Clark had been nervous about meeting Glen’s parents, but they quickly put him at ease. Neither of them even hinted that Bobbie might be forgetting their son or betraying his memory by being with Clark. Both of them seemed to accept Bobbie’s insistence that she and Clark were no more than good friends who understood each other at face value.
It bothered him for a moment when Evonne mentioned that Bobbie had revealed her relationship with Clark only a week before, but then he remembered how long he’d put off telling the Lanes about Bobbie. He deliberately assumed that her reasons were the same as his, namely that neither of them wanted any premature speculation – or pressure – about any possible romantic relationship in their shared future, whether near or far.
The pizza was fresh and hot. The soft drinks were cold, fizzy, tasty, and varied. There were more than six grandchildren, but those six between ten and sixteen made up the volleyball squad, with one to three adults participating to even up the sides. The rest of the grandkids were still too young to participate. Clark refrained from joking with the adults, but traded a few with the older kids.
Étienne and Evonne led the troop outside to choose teams. Clark looked around in amazement. “I’m impressed, Étienne. This yard is almost a pasture.”
Étienne smiled. “And you, as you are being from Kansas, would be acquainted with pastures. Thank you.”
Clark caught the volleyball that Bobbie tossed his way. “I see why you have the court. You could play basketball here, too.”
Étienne’s smile dimmed slightly. “We did, at times, when Glen was still with us. Now, though, it seems – we have taken down the goals and – je suis désolé, I am sorry. I cannot explain.”
Clark stopped in place. “Oh, Étienne, please, let me apologize. I had no intention of causing you discomfort.”
“You have not done so. And you had no manner of knowing. Never mind. My past losses are in the past and cannot be compared to those of others such as Roberta.” He sighed. “She is an excellent young woman. Evonne and I still regret that she is not our daughter-in-law.” He lifted his head and clapped his hands. “Voilá! We shall live in the present. I choose you for my team, Clark.”
Evonne, who had wandered closer, chimed in with, “And I begin with Roberta.”
“I follow with Nancy.”
“Michelle.”
“I choose Allan.”
“Jeanne.”
“Gerard.”
“Paul.”
Clark smiled and flipped the ball underhanded to Evonne, who caught it easily. “Who serves first?”
*****
Fourteen-year-old Nancy tried not to show how excited she was to have Clark on her team. Bobbie had told Nancy several times that she and Clark weren’t dating, weren’t in that kind of relationship, and that he was just as free to look for a girlfriend as Bobbie was free to look for a boyfriend. Nancy always nodded and gave her a look that said, “Oh, really?” After the first few times, Bobbie had learned to give it back to her.
Evonne tossed the ball to Clark and said, “You have first serve. Underhand serve only to make it more equal. You may not reach beyond the net to strike the ball. Any questions?” Clark smiled and shook his head. “Very well. Set your formations and be ready to play!”
As Bobbie gathered her teammates in a huddle, Nancy called Clark near. “Clark,” she said, “we like to play a diamond formation, one in the middle at the net, one at the back line, and the other two close to either sideline about halfway between the net and the back corner. The player on the back line covers the middle. When the ball’s in their court, the sideline guys drop back a little to cover the back corners. If whoever’s at the front point can jump, we try to set up spikes.”
“Net player moves back and forth across the net?”
“Yeah. Right sideline player serves from the back corner. I want you to start on the back line, see how you move. Oh, we rotate counter-clockwise when we get the serve back. That means you’re our second server.”
Clark nodded. “What defense does Bobbie like to play?”
“Four corners, usually, but they end up all over their side. And you never know where they’re going to hit it, so stay alert.”
He smiled. “Got it. I’ll spike it at Bobbie’s feet if I can.”
Nancy frowned at him. “You better. She’s easily the best player on their team. She can jump like a grasshopper. And she likes to spike me in the face.”
Clark looked at her as if he wanted to laugh and frown at the same time, as if he were trying to treat her like a mature little girl. Which she wasn’t. She’d be fifteen in seven weeks, the next thing to a woman, and she planned to make him look at her as if she were a full-grown woman.
