Clark surprised himself by anticipating the next Saturday meeting with Bobbie Tracey – had to have that “e” in her last name – more than he’d thought he would. Maybe it was the idea that he was meeting a woman whose intent was not to offer him physical comfort. Maybe it was because she’d suffered a loss similar to his own.
Maybe grief shared was grief lessened, even just a little. He’d take that in a heartbeat.
He arrived about nine-twenty and stopped at Lois’ grave. He squatted on his toes and reached out toward the low grassy mound. As always, his heart chilled and tightened as he thought about how much he missed Lois, how much he regretted letting her talk him into freezing her. It had been stupid and unimaginative and terrifying and dangerous and he could never say “no” to her. He mentally berated himself yet again for listening to her, for going along with her suicidal plan, for not thinking of something else, for essentially choosing his parents over her—
No.
That wasn’t what had happened.
As destroyed as he still felt, as shredded as his heart remained, the truth was that it had been Lois’ idea for Superman to freeze her, not his. She had been willing to risk her life to help him – the Clark him. Lucy had insisted, over and over, that Lois had truly loved him, had been on the verge of telling him, would have accepted his proposal had he offered her one, but in the end his pain still remained. He’d learned to walk through the day doing what he needed to do, whether as Clark or as Superman, but he no longer had any joy in the doing of it.
The Lois-sized hole in his heart remained.
He feared it would never be mended.
With his eyes closed, he once again conjured up some of his favorite Lois memories. Funny, though, that so many of them seemed either to immediately follow some moment of danger for her or immediately precede some threat to her. Some of them, of course, were Superman rescues, but a fair number were just Lois and Clark moments, times when he’d saved her from trouble – whether or not she’d wanted to be rescued– and her soft smiles and gentle caresses and open affection following said rescue.
He’d loved her so much.
He still loved her.
He barely felt the soft touch on his shoulder or the breathy sound of someone calling his name. “Clark? You okay?”
He swallowed hard and turned his head. He’d fallen to his knees and leaned on the hand touching Lois’ gravesite without realizing it. There was dampness in his eyes, dampness which distorted his view of the five-foot-ten-inch Bobbie Tracey looming over him with concern in her dark eyes.
He tried to speak but failed. He settled for lifting his hand from the grass.
“It’s okay, Clark,” she almost whispered. “You take whatever time you need. I’ll wait.”
He took a deep breath, pulled off his glasses, and wiped his eyes. “I’m done, Bobbie,” he said as he replaced the frames on his face. “Thank you. Have you seen Glen yet?”
“No. I – I wanted to make sure you were okay first.”
He nodded. “Thank you. I think I’m okay.”
She reached out her hand to help him stand. He took it in his and rose, then said, “My turn to watch over you now.”
Bobbie gave him an odd look for a moment, then nodded slowly. “My turn to thank you,” she said. “I guess we can keep each other from going off the deep end, huh?”
He almost smiled back. “That sounds like a passable mission statement to me.” He gestured for her to precede him.
He kept about three to four paces back from her and stopped about six feet from the foot of Glen’s grave while she knelt there. He squatted silently as she touched the low mound of grass and bowed her head. Her lips moved, but he couldn’t see them well enough to read them, and he deliberately didn’t listen in.
After about three minutes, she rocked back on her heels and put her face in her hands. Clark waited for several long breaths, then stood and slowly made his way to her side. He gently touched her shoulder with two fingers, much as she had touched him, and softly asked, “Coffee? It’s on me today.”
She lowered her hands and nodded, then lifted one finger as if asking for a bit more time. He stepped back and waited for her as she took a handkerchief from her jacket pocket and dried her eyes with it. Then she stood, looked into his eyes, and nodded.
“Thank you, Clark.”
He smiled a little and said, “Starways is waiting for us.”
She ducked her head and almost smiled back. “Yeah. Hope we get the same table.” She fell into step beside him without touching him. Then she said, “Let’s keep the conversation civil this time, okay, Clark-if-you-want-to?”
He chuckled and watched her smile grow ever so slightly. It was good to have a friend who understood his pain.
He hoped she felt the same way about him. He could use an understanding friend, and she seemed to need one too.
*****
Bobbie was glad Clark knew about Glen and the reason for her weekly visit, visits which were occasionally interrupted by work but never by weather. She’d performed her regular homage to Glen for months, ever since the funeral, no matter the conditions. Twice she’d had to clear snow away from the foot of the grave so she could kneel and talk to him, three times she’d stood because of the standing water during or after a bad storm, and once she’d stood under her umbrella during a hailstorm. The poor umbrella hadn’t been the same after that, but she hadn’t had the heart to replace it yet.
