Comics Will Break Your Heart

by Faith Erin Hicks

  Ms. Archer leaned toward Mir, who stared at her knees, ashamed of the kindness in the guidance counselor’s face.

  “Would leaving be so bad?” Ms. Archer said.

  Mir thought of Raleigh. She imagined leaving to attend school in Toronto or Montreal. She imagined coming home for summer break and seeing Raleigh walking past her on the street, face closed and unwelcoming, one hand looped through Jamie’s arm.

  Maybe it would be, Mir thought.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Saturday morning broke gray and overcast. Weldon was woken at 7:00 a.m. by the sound of his uncle hauling his riding lawn mower out of the garage. Weldon lay in bed for another half hour, staring at the ceiling and listening to the roar of the mower before finally pulling himself out of bed. His aches from the fight were mostly gone, but his eye was healing slowly. When he looked in the mirror, he was startled at how angry the dark purple bruise made him look.

  Weldon dressed for running. He thought about Ellie and the way her eyes had skimmed admiringly over him when he’d entered the running store. She was cute and might be fun to hang out with. She didn’t seem that much older than him.

  He was lacing up his running shoes when the painting, still leaning against the side table by the bed, caught his eye. Weldon pulled the painting from behind the table, peering at it. Skylark in particular was painted with exquisite care. The alien queen’s hair was swept upward, brown mixed with purple and the smallest touch of gold. Her face looked alive, eyes wide, staring boldly. Weldon remembered the girl he had bought the painting from (Miriam, he reminded himself). He hadn’t lied to Miriam; he did really love Skylark and Skybound’s original costumes. There was something tough but seductive about the cut of Skylark’s bodysuit and the tall boots she wore. Weldon drew his thumb across the swirl of Skylark’s hair, tracing the upward curve of it. There was something almost familiar about the alien queen’s face.

  Outside, the lawn mower stuttered, then started up again. Weldon returned the painting to its spot beside his night table and walked downstairs.

  In the kitchen, Weldon ate a bowl of cereal and fended off his aunt’s concern.

  “Your eye isn’t healing very quickly, is it? The doctor did say there wasn’t anything to do but leave it alone…” His aunt sighed. To Weldon’s relief, she kept her hands to herself. He was tired of her manhandling his face.

  “It really doesn’t hurt, Aunt Kay,” Weldon said, trying to eat and talk at the same time. “Bruises take a while to heal.”

  “It’s so terrible to look at,” his aunt said. Her hands fluttered at her waist, as though they itched to grasp his face and turn it every which way. You stay over there for another five minutes, then I can escape, Weldon thought. His spoon clattered in his empty bowl, and he stood up.

  “How long will your run be?” his aunt asked.

  “Not long,” Weldon said. “It’s only a 5K, so twenty minutes over to the park, half an hour for the run, and twenty minutes for the run back. An hour and a half, maybe?”

  His aunt nodded, pleased.

  “I’m glad you found a running group. I hope they’re good to you.”

  “I’m sure they will be,” Weldon said, thinking of Ellie’s runner’s body.

  He jogged into town, the exercise fading his annoyance over being woken up early. A small group of runners was already gathered at the park when he arrived. He walked casually in circles at the edge of the group as they pretended not to notice him.

  “Hey,” said Ellie, appearing behind him. “Good to see you came out to join us.”

  “I did,” Weldon said, nodding at her. She smiled, and he noticed she had freckles dusted across the bridge of her nose. She turned toward the group of runners, who were now eyeing Weldon with open suspicion.

  “Hey, guys, this is Weldon,” Ellie said, gesturing at him. “He’s new. He’ll be running with us today, and maybe a few other days. If he likes us.” Weldon thought she’d turn and smirk at him after saying that line, but she didn’t. All business, Weldon thought approvingly.

  Ellie sketched out the running route for him while the other runners fidgeted impatiently, eager to start. The route was easy enough: through the park, along the river, down the waterfront, and up the main road of Sandford to conclude at the Running Realm. Five point three K, no problem at all.

  “Got it?” Ellie said, and when Weldon nodded, she flashed him a wide grin and jogged off. The group of runners snapped into ordered rows and ran after Ellie in near-unison. Weldon followed, content to trail behind the pack.

