Cassandra had that Thursday night off. As usually happened, she spent it with Sadie.
The dynamic around her house in the suburbs was a different, but pleasant one. Sadie had never really said much about her mother, and Cassandra had only seen her once when she helped Sadie move out. She was a tired, sullen woman, matching the few descriptions of years of alcohol Sadie had brought up now and again. Cassandra assumed that she probably always looked angry, even when she wasn't.
Sadie's cousin and his wife, Peter Ingram and Charlene, were both well-to-do civil attorneys who met and married back in law school. They had a son Cassandra had seen rarely over the summer, but he was spent most of the year off at university somewhere else.
Cassandra and Sadie sat in the living room, talking with Charlene as Peter prepared stir fry in the kitchen. The walls were done all in red, the couches were colored beige and one corner held a bookshelf of exceptionally thick books on law and presidents that were mostly just for show. The only other thing of note were the various photographs and paintings hung up on the wall, ranging from riversides and gazebos to bombastic abstracts full of color. Most notable because Sadie had taken and painted several of them.
"I think Pete just pities me," Sadie had said a few months before.
"I'm telling you I think they're excellent," Peter said. "When my friends from the office come over, they sometimes ask me where they came from. And I tell them my cousin made them and it makes me prouder than any case I've won."
Cassandra knew he was being generous, but she also knew Sadie's work really was excellent. Unlike the films Sadie would insist on going to, Cassandra could actually somewhat understand her artwork. Or at least understand how beautiful what looked to be dozens of colors flowing into any natural arc or shape Sadie saw fit was.
"Homeschooling still going all right?" Charlene asked.
"It is fine. Keeps me busy," Cassandra said. In reality, lessons with Alfred and chats online with Barbara had been on the decline for a while. Cassandra could read and write just well enough to keep up appearances, which Bruce had said was more than he had even anticipated. And that having interactions with people like Sadie's relatives would be a better method of improving her speech than anything he could teach her outright.
"That sounds pretty great right now," Sadie said. "The school year has barely started and it seems like all my teachers are already ticked off all the time. Wondering if some of them aren't going out and getting beaten up by Batman at night."
"I told you not to talk like that," Charlene said, rolling her eyes. "You don't know what awful people those are." She turned toward Cassandra. "You can't imagine. I don't even work the criminal cases, but I work with their families sometimes. They're painfully unhealthy people."
"I have heard that a lot," Cassandra said.
"I still don't think a gang of roving vigilantes is a good answer to that problem at all, but there are a lot of people who would be dead if not for the Batman and his company. It's not a great permanent solution, but at least it's something."
It had been decided and agreed upon there would be no talk of Sadie's own encounter with Gotham's underground. Peter and Charlene didn't need a reason to worry, and as Sadie put it, "Whatever they hit me with makes it seem more like an awful dream. It's not exactly tramautic when it seems too weird to have even been real.
Charlene wore her forty's well, sporting blonde hair cropped short enough to not require any real management (though still longer than Sadie's Pixie cut,) black rimmed glasses and a tight smile. Her suits kept her glued to a computer or a legal pad even when she was in conversation, but she did always seem genuinely interested.
Peter stepped into the living room from the kitchen and gave a loud sigh, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I think we're ready. Can I pour anyone anything?"
"Glass a wine every day is good for you, you know," Charlene said.
"Sure, sure. Sadie? Cassie?"
"Water."
"Yeah, water's fine. Stir fry's salty anyway."
One night, while Cassandra and Sadie had been out with Tim and Stephanie, Tim had pressed Sadie about her relation back to peter, confused about how their ages lined up.
"You said he's in his forties," Tim said.
"He is. Forty two a few months ago."
"I mean… that's a big difference."
"Not that Tim isn't being kind of weird about it," Stephanie said, "But it is. I have cousins, most of them are, like, within three, five, maybe seven years of me. He's not your second cousin or anything?"
