Superman Movieverse Forum

My Father's House
We are not permitted to choose the frame of our destiny. But what we put into it is ours.
Dag Hammarskjold
Secretary General of the U.N. (1905-1961)

The most important thing a father can do for his children is to love their mother.
Rev. Theodore M. Hesburgh
American academic administrator (1917 –)

“We’d better get dried off,” Lois said, taking Clark’s hand and leading him away from the river. Clark’s hair was over his forehead and water was dripping down his face. His glasses were gone. “I hope you have an extra pair of glasses around.”

“At Mom’s house,” Clark said. Jason was still on his arm and had started squirming.

“I see them…” Jason said softly, pointing to the water. He wriggled out of his father’s grasp and ran back to the water, reaching into the mud. A moment later he pulled a pair of muddy eyeglasses from the water. He handed them to his father.

“Martha,” Lois called out to the older woman. She was standing with Rachel Harris and Mayor Hatcher. The cake was still waiting to be cut, but Lois knew the accidents had ruined the party. “I’m going to take these guys back to the house. Get them dried out.”

“I’ll come by later,” Martha promised.



“You’re not going to start obsessing that you couldn’t do more, are you?” Lois asked as the car pulled away from the parking area. She was behind the wheel since Clark’s glasses were covered in mud. One of Martha’s friends had loaned them two old quilts to protect the car seats.

“I know there wasn't anything more I could have done, considering the circumstances,” Clark told her. “I don’t think I did anything so out of the ordinary that it would raise suspicions.”

“Aside from knowing something was wrong when the rest of us couldn’t see it? Aside from being the first responder?” Lois asked. “I didn’t see your old football buddies heading for the river.”

“Don’t be too hard on them, Lois,” Clark said. He pulled out his glasses to inspect them. A little careful cleaning and they’d be okay. “Most people’s first reaction when bad things happen is to freeze. I think it’s part of the ‘fight or flight’ response, a moment of unconscious evaluation of the situation. You and I, we’re wired a little differently. Our evaluation time is shorter and we both run toward the problem instead of away from it. And I did see the girl heading toward the pier and I heard her scream. I doubt anybody’s going to think twice about it. I always did have pretty good hearing.”

He let his voice trail off as he turned to watch the road in front of them. They were passing Schuster’s field. It was still called that, although old man Schuster had died many years before and the field had been part of the Kent farm for over well over thirty years. “That’s the field my ship came down in,” he said softly. “Dad said it looked like a fireball and passed right in front of them before hitting the ground and tearing out a gouge that was a quarter mile long. Dad went in to see what it was, figured it was a satellite or a meteorite, maybe even a plane. By the time he got here, I was standing there waiting for him.”

“How old were you?”

“Doc Baker figured I was two and a half, maybe three. I sort of remember it.”

The mailbox that marked the entrance to the Kent farm was just ahead. Lois pulled the car into the driveway, parking on the weedy gravel in front of the porch.

Clark got out and opened the back door of the car for Jason and the boy clambered out. “Both of you, inside,” Lois ordered. “Jason, you’re getting a bath.”

“Mommeee,” Jason whined.

“No arguments,” Lois shot back. “God only knows what was in that water. Now get upstairs and get ready.”

Jason glowered at her and headed for the door, sneakers squelching as he walked. “Uh Jason, take your shoes and socks off before you go inside, please,” Clark said. Jason plopped down and pulled one muddy sneaker and sock and then the other. He dropped them on the porch as he got to his feet. “And you don’t want to leave them on the porch. Shelby likes shoes and socks… for lunch,” Clark added.

Jason’s eyes widened at Clark’s statement but he picked up his sneakers and socks, clutching them to his chest as he went inside the house.

“Well, that got his attention,” Lois said with a chuckle. She looked up at Clark, eyes sparkling with amusement. Clark had shed his loafers and socks while Jason was taking care of his and the leather shoes were now hanging off of two fingers. No need to spread mud all over Mom’s house.

“I was thinking going on my rounds,” Clark said. “I’ve realized if I stay out of sight too long the rats start to come out of their holes.”

