Lois shielded her eyes, wondering who the heck decided to put the microfiche readers against a western-facing window. It was now five and the damned sun was right in her face. After two days holed up in her apartment with the blinds drawn, she was not that into sunlight. Added to that, Smallville had all this open land. In Metropolis, you at least had a building or twelve blocking all the damned sun.
Adding further to her frustration was the fact that The Smallville Ledger had nearly nothing to offer her except farm reports, at least as far as 2001, with not a Sullivan mentioned in any of them. That and her eyes were nearly falling out because... who the hell used microfiche these days, anyway? Couldn't they scan it and make a pdf? Then she could request it be emailed and she could go trough it all in the comfort of her apartment where she was allowed to actually have her coffee with her and she wouldn't have to read facing the setting sun in a library that was older than dirt.
She turned away from the screen and the awfully large window and looked around the old library, nearly golden in places with the setting sun. It wasn't all bad. It really was a beautiful building. She'd commented on the woodwork when she came in and the elderly librarian had launched into a tirade about the committee wanting to update, but how the historical society had kept the building from being remodeled. That was another thing she could give this town. The service was a little better than in the city. There, she was lucky to get a surly and disinterested student, popping gum and looking exasperated when someone interrupted her browsing Perez Hilton.
The librarian had showed her right to the archived Ledger issues, all the while chatting. She was milling about now and tossed her a smile as she pushed a cart, probably shelving returned books. Lois tossed it back, glancing at the cart. She could see Thomas the Tank Engine shoved in with Mary Higgins Clark and Charles Dickens. She couldn't see the titles. If she could, it would do her no good. She had no way of knowing if she'd read them. Though she had some sense that any kid had a hold of Thomas the Tank Engine at some point, she couldn't clearly remember if she had. It made her wonder about the nature of what Grady had done. Were these things, these small details just something that were swept along in the wake of the bigger things he'd taken from her or were even they deliberate?
That was the hardest part in all of this. In a way, she knew who she was. She was a truth-seeker, when it was boiled down to its simplest. But she had no idea how she got there, to a place where that was her passion. Someone who was passionate about model trains might be able to trace that love back to Thomas, himself. Someone who's drive was to feed the needy might remember a childhood trip to a bad part of town. But she didn't have these things, these moments and steps where she knew what she wanted in life. The things that got her here.
Even in finding them, from whatever source, they wouldn't feel like they were really hers.
Still, no one had exactly what they wanted in life.
She'd come too far to stop now just because it wasn't enough. She had to get all the facts before she could make an informed decision on what to do with them. Move on, away from her past, or confront it and those who'd kept it from her.
She found her hand creeping to the pocket of her sweat jacket, fingering the refillable cell phone she'd bought at a gas station. The police still hadn't given hers back. She doubted they were using it as some investigative tool. It was just crammed in some box with Bob and Mitzi's ugly figurines and collectible plates. She didn't care, really. She'd get another. And this one worked fine for now, especially because only two people had the number. And neither of them had called her back.
She was not calling Webber again. If he thought she was desperate, he might ask for more money. She had no doubt he'd do the job. but he might take his sweet time. He sounded a bit lazy. She was just getting impatient. She had thirteen days now.
She was about to turn back to the screen, hoping some of the sun's glare had sunk below the hills when she saw someone walk in the front doors. She quickly turned with a gasp and pulled the hood of her sweat jacket over her head.
She stared at the screen, not absorbing the words, listening instead.
"Oh, Martha," she heard the librarian say softly. "I've been holding that Sparks book for you."
"Thanks, Ellen. You wouldn't happen to have the cliff's notes, would you?" There was a laugh as the door closed. "I don't know if I'll even get to read the jacket before the meeting, I've been so busy."
"Well, I have it, all the same. And I just had to tell you I was just glued to The Daily Planet Sunday. That son of yours..."
Lois leaned in her chair, wanting to hear all about that son of Martha's. But their voices became further hushed as she suspected Martha had drawn closer to the woman. A library was the absolute worst place to eavesdrop. She wheeled backward just slightly.
"... come such a long way from farming," she was saying. She paused. "Oh, not that there's anything wrong with that, of course."
"It's fine, really. I'm glad not to spend most Saturdays at the farmer's market myself."
"It's just that he was always a bright boy. He could chew through a book in minutes, it seemed. I always thought he'd go on to great things."
"So did I," Martha's voice grew even softer. "Never knew how great, of course." Lois knew she wasn't just talking about his career. It was funny. As much as she couldn't hate Linda for this deception, being family and all, she found it impossible to stay angry with Clark. It wasn't just her libido talking. She'd met Martha Kent. And part of the reason she couldn't resent Clark was how much Marta Kent loved him.
