Comics Will Break Your Heart

by Faith Erin Hicks

  Mir dialed the Warricks’ number. It rang three times.

  “Hello?” said an older male voice.

  “Is Weldon there?” Mir said. There was a pause at the other end of the line.

  “Yes, he is. Just a minute.”

  There was the sound of the phone being placed on a hard surface, and whoever Mir was speaking to shouted toward the bowels of their house. “Weldon! You have a phone call.” Then there was a second long pause, followed by the sound of footsteps, and Mir heard Weldon say, “A call on the landline? Weird.”

  “Hello?”

  “Hi,” said Mir. “It’s Miriam.”

  “Hi,” said Weldon. Mir heard his voice suddenly glow with warmth. She put her back to the kitchen wall and slid down so she was sitting on the floor, cradling the old-fashioned receiver to her ear. Mir pressed her phone-free hand to her other ear and tried to ignore the silence of the house.

  “Hope I’m not bothering you,” Mir said.

  “It’s kinda funny you called,” Weldon said. “I thought maybe you were pissed at me again.”

  “Why?” said Mir, surprised. She tried to think back over their last conversation. She’d been babbling about Toronto and complaining that her parents didn’t have good internet, which was making her job search hard. She thought that conversation had gone kind of well. She couldn’t remember anything that would make him think that she was angry with him.

  “I dunno,” said Weldon, “you seemed kind of upset or something when I left. I thought maybe I’d offended you by not staying for dinner. I was really gross from my jog, so—”

  “Oh, no,” said Mir, remembering suddenly. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that. I just—I was just thinking about how I had to tell my friends how I was planning to leave Sandford, and how terrible that was going to be. Sorry. It wasn’t anything you did.”

  Weldon laughed. “Nah, I’m the one who’s sorry. Stupid of me to assume you were mad at me. Guess I just always think someone is.”

  “Did you do something bad again?” Mir said, her tone light.

  Weldon laughed again. Mir closed her eyes and hugged her knees, listening to the sound of him.

  “Nope. I’m being good,” he said. He paused, as though waiting for her to say something in response. Mir continued to hug her knees, saying nothing.

  “Did you call for any particular reason?” Weldon said finally. Mir hesitated, suddenly nervous. Weldon hadn’t grown up in Sandford, where almost every person you passed on the street was familiar. Mir knew whatever she chose to tell him wouldn’t get back to Jamie or Raleigh, because Weldon didn’t have a small-town connection to them. Compared to her Sandford friends, Weldon was a stranger, and in a way that made him feel safer to talk to.

  “I had a terrible day,” Mir said. “I wanted to talk to someone. There’s no one home at my house right now.”

  “Why was your day terrible?”

  Mir remembered Jamie’s eyes going black with anger. She felt Raleigh quiver beside her, heard her friend whispering “Stop it, stop” as though that would make everything go away. She saw the sunlight glance off Raleigh’s metal barrettes as she turned away, her hand entangled in Jamie’s.

  “I told my best friend I was planning to leave Sandford to go to university. Her boyfriend said I thought I was better than everyone else.” Mir heard her voice climb a few octaves as she finished talking. I will not cry, she told herself. I have cried once already this month and that is quite enough.

  “Jeez,” Weldon said softly. “That’s … uh, kind of a rude thing to say about someone.”

  “He wants to leave too,” Mir said. “He’s smart, really smart. He even won some of the school essay awards. He beat out my essays a couple times. But I guess his parents can’t afford to send him to university.”

  “So he’s being a jerk to you because you’re getting to do what he wants to do,” said Weldon.

  Mir shrugged into the phone.

  “I guess.”

  “That’s a jerk thing to do.”

  “He’s my best friend’s boyfriend,” Mir said. “She’s probably going to marry him someday, so if I want to stay friends with her, I have to deal with him. I keep wishing she picked someone less ambitious, I guess. If he didn’t want to leave Sandford, maybe we wouldn’t be fighting like this.”