Lois gave him a searching look as though trying to decide whether or not to say something. ‘You should have thought of that before you left for Krypton, moron,’ he filled in for her. Aloud he said: “I’m not sure what Mom has planned for tonight, but I’m sure I’ll be back before she gets here.”

“Be careful,” she ordered. That was now her mantra every time he left. Be careful. Two simple words that carried with them so much: be careful, there are bad guys out there; be careful, it’s a big dangerous world; be careful, I don’t want to lose you again; be careful, I love you.

“I will,” he promised, giving her a kiss before heading into the house and speeding into the Suit. He was out a window and halfway to California before Lois even stepped onto the porch.



Jason was now old enough to object to his mother giving him a bath, so she filled the tub for him and stood just outside the open bathroom door as he shed his wet clothes and climbed into the warm bubble topped water. She scooped up the drying mess of his jeans, shirt and underwear and headed downstairs to the washing machine, keeping an ear out for the sounds of falling – or too much silence.

Clark’s shirt and socks were already in the washer. His slacks and jacket were on hangers but needed to be dry-cleaned. Chances were very good the slacks were a total loss. Lois had managed to rescue his jacket from the ground before it got trampled in the rush.

She looked through the cabinets above the washer and dryer, finally finding the detergent sitting next to a can of roach spray and a box of borax. Lois was constantly amazed at how cavalier even intelligent people were about dangerous chemicals in their homes. Of course, the elder Mrs. Kent’s laundry room wasn't exactly in the house. It was an enclosed back porch – the cabinets were hung on lap siding and the rug covered floor sloped slightly to the outer wall. The washer, dryer, and freezer all had shims under them to get them level.

Lois started the washer and hurried back upstairs to check on Jason. He was cheerfully playing with the bubbles, looking up only when she came in with fresh clothes for him. He’d washed his hair with the bubbles so she wouldn’t get out the baby shampoo. Jason had always loathed the smell of regular baby shampoo, even as a baby. At least now she understood his objections – she’d caught Clark wrinkling his nose at the smell of the shampoo as well.  Like father like son?

“Make sure you rinse the soap out of your hair,” she ordered as she went back down stairs.

She poured herself a glass of iced tea, listening for Jason as she went to sit on the steps to the upstairs. The house was already heating up as the afternoon sun beat down on the roof and the dry ground outside. The upstairs windows were open at the top to allow the hot air to escape. It seemed to help a little. Clark had assured her she would get used to the heat. She just needed to remember to stay hydrated and that in this climate, salt was not an enemy.

She recalled laughing at Clark once, soon after they’d first been assigned together. He’d poured a little mound of salt on his plate during lunch and had been dipping celery sticks in it. She nearly died the time she caught him salting melon slices before eating them. Now she understood: it was a Midwest thing. An adaptation to the heat.

Lois was nearly done with her tea when Jason called down to announce he was out of the tub. She wiped the sweat from her forehead as she climbed the steps. As she approached the bathroom she spotted little wet footprints on the pine floor heading for Clark’s old room. She grabbed a towel and wiped up the water on the floor. Jason had let the water out of the tub, at least.

As she started picking up the mess Jason had left in the bathroom, Lois heard the downstairs door creak open.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice called out. It took Lois a moment to place the voice. Lana Lang?

She hurried down the steps to see the blonde woman standing by the shelf that held Clark’s Kerths and his high school trophies.

“No Pulitzer?” Lana asked.

“Clark’s been short-listed for it,” Lois said, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice.  What did this woman care if Clark had won the Pulitzer or not? “And he’s won other awards. Besides, the Pulitzer winners get a check and a certificate, not a trophy. Is there something you need?”

The other woman shrugged. “I just wanted to make sure you and Clark and the boy were okay after that… the ‘incident.’”

“The ‘boy’ is named Jason. Jason Lane Kent,” Lois stated. She was definitely disliking this woman.

“Of course… Where’s Clark? I was expecting he’d be here.”

“Oh, he’s around somewhere,” Lois told her. She tried to keep the smirk off her face. “I think he said something about an irrigation rig that needed some repairs.”