"Well, what are you so busy with?" Ellen was asking. "I thought you were cutting back business."
"Oh, nothing too important. Well... That's a lie. See, there's a developer pressuring Ben Hubbard. Wants to buy his farm and put up a shopping mall."
"Oh, that's ridiculous. If I want an Orange Julius, I can get it in Shelbyville just fine. And remember what that mall did to Shelbyville... it's so noisy there now."
"Well, it would be right in my backyard. I'm just as anxious as Hubbard to get this shot down. But that idiot Gallen is putting the heat on Ben, too."
"Well... He's lost my vote for town council."
"Won't matter if he did. He's running unopposed. If there was a way..."
"Now, Martha. Are you getting that political bug again?"
"Me... I... Of course not. I never really adjusted to Washington, anyhow." Lois scooted back a bit further. Now that was interesting.
"Well, a seat on the Smallville's town council is a long way from Washington. And if you feel so strongly..."
There was a shrill ring and Lois jumped, pulling herself out of their conversation. She quickly took her cell out of her pocket, wondering how to silence the damned ringer. When she caught sight of the number, she decided against that. It wasn't a Pennsylvania number, but she needed to take this call. She muffled the phone in her jacket and moved to the door, keeping her head down.
She stepped outside and pushed talk. "Hello?"
"Miss Lane? Miss Lois Lane?"
"This is she."
"This is Franklin Robbins. I did happen to receive your message and I... might be willing to allow you to very briefly peruse some of my collected editions of The Torch."
"Uh... That's great." She'd got his number from the woman who seemed to be the Smallville High Alumni Association. And she'd thought the strange and pompous voice on his answering machine was put-on as a joke. Apparently not. "But I actually want more than just to peruse them. I was wondering if I could makes copies or..."
"No. I'm sorry. That is out of the question. I do not own a personal Xerox machine and, considering the years you wish to see were the golden days of said paper, I am not willing to let them out of my sight or the entire collection would be compromised and..."
"But it would just be for an hour. I saw a copy center on Main street and..."
"Miss Lane, I may be young, but I am not foolish." Lois' eyes widened. Young? She'd thought he had to be at least fifty. "I have spent years collecting all things pertaining to my alma mater for the benefit of future generations and I... Mom! I'm on the phone! I'll come up and do it when I'm done!" He paused. "I'm sorry. What was I saying?"
"The benefit of future generations," Lois repeated, rolling her eyes. She couldn't believe it. She was at the mercy of a guy who most likely lived in his parents' basement.
"Exactly. And I've kept each mint and do not feel comfortable letting them leave my sight."
"Well, I wouldn't dream of taking them out of your sight," Lois said carefully. "In fact, I was just about to suggest that you and I meet and I can copy each very, very carefully right under your nose."
"Well, I don't know..."
"And, of course, I'll pay you for your time and trouble. Would thirty cover it?"
There was pause. "Fifty."
She gritted her teeth. "Deal."
"Very well. I will meet you at Smallville Copy and Mail at exactly five pm on Friday."
"I was actually hoping for an earlier..."
"I cant meet earlier. I'm working double shifts for the next two days."
Yes. And those hot dogs on a stick won't sell themselves. "Friday sounds... great to me," she finally said.
"Good." He hung up and she leaned back against the wall and wondered where the heck this guy got his social skills. Still, she wasn't meeting him for pleasant chit-chat. He had something she needed. Though she wasn't sure how much it would give her, considering what a bust The Ledger had turned out to be so far. But The Torch had something The Ledger didn't. Nearly every issue for four years had been written by Chloe Sullivan. If that wouldn't fill in the blank pieces, what would?
She shrank back against the wall as Martha Kent strolled by her, a book in her hand. It wouldn't do to have Clark's mother tell him she was snooping about in Smallville. She wasn't sure what he would do, but she suspected he'd throw her off somehow. She wasn't stupid. Those papers from Luthor and her broken laptop didn't just walk out of her bedroom. But she still had to know what they were hiding before she confronted them with it... or not. She was still afraid, deep down, that they weren't the bad guys in all this. That she was.
It wasn't something to think about now. She was just gathering info for a story. She'd figured out what to do with it, if anything, when she had all the pieces, And she was done gathering for today. Her head ached and her eyes burned and, as much as she'd wanted to get this over with today, she could leave the 2002 Ledger issues for tomorrow.
She moved away from the wall and pulled her hood down as Martha's figure grew smaller in the parking lot. She moved back into the library and gathered her things, collecting the Ledger microfiche cards and placing them back in the small box. She'd be back, and when the sun was in the east and not in her eyes.