  On the other end of the line, Weldon waited. Mir could almost see his head bent forward over his aunt and uncle’s old phone. She could almost see the way the front of his hair hung down over his forehead, like he was trying to hide behind it. She wished he were here next to her, so she could reach out to push his hair back and see his face.

  “My dad doesn’t want me to leave Sandford either,” Mir said.

  “Why not?”

  “Everyone in this town leaves. Everyone young. My dad’s brothers left years ago, after they graduated high school. I’ve met them, like, twice in my entire life. So I’m doing what everyone else does, and my dad doesn’t want me to.”

  “You have to do what’s right for you,” Weldon said.

  Mir nodded into the phone. Her back was getting sore where she was pressing it against the wall, but the wall was so comfortingly solid she didn’t want to move away.

  “Yeah,” she said, “but I feel like crap for doing it.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Weldon.

  Mir chuckled.

  “Don’t apologize, you sound all Canadian,” she said.

  “I’m half Canadian,” Weldon said. “I’ve never lived here, but my dad’s Canadian and I get citizenship through him. So I’m allowed to be a little apologetic. It’s in my blood.”

  “You have the curse,” Mir said.

  “Guess so.”

  Mir heard the sound of crunching gravel under tires. A door slammed and running feet thumped toward the house. Nate and her dad were home.

  “I gotta go,” she said. “My dad and brother are home.”

  “So you don’t need me anymore,” said Weldon, but his tone was teasing.

  Mir hesitated.

  “Hey, you want to come with me to a golf course tomorrow?”

  “You’re going golfing?” Weldon said.

  “No,” said Mir, “I’m applying for a job. I’m going down first thing to drop off a résumé. Evan told me a new golf course is hiring turf workers, but I need to apply soon. Want to come?”

  “Yeah,” said Weldon. “I’ll be your reference. I’ll tell them that you can defeat great armies with only a garden hose.”

  There was a loud clatter at the door as Nate came in, his curly hair flying. Mir looked up at him and smiled. Nate looked at her quizzically as he thumped toward his bedroom, probably wondering why she was sitting on the floor.

  “Don’t tell them that,” Mir said. “Those are definitely not job skills required for working at a golf course.”

  “Too bad,” said Weldon. “I mean, most employers would consider it a bonus if they knew they were hiring a superhero.”

  “If I get this job, it will take a superheroic effort for me to get up every morning at six a.m.,” said Mir.

  There was further thumping at the door as Henry came into the house. He grinned at Mir and stepped around her with exaggerated care. Mir watched him, trying to be annoyed but mostly feeling sad. Since she’d told him about her plans to leave Sandford, he had refused to discuss the issue, retreating into comedy whenever she tried to talk to him.

  “Where do you want to meet?” Weldon said.

  “At the bridge, your side of it. The golf course is down there, with the rich folk.”

  “Of course it is,” said Weldon, deadpan.

  “Nine a.m. tomorrow, okay?” Mir said.

  “Okay,” said Weldon.

  They said goodbye and hung up. Mir continued sitting on the kitchen floor, listening to the sounds of her dad and brother moving around the house. We’re just meeting up, she thought firmly to herself. It’s not a date or anything, we’re just … going to see a golf course about a job. But somethi
ng in the air around Mir felt different, the atmosphere charged with a strange but not unpleasant tension. She hugged her knees to her chest, closing her eyes. We’re just meeting up, Mir told herself again, trying and failing to keep a smile from her face.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Weldon set the cordless phone down on its cradle with a soft click. He stood in his aunt and uncle’s kitchen, staring out the window above the sink. Their backyard was as pristine as their front yard, the shrubs at the edge of the property line impeccably sculpted. Weldon’s uncle had a small toolshed at the far right of the backyard, painted the same color as their house. Everything matched. Everything was just so.

  Weldon put his hands on the counter in front of him and leaned forward. What had Miriam said? I had a terrible day. I wanted to talk to someone. So she had called him. She had reached out to him. They hadn’t been brought together by the small-town coincidences of Sandford, or Mir’s mother trying to heal some ancient family wound. She had sought him out, of all the people she knew. She didn’t even have his phone number, and still she’d called. It might not mean anything, Weldon lectured himself, but still he felt triumphant. She had called him.