“Oh,” the blonde woman muttered. “So, Martha says you two have been married a couple months? Frankly, I’m astonished you managed to get him into bed, considering…”

“Considering what?” As much as Lois loathed Lana’s very existence, the thought of discovering something ‘Smallvillian’ about her husband was overwhelming.

Lana shrugged elegantly. “So, where did you two meet?”

“At work,” Lois answered. “Our editor thought we’d make a good team and he was right.”

“But it took eight, nine years for you to get together?”

It was Lois’s turn to shrug. “Well, he did take off to see the world for about six years.”

“And he came back to an instant little family,” Lana observed. “So like Clark to take on somebody else’s bastard to raise. He always did have a hero complex, getting involved in things better left alone. But then, considering Clark’s background, maybe not so surprising.”

Lois’s eyes narrowed as she regarded the other woman, but Lana didn’t seem to notice. “And what about Clark’s background?” Lois asked.

Lana seemed surprised at the question. “Didn’t you know? He’s adopted.”

Lois frowned. “And what has that got to do with anything?”

“Well it’s obvious isn’t it?” Lana asked. “He has this need to prove himself worthy since his real parents obviously couldn’t be bothered to keep him.”

“Is that what you think?” Lois demanded. “That Clark was discarded by his birth parents? That they just threw him away to be raised by strangers?” Lois had to fight to keep the outrage out of her voice. She wasn't completely successful. “For your information, Clark’s birth parents were killed when he was a toddler. This I know for a fact. And if Clark has a tendency to get involved, to care, well, that’s how he was raised by his parents, the Kents. And by the way, Jason isn’t ‘somebody else’s bastard’. He’s Clark’s son.”

“Is that what you told him?”

“Since it happens to be the truth…”

“What happens to be the truth?” Clark asked. He was in jeans and a t-shirt and looked like he just came in from working on machinery. He walked into the living room, wiping his hands on a dirty towel.

“Miss Lang doesn’t believe that Jason is your son,” Lois told him.

“Considering how much he takes after me, I don’t think there’s any doubt as to who his father is,” Clark commented. “Actually, I was thinking how well everybody in town was accepting the idea that maybe I really did get you pregnant and it took me this long to finally get around to making an honest woman out of you. Although I haven’t heard from Pastor Linquist yet.” He turned to Lana. “So what brings you all the way out here, Lana?”

“I just wanted to make sure you and Jason were okay,” Lana stated.

“And the real reason?” Clark asked.

“Do I need a reason to visit an old friend I haven’t seen in years?” Lana asked sweetly.

“Were we friends?” Clark asked.

“Of course we were,” Lana protested. “We dated through high school.”

Clark sighed and Lois could see how difficult this was for him. Clark always portrayed a sweet innocence that it made other people think he was a pushover. And in some ways he was. Lois recalled the now famous photo of Superman rescuing Kitty Kowalski, the bemused, nervous smile he’d had on his face while she was going on about her ‘heart problem’.

“Lana, we dated because it suited you to be seen going out with a member of the football team. And you were magnanimous enough to forgive me for being adopted, the same way you forgave me for being different. You even forgave me for being a poor farm hick,” Clark stated, an uncharacteristic sarcasm coloring his voice. “But you dropped me when it no longer suited you to be seen with me. When I decided I wanted to do something that didn’t involve being Lana Lang’s boy toy. When I decided the price of having a little fun in the back of your dad’s car wasn't worth what you were going to charge.”

Lana eyes had gone wide and the perfectly placed blush on her cheeks stood out in harsh relief as she pulled back her arm and slapped him hard. His glasses went flying.

He didn’t bother to rub his cheek as he retrieved his glasses from the floor and put them back on his face.

“I loved you,” Lana spat.

“Lana, when you love someone, you don’t demand they change everything they are to make you happy,” Clark told her. Lois noted that he was speaking in what she had come to recognize as his ‘real’ voice: not the high tenor that was ‘reporter Clark’ or the quiet, confident baritone of Superman, but in between. She came close to him and folded his hand over hers. “Their happiness makes you happy,” he continued. “Their grief makes you weep. Their sorrow breaks your heart.”

