things? It all happened so fast, and he was sure he had seen someone. But they were gone. Nobody moved that fast. It had to be his imagination.

"Is everything okay, Will?" said Diana all of a sudden. "You look like you've seen a—"

"I'm fine," he said. He slowly reshaped the smile onto his face. "I'm fine, Mom. Just a little worn out."

But she kept looking at him, the doubt loud on her face. She followed his eyes and looked around the backyard herself. "Okay, then," she said, rubbing his shoulder. "Do you want to cut the cake?"

The cutting of the cake brought the festivity to a winding conclusion. Slowly, the backyard emptied out as the guests thanked Steve and Diana for a great evening, wished William and Emma a happy birthday, and filed out through the screen door. Within an hour only the family remained. Diana went upstairs to check on David, who was still sleeping soundly in his crib, while Steve got a fire going in the brazier on the patio and put a circle of chairs around it. The fire was perfect counterbalance to the emerging chill of the evening—and it did get cold up there on the hill. The four of them gathered around the fire against a horizon that was Gotham City.

In that moment, in the low warm glow of the firelight, against the low conversation of the four family members, time moved like honey. The night marked both the end and the beginning of something. Diana knew it, deep down. She sipped at her wine, taking in the image of her two firstborn children and her husband, their faces cast in the soft bronze of the fire. These three people accounted for the past twenty years of her life. Now her children were adults.

Something told her that she needed to savor, husband, and save this moment. Tomorrow, things would be different. She knew it.

"…it's like that time we were at the beach," said Emma's tipsy voice. "And Will kept trying to get out of the water, but the waves kept pushing him over."

"And you just watched me twist and turn," said William. "I could have drowned, Emma."

"Oh,please. That water was knee-deep. It was funny."

"It wasn't funny at the time," conceded Steve, his face slowly splitting into a grin. "But it is sort of funny now."

Father and Daughter laughed. William felt that sides were being taken, lines in the sand written. He watched the fire. Diana came to her son's defense.

"I don't find it funny in any time," she said matter-of-factly. "I agree with William."

"What a surprise," muttered Emma.

Diana flashed a look of annoyance to her daughter. Emma pretended not to notice.

"So," said Emma, focusing on William. "Any girlfriends?"

"Not really," said William. He shifted a little because the fire was burning his leg.

"How about a fling?" continued Emma. She was relentless. "One-night stand?"

"Emma," said Diana in a warning tone.

But Emma ignored this. "You're telling me not one bombshell has tried to sweettalk her way out of a speeding ticket?"

Emma suddenly jumped to her feet, a mischievous smile on her wine-stained lips.

"Here we go," said William lowly.

Emma pushed her breasts together and made a showing of fixing her hair. "Oh, I'm sorry, Officer," she said in an annoying high-pitched voice. "I didn't realize I was speeding." Emma puckered her lips, batted her eyelashes. "Maybe you could cut me a break? And I could show you how appreciative I—"

"Is that how you got out of the car accident today?" asked William.

Emma mouth gaped like a fish. Her expression was stunned.

"Hey, c'mon, Will," said Steve in a serious tone. "You're better than that."

"Clearly," said William in a neutral, quiet tone. He was breathing hard. There was something rushing inside him. He knew he was being rotten.

Emma slowly gathered herself together. She was looking at William. "Who told you about that?"

"I didn't need anyone to tell me. Alfred got home from the airport by chauffeur service; you went running after work—which you only do if you're angry. Anyone with a brain could have figured it out."

Now Diana felt she needed to intervene. "William, don't be mean, babe."

"Mean? I thought we were being honest here? It's not my fault if she can't handle it."

"I can handle a lot more than you, baby brother," said Emma in a quiet, challenging voice.

Steve raised his hands. "Alright, that's enough, guys. Calm down."

"That's your brother, Emma," said Diana.

"Let her," said William. He felt emboldened by the fire. "It's the only thing she's good at anyway."

Emma's face twitched, as if she had been slapped. Her cheeks were tight and white.

Steve suddenly leaned forward; the bronze of the fire had hardened his features. "Will, I think you owe your sister an apology."

"Sorry," said William curtly.

"That's not what I meant, Will."

"Don't worry, Dad," said Emma. She picked up her wine glass and stormed off toward the living room.