Clark paid for their drinks this time, and Bobbie led him to the table they’d used the previous week. They sat across from each other, silent for several minutes, neither apparently wanting to be the first to speak, until Bobbie huffed and said, “This is nuts. I didn’t come here to watch you blow on your coffee.”
He sighed and seemed to relax. “Same here. Suggestions?”
“Let’s talk about work. I caught a robbery-homicide in Suicide Slum this week. Some low-level coke dealer lost his stash to a pair of thieves. One of them knifed him in the abdomen and left him to bleed out. He survived long enough to identify the guy who stabbed him to the officers on the scene, but he died in the ambulance on the way to the emergency room.”
Clark nodded. “That’s too bad. Any leads on the perp the vic fingered?”
She lifted her head and stared at him. “Wow. Cop lingo from the reporter. I didn’t know you were on the crime beat.”
He straightened and preened a little. “My dear young lady, I am a man of many and varied hitherto undiscovered talents.”
She chuckled at his use of vocabulary. “Good to know. To respond to your interrogative, we—”
“’Interrogative?’ Now who’s flashing the fancy schoolin’?”
“I am, smart-aleck, so just listen. The perp’s street name is Slick Rick. We got a hit from the gang enforcement guys, so this guy is a known actor, but we don’t have an address or a complete description or any known associates. I don’t know how we’re going to track him down.”
His mouth twisted in apparent thought for a moment. “Would you mind if I took a crack at helping you find this guy? The Planet may have a resource or two you folks haven’t tapped yet.”
Her first, immediate, instantaneous reaction was to raise her hackles tell him to stay off her turf. Before she had a chance to be stupid again, though, her cognitive mind told her that the object of the game was to find the lawbreaker and bring him or her to justice, not to protect her back yard against all possible trespassers. Besides, Clark couldn’t take the collar from her even if he wanted to.
It took her a few seconds to arrive at this conclusion. His face changed while she thought through all the angles, and his mouth opened. But before he could apologize and retract his offer, she blurted, “Sure! Yeah, any help we can get will be more than we had before. And I’ll see if Inspector Manning will give you an interview if your info helps us close the case.”
He seemed to relax. “No problem. And thank you. I’ll make some calls this afternoon.”
“No, thank you for trying. I’ve heard too many horror stories about reporters who ‘helped’ investigations into the gutter and down the drain just for a byline. I know you won’t pull a stunt like that.”
“No, I wouldn’t. By the way, who is Inspector Manning?”
She sighed. “Senior Detective Inspector Wyatt Manning is Bill Henderson’s nominal superior. He’s very by-the-book, chews out subordinates for the tiniest of mistakes, and generally makes himself a pain in everyone’s butt. Bill told him that he was slammed with work and asked to have another detective assigned to the unit temporarily. Instead, Manning decided Bill couldn’t prioritize his subordinates’ workload properly and took over almost half the cases and most of Bill’s available manpower. I got handed a couple of cold cases and three open ones. I’m moving on the other two open cases, but I got stuck on the stabbing. If I can give the DA’s office a solid case they can prosecute successfully, it’ll help my career and help get Manning off Bill’s back at the same time.”
He nodded. “Sounds like that’s important to you.”
“It is. Bill’s a tough boss, but he also understands that no one is perfect, unlike Senior Detective Inspector Wyatt Manning. The man has to have had his compassion gland removed.”
He laughed softly. “I hope the source I’m thinking about can help you. If he’s open to the idea, I’ll introduce you to him, assuming you want to meet him.”
“How expensive is he?”
Clark grinned. “He takes his fees in food. The better the meal, the harder he works for you.”
Bobbie grinned back. “I take it that a meal from Burger Whiz doesn’t count?”
He reacted with obviously fake horror. “Don’t even hint at something like that! He’d probably demand at least three four-star steak feasts just to make up for a Whizzer Special.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Hey, I hate to cut this short, but I need to put in some paperwork time at the office. I’ll be there until at least three-thirty, so if your source calls you back with anything solid you can give me a ring.”
His eyes flickered for a moment but she didn’t know why. Then he said, “Sounds good to me. I need to go in myself. Have to finish up my timesheet and work on a feature on Chuck Lee and his latest action movie. He claims he does all of his own stunts.”
They stood together. “You sound like you don’t quite believe him.”