“You always were a fool, Clark. I know her kind,” Lana warned. “She’s just using you.”

“And you didn’t?”  Martha was standing in the doorway. She stepped into the kitchen carrying a bag of what looked like groceries. “You had your chance a long time ago, Lana. It was your choice. Let it go.”

“Good bye, Lana,” Clark said and Lois could hear the finality in it.

The screen door slammed behind Lana as she stalked out of the farmhouse. Clark’s eyes followed her even when the woman was out of normal sight and Lois knew he was watching her through the walls. Even after eight months of knowing that Superman and Clark were the same person, it was sometimes unnerving to realize how often she had seen him do the same thing at the Daily Planet and not recognized what was happening.

After a moment they all heard Lana’s car start and speed down the gravel drive to the main road.

“I cannot believe the gall of that woman,” Martha was muttering under her breath as she unpacked the brown paper sack. Instead of groceries she was pulling out wrapped sandwiches and tubs of various salads. The salads had been double wrapped with ice packs to keep them from spoiling in the heat. “After everything she tried to pull on you, and me, I can’t believe she had the gall to come into my house and say what she did… in front of Jason, no less.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Clark said. “Lana’s not the first person to try and tell me Lois is no good for me, or that I’m no good for her. And I doubt she’ll be the last. But since they have no idea what’s really… Well, their opinions don’t matter.”

“Clark, sometimes you are just too sweet and understanding for your own good,” Martha told him sternly, but there was a faint quirk of humor around her lips. She handed him one of the sandwiches. “I know Jason ate at the party, but I don’t think either of you had a chance, so I made up some cheese and pickle sandwiches. The potato salad and Waldorf are Maisie’s special recipes. I know you used to like them.”

“I’m sure they’re fine, Mom,” Clark assured her. “I know what she tried to do to me, but you never told me what else Lana did after I left home.”

“Sit down and eat,” Martha ordered. Wordlessly, Lois and Clark sat down at the kitchen table. Martha handed Lois a wrapped sandwich then pulled two plates out of the cabinet and placed them on the table. “Jason, come sit down,” she ordered. Jason hurried over and settled across from his mother.

“I’m a good Christian woman,” Martha fumed. “We are instructed to love our neighbors…”

“Which is why Lana isn’t buried in the back garden?” Clark commented, watching her stab the potato salad with the serving spoon.

“Clark Joseph Kent, I certainly hope I would be smart enough not to bury her on my own property,” Martha told him.

“So, what did she do?” Lois asked.

Martha sighed. “To make a long story short, not long after Clark left to go north right after graduation, I found out that Lana had been telling folks that I had been the one to force Clark to leave Smallville. That I had discovered why Clark and she had broken up and I couldn’t stand the shame. She even went so far as to imply that was the reason Jonathan had his heart attack. Not that anyone around here actually believed such rubbish. I went and talked to her parents about the stories she was spreading and a few days later she was on a plane to Paris to go to school there.”

“I don’t understand,” Jason complained. “Why was she saying bad things about you?”

“Jason, there are some people who think the best way to make themselves look good or important is by making other people look bad,” Clark explained gently. “Miss Lang always liked to be considered important, especially in high school. Her father is a well respected academic and so is her uncle. She’d traveled all over the world, spoke several languages fluently.”

“And none of that meant a damned thing when she ended up living in a small farming town in Kansas and it made her furious,” Lois continued. Martha and Clark both gave her questioning looks. “Believe me, I know the type,” Lois continued. “Your average princess doesn’t take kindly to realizing the rest of the world doesn’t give a rat’s ass about her claim to royalty. Or that the cute boy next door finds her completely resistible.”

“You sound like you have some experience there,” Martha commented wryly.

Lois shrugged. “Well, some of us are lucky. We learn early that just because Daddy’s a king, doesn’t make us better than any other peon in the castle. In fact, we have to work that much harder to prove we’re just as good.”

“Mommy, I thought Grandpa Sam was a general,” Jason said.

“He is, honey,” Lois told him. “He’s a very important man.”