She still wasn’t quite clear on how she’d accomplish that, though. Oh, well, there was plenty of time. They had all evening.
Nancy snatched the ball from Clark and tossed it to Gerard, then said, “You serve. Allan, left sideline.” She marched to the net and glared over her shoulder as she secured her shoulder-length light brown hair in a scrunchie. “You guys ready?”
“Ready to beat you bad!” Paul shouted back.
Rather than return the trash talk, Nancy bent her knees in a ready stance and yelled, “Let it go, Gerard!”
*****
The match was competitive but never too intense. Étienne and Evonne served as judges, one at each far corner, and they both teased and encouraged their grandchildren. For the most part, Bobbie had fun, although she suspected that some of Clark’s spikes at her feet were a little harder than they needed to be.
By the middle of the first game, the kid’s parents were around the court, cheering on all the kids and teasing Bobbie. After he faked throwing the ball at Nancy’s father – at which Nancy clapped and laughed – Clark was included in the teasing. Bobbie did notice, though, that the barbs aimed at him were far blunter than those tossed at her.
She insisted to herself that she wasn’t jealous of the easy acceptance they displayed toward Clark.
Bobbie’s team won the first game by six points. By that time, though, Clark’s team had figured out that feeding him the ball just above the net was better than hitting it high and deep where their opponents could set up Bobbie for a spike. He hit several setups for points, but one went out of bounds when it hit the back line and Evonne ruled it out. Mournful cries from Clark’s teammates of “Grand-mère, s'il te plaît!” (Grandmother, please!) fell upon deaf ears. Nancy occasionally tried to do more than she should, and Bobbie suspected she was trying to impress their handsome guest.
She needn’t have tried so hard. Clark applauded her effort each time she overextended herself, and by the second game she’d settled into her own rhythm. To Bobbie’s hidden delight, Clark’s team won the second game by four.
As the teams again changed sides after game two, Clark passed Bobbie and smiled. “I didn’t know I was going to have to work this hard for pizza. I think you owe me a home-cooked dinner of some kind.”
She gave him her best mock-frown. “No way! I’m working just as hard as you are. They’re not taking it easy on me because you’re playing, so I think you owe me instead!”
Nancy jumped up and slapped Clark on the side of his head. “Come on! Allan’s serving and you’re at the net! Get ready!”
Clark turned back to Bobbie and shrugged. “Duty calls, I guess. Get ready for another beating.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Not happening, Kansas. You goin’ down hard!”
“You think so?”
“Word up, dawg!”
That was when she realized everyone was focused on her and Clark – especially Nancy, who stood a few steps away with her hands on her hips and intensity on her face. All the adults laughed or chuckled. The younger kids all yelled for them to start the game. The other players moaned or drawled “Eww!” except for Jeanne, who growled, “Get a room, you two!”
Jeanne’s taunt startled Bobbie and she stalked, suddenly embarrassed, to her back corner position. Her face felt warm and she clapped her hands hard. “Come on, team, let’s get them!”
The third game went back and forth, with long, spirited rallies, and neither team was able to build a lead greater than two points. Twice Bobbie tried to spike Clark in the head, but both times he shifted his hands at the last instant and knocked the ball back over the net. The second time it came back at her, Bobbie misjudged the height of the ball, and instead of slapping it to the side for a setup, her fingertips brushed it just enough to make it seem to hang in the air just on the other side. Behind her, Nancy popped the ball up and just into the far court.
Bobbie landed like a cat and bounced right back up, jumped again, and tried to block Clark’s expected spike. He went up and swung – and again gently tapped it back over with his other hand to her left, just beyond her outstretched fingers. She reached for it in midair, overbalanced, and went down on her side harder than she would have preferred.
Her breath left her lungs in a rush and she couldn’t move for a moment. Before she realized it, Clark was beside her, holding her shoulders still and gently supporting her head. A part of her realized he was waiting for her to tell him she wasn’t hurt.
