Sudden Superhero

20. Above All Else, It's a Responsibility

I ROSE FROM my crouch slowly, my jacket hanging from my hands. Since the beginning of all of this, this was the moment I'd been dreading most—not getting hurt, not getting killed, but being confronted by Mom about everything that I'd been hiding from her. She was standing there, leaning against my door frame with her hands crossed over her chest, head tilted to the side, and if I didn't lie to her, my secret wouldn't be a secret anymore.

"I thought you were at the bakery," I said, doing my best to keep direct eye contact even though I wanted to stare at the floor.

"I decided to come home instead," she replied simply.

"Did you stitch this?" I asked.

She nodded.

I could see that something was bothering her, but I was still holding onto a tiny bit of hope that she wouldn't believe this jacket was the real thing, that she wasn't up-to-date on Red Soldier and would never, ever think that he was me. "Mom," I said carefully, "this is just—"

"I know what it is, Peter," she said quietly. Her lips pressed together as her eyes narrowed into watery squints.

The truth hit me like a truck.

My heart raced as I remembered how easily she'd let me off the hook for ditching school, how hard she had cried when confronting me about my social issues, how hurt and upset she'd looked when she had applied makeup to my bruise. And the way she was looking at me now...I knew. I just knew.

With a voice that was just barely louder than a whisper, I asked, "How long have you known?"

She sniffed, her eyes downcast. "I've known even before your first public appearance," she said. "Agent Kavanagh had told me everything." She paused. "He knew you wouldn't tell me, but he wanted me to know."

Needless to say, I was stunned. All this time I thought I was keeping my secret from her, but she'd known all along. All this time, Kavanagh had known that she knew. I wanted to be mad at him, but I wasn't. I couldn't be. He'd done it for me, for Mom.

And Mom? She'd kept her mouth shut. For me.

She sniffed again. "I'm a terrible mother."

I shook my head, still reeling from the truth. "No. Don't say that."

But it was too late; tears were already streaming down her face, and she took off her glasses to wipe at her eyes, refusing to look at me directly. "I was scared every time I saw you on the news," she said, her words choppy and slow as she tried to get herself under control. "Every time you came home, I wanted to ask if you were okay. But I never did. Everytime you got hurt, I pretended that I didn't notice. What kind of mother does that?"

I opened my mouth, but she put up a hand and silenced me before I could talk. She looked at me directly, daring me to interrupt, and when she was certain that I would remain silent, she put her hand down and sniffed.

"I..." She faltered for words, shaking her head. "I didn't know what to do." Her face crumpled again. "I knew you wanted to do this. Because you're a good kid and you do everything for everyone and I wanted you to do what you felt was right. And you never wanted to tell me, I know that, so I played along and pretended I didn't know."

She finally stopped, and I walked over to her and placed my hands on her shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze. Here she was, the most amazing woman in the world, the single mom who ran a bakery and raised a kid on her own and let him go out and do what was right, even though it hurt her to see him in danger.

People called Red Soldier heroic, kind, and good-hearted. I was now certain that I'd gotten these traits from her.

There was so much I wanted to say to her, so much I wanted to thank her for, but I didn't have time. "You're not a terrible mother," I said. "You're the best mom in the world and I love you." I kissed her forehead. "And I have to go."