“Is Grandpa Sam more important than you or Grandma Martha or Superman?”

“No, but there are times I think he thinks so,” Lois told him.

“Jason, the things Miss Lang said...” Clark said. “Try not to worry about it. She’s a very unhappy woman and unhappy people sometimes say things that aren’t true and not at all nice. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jason agreed. Lois could tell he was still bothered. Just one more thing on her list of things to keep an eye on. She wasn’t looking forward to explaining to her little boy exactly what Lana Lang had been accusing Clark of so many years ago.

Martha started clearing the table for them. “Oh, dear. I almost forgot to tell you. The cake is in the walk-in at the diner and Maisie and I thought we’d at least do that part at the grange dance tonight… if the three of you are up to it.”

“A dance?” Lois asked, glancing at her husband. He hadn’t warned her there might be dancing. He grinned sheepishly at her. “Sounds marvelous,” she said rolling her eyes. “So what are our plans for the rest of the afternoon?”



Smallville Cemetery was a little southwest of town, on a low hill overlooking the train station and grain silos. It was as old as the town itself, a monument to the perseverance of the human spirit. A wrought iron arch over the entrance proclaimed the name of the place and a low iron fence surrounded the oldest portion of the cemetery. The Kents were well represented. Four generations.

Clark and Jason were the only visitors. Most townsfolk, when they came to the cemetery at all, came after Sunday services. The grass was dry but short – someone was at least trying to keep the place neat.

“This place is old,” Jason commented, peering at the headstones.

“There are places in Metropolis that are a lot older,” Clark told him. “But, yeah, for around here, this place is old.” Clark headed in the direction of the Kent family markers and Jason hurried to follow, standing beside the tall man as he crouched down beside one of them: Jonathan Nathaniel Kent, 1936-1989, Beloved husband and father. The other half of the grave marker wasn't finished: Martha Mary Clark Kent was engraved on it but no dates.

“That’s your daddy?” Jason asked. Clark nodded. “But why is Grandma Martha’s name there? She isn’t dead.”

“But this is where she’ll be buried when she does die. Which will be a long time from now, I hope,” Clark told him.

“Do you miss your daddy? I miss Daddy Richard.”

“I miss my dad a lot,” Clark admitted. “I don’t think there’s a day that goes by that I don’t wish I could talk to him, tell him about you and your mom, about everything that goes on… I think he would be real happy to know you and your mom.”

“Grandma says they’re not really gone,” Jason told him, his expression solemn. He turned to face the headstone. “Grandpa Jonathan, my name is Jason. Jason Samuel Lane Kent. Clark’s my dad.” Jason took a look around then bent close to the carved granite. His voice was in a whisper. “He’s Superman, too. But I bet you already knew that.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he does,” Clark said with a chuckle.

Jason wandered over to the next headstone. This one was more weathered. Matthew Hiram Kent, 1905-1980; Jessica Baxter Kent, 1910-1963. “Those were my grandparents on the Kent side. Grandma Jessie died a long time before I showed up and Grandpa Matt…” Clark’s voice trailed off. How to explain Grandpa Matt? The man had spent his adult life being spiteful and angry, punishing everyone around him. How did he begin to explain to a six year old that fathers and sons didn’t always get along? Matt had driven all three of his children to run away from him as far as they could. Only the middle one, Jonathan, had come back to Smallville after his stint in the army.

“Grandpa Matt had a lot of problems,” Clark continued. “He wasn’t a very nice person.” Clark pointed out another nearby stone. “That’s my Uncle George. He was a sailor on a freighter. Used to tell all sorts of stories about all the places he’d been to all over the world. Some of them may have even been true. He was first mate on a ship that sank during a big storm in the Pacific. I was a couple years older than you are now when we got word that his ship was lost. My dad’s sister Minerva lives in California.”

Clark moved to point out an even older headstone: Eben and Sarah Kent. “That’s Grandpa Matt’s parents. And over there are Nathaniel and Mary, Eben’s parents. My great-great-grandparents. Nathaniel was the sheriff of Smallville and he was friends with Wild Bill Hickok.”