Diana stood up to follow her daughter. "Emma, hold on."

"Di, don't," said Steve.

"She's my daughter, too, Steve," said Diana brusquely. "Maybe you forget that."

Diana left, which left Steve and Will by the fire. William watching the fire. Steve sat in his seat for a minute. He brought out two beers from the cooler and opened them. He put one into William's hand.

"Alright, partner," said Steve. "Time for you to tell me what's up with you."

William looked down the neck of the beer. "It's nothing, Dad."

"You're smart, Will. Smarter than me—but what you just did seems pretty dumb."

"It's not my fault that she can't handle it."

"I didn't say it was your fault. I'm saying that she's your family. And you only get one family, Will."

William sipped the beer silently. Steve talked to the fire.

"I know how brothers and sisters can be. And I know how women can be. And your sister, Will. She's got a lot on her shoulders. You shouldn't be so hard on her."

"She has a lot on her shoulders?" repeated William. "You let her get away with everything, Dad."

"Now you know that's not true, Will."

"It is true. Three years ago, when she was taking photos for prom by the pier, do you remember how mad she got because she got sand on her dress? She kicked a support column, Dad, and the whole pier nearly came crashing down."

"But it didn't," said Steve, slightly annoyed. "She told me what happened, and we got the harbor police to come and fix—"

"I was the one who called the harbor police, Dad. And then she got mad at me for being a 'tattle-tale."

William set aside his beer. It was unfinished and bitter. He never liked alcohol.

"Or how about the time she stole a case of Rye from the basement and took it to her friend's house and all her friends got really sick and I got the blame because I didn't do anything to stop it—as if I could stop her."

"How did you get the blame, Will?"

"You and Mom took away the T.V. from the living room, which meant I couldn't watch it either."

"But you don't even watch T.V.," laughed Steve, trying to steer the conversation to a more light-hearted tone. "You never have. You were the only kid I knew who preferred reading to television."

Steve said this with much pride in his voice. But William was not placated.

"That's not the point, Dad. The point is that I got punished for something she did—something I told her not to do, but she did it anyway. And then there was the time when we were at the airport and she insisted on bringing her—"

"My god, Will. Have you been keeping score this whole time?"

Steve was laughing, making a joke of it all. William closed his eyes. He should have known that his father would not understand. The faceless girl was on his mind again—that was going to give him nightmares for months. Maybe forever. And yet they were talking about poor Emma. What did she have to be scared of? What nightmares did she have?

"Listen, Will. I'm not saying you aren't right. You are. But try and look at it from her perspective. She's not normal, you know that, and a lot of the things she did—the prom photos at the pier, the underage drinking—that's all normal teenage stuff. You see what I mean?"

"I didn't do any of those things," said William coldly, but also, with a tone of pride.

Steve rubbed his hands together. He was looking down at them. "No, you didn't."

Steve shifted in his seat: he brought his legs out, he sat up a little straighter. He had changed tactics. It was clear to William, and it annoyed him. This shift meant that the lesson—which this clearly was—was being dumbed down. But William didn't need it to be dumb downed. He got it. He understood it. He just happened to disagree with it.

"Maybe when you have a family of your own, you'll understand what I'm saying," said Steve quietly.

"Duly noted," said William, growing tired of the patronization.

"I didn't mean it like that, Will. I'm just saying that family changes you. Being a dad changes you. It's very unrewarding."

"Dad, I get it. Really. We don't have to talk about this anymore."

"Sometimes you have to be the bigger person. That's what makes a good Dad, a good brother, a good son. It means taking the unfairness and putting on a smile anyway."

The fire started to die out. Steve looked at the logs of wood; he was weighing if it was worth it to put another log. He didn't know if they'd be out much longer.

"I never asked you joined the police," said Steve, "But I have a pretty good idea why you did it."

Steve's face softened with dying of the fire. The soft flame added contours and long dark shadows that blurred his features. "But you don't have to do it alone, William. You have a family. And when it comes down to it, that'll be the source of your greatest strength. You're a smart boy, so you know that your mother and I might not be here forever—well, certainly not me."

Steve's face suddenly turned mischievous. He swung his beer between his thumb, forefinger, and middle finger. "Did I ever tell you how I asked out your mother?"

