“No, silly,” Madison says. “Show & Tell!”
“What?”
“We can bring a favorite thing so we can show each other,” she says, explaining Show & Tell to me, like she thinks I’m just not getting it. “But nothing too expensive, ‘cuz it could get stole, but I didn’t pay nothing for you.”
“You brought me for Show & Tell?” I ask incredulously. “I thought you brought Breezeo.”
The moment I say that, it clicks.
I’m the Breezeo she brought today.
“Duh,” Madison says. “Mrs. Appleton, can I do my Show & Tell now? ‘Cuz I can’t keep him in my backpack ‘till lunch.”
The teacher doesn’t seem to have any idea of what to say, so she just waves at Madison, giving her permission. Madison pulls me to the front of the classroom as the bell rings.
“This is my daddy, but he’s not just my daddy. He’s also Breezeo. The real Breezeo!”
There are a few ohhs and ahhs, but a little boy in the back scoffs. “He doesn’t look like Breezeo.”
“Well, he is,” Madison says before looking at me. “Right, Daddy?”
Talk about awkward. “Right.”
The teacher clears her throat. “Questions come afterward, guys. Not during the presentation.”
I look at the woman with disbelief. “Questions?”
She nods, mildly amused.
“First, I got my daddy… I dunno when,” Madison says, brow furrowing as she thinks about that. Guess I don’t fit into the format. “When I was a baby, I think, but I didn’t know ‘till I was five. And, uh, I think my mommy gave him to me.”
The teacher is trying very hard not to laugh.
“Second, he was made by his mommy and daddy, but I don’t know them,” Madison says. “And third, he’s one of my favorite things ‘cuz he’s my daddy. And ‘cuz he’s Breezeo. So thank you for listening and raise your hands if you have questions.”
Way too many hands shoot up, including the teacher’s aide lurking in the back of the classroom. Madison grins, bubbling with excitement from being the center of attention.
“Can I get a chair?” I ask. “I have a feeling I’m going to be here for a while.”
After my ass is planted in a seat, the questions start. Is Breezeo really real? Can he go invisible? When did he become Breezeo? How come he doesn’t look like him? Madison answers them the best she can, but I chime in occasionally to clarify that I’m, in fact, not actually a superhero.
“But are superheroes real?” a little boy asks.
Madison looks at me expectantly, yielding to my expertise on that one, but I’ve got nothing. I’m not killing the imagination of a room full of kindergarteners with that reality. The paparazzi coming after me are bad enough. Moms with torches? Hell no.
“Heroes are certainly real,” the teacher’s aide says. “Mr. Cunning actually saved a young woman from being hit by a car recently.”
There goes the ohhs and ahhs, a ‘whoa’ or two tossed in for good measure.
“Wasn’t that big of a deal,” I say, looking at my wrist. “I just happened to be standing there when it happened.”
Mrs. Appleton chimes in. “I hate to cut this short, but we need to get started on today’s lesson.”
I seem to be the only one not disappointed by that. The teacher thanks me and Maddie hugs me and I’m out the door and heading down the hallway before the teacher’s aide can cry this morning.
Stepping outside, I see the damn guy still lurking that followed us here. Lowering my head, I walk past him as he asks, “Johnny, what does your wife think about this whole thing?”
“I have no wife.”
“You don’t?”
“Nope.”
I walk away, but he doesn’t follow.
Guess his job isn’t as fun without an audience, either.
The police car is no longer in front of the apartment when I get there, but a black sedan is. Cliff stands beside it, leaning back against it, busy on his Blackberry.
He doesn’t even look up when I approach.
“Did you forget about your appointment today,” he asks, “or did you decide you don’t care?”
“Appointment?”
“For your wrist,” he says. “You do at least remember it’s broken, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Good,” he says. “I was wondering—what, with you running around, punching people. Figured you forgot it was supposed to be healing so you could get back to work.”
He’s in one hell of a mood. He’s even typing aggressively, his fingers slamming against the screen with so much force it wouldn’t surprise me if it cracked.
“I called your doctor and told them you’d be late,” he says. “Which is something your assistant should be doing.”
“Haven't bothered getting another one of those.”
“I'm aware,” he says. “That’s why I’ve been stuck doing it.”
“Nobody said you had to do it,” I point out. “My personal life is my own problem.”
“And I’ve told you many times, Johnny, there’s no separating the two. You getting back to work hinges upon medical clearance, and if you can’t be bothered to keep a damn doctor’s appointment, well, the entire fucking movie is screwed.”
I stare at him. In all the years I’ve know this man, I’ve never heard him say ‘damn’ before now, much less that ‘fucking’ he threw in afterward.
“Look, it slipped my mind,” I say. “I walked my daughter to school. Wasn’t trying to piss you off.”
“It’s fine,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s not that big of a deal. I was frustrated before I got here.”
“What’s got you so upset?”
“Your girlfriend.”
“What?”
“Or your ex-girlfriend, I should say.” He puts the Blackberry away before looking at me. “Serena, not Miss Garfield. If she’s an ex—I’m still out of the loop as to what’s going on.”
“We’re, uh… I don’t know. But what did Serena do?”
“She overdosed.”
My stomach feels like it drops to my toes when he says that word. Overdosed. “Is she okay?”
“She’ll be fine,” he says. “You know how she gets. Her assistant found her, called me… I handled it.”
I know there has to be more to it, there always is, but Cliff isn’t going to tell me.
“We should be going,” he says, “before we have to delay your appointment again.”
I climb in the passenger seat.
Cliff drives in silence.
“I’m surprised you didn’t call me,” I say, “remind me you were coming.”
“I tried,” he says. “Your phone is off.”
Brow furrowing, I reach in my pocket and pull out my phone, pressing a button. Nothing. When I try to turn it on, the battery symbol flashes on the screen. Dead. With all the bullshit that went on last night, between the confidentiality agreement and me walking out, calling Jack and taking my ass to a meeting before going home and talking to Kennedy, I didn't even think about my battery. “You don’t happen to have an iPhone charger, do you?”
He cuts his eyes at me.
Blackberry, remember?
“Should’ve charged it last night,” he says.
“Should’ve,” I agree. “Forgot.”
“Been forgetting a lot lately.”
“Must’ve been all those drugs I did.”
He doesn’t think that’s funny.
He shoots me an annoyed look.
When we reach the medical building, Cliff valets the car, and we’re ushered inside the building just like last time, bypassing the waiting rooms as we head up to orthopedics.
The doctor is waiting for me in his office.
“Johnny Cunning,” he says, grinning, as he stands up and offers me his hand—again, like last time. “Good to see you.”