Page 126 of Made for You

Going thru Andy’s office—found this.

Thought you’d want to have it.

XOXO EDEN

PS no worries, I’ve done a lot of thinking and you can keep it all

Under Eden’s note, the stack of papers is revealed to be a hand-drawn comic book, old by the brittle feel of the paper. I distractedly rub Captain’s head as I make for the living room couch, where I tuck my feet under myself and fling the FedEx packaging to the side.

The makeshift comic book is stapled together. The pencil lines faded but still visible. A breeze from the open window flutters the title page, which proclaims THE RED REVENGER! in childish, painstakingly made 3D letters.

I turn the title page over. The first panel shows a girl with red hair crying on a school playground. A bunch of bullies have cornered her, and an older dark-haired boy watches from behind a tree. The bullies shout, Stupid Laura! You suck and we’re going to kick your butt!

In the next panel, the boy is getting out a tool kit with a sly smile. The bullies are getting out of control, but Handy Andy has an idea! A wonderful, terrible idea!

He builds a robot-woman with long, flowing red hair. She wears a breastplate. Andy fits her with a superhero cape and says with a stern expression, Awake, Red Revenger! My sister is in trouble!

The Red Revenger flies to the playground and makes mincemeat of the bullies with plentiful BAMs, CRACKs and even a KAZOOM, her red hair flying, as Andy and Laura watch, their mouths shaped like happy O’s.

Andy and Laura cheer and hug at the end. Then, with the kids riding on her back, the Red Revenger shoots into the clouds, one powerful fist extended. The children say together, With the Red Revenger by our side, no one will hurt us again!

THE END is written in the same 3D script.

I hold the little book for what feels like a long time, absently stroking my hair, thinking thoughts and feeling feelings that run so deep, I can’t give them names.

Finally, I set the comic book on the couch cushion beside me. Half of me wants to keep it somewhere safe, the other half wants to burn it. But like my choice about the dampers, I don’t have to decide now.

Then, since it sounds like Annaleigh is awake, I head upstairs and retrieve her from her crib. We snuggle in the rocker. I pat her back and rub circles into her soft baby flesh as she drools on my shoulder. And finally, breaking over me like a sunrise, I understand Eden’s PS, which isn’t about the comic, is it?

You can keep it all.

Not that I needed her permission. But I smile anyway.

FOUR MONTHS LATER

“My hopes are that this place becomes a refuge for all women in need,” I say, nice and loud so that the hundred or so people gathered in the miserable fall drizzle can all hear me. Behind us is a giant yellow excavator.

We’re about to break ground on Eauverte’s first women’s shelter, which I’ve christened Deborah House, since it’s my money behind the project. I sent an invitation to Deborah herself, but I guess it was too much to hope that she’d actually come.

“A place of safety where we can support each other during the tough times we all walk through—the times when we need a little grace, a little extra help—a little mercy,” I finish as a few umbrellas pop out among the crowd.

Multiple cameras are pointed at me, but I know better than to look directly at them. One is from the local news channel. The other two are on the shoulders of Dan and Joel, the Making Julia cameramen I’ve gotten to know so well over the past months. Ally herself has turned up for this event in her trademark outfit—a black dress with red sneakers. I feel a little guilty about pulling her from the perfect weather of her San Diego home base, but...that’s Indiana for you. The place that I’ve chosen, even though it didn’t choose me.

I lift the giant pair of scissors and smile at each of my companions: Eauverte Village Board Trustee Sherri Willis, and our biggest local authority, Sheriff Mitchell. His look is stony. Unreadable. But at my signal, the three of us lever the scissors open together and cut the blue ribbon. Then, as everyone claps, the excavator operator behind us lowers the bucket and scoops up the first pile of dirt.

Sherri takes away the giant scissors, and I clap along with everyone else, letting my eyes travel over the crowd. I know that not everyone here sees me as a full person—yet. But, as I remind myself daily, that doesn’t mean it’s over. Opinions shift and people change, and eventually, my turn will come. Until then, I’ll hang onto hope and do what I can and always, always stay true to myself. And with the money from Making Julia, this is all possible.

“Thank you for coming! Have a great day, everyone, and try to stay dry!” I say. The late-fall drizzle is turning into a more legitimate rain situation, and there’s no need to force everyone to linger.

I walk straight to Cam, who’s in a pink trench, holding a restless Annaleigh on her hip. Now that Annaleigh has taken her first steps, she’s impossible to keep still. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought her, but at the time of the decision, it seemed important. She stretches out her arms to me and her lower lip trembles, like she’s just been waiting for me to arrive so she can finally melt down. Her rubber-ducky themed raincoat is bunched up around her tubby chest, and the hood with the cute duck eyes and bill, now twisted around her neck, seems more intent on strangling her than keeping her dry.

“You need a nap,” I say, laughing as her arms close around my neck and she lays her heavy head on my shoulder, releasing a pathetically long sigh.

“I can’t believe you want to keep living in this place,” jokes Cam as we pick our way back to my car, stepping over a few wet piles of horse poop. “Is that from a horse? Disgusting.”

“Hoz!” says Annaleigh, her head popping up. Cam and I laugh.

“Hey, I’m going to stop by Rita’s house one last time,” I say to Cam. “Would you mind taking Annaleigh home and putting her down? I can switch the car seat to your rental car.”

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