“I assume you’ve seen at least one of his flicks.” She nodded and he continued as the made their way to the exit. “I can buy his doing the choreographed fighting scenes, since he really does have a couple of high-ranking black belts in different disciplines. But the jumping on or off moving vehicles and falling two or three stories through glass skylights? No, I don’t believe he does stuff like that. We’re not talking about Jackie Chan filming in Hong Kong here. The Hollywood studio wouldn’t let him do those stunts. Too dangerous. Their insurance premiums would cost more than his already unbelievable salary, and they wouldn’t put their most expensive talent through that kind of risk.”
“Well, all I can say is, go get ‘em, Clark! Get that Pulitzer!”
He laughed. “I’d be pleased just to get it printed in the Monday entertainment section.”
“Okay, whatever.” She reached out to shake his hand, and when he took it she clasped it gently. “See you next Saturday, same time or thereabouts?”
He smiled and nodded. “As long as no asteroids approach the earth, yes. I’m looking forward to it.”
She returned the smile, then released his hand and turned to walk to her car. As she walked, she thought about why Clark had flinched when she’d told him he could call her if he got anything solid. Why would that make—
No. She hadn’t told him to call her. She’d told him to give her a ring.
And he’d instantly flashed on “engagement ring.”
She’d done it again. She’d reminded him of how close he and Lois had been to an engagement. And worse yet, she’d obliquely suggested that the two of them get engaged.
You’re so stupid, Bobbie. You’re clumsier than a drunk elephant. You’ll never keep any friends if you keep stomping on their already broken hearts.
At the same time, she thought that Clark would forgive her. Probably already had. Surely he’d known she hadn’t hurt him intentionally.
*****
Bobby Bigmouth called Clark back at his work desk inside an hour. “I got a couple of maybe addresses for Slick Rick. Uh, you ain’t going after him by yourself, are you?”
“No. This is a favor for – for a friend.”
“Good. This guy is knife-happy, Kent. He always carries at least two switchblades and he knows how to use them. This isn’t the first dude he’s cut.”
“Is it the first one who died?”
“I think so but I can’t be sure. I just know he’s acting like he’s invisible to the cops. He’s sure they can’t find him, and anyone who squeals on him is putting his head in a noose.” Bobby paused, then said, “I mean it, Clark. Don’t go after him alone. This guy’s really dangerous.”
“I won’t, I promise. Give me the addresses, okay?”
The snitch did so, then asked, “Anything else?”
Clark smiled. “Yes, actually. I told my friend that I’d introduce the two of you if you were willing to meet.”
“Hey, wait a minute! You can’t be tellin’ people what I do! I stay alive because I’m discreet! Some of my other so-called ‘friends’ would tie me to a concrete block and drop me in Hob’s Bay for talkin’ to you!”
“Easy, Bobby, easy. I haven’t blown your cover and I won’t tell her who you are if you don’t want me to.”
“Yeah, good. She’s probably a cop, anyway, and if anybody sees me with a—” Bobby broke off, then hesitantly asked, “This friend – your friend is a woman?”
“Yes. She’s a detective with the MPD. Bill Henderson is her immediate supervisor. But I won’t mention you to her if you don’t want me to.”
“Uh – maybe. Lemme think about it, okay?”
“No problem. The usual for this tip, Chinese special?”
“With two extra egg rolls. And don’t steal the fortune cookies!”
Clark chuckled. “That was Lois’ trick, not mine. I’ll call Mr. Fong and set it up for you anytime in the next three days.”
Quietly, Bobby said, “Thanks, Clark. You’re one of the good guys. I hope that info pans out for – for your friend.”
“Later, Bobby.”
Clark pressed the cradle button, then dialed Bobbie and gave her the addresses and Bobby Bigmouth’s warning about Slick Rick and his knives. As he hung up, it hit him that he might soon introduce Bobbie to Bobby. Or Bobby to Bobbie. He could make a stand-up routine out of it if he wanted to.
He smiled at the thought as he shut down his computer and tidied up his desk before going home.
It didn’t occur to him until that night when he had his toothbrush in his mouth that he’d mentioned Lois to Bobby Bigmouth without a twang.
*****
Clark didn’t notice that Perry watched him from the editor’s office and nodded as Clark walked out that Saturday afternoon without carrying a virtual piano on his back for the first time in over a year. It was good to see a smile on the young man’s face. Perry was glad he hadn’t forgotten how to use those particular muscles.
He picked up the phone and dialed Bill Henderson’s direct number. He wanted to see if that lady detective was smiling as much as Clark was.
He hoped neither Clark nor Bobbie ever found out that he and Bill were playing Cupid for them. Clark was a wordsmith and could eviscerate either of them in print, but Bobbie was a dead shot with her .40 caliber Glock. Then again, thought Perry, reporting the news was dangerous, just like cop work was.
The risks for this gambit were fairly high. The potential reward was far greater.
