"Martha Kent. It's... It's nice to meet you."
"Lois Lane." She wanted to return the sentiment, but she couldn't, not with her foot so firmly lodged down her throat. "I have to go."
She turned, wanting to get out of sight quickly so she could start hitting herself in the head.
"Wait!" It was the woman's voice. She stopped. "Please, don't go. I..."
She turned as Clark's mom bore down on her. "I have to. Big plans tonight." She winced. "Not the ones I was talking about, because... I mean, I'm not going to..."
She stopped. Clark's mom was hugging her. It was... nice, but a little strange.
"Please stay for dinner." She pulled back. "It's Thanksgiving. No one should be alone on..." She trailed off. Was she... crying?
"Uh... Mrs. Kent, are you okay?"
She smiled and sniffed. "I'm fine. I was just... cutting onions and..." She hugged her again, then quickly pulled away. "I'm going to wash my hands."
Lois watched her nearly run off, confusion nearly washing away her embarrassment. But only nearly...
She rushed up to Clark. "You couldn't have told me your mom would be here?" she hissed.
"I didn't know. She was going to have dinner with a friend, then she surprised me and..."
"Oh, my God!" She covered her face. "I said I was going to the bar. I said I was having lots of sex. She's going to think I'm some floozy that..."
"No," he cut in quickly. "She knows you're not like that."
She dropped her hands. "How, Clark? For all she knows, I'm a total nutcase."
"Well, she... asked you to stay for dinner. She probably didn't hear half of... that whole thing."
She bit her lip. "You think?"
"Definitely," Clark said quickly. "In fact... My mom's a little hard of hearing, so..."
Lois sighed. "She did hug me." She glanced at the door his mom had disappeared through. "Is she always that friendly?"
"Well... Small town. People hug."
"Oh. That's... different." She suddenly laughed. "I can't believe I thought your mom was your... Wow."
Clark laughed. "Yeah. Crazy."
"We can all have a good laugh over dinner, except... Oh, no. No, no, no. I can't stay after that."
"Lois, just stay."
"It's too..."
"We... we want you to."
She stared at him a moment before letting out a long breath. "Okay. I mean, I don't want your mom to think... I'll just go get my purse. Probably shouldn't leave it in the car in this neighborhood."
*************************
Clark watched her leave, wondering if he should have let her go with an invitation back, wondering what it would do to her. But...Damn it, he wanted her to stay. He wanted her to have dinner with him and his mother. He wanted her to know Martha Kent... again.
He moved toward his room, but stopped by the bookshelf against the wall. He hadn't decorated much. He hardly had time for silly things like that. But there was a few pictures there. Him with Chloe and Pete around freshman year. Next to it, his father. He left his father, but took that one. It might jog something. And while, eventually they had to find a way to deal with getting back what Grady took, it wouldn't be tonight.
He took the picture into his room and found his mother tossing a few things in the closet. "The only bathroom here's right off your bedroom. She might have to use it." She sniffled and picked up a spare pair of red boots off the floor. "Can't have her seeing these."
"Thanks." He took them from and put them, with the picture, in his closet. "So... you're hard of hearing."
"What's that?"
He tried to smile. "Exactly." He shook his head. "No. I just told Lois you probably didn't hear most of what she said on account of..." He gestured to his ears.
"My hearing loss?" She sniffled even as she laughed. "She must be mortified."
"I'm sorry about this, Mom."
She wiped her eyes and sat on the bed. "Don't be sorry. I'm just emotional... She was the only one I could really talk to while you were away and, even about you while you were here." She hugged her arms. "I just miss that. I miss her."
He sat next to her. "Is this a bad idea? I mean, her staying for dinner..."
"Maybe. Doesn't change the fact that she shouldn't be alone, not on Thanksgiving."
"Yeah. I just worry. I'm torn between... wanting her to remember things and hoping she doesn't. If this memory loss is hurting her, then I want it to stop and yet..." He sighed. "Well, she chose it. What am I supposed to do?"
Martha patted his knee. "Just hope." She paused. "And maybe you could just explain what that rant I walked in on was all about."
He took a deep breath. "Last night, we went to party. It was given by a woman that makes these ugly pins with red beads and..."