  He turned away from the window and walked up the stairs to his temporary bedroom, nearly bumping into his aunt, who was heading downstairs.

  “Who was that on the phone?” Aunt Kay said.

  “Someone from the running club,” Weldon said, the lie as smooth as silk. “Just letting me know about an upcoming meet. I forgot to give them my cell phone number, so they called you.”

  “Ah,” said his aunt, smiling. She glided past him, disappearing into the kitchen. Weldon resumed climbing the stairs. In his bedroom, he flopped on the bed, reaching for his phone and navigating to “contacts.” He stared at it, then finally hit the “call” button.

  “Hello?” Weldon’s mother said.

  “Hi, it’s—it’s Weldon,” Weldon said. He always identified himself by name when he called his mother. There was a tiny part of him that was afraid she’d respond “Who?” if he said “It’s me.”

  “Hi, kiddo,” Emma said. “You calling for any particular reason?” She sounded a little tired, but not stressed or hostile. Weldon realized he’d been holding his breath and let it out slowly.

  “Maybe,” he said. “Well, yeah. Comic-Con’s in about a month, and Dad said I could go with him.”

  “Did he?” said Emma.

  Weldon paused, feeling his way forward, like he was creeping across thin ice.

  “He said it was okay if I came down for the TomorrowMen trailer premiere. I hope—I hope I can see you when I’m in San Diego?”

  There was a pause on the other end of the phone. Weldon waited, not sure what it meant. The ice underneath him shivered, cracks spider-webbing outward.

  “I’m not going to be at the con, kiddo,” Emma said. “But you can come see me at home, if you want.”

  “Of course,” he said. Of course she wouldn’t be there. Of course she wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the TomorrowMen movie, produced by her ex-husband. Weldon closed his eyes and remembered his parents years ago, still together but just beginning to fight like the end was coming. They were walking down some street in Burbank, the three of them, his parents arm in arm, him trailing behind them. He couldn’t remember the street. He couldn’t remember why they were walking. No one walked in LA. His father had looked up and seen a billboard for some superhero movie. Which movie Weldon couldn’t recall, but he remembered David Warrick looking up at the billboard and saying, “We’re so close. Any minute now we’ll get the TomorrowMen movie made. It’ll be bigger than X-Men, it’ll be bigger than any of the Marvel movies.” Emma Sanders had laughed. “It’d better be soon. I’ll be too old to play Skylark in a few years.”

  “I won’t be at the con the whole time,” Weldon said now. “I’ll come visit you. Maybe Saturday? The con’s always a mess on Saturday. I hate how crowded it gets.”

  “All the fake nerds, clogging up the con,” said Emma, but her voice was teasing. “I know, I’m mean.”

  “You totally are,” said Weldon. He paused, not sure how to continue. At the other end of the phone, Emma waited, listening.

  “Hey,” he said finally. “Can I ask you about something?”

  “I’m your problem-solving lady, kid. Lay it on me.”

  “It’s not really a problem…” Weldon hesitated, then plunged forward. “I kind of met someone? Here in Sandford.”

  “Really!” said Emma.

  Weldon warmed at the sound of interest in her voice.

  “But things are kind of … I don’t know, complicated.”

  Emma chuckled. “You’ve got the beginnings of a great romantic comedy there. Why are things complicated between you and this girl?”

  “Because her name is Miriam Kendrick.”

  “Kendrick, why does that sound familiar?” Emma said. There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the phone. “Weldon, did you get mixed up with someone from Micah Kendrick’s family? I thought David sent you to Sandford to keep you out of trouble.”

  “I’m not in trouble,” Weldon said. “I’ve just hung out with her a few times. Her family had me over for dinner. They’re—they’re really interesting.”

  “Jesus, small towns,” sighed Emma. “I don’t think I could stand it, always running into people whose dirty secrets you know. I think I’d suffocate.” She paused. “Well, tell me about this girl, kiddo.”