*****
Clark had never before worked Monday through Friday while eagerly waiting for the weekend, but as the weeks passed he started doing it. His time with Bobbie became important to him, almost as important as his time with Lois. Only now he had a real person to speak with, someone to share his pain, someone who needed his presence as much as he need hers. Clark always felt lighter in spirit after Saturday morning coffee with Bobbie.
During the next ten weeks or so, they fell into a pattern of Saturday mid-morning meetings. Usually they’d connect at Glen’s grave and then move to Lois’, although there were three bad weather days when Bobbie picked up Clark at his apartment. Clark always stood back, silent and respectful, as Bobbie knelt beside her partner’s final resting place, and she always returned the favor as he tried to recapture the unique flavor of life that was exclusively Lois Lane. Then they would walk to the coffee shop and talk. Sometimes they shared funny stories about Lois or Glen. Sometimes the sharing was painful, but cathartic.
Some days they spoke of their years growing up. Clark told her about Smallville and his parents and how wonderful they were. He also told her he’d been adopted as an infant and she smiled and said that they’d been very unselfish. Bobbie revealed that her father Mark Tracey had died of sudden onset leukemia during the winter of the year she turned twelve, and that her mother had raised her, helped her through college, encouraged her to enter the police academy, and had applauded her when she’d received her shield. Bobbie also smiled when she related that her mother seemed to be serious about one of the prosecutors in the DA’s office. The man had told Bobbie that she could come to him any time for free legal advice, but he wouldn’t so much as fix a parking ticket for her. They both laughed about that.
Kendra Powell, one of the Saturday baristas, became their unofficial personal server. Kendra always recognized them by name and greeted them with a big smile when they came in, whether separately or together, and she’d memorized both their main preferences and their first alternate choices.
The only time Clark saw Kendra flustered was the morning Bobbie apparently felt a bit whimsical and ordered a duckburger, armadillo fries, and a cactus shake. Kendra’s face had worn a deadpan Mastercard-worthy priceless expression that morning, as had two other patrons waiting for their orders. The rest of the staff behind the counter thought it was the funniest thing they’d heard all week, which surely had been Bobbie’s main goal.
Unless it was making Clark laugh. Which he did. And Bobbie smiled for the rest of their time together that day.
The weekdays passed slowly for him, but it wasn’t so hard to take now. Someone listened to him, someone understood him, and that made a huge difference.
The only dark spot in his new Saturday routine was the shaded look of despair he sometimes glimpsed in Bobbie’s eyes. Even when she smiled, sometimes the sadness remained.
It worried him.
*****
Bobbie’s eyes didn’t want to open. But it was Saturday. Too early to get up, actually, but she would sleep no more this morning. It was a very special Saturday.
It was the first time for her to visit Glen’s grave since the anniversary of his death.
The dream that had stirred her was old and familiar and still drove a white-hot sword into her heart. More a memory of the car camera video than a dream, she’d relived Glen’s murder once again. This time, though, there was a wrinkle at the end.
In real life, she’d knelt beside Glen’s body and cried and screamed his name but he hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken. In last night’s dream, he’d opened his eyes and rolled his head toward her and lifted one hand to touch her face and whisper with his last breath that he loved her.
She lay still, willing the pain from the dream to dissipate as it always did – slowly but surely, the old agony would melt away and she’d be able to face the morning. It always had before.
Not this time. This time the hole in the middle of her chest gaped wide and threatened to pull her in like a whirlpool in the middle of the ocean. She couldn’t swim away, she couldn’t climb on a boat, she couldn’t call for a helicopter rescue. All she could do was drown. She suddenly realized that she didn’t care if she did drown in her pain. This day had been coming for a long time – an entire year.
It was inevitable. This would be the end for her.
From the depths of her suffering, the thought that the most appropriate place to put an end to the anguish and heartache would be at Glen’s grave floated to the surface of her mind.
The decision all but made itself. All she had to do was get dressed, bring her sidearm to the cemetery, kneel beside his marker, and all that pain would end.
Her mother would miss her. She’d grieve and wail and wonder what she could have done to save her daughter. This would stay with her for the rest of her life.
Bobbie was sorry for that, but the void in her heart couldn’t abide comparing anyone else’s pain to hers. The void demanded a human sacrifice to fill it.
Clark would miss her. Maybe. She hoped so, anyway. But he’d understand.
No one else might get it. Clark would.
She’d try not to make too much of a mess.
*****
This Saturday was an important Saturday. It was three days after the anniversary of Glen’s death. Clark thought he had a good idea how she’d feel today, and she wouldn’t have a warm and fuzzy feeling.