She brought the small box to the front desk. "Thank you very much for your help," she told the woman. She wouldn't add her name, though she knew it, as there was no way she could know that name if she hadn't been eavesdropping.
"No problem at all," she said, taking the box back. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
"Not yet, but I'll be back tomo..."
"Ellen, I am going senile. I must have left my purse... Lois?"
Lois swallowed hard and turned. "Mrs. Kent."
****************************
Clark handed her the chai latte. Ramirez looked down at it. "Is it right this time?"
"Considering this is the third time, It better be," he grumbled. "They'll ban me from the place if I go back again."
"You're the one who has to speed off without listening." She took a sip. "You sure this is nonfat?"
"Yes," Clark lied. He must not have heard that part. "And this isn't a speed test. This is slave labor."
She shrugged and put her drink down. "Might as well kill two birds."
"That's what you said about your dry-cleaning."
"That wasn't mine. That was Linda's. Thought I'd give the girl a break. She seems... tired lately. A little quiet, too."
"Quiet?" Clark raised his eyebrows. "We are talking about Linda.
"Don't be bratty, now." She moved up to Clark and put a hand on his head. "You aren't sweating."
"I usually don't."
"Are you sure you aren't dehydrated or..."
"I told you. I feel fine."
She rolled her eyes. "Well, excuse me for being a doctor. I never had a chance to work with you, with you never getting injured." She said this last as if it was an insult. "I don't know how this works and I'm used to knowing how things work."
"If I was somewhere without a yellow sun, I might be just like anyone else. But here..."
"That doesn't clear it up. I wish Murray would get back already. I'm running out of ideas. I'm thinking of dangling myself off a building and seeing if that would get you to fly."
"Please don't," Clark said nervously.
She perched a hip on a ratty table and sipped her latte. "Well, how did it work for you? Did you just arrive here with all this power? Because I kind of thought that, once we got a few, the others would just follow."
"I don't know. They all just developed over time." He sat next to her. "I was always invulnerable, but the strength came about when I was eight or so, then the..." He paused, remembering he'd had this exact conversation a few days ago. With Lois. "Everything just developed and I... I worked with each as it came until it was just... natural to use them." If he was rebuilding, retraining, then maybe he was developing each anew. And maybe there was an order, just like before...
He stood. "I think we should work on my vision."
"What? The laser stuff?"
"It's actually heat, but..."
"But nothing. Not here. This place seems pretty old and flammable and..."
"No," he cut in. "The X-ray." Because that had been next. His freshman year, looking through a gymnasium wall into a girls locker room at Lana Lang. Looking through Tina Greer's skin at the kryptonite embedded in her skeleton. "Yes. That's the one."
Ramirez shrugged. "Just don't look too closely at me."
Clark stepped back. The woman was old enough to be his mother. "You don't think I'd..."
"I don't care whether you would or wouldn't. I am not wearing my good underwear. Nobody sees that."
*******************************
"It's just up here," Martha said, pointing across the street at a Starbucks.
Lois looked behind her at a large marquee claiming "the best coffee in town." It looked interesting and she could get Starbucks anytime. "Why not there? I mean, I might as well sample the local flavor."
"Oh, that's just... I don't really like their coffee. I'm just... so glad they finally have a Starbucks here," Martha said, grabbing her arm and nearly pulling her across the crosswalk.
"Really? I would think you..." Of course, Lois couldn't finish that. Then she would reveal that she'd been listening in to Martha's rather townist conversation. "Yeah. Gotta love Starbucks," she said lamely as they got to the curb. It wasn't that she didn't want to have coffee with Martha Kent. But she felt strange doing so. As if it wasn't allowed. That was silly, of course. It was a free country. She could have coffee with Clark's mom. She just felt... Okay, she felt comfortable. And she didn't want to. She didn't want to like Martha Kent. She wasn't sure how to feel about Martha Kent. If Chloe Sullivan had spent half of her life in Smallville, then Martha Kent also knew that. And how was she supposed to go on, knowing that? What could she get from this? It felt almost cold and calculating to even think it, but what could she get?
"What are you having," she asked, trying for something innocuous, as they stood in line.
"Oh, anything," Martha said absently. "I'm not very picky on coffee." Lois squinted at her, wanting to point out that she'd seemed very picky in rejecting the local coffeehouse. But she decided to order instead.
"I think I'll have the caramel machiatto, just grande, though."
Martha turned with a smile. "That sounds good to me, too. I'll have that. Could you... order that? It's on me."
Lois smiled back, guessing that Martha Kent had never darkened this coffee shop. "Okay, then."