  The park was a large wooded area between a residential area of Sandford and the river. The running group circled the park once, then jogged beside the river, heading back into town. The gravel path gave way to wooden planks, and finally a boardwalk rose up before them, dotted with the occasional early morning walker. There were half a dozen ship berths, filled with ships of varying historical accuracy. Most advertised cruises on the river, where you could enjoy the historic sight of Sandford from the vantage point of the water. Weldon suspected that by the time the ships got out far enough to appreciate Sandford’s historic skyline, most of the passengers would be too drunk to enjoy the view. Right now the ships were empty, bobbing gently in their berths as they waited for tourist season.

  Ellie picked up the pace as they ran along the boardwalk. She turned toward the heart of town, and the group streamed behind her like the tail of a kite. Out of the corner of his eye, Weldon spotted a familiar figure. His step hitched and he slowed. The group of runners continued on, leaving him behind.

  Miriam was walking along the boardwalk, trailing behind two people: a woman with a shaved head and a bearded man with blond hair. They were obviously a couple, holding hands and stopping to consult whenever something on the boardwalk interested them. Ahead of them, a boy about twelve years old ran down the waterfront, his dark curly hair bouncing with each step.

  Weldon glanced after the running group. They were a half block away from him by now, Ellie’s ponytail bobbing gently, a beacon worth following. He hesitated. He had wanted to see Miriam again. And there she was, right in front of him, a coincidence he couldn’t pass up. He turned and walked toward Miriam’s family.

  * * *

  Mir watched her parents inspecting a vendor’s wares on the harbor boardwalk, feeling deeply annoyed with them. Stella had woken her up at an ungodly hour, insisting it was going to be a beautiful day and the entire family should go down to the waterfront market. Mir had allowed herself to be dragged along, bouncing sleepily in the backseat of Henry’s truck, while Nate talked endlessly about the cartoons he’d watched the past week at his best friend Eli’s house.

  At the waterfront, Mir watched her parents wander from one vendor to another, her sleepiness deepening to grumpiness. Did they have to hold hands everywhere they went? Did her dad have to make stupid jokes that made her mom roar with laughter? Did they have to be so couple-y all the time?

  Mir glowered at the back of her dad’s head. There was a photo of her parents on their wedding day, framed and hung in the hallway of their house: Henry in a goofy 1970s suit, although it was years past the seventies, Stella with her shaved head, wearing a snug red dress. When she was little, Miriam had asked: “Why red? Why not white?” Stella replied: “I look good in red.” They always had to be different.

  “Miriam, hi,” said a voice behind her.

  Mir turned, stared, and Weldon Warrick stared back.

  Oh, no, Mir thought.

  Weldon beamed at her. He was sweaty and glowing. He’d probably been running, Mir guessed, glancing at his sneakers and shorts. He looked mostly healed from the fight the previous weekend, although his eye was still puffy and purple. His hair was awfully cute, the longer top part of it flopping down into his eyes. Mir had to admit he looked pretty good.

  “Hi,” Mir said grudgingly. Curse you, Canadian genes, she seethed inwardly. I always have to be so polite.

  “Nice to see you again,” Weldon said. “Especially under be
tter circumstances. Is that your family?” He pointed at her parents’ backs and at Nate, who was waving furiously at one of the boats pushing away from the dock.

  “Yes,” said Mir.

  They stood opposite each other in silence for a good ten seconds, Mir counting the seconds down, Weldon smiling winningly at her the whole time. I bet he’s never had an awkward moment in his entire life, Mir thought, gritting her teeth.

  “I wanted to thank you,” Weldon said finally. “I didn’t get a chance to, at the store. After that stuff with those guys. What you did to break up the fight.”

  Mir shifted in place, staring at Weldon.

  Weldon stopped smiling. He looked away and scrubbed at the back of his head with his hand. The gesture seemed genuine and awkward.

  “You were like … I don’t know, you were like a superhero, going to the rescue of some idiot who didn’t deserve it.”

  “I’m not a superhero,” Mir said. “Superheroes are the worst. Have you seen what they do when they supposedly save the day? Whole cities, smashed to bits. Imagine being that one person who was working late and suddenly you get your head bashed in by falling debris because Skybound punched a robot through your office building.”