She took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m fine, Clark. I can wiggle my toes and fingers, my vision’s clear, and there’s no pain in my chest.” She pushed vainly against his restraint for a moment, then lowered her voice and said, “Really, I’m fine. I just knocked the wind out of my lungs. No permanent damage. Shoot, I’ve taken harder hits than this playing touch football with these hooligans.”
He gave her a lopsided smile and helped her stand. She stretched and rolled her head, then put her hand on his upper arm. “Thank you,” she told him, “but I’m okay.”
Bobbie held his gaze for a slow three-count, then Gerard said, “What did Jeanne say, you two?”
Clark reached out and snatched the ball from him, then bounced it off his head twice. “That’s what you get for being a smart-aleck, young man!” He laughed and pointed. “Get back to your position or I’m gonna let Bobbie smoke you bad!”
“No way!” Gerard yelled back. “Team first always!”
The adults in the cheap seats laughed and called out encouragement in both English and French. Bobbie clapped her hands and snapped, “So serve it already! It’s time to end this!”
Nancy took her place with the ball in her hand and a determined expression on her face. “Nine serving ten! Ready!” she shouted, then popped the ball high and deep toward the far corner.
That corner was occupied by her cousin Michelle. The girl was probably the least athletic of all the players there that afternoon, but she gamely stretched out her arms, put her fists together, and popped the ball up and toward the net where Bobbie bumped it over. The ball floated past Clark’s outstretched hand toward the middle of their team.
Twelve-year-old Paul leaped forward and managed to keep the ball off the court, but it came up at an angle toward his twin brother Allan. Allan managed to put it up far enough for Clark to slap it back over the net toward the middle, angled just enough to get around Bobbie’s outstretched fingers.
Michelle and Paul both lunged for it. Both missed the ball and crashed into each other as Paul’s shoulder hit Michelle’s upper arm. They spun apart and dropped to the grass.
Before Bobbie could blink, Michelle’s and Paul’s parents were bent over their respective children. Neither of the kids was crying, but neither was trying to rise yet. Clark knelt down between the men and put one hand on each concerned father.
“I – I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m so very sorry. I never meant for them to get hurt.”
“I don’t think they’re badly hurt,” Paul’s father said, “but I am sure they’re both bruised. Does anyone need anything from inside? Ice? Towels?”
Paul’s mother looked up and shook her head. “Not for this daredevil. Perhaps for Michelle?”
Michelle’s father gently probed his daughter’s arm and said, “How much does that hurt?”
She flinched slightly. “A little. Not much, though.” She gathered her legs under herself and slowly stood. “Okay. I’m fine. Just a bruise. If Paul’s good, let’s go.”
Paul sat up and rotated his shoulder. “I’m fine. That was their point, wasn’t it? Ten all, then. Let’s finish.”
Clark stood and shook his head. “I’m done. I never wanted anyone to be hurt. I’m really sorry, Michelle, Paul. Please accept my apology.”
Bobbie stepped up next to him and, without thinking about it, took his hand in hers. “It’s okay, Clark. The kids are fine. They know you weren’t trying to hurt anyone. It’s the kind of accident kids have all the time. Especially these kids. And their parents aren’t mad.” She leaned against his arm and whispered, “You’re okay, too. Right?”
Étienne put his hand on Clark’s other shoulder. “Roberta is correct, Clark. There is no offence here, and no one is truly injured. These children receive worse bruises playing amongst themselves.”
Bobbie watched Clark struggle with the situation. He clenched and opened his fists several times and kept licking his lips. His color wasn’t good, either. She took his other hand and squeezed both, then whispered, “It’s not your fault, Clark. And even if it were, nobody’s really hurt. Everybody’s fine. These nutty kids even want to finish the game.” She stepped closer and kissed him on the cheek. “Okay?”
He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. “I’m not supposed to hurt people. I’m supposed to help them. I’m supposed to save them. I’m supposed to show good people who the bad people are. The bad people are the ones who hurt the innocent.” He opened his eyes and looked at her. “How can I be a good person if I hurt innocents?”