As they moved to a table with their coffee, Martha frowned. "Does anyone clean these between guests? The service here is about what you expect from a corporate-owned..."
"I thought you liked Starbucks."
"Oh, I do," Martha said quickly, sitting down and spreading her napkin on the table. "But these... kids these days. They just... they don't take pride in customer service."
Lois nodded and sat, seeing the lie. Yet... "There's a nice place in the city. Dietrich's. Nothing too fancy, but you should try it if you're there. Nice dark roast." Damn it! Why couldn't she grill Martha Kent properly? Here she was, giving coffee joint tips.
"Thank you. I might," Martha said, taking a sip. "But I wonder why you aren't there. Smallville doesn't have much variety for a coffee connoisseur such as yourself."
And now she was getting grilled. She could feel it. "Well... I... I'm on vacation," she said, trying for a casual shrug. "Thought I'd explore the neighboring towns."
"And their libraries?"
Lois put her cup down. She knew when she'd been beat. "Listen, Mrs. Kent..."
"No. Please call me Martha."
Lois took a deep breath. "Martha... I just... I haven't been exploring all the neighboring towns, okay? Just this one."
Martha leaned forward. "Why?"
Lois wasn't sure how to answer that without giving too much away. Yet she felt strangely unable to lie to this woman. "I just... I wanted to see it some more. This town..." She sat back and sighed. "It intrigues me. Something about it calls to me." She chanced a look up.
Martha's eyes had grown soft. "Really?"
Lois shifted in her seat. "Maybe it's something about the land, living off it, rather than taking all that produce for granted. I don't know." She pursed her lips, then toyed with the edge of Martha's napkin. "Listen, I... I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention it to Clark." She met Martha's eyes. "My being here, I mean. I... I give him such a hard time about being from this small town and..."
She felt Martha grasp her hand. "You don't have to explain yourself," she said softly. "You can do what you like. It's really no one's business, not even mine," she finished on what sounded like a sigh. Lois stared into her eyes, believing this woman. She wouldn't say a word. More than that, Lois suddenly wanted to tell her everything, even burrow into her just a little... Martha sat back. "Besides, I know what it is to want to get away from city life."
Lois glanced at her, surprised. "You? I thought you owned a farm here."
"Well, I didn't always. My husband... he owned a farm. I grew up in the city. In Metropolis, actually."
"In Metropolis?" Lois shook her head.
"You sound so surprised."
"Well, it's the best of all cities. Why did you ever leave?"
Martha laughed. "For love. Nothing greater than the love of my life could have lured me away from the best of all cities." She smiled. "And every time I helped with the harvest, I said it was for love. The first time I baked a... spectacularly awful pie..." she laughed again. "Well, that was for love, too. Yet... there was always this part of me that missed that city life." Her eyes grew sad. "When my husband died, I wanted nothing more than to get away from all those things that reminded me of him. I thought I might find some kind of fulfillment in city life again. But by then, I... missed the farm. Isn't that silly?"
"Well, you just picked the wrong city," Lois said. "Washington may be the hub of all things political, but it's got nothing on..."
"Washington?" Martha cut in, her eyes wide. "You... you know that?"
Lois groaned and put a hand to her forehead. "Boy, have I lost my poker skills." She put her hand on the table. "I might have... accidentally overheard a few things in the library."
"Oh." Martha looked strangely crestfallen. "Well..." Her expression turned sly. "Accidentally?"
"Okay." Lois chuckled. "I eavesdropped. Horribly. Sorry about that. I just..."
"Lois, I'm not upset. I'd be surprised if you didn't. Curiosity has always been in your nature."
Lois narrowed her eyes. "Has it?"
Martha's eyes widened again. "I assume. I mean, you are a reporter."
"Well, that's true," she said, masking her disappointment. She had started to fool herself that this was some kind of female bonding session. But she knew exactly why Martha Kent wanted to go for a coffee. It was the same thing they all wanted. To throw her off the trail. Lois wanted to go on about her nature and exactly how much Martha knew about it. But she feared she might hit a dead end. She could veer off for a moment before getting back to the good stuff. "So... Washington. That's a long way off from Smallville."
"Yes. Well... that was the problem. It wasn't something I asked for. It was just thrust upon me."
"Mind elaborating?" Lois smiled. "Off the record, of course. I am off duty."