  Weldon looked startled. The hand he’d raised to the back of his head hovered uncertainly in place. Mir was surprised at the words that had come out of her mouth. She wasn’t really sure she believed what she’d just said. Up until this point, she’d thought superheroes were pretty okay.

  “Miriam, who’s your friend?” said Stella. Mir grimaced, then turned toward her parents. They were standing arm in arm, Henry holding a brightly colored paper parasol over his head, some cheap thing he’d probably bought from a harbor-front vendor. Henry collected tourist-bait tchotchkes that cluttered up their home until Stella threw them away or Nate buried them in the backyard, never to be seen again.

  Mir waved a hand at Weldon, resigned to making the introduction.

  “Mom, Dad, this is Weldon Warrick. Weldon Warrick, this is my mom and dad. I guess you can call them Henry and Stella.”

  “Hello! I’m Stella,” beamed Mir’s dad. “It’s fantastic to meet you, Weldon.”

  “My dad thinks he’s funny,” said Mir.

  “What did you say your name was?” Stella asked.

  “Weldon Warrick,” Weldon said. Mir saw he was waiting for the connection, expecting some exclamation of surprise, a confession of love for the TomorrowMen comics, excitement about the upcoming movie.

  “Oh,” said Stella, her voice very small. She looked away from Henry, who glanced down at her, uncomprehending. In a rush Henry understood, and his head snapped up. He stared at Weldon, astonished.

  “You’re—”

  “You’re David’s son,” Stella finished for him. For a moment she looked sad, then gathered herself and smiled at Weldon. Weldon looked confused.

  “You know my dad?” he asked. “Did you know him when he was a teenager? He used to live in Sandford. I think he left pretty soon after high school graduation…”

  “Your grandfather knew my father,” said Stella. “He created the TomorrowMen with my father, Micah Kendrick.”

  “What?” said Weldon. He stared at Stella, his mouth hanging open in a perfect O shape. Mir felt the tiniest spark of sympathy for him.

  “So I guess we have a bit of history,” Stella said. “We’re related through comics. Are you visiting Alex and Katherine? Is that why you’re in Sandford?”

  “No, I—” Weldon stared at her, his eyebrows beating a hasty retreat up his forehead. “I mean, yes, I’m visiting—no, wait, I’m staying with them. For the summer. Because, um, well, my dad’s busy because there’s going to be a movie—”

  “I heard about that,” said Stella. “A movie about the TomorrowMen. I think that’s wonderful.”

  Weldon stared at her, clearly at a loss for what to say. He glanced at Mir, his eyebrows still skirting the border of his hairline. Mir shrugged. She wasn’t about to help him out. Stella’s eyes darted from Weldon to Mir.

  “You two know each other? Miriam, you didn’t tell me that.”

  Mir opened her mouth to explain, but Weldon spoke first.

  “I went to that store? The one … um, I bought a painting. Um, from her. From Miriam,” Weldon said, squinting at Mir as though he was trying to remember who she was. Mir stared back at him, trying her hardest to keep her expression impassive. Weldon’s confusion was causing a bubble of nervous laughter to start working its way up from her stomach. She clenched her jaw in an effort to keep from breaking out in hysterics.

  “Oh!” said Stella, suddenly delighted. “Miriam told me about you. You’re the boy who bought my TomorrowMen painting. That makes so much more sense now. She told me you knew Skylark and Skybound’s original costumes. Of course you did; you’re a part of them.”

  “You painted the painting I bought,” Weldon said. “The TomorrowMen painting.” Each sentence was a statement, not a question, Weldon’s brain trying to process the information.

  “I did,” Stella said. “This is so funny, you buying my painting. And now we’re here, meeting for the first time. Isn’t this funny, Miriam?”

  “Hilarious,” Mir said.

  “Henry—” Stella turned toward her husband, who was watching the exchange from under the shade of his paper parasol. “I’d like to invite Weldon over for dinner sometime, feed him something good and maybe show him some more of my paintings. Does that sound okay?”

  Henry shrugged, smiling. “Okay by me.”