Jason’s eyes grew wide. “He was?”

Clark nodded. “Yes, he was. And Jesse James and his gang passed through here, too.”

“But I thought that happened way out west.”

“Jason, right after the Civil War, when Jesse James was robbing trains and banks, Kansas was ‘way out west’. Dodge City? It’s not all that far from here,” Clark explained. “But maybe sometime we’ll go over to Lawrence and see where Nathaniel’s parents and one of his brothers are buried. Nathaniel’s father was a newspaper publisher named Silas who moved to Kansas from Boston, and his father was named Joshua, after Joshua Merriweather, founder of the Daily Planet.”

“Wow,” Jason murmured.

Clark considered how much history Jason was likely to sit through while looking at headstones in a cemetery.  That Silas Kent had moved to Kansas with his two oldest sons to print a newspaper and be on the forefront of the abolitionist movement in Kansas and that he had suffered the fate of many publishers and journalists who had spoken out against tyranny over the years – death.  That the ‘civil’ war had been anything but and that the Kents, like many other families of the time, had been divided by the hatreds and fears that under-laid that conflict.

Clark shook his head. This wasn’t the time to be explaining slavery or war to a six-year-old. He would learn soon enough about how badly people could use one another.

“Hey kiddo, I think it’s about time we headed back.”



Lois and Martha headed into town soon after Clark and Jason left the house. Lois hadn’t seen much of Smallville’s downtown the night before and the route to the park hadn’t required going through town. In the daylight, Smallville was iconic Midwest, platted out in perfectly square north-south-east-west blocks, the pattern broken only by the river and the railroad.

The city hall and courthouse sat opposite a city park with a white band-stand in the center surrounded by oak, elm, and maple trees. The city hall and park were surrounded by wood and brick one and two story buildings, some of which may have actually dated from the founding of the town.  The Ace Hardware looked a little newer than many of the other buildings and Lois remembered Clark talking about Shaw's Malt Shop. There was an Italian market as well as a gourmet market and bakery, a law firm, a bookstore, a florist, a couple clothing stores, two catalog centers, several taverns, and a bank.

“The Kents and the Clarks have been in this area for generations,” Martha said, nodding to one of the older taverns in a two story wooden building that looked like it could be a set in a cowboy movie. “The Red Eye was one of the first saloons in the area. My great-grandparents built it and great-grandmother Martha Mayhew Clark ran it after her husband died, passed it along to her sons.”

“Who runs it now?” Lois asked.

“My cousin David,” Martha said. “He’s been trying to get it on the National Historic Register. Folks around here claim Jesse James and his brother shot the place up when they stopped here on their way to Texas after robbing the bank in Kansas City.”

“Do you think they did?” Lois asked.

Martha shrugged. “It’s possible.” The older woman opened the door to the malt shop and ushered Lois inside. “I’m hoping we can sit down, have some iced tea and have a chat, since Clark’s occupied with Jason up at the cemetery.”

Lois felt her gut clench at Martha’s tone. “Sure, I’d like that,” she managed to say. She hoped she didn’t sound as nervous as she felt. Lois Lane had interviewed mass murderers, uncovered crooked politicians, unmasked criminal masterminds but her mother-in-law was making her wish there was an jet liner crashing into the town so she would have an excuse to go to work and not have to deal with the conversation she was sure was in front of her.

Martha called out to the girl at the counter and ordered two iced teas, one without lemon, as she led the way to one of the back booths. A radio was playing top-forty hits in the background.

“First off,” Martha said after they’d settled into the booth. “I promised myself I would never become one of those interfering mother-in-laws who are convinced nobody’s good enough for their precious baby.” The older woman took a deep breath. “But I do have to admit I’m a little…” she paused as she considered her words “… concerned at how fast the two of you rushed into this. Your… Richard hadn’t been in the ground for more than six months.”

Lois sighed. This was exactly the conversation she didn’t want to have with Martha. It had been bad enough with her own mother just after the wedding. ‘You put that perfectly nice man off for five years, lived in his house, ate his food, and then when he’s barely cold and in the ground you jump into bed with a man you hardly know and elope with him?’