"Oh, no." Martha rolled her eyes and laid back on the bed. "Do I even want to know?"
"Mom, nothing happened," he assured her, standing. "Well, something almost happened, but... I got out of it."
She sat up and pursed her lips.
"What?"
"Just trying to figure out if that makes it better or worse."
"I don't know. It is what it is. We're just... I feel like we're kind of, treading water, all of us. Me, Lois, Linda, and you, too. And we can't keep this up forever. I feel like... something's coming. Something big."
******************
A cursor blinked every three quarters of a second. The figure watched and drummed a well-manicured hand next to the keyboard. The words finally came.
They aren't viable. The woman is too slim. She'd never survive the gestation period.
The fingers drummed impatiently before moving to the keyboard. If they aren't viable, then why are you telling me about them? The cursor resumed it's blinking and the hand resumed its drumming.
There's something suspicious about them. It raises my hackles.
The fingers clenched slightly before moving to the keyboard. We don't have time for this. Are you still unsuccessful with the others?
I almost have it. I just need more of the original sample. Our best simulation can help with conception, but what about enhancements?
That was all she had. You know that. And I can't get more of the sample.
Can't or won't?
The next words were typed rapidly, accompanied by rapid breaths. I'm the one funding things at great personal risk. Maybe you should stop questioning me.
Fine... Maybe I just need a new couple. A fresh start. Then we'll have a successful formula for the others.
The hand shook slightly at the next words. No. Things are already getting risky. You told me this would be simple.
It was a theory at best. I told you that, too.
There was a long sigh before the hand resumed typing. Do you have another candidate?
I think I may. I just need to do more research on her. But the Camerons...
You said she wasn't viable.
She's not, but there's something funny about them. I feel it. I want to keep my eye on them.
The hand hovered over the keyboard a moment. Fine. You do that.
************************
Clark watched the two of them, smiling.
Martha giggled. "They really call themselves The Crafty Devils?" She shook her head. "I thought the women in my book group were annoying."
"Rich housewives are just a whole other breed," Lois said, rolling her eyes. "Knit toilet paper cozies sitting next to the brie and crab puffs. It's like they're trying to be homespun and folksy, but, really, they just have nothing to do."
"Oh, I've got the opposite problem with my ladies. They have crops and homes to see to and only so many hours in a day, yet there we are, forcing ourselves to talk about an Oprah's Book Club selection none of us had time to read. Well... except me."
"You?" Lois tilted her head. "You don't seem like the type to sit still."
Martha smiled slightly. "Yes. But after Clark left for..." She stopped, pushing her wine glass away. "Um... Since Clark moved to Metropolis, I've... cut back on some things I once did."
"Things like?"
Clark and his mother shared a look before he jumped in. "My mom sold off some of the farm after..." And how was he supposed to finish that? The Kent farm had diminished in stages. First when Jonathon died, then when Martha left for Washington, then when he left for the Arctic... And how much of any of that could she know? "After my father passed," he finally finished.
"Oh." Her brows drew together and she winced slightly. "I'm sorry. I..." She squeezed her eyes shut and Clark found himself leaning forward.
"Are you okay?"
"Just a headache. Maybe after the wine last night and..." She laughed and shook her head. "I think I may have learned my lesson about wine."
It wasn't the wine. Clark knew that. He glanced at his mother. She stared at her plate. She was probably pondering the same thing he was. How much should she know? All through dinner, they'd scrupulously avoided the past. They talked about Met Vista, about events around town, Christmas coming. It was so nearly what he wanted, except... They may as well be strangers making small talk.
Lois stood. "I feel so bad. You two worked so hard cooking. You should sit and let me clear some of this up..."
Clark stood as well. "No. You're a guest. I'll..."
She rolled her eyes and picked up his plate. "Clark, I can take dishes from point A to point B. It's no trouble." She added her own plate and moved into the kitchen.
He stared after her. "Mom, I wish..."
"I know," Martha cut in. "I was just thinking about the last Thanksgiving we all spent together. It was all so easy."
"I want to fix this. I know she chose this, but..."
"But it can't be what she truly wanted," she finished. "Not her. She was always so dedicated to truth and..."
