Chapter 40 – Little Delaware Lake
Over the next two days, Bruce's mood was big enough to fill every square foot of the manor. Selina recognized he'd lashed out due to compounding stress – the cottage break-in, the Falcones' early arrival, the babies' rapidly approaching births, and the lingering, unresolved Batman paradigm. She tried valiantly to get him to see his overreaction, but he refused to admit any error on his part.
She and Bruce shared a bed, but scarcely five words passed between them all day. Her heart was starting to ache as painfully as the frequent Braxton-Hicks contractions she experienced. Here they were, not even married a year, and it felt like time was already running out for them.
With hot, wet tears soaking her pillow at night, Selina contemplated worst-case scenarios after the babies came. She had some safety nets, if need be. Her sister Maggie and husband Simon… her old roommate Holly… but they all had small apartments. Nothing well-suited for a pair of screaming newborns and their emotional wreck of a mother.
She'd have to decide which was worse: the mental deadlock of Wayne Manor, or the guilt-ridden imposition on friends & family. The fact that she even had to consider such a choice was heart-wrenching.
If she could just find one glimmer of hope, even the tiniest shred of optimism, she could cling to it for stability.
To her immense relief, such a shred came two days after her parents departed.
A phone call from Premier Coast Contractors informed Bruce that they'd be able to start repairs on the cottage the next day. If all went well, their work would be finished by next weekend. Carmine's integrity, it appeared, wasn't quite as abject as Bruce thought. Despite their altercation, Carmine had still followed through on his offer to procure them one last favor.
There were a few less frown lines on Bruce's forehead after that phone call. And a few less pangs gripping Selina's heart.
Exactly one week after the Falcones' fateful arrival at Wayne Manor, the cottage was fully repaired. Bruce was in disbelief, but the texted photos were irrefutable proof. Against all odds, the repair crew had restored the place even better than it was before. A more idyllic setting for a babymoon likely didn't exist along the eastern seaboard.
Which meant it was finally time to pack their bags.
"I don't like this idea at all, Selina," Bruce protested as he hauled her bags to the front door two hours later.
"Too bad."
"It's not safe!" he insisted. "You driving down to the cottage by yourself… what if you go into labor?"
"I told you, the doctor says I have at least a week before that's likely to happen," she replied. "I really need this, Bruce. Just a couple of hours to think by myself, with no distractions."
"If you could just wait an hour or two, I'll be ready–"
"That's an hour or two I could be collecting my thoughts on a quiet, peaceful drive."
"I thought the whole point of this trip was for us to collect our thoughts together," Bruce appealed.
Sighing, Selina gave him an apologetic yet unyielding look. "A lot has happened just in the last two weeks. I need to decompress and sort things out before we talk at the cottage."
His face remained impassively doubtful. "I still don't like this."
Selina slung a bag over one shoulder. "Look, I'll call you if I go into labor, and you can fly the helicopter out to rescue me, all right? Now are you going to help me carry these to the car?"
Halfway through Bruce's drive to Little Delaware Lake, Selina texted that she'd arrived safely. Good, he thought with visceral relief. Now I have my own worry-free hour to think.
Not that being alone with his thoughts was particularly pleasant these days.
He drove past a divorce attorney's billboard and laughed drily. At least he could say he hadn't once considered that. In spite of all this past year's insanity, his commitment to Selina hadn't wavered, not for one moment.
They said the first year of marriage was the hardest; Bruce wondered if he could submit his and Selina's travails to the Guinness Record people and win some sort of award. Who else had suffered a back alley assault, four-month-coma with subsequent amnesia, unexpected twins, property vandalism, and acute in-law drama all within the last seven months? Surely that deserved a plaque or trophy.
As his mind wandered down the road, he mused that maybe he'd also appreciate a trophy for serving as Batman over ten years.
The thought seemed silly at first. Yet the more Bruce sat with it, the less absurd it felt. Squinting at the passing scenery, he tried to make sense of this concept… recognition. Acclaim and acknowledgment for his tireless work. A physical, concrete commemoration of exceptional valor, sacrifice, and loyalty. Would it be too much to ask?
And more importantly, would it be enough to satisfy his ego into retiring?
No, it was silly, he decided. It wasn't like he could have a retirement party where Commissioner Gordon presented him with some shiny engraved thing. There'd be no celebratory champagne, no table of carefully-wrapped gifts, no toasting the honored hero.
No, it would be a sad, quiet retirement – at least at first. Then once all the villains realized Batman was permanently off-duty, "quiet" would hardly describe anything.
The word "quiet" caused his earlier vision of a carefree boat ride to flash suddenly. Here he was again, pondering his tolerance for "quiet." Though he feigned to lament the crazy, chaotic events of the past year, the truth was… he thrived on chaos. He lived for unpredictability and unexpected challenges.
Take those away, and what would he have? Quiet dullness. A banal existence without any starch to it. Insipid conversation over martinis with country club acquaintances. Clam bakes with Carmine and Louisa every weekend, discussing fishing and gardening.
Carmine and Louisa… it was wishful thinking to imagine he'd ever see them again. He felt a twinge of remorse for banishing them from the manor and, effectively, from Selina's life. He couldn't really envision any of them offering or accepting amends.
Then again, if someone had asked him to envision Carmine Falcone abandoning the mafia to connect with a long-lost child, and doing that child a favor purely from the goodness of his heart, Bruce would have laughed until his sides ached. If he'd learned one thing from these past chaotic months, it was to never say never.
Because honestly, if someone like Carmine could upend his lifestyle for the sake of family, what excuse did Bruce really have?
This was the quandary filling his mind as he turned down the gravel drive toward the cottage. Twilight's shadows were just starting to spread across Little Delaware Lake. He'd made the right choice, insisting on this cottage for the fateful talks awaiting him and Selina. If there was any setting that would soothe their battered nerves and facilitate true, meaningful dialogue, it was here.
At least, it would have been the perfect setting, had Selina's car been there for him to park next to.
Cold fear flooded Bruce's veins. Frantically he checked his phone for any missed messages. None.
He flung open the car door and bolted to the cottage steps, freezing at the sight of the door slightly ajar. With every sense on high alert, he stepped forward calculatingly, watching and listening for the slightest disturbance.
Yet as he entered the eerily still cottage, it wasn't sight or hearing that provided insight. It was the sense of smell.
Within seconds of inhaling it, memories came flooding back after seven months of being suppressed. Acidic floral scent… chemicals… the Metropolis alley…
It was all so potent, Bruce braced himself against the doorframe and slowly fell to his knees. Closing his eyes, he saw everything unfold just as on that night:
A woman calling out for help, appearing to be doubled over in pain… Bruce, just twenty feet from dinner at the Kents' home, stopping to help her… a strand of red hair peeking out from beneath the woman's hood… a lightning-fast hand covering his face with a damp, pungent cloth… and then darkness.
Four months of darkness.
That same scent hung in the cottage now, though far less potent this time. Just enough to elicit Bruce's latent memory. Enough to leave him stunned and breathless for a while.
When Bruce regained his bearings, he scanned for anything else out of place. It didn't take long to notice a green envelope casually resting on the back of the sofa. When he read the note inside, he narrowed his eyes and knew exactly what – and whom – he was up against.
Back at Wayne Manor, Dick had just received a last-minute invitation to a classmate's sleepover. With Alfred lacking the parental authority to permit such an activity, the boy was instructed to call either of his parents.
When Selina didn't answer, Dick thought it odd, but proceeded to try Bruce's number. When that yielded no answer either, Dick's nascent instincts became activated.