  “Wait, what?” Mir said, the bubble of laughter dissolving in her stomach.

  “Will you come over for dinner, Weldon?” Stella asked.

  Weldon’s gaze moved from Stella, to Henry, to Nate off in the distance, inspecting something at the edge of the boardwalk, before finally settling on Mir. Mir suspected her expression was a mask of horror, but she couldn’t summon the energy to try to hide it.

  “You’d … really like me to come to your house?”

  “I really would,” said Stella.

  “I…” Weldon rubbed the back of his head with his hand again. “Well, okay. That’s very nice of you. I’d like to see more of your paintings.”

  Mir heard them making plans, but only vaguely, like she was listening to their conversation from a great distance. She barely heard when Weldon and her parents said their goodbyes and he jogged away from them, heading back downtown. She jerked when Stella touched her shoulder.

  “Miriam?” said Stella. Mir walked away from her mom, already practicing all the things she’d say later on, when they fought about inviting Weldon Warrick to dinner.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  When they got home, Henry grabbed Nate by the hood of his jacket, muttered something about going for a walk, and half dragged him out of the house. Mir and her mother were left alone in the kitchen.

  Stella sighed.

  “Well, have at it, I guess,” she said.

  Mir sharpened the words she’d practiced saying in her head. She’d sat in stunned silence during the ride home, half listening to Nate and her dad babble about something. Hockey, maybe. Nate was newly into hockey and very patriotic about it. Stella hadn’t said anything, the female half of the family locked in silence while the male half chattered on.

  “You invited Weldon Warrick over for dinner, Mom. To our house.”

  “You’re right, I did,” Stella said, opening the fridge and pulling out several carrots and an onion. The onion was from the local farmers’ market. The carrots Stella had grown in their garden.

  “I don’t understand you,” Mir said. “After everything he’s done to us.”

  “Stop,” said Stella, turning toward Mir. She held a carrot out defiantly in front of her, like a Sunday school pointer. “I want you to stop that right now, Miriam. Weldon Warrick has done absolutely nothing to us. Joseph Warrick is an entirely different matter, but unless the boy we met on the waterfront is secretly his grandfather reincarnated, I don’t see why we shouldn’t
have him over to break bread.”

  “He’s a Warrick!” Mir howled. Her carefully practiced words flew from her mind. All she could think about was the unfairness of Stella’s reaction, inviting a thief over for dinner. “They stole from us!”

  “I said stop.” Stella feinted the carrot at Mir. “Don’t go down that road, Miriam. That road made your grandfather a stranger to me. Those damn characters, those superheroes, they meant more to him than his own family. He spent twenty years in court, fighting for each piece of the TomorrowMen, while my mother left him and his kids grew up without him.”

  Stella’s tone was tightly controlled. She continued:

  “And in the end he got his name in the credits of all the TomorrowMen comics, and his name will be in the credits of that TomorrowMen movie, but so what? It wasn’t enough for him. He wanted money for every little thing related to the TomorrowMen—”

  “That was his right,” Mir said furiously. “He created them with Joseph Warrick. The Warricks get a piece of every TomorrowMen thing that’s sold. Granddad should’ve gotten that too. Why do the Warricks get to be rich and we don’t—”

  “Because he was too proud to compromise!” Stella screamed. Mir flinched, taking a step backward.

  “What the studio offered him, his name on all the credits, a yearly stipend, it was never going to be enough for him. He wanted full ownership, full partnership, whatever. He wouldn’t even back down after he got sick. And then I was supposed to give up my life to keep fighting his fight.”

  Mir sat down at the kitchen table and put her head in her hands, digging her fingers deep into the roots of her hair. Sometimes she would pick up a comic book from a display table at the Emporium of Wonders and look for her grandfather’s name in the credits: Based on characters created by Joseph Warrick and Micah Kendrick. She would put her finger over Joseph Warrick’s name and stare at her grandfather’s name. She imagined him at a drawing desk, ink flowing from the brush he was moving across a sheet of white paper. She imagined him drawing the face of Skylark, a face with wide eyes and full lips, a face that looked so much like Stella’s. The face of an alien queen who fell in love with a superhuman man.