"Nope. My dad was the baby of his family, I'm the baby in mine. An unplanned baby, if my mom's to be believed." Both Tim and Stephanie flinched as she spoke, but Sadie just shrugged. "You know, whatever. Who really, really plans for these things, right?"
If Cassandra had any interest, she could have articulated a very personal response. But it was better that remain untouched.
Peter and Charlene both sipped their wine, Peter telling Sadie and Cassandra to go ahead and serve themselves first. Cassandra dipped her head, shut her eyes and made a sign of the cross before scooping up the rice, chicken and vegetables. She was the only person of faith to occasionally be in the house, but neither party thought anything of the other for it.
Since first being exposed to outside contact, Cassandra had, in her own way, always wondered if the homes and families presented in advertisements and other images ever actually existed. If people actually did come together around tables to actually eat and talk with one another at the end of long days. There had been rare times in Wayne Manor she and her siblings had done so, but the thought Sadie did this all the time was a new one.
Cassandra didn't say much, but collected whatever she could from their exchanges. Talk of school, an adoption case, whether the deck needed new furniture. Cassandra really didn't understand a lot of it, but in an odd way, she was very happy to be present.
"Did Sadie show you those pieces she submitted to that school out in Chicago?"
As soon as Peter finished the sentence, Sadie hacked and coughed at the water she was drinking. When it didn't die down in a few seconds, Cassandra hit Sadie on the back twice before her breathing finally settled. Her breaths were still heavy as she wiped her mouth with her napkin, scowled at Peter and said, "No. I haven't."
As the situation slowly reached Cassandra, she asked, "What is he talking about?"
Now it was Peter whose eyes widened for a moment. "You said you'd told her already. I thought you said she was fine with it."
Sadie didn't respond at first, looking down at her plate and holding her forehead. "Yeah. I know I said that." Rubbing her forehead, Sadie looked up at Cassandra. "I didn't mean for you to find out about this. It's not that big of a deal. I'm pretty sure I'm not getting in anyway."
Charlene took a sip from her glass and pushed up her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose. "You know, this is why we asked you if you'd said anything already. This is exactly what we were trying to avoid."
Cassandra sank into her chair a little.
"And you guys just wouldn't believe me when I kept saying I'd do it on my own time," Sadie said. After a few seconds of reluctance, Sadie turned to Cassandra. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything… I know it isn't you guys' fault I just… I don't know."
"… Chicago is far away," Cassandra said.
"Yeah," Sadie picked at her food, as if to distract herself. "It's far away."
Dinner was finished shortly thereafter. There were a few attempts at conversation, but it wasn't long before Cassandra said she was tired and Sadie agreed she should be driven home for the night.
It was about twenty-five minutes to Wayne Manor from Peter and Charlene's house. Sadie usually talked for a lot of any drive back and Cassandra would smile and nod. This night, the silence was largely mutual.
Sadie first attempted to break it as they drove past the skeleton of a huge, dome-shaped building three miles outside of Gotham's downtown. "Finally heard what that thing's going to be." Cassandra didn't respond. "One of those mega churches."
"Yes?" Cassandra said.
"I don't get it. I guess if it makes people happy, whatever, but we've got how many churches in Gotham already?"
"Five-thousand." That number wasn't leaving Cassandra's head any time soon.
"You're religious, I'm not, you tell me, do we really need a big eyesore around here that looks more like a Jesusy concert hall than any of those places with an ounce of dignity downtown?"
"You are avoiding Chicago."
Sadie drove two miles in silence, out of the suburbs and toward the hills, before she said, "I know I am. I'm sorry."
"Why didn't you tell me? I would be happy for you."
"Because, as you pointed out, Chicago's a long ways away," Sadie said. "And wherever I'm going after I graduate, I just want to be able to enjoy spending time with you." Sadie set a hand on Cassandra's knee and squeezed gently. "There was never going to be a good time to tell you and I didn't want to mess up any night we had. I'm sorry for that."
At another squeeze, sighed, rested her head against the window and took Sadie's hand into one of hers. The two held hands silently until the car arrived at the manor's gate.
