Local Hero

Hester eased the wrinkled comic book from his fist. Poor, heroic Zark and his misguided wife, Leilah. Yes, Hester knew all about Perth’s politics and tribulations. Trying to wean Radley from Zark to Dickens or Twain wasn’t easy, but neither was raising a child on your own.
    “There’s time enough,” she murmured as she stretched out beside her son. Time enough for real books and for real life. “Oh, Rad, I hope I’ve done the right thing.” She closed her eyes, wishing, as she’d learned to wish rarely, that she had someone to talk to, someone who could advise her or make decisions, right or wrong.
    Then, with her arm hooked around her son’s waist, she, too, slept.
    ***
    The room was dim with dusk when she awoke, groggy and disoriented. The first thing Hester realized was that Radley was no longer curled beside her. Grogginess disappeared in a quick flash of panic she knew was foolish. Radley could be trusted not to leave the apartment without permission. He wasn’t a blindly obedient child, but her top ten rules were respected. Rising, she went to find him.
    “Hi, Mom.” He was in the kitchen, where her homing instinct had taken her first. He held a dripping peanut butter and jelly sandwich in his hands.
    “I thought you wanted pizza,” she said, noting the good-sized glop of jelly on the counter and the yet-to-be-resealed loaf of bread.
    “I do.” He took a healthy bite, then grinned. “But I needed something now.”
    “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Rad,” she said automatically, even as she bent to kiss him. “You could have woken me if you were hungry.”
    “That’s okay, but I couldn’t find the glasses.”
    She glanced around, seeing that he’d emptied two boxes in his quest. Hester reminded herself that she should have made the kitchen arrangements her first priority. “Well, we can take care of that.”
    “It was snowing when I woke up.”
    “Was it?” Hester pushed the hair out of her eyes and straightened to see for herself. “Still is.”
    “Maybe it’ll snow ten feet, and there won’t be any school on Monday.” Radley climbed onto a stool to sit at the kitchen counter.
    Along with no first day on the new job, Hester thought, indulging in some wishful thinking of her own for a moment. No new pressures, new responsibilities. “I don’t think there’s much chance of that.” As she washed out glasses, she looked over her shoulder. “Are you really worried about it, Rad?”
    “Sort of.” He shrugged his shoulders. Monday was still a day away. A lot could happen. Earthquakes, blizzards, an attack from outer space. He concentrated on the last.
    He, Captain Radley Wallace of Earth’s Special Forces, would protect and shield, would fight to the death, would—
    “I could go in with you if you’d like.”
    “Aw, Mom, the kids would make fun of me.” He bit into his sandwich. Grape jelly oozed out the sides. “It won’t be so bad. At least that dumb Angela Wiseberry won’t be at this school.”
    She didn’t have the heart to tell him there was a dumb Angela Wiseberry at every school. “Tell you what. We’ll both go to our new jobs Monday, then convene back here at 1600 for a full report.”
    His face brightened instantly. There was nothing Radley liked better than a military operation. “Aye, aye, sir.”
    “Good. Now I’ll order the pizza, and while we’re waiting, we’ll put the rest of the dishes away.”
    “Let the prisoners do it.”
    “Escaped. All of them.”
    “Heads will roll,” Radley mumbled as he stuffed the last of the sandwich into his mouth.
    ***
    Mitchell Dempsey II sat at his drawing board without an idea in his head. He sipped cold coffee, hoping it would stimulate his imagination, but his mind remained as blank as the paper in front of him. Blocks happened, he knew, but they rarely happened to him. And not on deadline. Of course, he was going about it backward. Mitch cracked another peanut, then tossed the shell in the direction of the bowl. It hit the side and fell on the floor to join several others. Normally the story line would have come first, then the illustrations. Since he’d been having no luck that way, Mitch had switched in the hope that the change in routine would jog something loose.
    It wasn’t working, and neither was he.
    Closing his eyes, Mitch tried for an out-of-body experience. The old Slim Whitman song on the radio cruised on, but he didn’t hear it. He was traveling light-years away; a century was