Page 54 of Light

Stupidly, I let the rage roll right out of me in a turbulent flood. It hits the twins as if I’ve physically charged into the elevator and stabbed lightning bolts into them. I attempt a correction, backing away and roping back my aggression, but not before the girls slide down to their backsides in the corner, each attempting to curl into the lap of the other.

Which lands me in a puddle of self-recrimination.

But beyond that…self-congratulation.

Yeah, at the same time.

Because though Papa Richards has messed up, Lux Richards is there to show the old man how this “rescuing people” thing is really supposed to go.

By rolling up all two and a half feet of his posture and then gallantly extending a hand toward one of the girls. And then the other.

By waiting there, with the patience most men—let alone boys—don’t have, as the twins openly debate his offer.

By letting them reach back out to him, finally slipping their small hands into the comforting embrace of his.

And at last, by showing me—showing us all—the real, true lesson we have to watch and learn from him here.

From all three of these incredible beings.

EMMA

“Oh…my God.” I’m aware of the words leaving my lips, but my awed whisper is wrapped in a thousand clouds inside my mind. My eyes are seeing this, but my senses aren’t understanding it. Or maybe they don’t want to. Perhaps because they already know what I’ll be forced to admit once they do.

A recognition not sitting well with the rest of me. My belly is a taut, tangled wad. My breaths are dull blades shinking in and out through the sharpening stones of my lungs. My blood thunders in my ears. But I can’t deny the facts I have to face, manifesting with such resplendence before me. Amazing me but daunting me. Moving me but paralyzing me. Brimming tears to my eyes that sting with both wonder and terror in the same heavy drops.

And then heavier, as the children wrap themselves tighter around each other. As soon as they do, each juncture of their hands becomes a conduit for their energies: Lux’s blue and gold streams begin mixing with their bright-green ones, forming sizzling arcs that swiftly blend into crackling electric rainbows. But the visual is just the start of their impact on the air. There’s a vibration they give off, happy as waves of sunshine heat on a summer beach. And then a music they play, sweet as a choir lifted in praise to the heavens. And then a pronounced leap of energy…

Like three children rejoicing in the discovery of a new friendship.

My tears roll down harder. I look up to my husband, smiling softly as his jaw juts from the pressure of holding his own shit together. He’s as moved as I am—but he’s also just as conflicted. Because he knows, just as I do, exactly what we’re beholding.

Our son has never been happier…because he’s found others like him.

Which makes this more than just a new friendship. More than just meeting “mortal” friends on the playground, exchanging contact information for playdates, and then lecturing Lux once more about the necessity of using his limits, hiding who and what he is.

In this moment, he no longer has to hide.

He’s Lux the Incredible, in every form he wants to unleash that brilliance. He’s Lux the Miracle, full of power. He’s Lux the Extraordinary, full of light. But best of all, he’s no longer Lux the Only. Or Lux the Lonely.

A celebration for him—but the world’s worst dilemma for his Dada and Mama. I see that realization across Reece’s tense face, as well. This isn’t a we-can-face-that-tomorrow kind of thing, either. This is the part where we summon all the mettle behind our superhero designations. The part where we prove, in the crucibles of our hearts and souls, why and how we can rise above the rest.

By confronting the slew of obvious questions because of all this. The questions that already turn our stomachs, despite the beautiful package in which they’ve been wrapped. The questions that make us think of ripping out our fingernails as a delightful alternative.

Who are these girls?

Where did they come from?

Why are they exactly like Lux?

And the shittiest queries of them all:

Who the hell sent them here? And why?

In the moment Reece and I join our stares, our eyes bleak, before we can start conjectures about those answers, there are a couple of new figures in our periphery. We tick our heads in tandem to see the small crowd of first responders has grown by two figures, their faces full of as much gawk factor as ours.

“Desolée,” the first of them rasps, wisps of her white-blond wig tumbling into her face. “Lydia was ready to tie Lux down with the party centerpiece strings, but I insisted he be allowed to come over.”

Sawyer nods in concurrence to Angelique’s story. “And I insisted on being his chaperon,” he explains between harsh, exhausted huffs. “But we might have to change that kid’s name to X-15. Or Sonic.”