  She saved my life with a garden hose. She wears terrible sweaters that swallow her whole body. She hated me at first, but then she apologized for being mean. And she just now called me to talk about her terrible day. She has a face like the face Micah Kendrick drew on Skylark forty years ago. She’s the coolest girl I’ve ever met.

  “I don’t know, I just like her,” he said, fumbling for words. “I like being around her. I like having conversations with her. She’s very—she’s very honest.”

  “Weldon,” said Emma, “please don’t tell me you have a thing for this girl because she doesn’t like you.”

  “What? No,” said Weldon, a little offended.

  “You’re very good with people. You’re very good at making someone feel like the universe revolves around them. I’ve seen you do it. And I’ve seen you lose interest in people because they like you back, and you think that makes them too easy.”

  Weldon put his hand to his head, digging his fingers into his hair. He tried to explain.

  “Her parents invited me over for dinner. They live in this run-down house that looks like it was painted by a kid. She has a younger brother named Nate. They have a garden next to their house where they grow vegetables.” Weldon ticked all the facts he knew about Miriam off in his mind: where she lived, what her home was like. He’d peeked into her life and seen something messy and wonderful. He’d eaten at her family’s dinner table. They seemed whole and perfect. Nothing like his family, smashed to pieces.

  “Sandford salt of the earth, huh?” said Emma. Her tone bit a little.

  “They seem so normal,” Weldon said.

  “In relation to us.”

  “Yeah.”

  He heard his mother moving around in her kitchen in San Diego. A thumping noise, probably her opening the sliding glass door at the back of the room. Maybe she was standing and staring out over the patio. The Kendricks’ garden was three times the size of his mother’s small, paving-stone-filled yard. Hardy, bristling desert plants lined Emma’s tiny patio, a defiant attempt to bring green to an inhospitable environment. Emma was good at tending the little desert plants, but they’d never match Stella’s lush tomato vines.

  “They’re probably as messed up as we are, kiddo. Just better at hiding it.”

  Weldon bowed his head, pulling the phone from his ear. The ice was breaking around him, but he didn’t care.

  “I like them, Mom. I like her.”

  “And what’s this thing going to be? Some summer fling? Be careful with this girl. The Warricks have d
one enough to the Kendricks.”

  “I wouldn’t—” he started, indignant, then stopped.

  “I don’t want to hurt her,” he finished.

  “Good,” said his mother. “I’m glad to hear the Kendricks seem like they’re doing all right. I always felt a little uneasy about how Micah Kendrick was treated by Warrick Comics. Twenty years ago all I wanted was a TomorrowMen movie, and the legal case over the character rights was preventing that from happening. Now, I don’t know … I guess I feel more sympathetic toward the man.”

  “I heard Micah Kendrick sold the rights to the TomorrowMen for nine hundred dollars when he was in his twenties,” Weldon said. “But then Aunt Kay said that wasn’t the whole story, and he made a lot of money drawing the comics. So which is it?”

  “Both,” said Emma. “He did sell the rights to the TomorrowMen to Warrick Comics, and for years everything was fine. Joseph Warrick wrote the TomorrowMen and handled the business end of things, and Micah Kendrick drew the comics. All he wanted to do was draw. But then the comics started selling like crazy, and Joseph Warrick wanted to capitalize. He’d struck it rich with the TomorrowMen; why not try to milk it for all it was worth? So then came the spin-off shows and merchandise. And because Micah Kendrick had signed away his rights to his part of the TomorrowMen empire, he wasn’t included in any of these new ventures.”

  “Jeez,” Weldon breathed, feeling sick.

  “Your father and I first tried to get the TomorrowMen movie going back in … oh, much too long ago. The movie was so close to going into production…”

  “I’m not sure I remember that,” Weldon said.

  “You weren’t born yet,” Emma said. “But it doesn’t matter. Micah Kendrick swooped in with one last lawsuit and that was the end of Emma Sanders as Skylark. He fought that final legal battle like his life depended on it. Spent years crawling through the court system, and your father was right there with him, determined to come out on top.”