William shook his head. Steve twisted the beer between his fingers. The beer bottle caught the dying fire in the reflection.

"I was at the Canary Club for a wine-and-dine affair with bigwigs. Your mother was there representing Wayne Enterprises, which I didn't know at the time. So she's sitting at a table talking with maybe half a dozen business leaders. But they all looked bored. Everyone on their phones, everyone talking but not really saying anything. Halfway through the entrée, I caught her looking at me from across the room, and she smiled at me. It was the most devastating smile in the world, Will. I knew I had to go and say hello."

"Did you?"

"Yeah but I was nervous as hell," laughed Steve. "When I stood up, my legs felt like jelly, I was trembling, and I wanted to go to the bathroom really badly. But I couldn't retreat, I knew that enough. I had already made my decision. So I headed straight for her table. She noticed me coming over, and she was smirking." Steve suddenly smiled like an eight-year old boy. "Unfortunately, the Canary Club is a dark-lit restaurant, and I didn't see the bar stools between our tables. I fell over on my face, in front of the entire restaurant."

"I hit my head pretty hard on the stool. And I was unconscious for a few seconds. But when I woke up, there was your beautiful mother standing over me. She was holding a napkin on my bleeding forehead. And I told your mom: 'sorry about that, I was on my way to speak to a pretty lady, and I fell head over heels for her.'"

The corners of William's lips turned upward. "And what did everyone say?"

"Everyone was laughing. Hell, I probably looked like biggest fool in Gotham City that night. But it didn't matter to your mom—she liked it. She always said she liked my confidence."

"It did take a lot of guts," said William. "I'm not sure if I would have done that."

"I know. But that's how you know it's the right moment—when you don't want to do it. You have to try, that's the whole point. It might not go the way you thought it would, but that's okay. You can live with that. What's important is that you try."

The fire ebbed away. The two of them were dark silhouettes. The red embers curled in the bottom of the brazier.

"Time to pack it in, no?" Steve's silhouette got to its feet. "Let's put the food away. We don't want any coyotes coming after the catering. The rest we can leave for tomorrow."

They scattered the ash of the fire and carried the catering back into the kitchen. When William stepped through the screen door with the final tray of food in his arms, the two women appeared at the threshold of the kitchen.

"Oh, Will," said Diana. "You should have left those. I was going to do them."

Steve walked in behind William with a tray of his own. "Don't worry about it, Will and I got the dishes. Go put up your feet, Di."

"Leave those for tomorrow," insisted Diana. "It's their birthday."

"Let me just soak the chafing dishes," said Steve. "They'll be murder tomorrow trying to get the stains out."

"Do you guys want help?" said Emma sullenly.

William was looking down at the dishes. "I think Dad and I got it."

But Emma was already coming around the side of the island. She picked up a dish and started washing. William moved a little to the side to give her space.

Steve very slyly nudged William under the kitchen island—it was a gesture of approval.

Suddenly the doorbell rang. Twice.

"Somebody probably forgot their jacket or something," said Steve. He was scrubbing the chafing dish in the sink. "Will, go check who it is."

William dried his hands and walked out of the kitchen. Behind him, Emma muttered. "I'm sorry for earlier, Dad."

William went to the front door. Through the panel of stained glass on the door he discerned an obscure silhouette. William put his hand on the door knob. Now that he was closer, the silhouette looked a little gray.

The doorbell rang again.

William had his hand on the doorknob and he was paralyzed. He had forgotten all about thought about the grey hooded stranger from the party.

The doorbell went off again.

"Damn, Will," called out Emma from the kitchen. She had regained her cheerfulness. "Let them in while you and I are still twenty-one, huh?"

William opened the door. A tall man with a tapered moustache stood before him. He was dressed in all black and leaned on a silver cane. The man's eyes flared a brilliant emerald green.

"Good evening, William Trevor. And Happy Birthday. May we come in?"

Behind the man were a dozen similarly dressed figures. They all carried heavy duffel bags and had what looked like automatic weapons on their chests.

"Will," called out Diana's voice. "Who is it, babe?"

William's mouth went dry. He kept looking at the guns.

"I go by many names," announced the man in a loud, clear voice. His eyes gleamed as he talked. "Some call me Ra's Al Ghul, others call me monster. But tonight, you may call me 'the calm before the storm.'"