Bobbie’s mouth fell open. Hurt innocents? What was he talking about?
Before she could recover, Étienne lifted his hands and announced, “We shall call this game a tie. Since the set score was one to one, this match is a draw.” He turned and faced Clark with a smile. “Perhaps we can invite Clark to participate again very soon.”
Instead of answering, Clark turned sharply and quickly walked through the house toward the front door. Bobbie turned to Étienne and said, “I’m – I’m sorry. I think this somehow reminded him of the woman – the friend he lost over a year ago and it was a lot like me and Glen. I guess he’s still hurting.”
Evonne leaned close and quietly said, “As are you, Roberta.”
The older woman’s obvious concern touched her. “Yeah, well, I’m his ride and I think I need to talk to him and let him talk to me and thank you for both of us and I’m sorry to leave like this but—”
Evonne gave her a little push. “Go. Care for your friend. Treat him well, for he is a good man. And you must tell him that I said so. We will see you again soon.”
Bobbie took a step to follow Clark, then stopped, still uncertain if she should follow him. Nancy pointed at the back door and growled, “If you don’t go after him right now I will. And I won’t leave him until I know he’s okay.” Bobbie blinked twice, then smiled and trotted through the house.
*****
Clark sat on the curb beside Bobbie’s car and wrapped his arms around his knees. I played football and baseball in high school, he thought. I played football in college and had pro scouts talking to me in my junior year. The day I graduated, I had three agents contact me about representation in the pros. In all that time, I never lost control, never hurt anyone.
And now I hurt two junior high kids in a pickup volleyball game. Idiot!
He closed his eyes to keep them from leaking. Didn’t used to cry so easily. I used to have rock-solid control of my emotions. Then I lost Lois.
No. He didn’t lose her. She was dead. And it was his fault.
Just like those kids today. He hadn’t meant to hurt them. He hadn’t meant for anyone to be hurt. He thought he had enough control to play just well enough for everyone to have fun.
Paul and Michelle hadn’t had much fun.
On top of that, he’d insulted the entire LeCour family by leaving so abruptly and without explanation. Maybe Bobbie would cover for him.
Maybe she’d wised up and was waiting until he just walked away. Maybe she didn’t want to see him anymore. She could – no, she should arrest him for endangering a child.
He didn’t know Bobbie was behind him until she touched his shoulder.
“Clark? Are you – sorry. You’re not okay. And I think I understand why.” He didn’t move, didn’t speak. After a long moment, she asked, “May I sit down beside you?”
He jerked his head to one side. “It’s a free country. Or curb, in this case.”
He felt her sit down beside him without touching him. They sat side by side for maybe two minutes, maybe a little longer, before Bobbie said, “I had fun.”
He didn’t respond.
“The kids had fun, too. That was the best volleyball match I’ve played here since – in a long time. Étienne and Evonne would tell you the same if you asked them.”
He sighed. “I’m not supposed to hurt people.”
She touched his arm. “You didn’t hurt anyone. It was an accident, and not a bad one.”
“Oh, really?” He snorted. “You’ve seen worse?”
“Yes. About a year and a half ago, I came to dinner with Glen and got into a touch football game with his siblings. Daniel and I – Daniel is Yolanda’s husband, Gerard’s father – collided when I tried to intercept a pass aimed at him. He came down with a sprained wrist and two broken fingers. He just went to the emergency room and promised to clobber me next time.”
“It’s not the same thing. He was an adult.”
“No, it’s not. But it’s the same principle. All the LeCour kids and grandkids know that nobody tries to hurt anyone in those games, but if you do athletic stuff, little hurts and bruises are part and parcel of it. All you did was hit a ball over a net. You weren’t trying to hurt anyone.” He felt her shift closer. “I promise you, Clark, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
He lifted his head and glared at the far curb. “You don’t understand! I’m not supposed to hurt people! I’m supposed to help them!”
