Title: Superheroes and Friends
"Clayton, dear," my mother calls up the stairs. "I can have someone bring those things down."
"That's all right, Mother," I yell. "I think I can find it."
"All right, dear. When you're done, I'll have the cook make us a nice lunch."
I smile. My mother's version of fussing over me—asking someone else to cook for me or dig through the attic for my fishing gear. But still, it gives me a warm feeling.
I told Rabb I'd go fishing with him, and so he called yesterday. Now I have to find my pole and tackle box in time to go to the lake with him Saturday. I haven't been fishing since my dad was alive. But I'm not going to tell Rabb that.
I nudge a box out of the way with my foot. For all my mother's culture and sophistication, she has no semblance of a filing system.
"Hmmm…" I mumble, leaning over to pick up of a box of pictures.
Sitting down on the floor with a thud, I start rifling through the old photos. Pictures of my dad, my mom, and various other people. Most of these were taken before I was born.
I bite my bottom lip. A few weeks ago, my dad's remains were found in an unmarked grave in Russia. He disappeared while I was in college. I never knew what happened to him.
Rabb's been bugging me go gallivanting off to Russia to find out. But that information has probably been buried as long as my dad.
The only thing I've ever been able to find out about my dad's last days was from an old family friend, Tim Fawkes. Tim told me that my dad wasn't on Agency business when he was killed. In fact, back in the day, there were rumors that my dad had gone rogue. Tim put a stop to those rumors pretty quick.
Still, he had to have been there for a reason. He was killed during the heyday of the Cold War. At that time, one didn't just run off to Russia to sightsee.
Shaking my head, I return to the box of old photographs. What I see almost makes me lose my breath.
At first glance, it looks like a picture of my dad standing next to Harm. But unless Rabb's added time travel to his repertoire of superpowers, I'm looking at my dad and Harmon Rabb, Sr.
I stare at the photograph, stunned. They look pretty chummy. Flipping the picture over, I narrow my eyes at the faded print. It says, "Harry's bachelor party." I raise my eyebrows. I've known Rabb for almost a decade, and I don't know if we've ever had our picture taken together.
"Clayton, dear," my mother calls. "Are you all right, honey?"
My breath hitches, and I swallow hard. "Yes, Mother."
"Lunch is ready, dear."
Licking my lips, I stand up and shove the picture into my shirt pocket. I don't know what this means, but now I think I may have to revise my personal history. And my present. If Rabb's dad knew my dad…I shake my head violently. I'll have to handle this later.