"Hey, Clark," Lois called from the kitchen. "Where's the soap for the dishwasher?" There was a pause. "And where's the dishwasher?"
Clark smiled, remembering how she'd always abhorred cleaning. There was no dishwasher. And cleaning was an activity she only indulged in when stressed. He patted his mother on the shoulder. "I'll break it to her." He wondered if she was stressed. Was that why she suddenly wanted to tackle the dishes?
He leaned in the doorway and watched her open cabinets and drawers. "No dishwasher?" she muttered. "When was this place built?"
"Some time in the thirties, I think."
She jumped slightly. "You'd think they'd put a few modern enhancements." She swatted him with a dish towell. "And don't do that. You always sneak up and..." She shook her head again. "God, this headache. It just... all night, this steady pounding and I..."
He rushed forward when he saw her listing to the side. Maybe this entire dinner was a mistake. "Lois, maybe you should lie down or..."
"No." She pulled away. "It's just frustrating." She tossed the dishtowel on the counter. "I don't even know any more! Is this a too-much-wine headache or a Grady headache or am I just going crazy? There's no physical reason for these..." She trailed off, looking down. Clark heard a slight whirring from her pocket. She reached in and pulled out her vibrating cell. She opened it. "Linda again." She snapped it shut and put it back in her pocket. "She won't stop calling."
Clark wasn't sure what emotion was winning out. The guilt that she wasn't speaking to her cousin, the worry over the headaches, or the anger that they were stuck in this situation in the first place. "Maybe you should talk to her," he said softly. "It's Thanksgiving."
"Maybe the both of you should mind your own business," she snapped. "Or does Linda still have you checking up on me?" She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. "Do you have any idea what this is like? Some doctor played with my head, my own cousin had a virtual stranger checking up on me. This same stranger is someone I happen to be stuck in a house with for God knows how long and, to top it off, there's last night when you just..."
"Ice cream," a voice said from the doorway. They both turned toward Martha, who smiled too brightly. "You know, I just realized that I didn't bring any ice cream for the pie. Clark, would you mind..."
"Sure." Clark glanced at Lois, then turned away. "I'll go get some."
He wasn't sure if he was glad for the interruption or not. They needed to talk things out, but it would only involve more lying on his part and he could hardly keep it all straight anymore. It wasn't just dinner that was a mistake. Maybe he should have left her alone all together. Maybe she would have been better off, but... He was fooling himself if he thought he ever could. And she was fooling herself on a deeper level. She could never live a life so full of lies.
He didn't speed. He took his time going to the gas station on the corner. When he got back, he stayed in the hallway, looking over the top of his glasses and through the walls, listening...
"I don't like horror movies very much," Martha said as she handed Lois a plate. "They give me the worst kind of nightmares."
Lois shrugged as she dried the plate. "It's funny, but they don't bother me at all. They're even a little dull."
Clark saw his mother smile. She knew as well as he did why a horror movie would have no effect on Lois. She'd seen much scarier things off the screen.
"You know what I can't stand?" Lois said, stacking the plate with others on the table. "Romantic drama. Like The Notebook or... Oh, any of that drivel. I think it's mostly just... corny, unrealistic. All that destined to be together and blah, blah, blah..."
Martha sighed. "Well, you feel differently when you've... been there."
Lois stopped and leaned on the table. "And you have? Been there, I mean?"
"Definitely."
"Your husband... Do you miss him?"
"Every day." Clark gazed at his mother's profile as she stared into the sink.
"I guess I don't envy you that." Lois turned away, facing the wall, facing Clark. "It must have been painful to lose him."
"It was, but... Even if I'd known when I'd lose him and how soon," Martha said softly, "I'd still have gone in, taken what time I could. It was all... just that perfect." She smiled. "And imperfect. And just... meant to be."
Lois stared straight ahead. It was nearly as if she was looking at him, even through a wall and a door. "Well... I guess I envy that." His eyes stayed on her, drank all of her in through the walls between them. She shivered slightly and turned back to Martha.
It was that moment when he knew. This was it. This was forever. This was every romantic drama Lois hated right now.
It wasn't a mistake, pushing himself into her new life. Because, whatever happened, it would be their life. She just didn't know it yet.
Previous Chapter
Chapter Nine
No comments:
Post a Comment