“So am I. But I still do sometimes.”
She didn’t get it. She didn’t know about Superman. And he couldn’t tell her. Not yet. She didn’t understand that he could have played every position on both sides of the net and never let the ball hit the ground.
It was frustrating.
He clenched his fists and abruptly jumped to his feet but didn’t go anywhere. There was no place where he could hide from this guilt. Not even his Fortress of Solitude in Smallville was far enough to go and hide. His responsibility would track him even there.
Suddenly Bobbie stood before him. She reached out and took his right hand, massaged it, and slowly uncurled his fingers. She caressed his palm until he sighed and released some of the tension.
Then she quietly asked, “Clark, did you kill Lois Lane?”
He stopped breathing.
He knew his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn’t close it. Her question had hit him in the gut, right where he lived. It cut through his defenses and slammed against his heart.
And she’d known it would.
She lifted his hand and kissed his palm. “I know the answer. The answer is no. A very definite no. You did not kill Lois Lane. No one thinks you did. No one blames you. No one blames Superman either, and he was directly involved. But it wasn’t his fault. Or yours.” She released his hand and put her arms around him with her head next to his. “Please, Clark, don’t do this to yourself.”
He gently pushed her away. “You don’t understand. I wish you did.”
She smiled. “Remember the day you found me at Glen’s grave with my hand on my sidearm? I was going to do it that day. I’d planned to end the pain right then and there. But you brought me back. You reminded me that I wasn’t the only one who’d ever been hurt, wasn’t the only one who’d suffered a huge loss, wasn’t the only person who’d lost the one she loved more than anyone else.”
She leaned forward and gently kissed his cheek. “And now you’re my friend. My best friend. When you hurt, I hurt. When you rejoice, I rejoice. I watched you playing back there. You were having a wonderful time with those kids, and they loved playing with you. You’re a big hit. Please don’t lose that. Don’t forget any of it.”
Her words made sense. Paul and Michelle had wanted to finish the game. No one had been angry with him. Neither Étienne nor Evonne, nor any of the parents, nor any of the kids blamed him. And especially not Bobbie.
As bad as he felt about the kids being hurt, he knew he couldn’t have taken it if Bobbie had blamed him.
He relaxed and dropped his shoulders. He looked up and saw Bobbie’s smile grow. He took a breath and said, “Okay.”
She nodded. “You want some dessert?”
He felt one corner of his mouth move up a little. “We can stop at a little café I know and pick up a peach cobbler. It’s not as good as my mom’s, but it’s not bad.”
She nodded and gestured to her car. “Sounds like a plan. Let’s go.”
*****
Bobbie drove them to the café where Clark bought the peach cobbler. They took a booth and ate half of it over the next two hours. By the time they both decided they were full, Clark was smiling again.
She drove him home and walked him to his front door. As he took out his keyring, she said, “When will you call me this week?”
He lifted one eyebrow. “Oh, when I find the time, or when I run out of busywork.”
She chuckled. “Like that’s gonna happen. You reporters are always scrambling for your next story.”
He unlocked the door and paused. “Unlike the detective precinct. You’re only busy when people do bad things to each other.” He pushed the door open as he shook his head. “I don’t think I could work like that, not all the time.”
She sighed. “Yeah. It’s the one part of my job I hate. I’m only needed when somebody has actually committed a crime.” She stood outside, holding the remains of the cobbler, until he tilted his head and frowned at her. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” she asked sweetly.
“Of course.” He smiled a little and gestured for her to enter. “Please come in. I’ll put the cobbler we didn’t eat in the fridge for later.”
She walked in and handed him the box. “Not too much later, I hope. That was really good cobbler and I don’t want it to grow mold.”
This time he smiled more easily. “Not to worry. I’ll eat it before that happens.”
As he turned back from the fridge, she said, “Can we – can I ask you some questions? That are maybe, um, kinda intrusive?”
Clark’s smile faded and his face went slack. “Intrusive how?”
“Uh – about the volleyball game.”