‘Richard’s been dead for six months, Mom,’ Lois had protested. ‘It’s time I got on with my life and I choose to do it with Clark.’

‘A man you hardly know…’

‘The father of my child!’

That had stopped Ellen Lane cold, at least for a moment. ‘Did Richard know he was raising another man’s child? Did he know how you were leading him on, using him?’

‘Mom, I was pregnant when I met Richard. He knew it. If anybody was being used… we used each other.’

“There’s a saying isn’t there? ‘It’s better to marry than to burn?’” Lois asked.

“Considering how Jason came about, somehow I doubt that’s the reason,” Martha commented. She raised her hand to stop Lois’s protest. “That’s okay. It really is. When Clark was growing up I was afraid he would never find someone. Then he met you and it was like a light had come on for him, the sun had come out. But I have to ask and I want an honest answer. Would you have even looked twice at him if he hadn’t had that other job?”

Lois sat back. She had been expecting the ‘you’re using him’ lecture. “I was looking twice at him even before I figured that part out. He’s a brilliant writer, and an even better investigator. He was a puzzle. He still is. And nothing intrigues me more than a puzzle,” She took a sip of her tea, taking a moment to organize her thoughts. “But that other job didn’t hurt. Superman is bigger than life, powerful, a paragon of virtue, a god. An angel walking the earth. He’s safe to lust after. Half the city does it. Discovering that the sweet, gentle man who put up with me at work, who could actually best me in my own court was… Let’s just say it didn’t hurt his chances with me. Hell…” She noticed Martha’s disapproving look and amended her words. “Heck, I threw myself at him. When Perry assigned us to go to Niagara Falls together, I didn’t think twice. I don’t think he had any idea what was happening.”

“He knew,” Martha said. “But you… I don’t ever want to hear from him that you’re using him. I don’t ever want to hear that the only reason you agreed to marry him was because of the other job.”

“Mrs. Kent, I know we were both under the influence of a psychotropic poison at the time,” Lois said with self-depreciating chuckle. “But I proposed to him and he was the one to accept. Of course, it was the only way I was going to get him into my bed. I’d been without a man for over six months. And I chose Clark. So maybe I am using him. My son needs his father and I want a lover and a husband and I think he’s happy to be those things. Tell me, is it so bad to be used that way?”

Martha looked at her for a long moment before speaking again. “Do you love him?”

Lois stared at her glass. “I loved Richard. I know it looks like I was simply using him, but I did love him. I probably would have eventually married him if things hadn’t gone the way they did, if Clark hadn’t come back when he did,” Lois told the older woman. “But I’m in love with Clark. I know it’s a fine distinction, but no other man has ever looked at me the way he does. No other man has made me feel so… cherished. God knows I’m difficult, pig-headed, you name it and he’s so…” Lois made her living with words and now couldn’t find the ones she wanted.

“Clark?” Martha suggested with a smile.

Lois nodded. “He’s a good man.” She finished her tea and waved for the girl at counter to bring over refills. The girl hurried over. Lois gazed out the front window at the street and saw Rachel Harris talking to Lana Lang. Neither woman seemed pleased. Finally, Lana stalked off and climbed into her car. Rachel watched after her then opened the door to the shop and walked in.

“Trouble with Lana?” Lois asked.

Rachel shrugged. “She is some piece of work. But don’t worry. Nobody around here’s going to believe her any more than they did last time. She’s the one who had poison ivy on her backside.”

“And you’re the one who told everyone what a great time you had after the prom,” Martha commented with a grin.

Rachel laughed. “Damn straight.”

The radio volume came up. A news report of a dam threatening to give way.

“Mommy!” Jason yelled, running up to Lois. She hadn’t seen him come in with Clark. “We talked to Grandpa Jonathan,” Jason announced. “Did you know Dad’s great-great-grandpa was a sheriff?”

Lois found herself grinning at his enthusiasm. Clark was listening hard to the news report.

“Perry called,” he said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He gave her a quick kiss and hurried out the door.

“Be careful,” Lois murmured.