WHEN WE COME out of my little nook, Grandma is shuffling around in her robe and slippers. Sunday breakfast is already on the table. Nothing fancy. Just some fruit, bread, and hard-boiled eggs. We all sit down.
I hardly know where to start. Or if I should start. I’m not really the same person I was before last night. And now I know that Lamont is something way different from anything I thought he was. I’m not sure Grandma can handle it. But this isn’t something that I can keep to myself. So here goes…
“Grandma, you know all those Shadow books and radio tapes I’ve been collecting since I was ten?”
“You mean all your illegal contraband?” Grandma says. “What about it?”
I look at Lamont. Then I reach out and put my hand on Grandma’s arm.
“Grandma,” I say, “I don’t know how to put this, but the Shadow is real. And Lamont…is the Shadow!”
Grandma smiles.
“I know, dear,” she says. “Have some fruit.”
What’s going on here? Am I nuts?
“Grandma!” I shout. “What do you mean, you know? Detectives with ancient superpowers don’t just show up out of nowhere! They don’t just sit down to Sunday breakfast! Why are you acting like what I’m saying is normal?”
“I didn’t say it was normal,” says Grandma. “I just said it was a fact. Lamont and I had a long talk the other night. Frankly, dear, I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to catch on.”
The teakettle starts whistling. “Be right back,” says Grandma, “There’s something else.”
Something else? I press my fingers against my temples. I’m not sure I can deal with anything else right now.
Grandma comes back from the kitchen with a cup of hot tea and a yellow envelope. I see Lamont sit up straight in his chair. Grandma drops the envelope in front of me.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“I found this in my father’s desk after my parents died,” she said. “No name. No date. No explanation. I was going to show it to Lamont the other night, but I think he might have found it on his own. I know somebody was in that drawer.”
I can see Lamont getting nervous across the table.
I pick up the envelope. It feels like it might fall apart in my hands.
“Go ahead,” says Grandma. “Open it.”
I reach into the envelope and pull out what’s inside—a cracked black-and-white photograph of a young woman. Big eyes. Blond hair. Movie-star beautiful.
My heart starts pounding. I’ve never seen her before, but it’s like I’ve known her all my life. I put the photo down on the table.
“This is Margo Lane,” I say. “The real one.”
Grandma looks over at Lamont.
“Is that right, Lamont?” she asks, “Is this Margo’s picture?”
Lamont doesn’t say anything. He just nods.
“Well then,” says Grandma, “I’m so happy I saved it.”