He ducked his head. “I’d really rather not answer those questions right now. I hope you don’t mind.”
She stepped closer and hugged him for a moment, then backed up a little. “But I do mind. I kinda almost understand why you reacted the way you did when the kids knocked each other down, but not quite. You knew they weren’t really hurt, just knocked around a little. It was just one of those things that happens to people sometimes. Besides, kids who don’t get a few bruises now and then aren’t doing anything.”
It was as if a wall slammed down between them. He stiffened and backed up a foot or so, then said, “I’m sorry you don’t understand. And I’m also sorry that I can’t explain my reaction. I would if I could. I have to ask you to just accept that.”
She closed her eyes and let out the breath she’d been holding, then looked at him again. “Then I’ll accept it. I hope someday you’ll trust me enough to let me in and tell me why that bothered you so much.”
He held his ground for a few seconds, then seemed to relax a little. “I hope so too.” He turned and gestured to the couch. “You want to watch TV with me? I think we could find a movie on one of the premium channels. Or we could watch a video.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Thanks, but I really need to go home and do laundry. I’m almost out of clean underwear.”
He fought the chuckle for a moment, then let it out in a burst. “Oh, yes, do your laundry so you can wear clean underwear.” He grinned wide and shook his head. “I don’t know if I’d like you less if you wore dirty undies or none at all.”
Bobbie feigned shock at his comment. “Why, Mr. Kent! I assure you I’d buy a package of cheap panties at Costco before I’d go commando! Especially at work!”
He laughed openly. “Please, go spend your money on detergent and not extra clothing. I’ll talk to you later this week.”
“Okay. You have a good evening, Clark.”
“You too, Bobbie. Thanks for the afternoon.” She tilted her head at him until he added, “The whole afternoon. Overall I think I had a lot of fun. Étienne and Evonne are good people.” He sighed. “I’ll have to write a letter of apology to them.”
“I don’t think you have to, but if you want to it wouldn’t do any harm. I think they understood.”
“You – you explained about Lois?”
“Just the bare bones, no details, and then I came outside to find you.” She turned and waved at the door. “I better get going.”
He nodded. “Okay. Drive safely.”
“I will. Good night, my friend.”
His eyes warmed at her turn of phrase. “Good night, lady friend. Be well.”
He opened the door for her and she walked to her car.
It surprised her to realize that she hadn’t wanted to leave.
*****
Clark watched Bobbie from his front door as she walked to the car, got in, and glanced out the driver’s side window to see him watching. Her jaunty wave lifted his spirits even more and made him smile, so he decided that Superman needed to make a patrol.
The fact that his patrol route followed Bobbie’s route home was purely a coincidence.
He scanned the streets ahead of her for stupid drivers, accidents, inattentive pedestrians, or anything else that might block her way. There was nothing that needed his attention.
She pulled into her apartment’s reserved parking space and climbed out. For a microsecond, he thought about flying down and saying something nice to her, like another thanks for her attention and care with him earlier that day. Then he realized that not only was he hovering over her, he’d momentarily forgotten that he had to keep Clark and Superman separate with Bobbie. He couldn’t interact with her while wearing the Suit. It would be dangerous for both of them, and might even be a hindrance in her detective work.
He sighed, knowing she couldn’t see or hear him, then arrowed to Suicide Slum. There were always people behaving badly there.
*****
As Bobbie closed the door and locked the car, she glanced up to the northeast. She saw something that looked like a big bird hovering over her part of the city.
The bird suddenly turned and vanished at impossible speed.
It had to have been Superman.
Why would Superman be watching over her?
It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. Superman might have been tracking one or more suspicious characters nearby, or checking to see if he’d be needed at an accident or a crime scene. Just because he was overhead didn’t mean he was following her.
Although if he had been, she didn’t think she’d mind having him as her own personal super-stalker. As long as he respected her boundaries, of course.
And didn’t try to get between her and Clark.
Hmm.
Superman was watching over her. Food for thought. And one more tidbit for her mental evidence file.