So he deliberately arrived early.
He walked softly to Glen’s grave, and he wasn’t surprised to see that Bobbie had arrived first. Sometimes she’d be waiting for him near Lois’ grave, sometimes he’d meet her near Glen’s, but both of them had always waited for the other to finish before moving to whichever grave was the next one.
On this day, however, she wasn’t standing or kneeling at the foot of the grave. She was kneeling beside Glen’s headstone, hunched over beside the marker with her forehead leaning against the side and her left hand braced against the top. Clark looked closer and saw that her right hand was resting on her holstered service pistol.
This could be very bad.
She was breathing hard, gulping in air and letting it shudder out. A quick super-check revealed no injuries, but that might change in less than a second. He knew how fast a trained shooter could draw and fire, and he would be hard-pressed to react in time even with his powers. And while Superman might be able to stop her today, it wouldn’t keep her from trying again later.
This rescue – if it did end up as a rescue – wouldn’t be a Superman one.
He approached gingerly but not silently. “Bobbie?” he called softly. “Bobbie, can you hear me?”
She sniffed once. “Of course I can hear you, Kent. I don’t – no! Stay back. Please – please stay right there.”
“Okay.” He knelt at the foot of Glen’s grave, where he’d seen her so many times before. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”
She didn’t look at him. “What do you think is going on?”
“I don’t know, but I’d like to. Please talk to me.”
Her eyes cut towards him for a moment and she took a deep breath. “I’m trying to make a decision.”
He waited for her to continue, but when she didn’t, he asked softly, “A decision to stay here or go to be with Glen?”
She lifted her head to look at Glen’s headstone and wiped her eyes with her left hand. “No.” She took another deep breath. “I’m trying to decide whether or not I – I can take the pain anymore.”
He nodded and sat down on the dry grass. “I understand, Bobbie,” he said softly. “And I’m not just saying that. You know that I really do understand.”
She turned damp eyes towards him. “Yeah. You do. Anybody else—” She didn’t continue.
He nodded and exhaled softly. “Anyone else,” he continued, “would just be talking smack, saying stuff that didn’t mean much. No one else really knows just how you feel. Not even me.”
She wiped her face left-handed again. “You come pretty close.”
“I guess I do. But that doesn’t mean I know exactly what’s going on in your head. Or what’s going on in your heart.”
A soft sob escaped her lips. “It – it’s so hard! It hurts so much! Why is it so hard, Clark? Why?”
He took in another deep breath and let it out slowly before answering. “I’ve thought about that very question a lot. I think it’s because when we love someone, we give a part of our heart to that person. If the person doesn’t want it, the heart fragment is almost always bent somehow when you get it back so that it doesn’t quite fit right and we have to figure out how to put it back together with the rest of the heart. That’s why it feels broken. But when that someone you love accepts a part of your heart and loves you in return, you get a part of that person’s heart back, and then both of you have to figure out how to fit all the parts together. If both of you want the parts to fit, then there’s almost always a way to do it.
“But when that someone you love dies, a part of your heart dies with that person, and a part of that other person’s heart – the part that you got from that person you love – tries to die inside you. And it hurts. It really, really hurts. I think it’s the worst pain anyone can feel.”
He shifted closer to her without touching her. “And the cruelest irony is that the more you love and the more you were loved, the bigger the pain, because the bigger the part of your heart you gave away, and the bigger the part of the other person’s heart you received. You can learn to live with part of your heart gone, but it’s hard. It’s so very hard. Some folks don’t think it’s worth the effort.” He paused, then said, “But most people get through it. Life gets easier as time goes along, Bobbie. There’s no shortcut. It takes a lot of time. You’ll eventually heal. I promise you that. And you know I’m not lying to you.”
Her tears began flowing more freely. “You – you do know. And I know you – you’re not lying. You really believe what – what you’re saying. That’s how I – how I feel when I – when I talk to – to Glen and – that’s what you felt – how you feel when – when you think of Lois and – what you – what she—”
Bobbie didn’t finish her sentence. She shifted her weight toward Clark and moved her hand away from her weapon. In a flash, he was beside her, holding her against his broad chest and letting her sob and shudder against him. She clung to him as if grasping a life ring in the open ocean, her fists wrapping themselves up in his sleeves.
As he held Bobbie, as she clutched at his arms and wept out her pain and railed against the universe for being so unfair to her, he realized that even if he did nothing else for the rest of his life, he’d saved this one life today.
And for that moment, it was enough for him to keep going for one more day. Maybe even a whole week.
He never made it to Lois’ grave that Saturday. Somehow he didn’t think she’d mind.