Martha smiled sadly. "It was Jonathon who ran for state senate. But he... Well, he died very suddenly of a heart attack. I was asked to take his seat. It was all so sudden and I just... I just wanted to do what he might have wanted. Then... Well, things got bigger. When I was sworn in as a US senator, it was... it was as if I woke up. There I was. Alone in Washington DC. Plenty of work colleagues, but no family. A lovely apartment, but no garden. Even though I knew what I was doing was important, I wasn't happy doing it. And, if I were younger, that might not have mattered. But I just... I wanted my home back. I wanted my son near to me." Her eyes grew distant. "Silly, really. I knew he was so far away. I knew he might not come back for years. But I... wanted to wait for him in my home, with my things, where I knew I belonged. I wanted what happiness I could get."
The reporter in her was screaming for some kind of explanation about Clark being so far away. What did that mean? Yet the woman in her grasped Martha's hand, thinking that maybe this entire coffee outing hadn't been about distracting Lois, but about something Martha needed. "Did you find it?" she asked instead.
"Happiness?" Martha took a deep breath. "I don't know. I know I'm comfortable in my town." She laughed slightly. "Strangely, somewhere along the way, this really did become my town. But I miss one thing about Washington. I miss making a difference. Being instrumental in those moments that either preserve or change as needed. The sort of power that comes with service."
"But... you could have that here," Lois said. "As a qualified eavesdropper, I happen to know that there's a corrupt councilman running unopposed."
Martha shook her head and took her hand away. "No. I... there's no time. Smallville holds elections January fourth and... Well, campaigning would mean a lot of work and..."
"And the alternative is a mall in your backyard," Lois cut in. "If I overheard correctly."
"But I'm not..."
"I'd think a former senator was more than up to the job."
"It's not that I don't think I can, but I... I left politics behind me when I came back. I can't..."
"Can't you have both? You can have your home and your... power, too."
Martha stared at her. "It's a lot to think about," she said, slightly dazed.
Lois shrugged, thinking she'd touched on exactly what Martha Kent needed. A push. "I don't want to pressure you," she lied. "But if, in this town, you've found something you're passionate about, then you should do what you can for it."
Martha stared at her hands as Lois glanced off, sipping her coffee.
Passion. It all came back to passion. Some people were passionate about model trains, some people were passionate about the needy, some people were passionate about politics. Lois was passionate about the truth and, hard as it may be to face sometimes, she had to hear it, see it, put it together. And she knew something now. She couldn't just find it and move on, choose this life and forget another. She'd have to confront it and that meant confronting those that hid it from her. That meant Linda. It also meant Clark. It also meant the woman sitting in front of her.
But not tonight. Once she had all pieces, there would be time.
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands.
She shook her head. The words had come into her mind, in blank verse, no less. There was something about those words that stirred her. There were more words there, ones that followed like a tedious argument of insidious intent to lead you to an overwhelming question...
"What is that?" she whispered.
Martha looked up. "Hmm?"
"Nothing." Something set those words off and she knew them. She knew they weren't her own, but she knew them as if they were. Something about time...
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
No. Coffee. She was having coffee. And, for a moment, she would enjoy it.
"Want to split a scone?" she asked suddenly standing. "It's on me." She moved to the counter quickly before Martha could answer. She moved to the bakery case.
"Can I help you?" a voice asked. She didn't look up, glancing at all the cakes, brownies, panini sandwiches, the CDs on display, the Starbucks signature spoons...
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.
"Shut up," she growled.
The girl behind the counter looked up. "Uh... If you're still looking, that's cool."
"Not you." She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to school her expression into something normal before she scared the girl. It wasn't every day her mind was hijacked by... poetry? "Can I get a cranberry orange scone?" she asked.
She paid and moved away with her scone. Ever since Camp Tremaine, she'd found things that tickled the back of her mind and wouldn't let go. The damned pain was almost better than this constant tickling...
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
As much as she wanted it to stop, she knew it wouldn't until she'd figured out why.
Why these words? What did they mean?
She dropped her scone, on it's paper plate, on the table. "I really did want to split this, Martha, but I am just dreading that long drive home."
Martha blinked at her. "Surely you can wait a few..."
"I have to get up really early, too," she lied. "Getting my tiles regrouted. Guy's coming at seven and you know you can't sleep through that noise, so... we should do this again." She smiled and ran for it, moving through...
certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," she muttered. A poem. It was a poem. It was something. It was something that was...
"Mine," she whispered, wonder in her voice as she stared at the computer screen, finally home. "The Love Song of J.S. Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot. It had only taken a search on those words she remembered for the poem to come up on some site, in Courier New and laid out before her. She must have read it three times in one sitting. But she must have read it countless times before that. Some of those words were exactly what her mind spat at her. She must have loved this.
She suddenly felt inexplicably grateful. With all the dead ends and bad news in this search, she had found something that she once, and apparently still did, love.
"Hers," she breathed, tears slipping from her eyes. "And mine. Ours."
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Chapter Sixteen
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