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Wrong Place, Wrong Time, Wrong Clark TOC can be found Here

Where we left off in Part 26 …

“You need to contact Superman and tell him ‘no’. He can’t do it,” Lois demanded.

Clark crossed his arms. He didn’t want to fight or box anyone, except bad guys and those only because they insisted on fighting him, but he also didn’t want Lois to think she could go around telling Superman what he could and couldn’t do. Technically, they still weren’t in an official relationship, and even if they were he didn’t want that type of relationship again. “If Superman has agreed to this, I don’t see what either you or I could say to change his mind,” he countered.

“But he’s so strong, Clark,” Lois pleaded. “He’s liable to hurt someone, and if he hurt someone – even someone who deserved it like that jerk, Tommy ‘The Torturer’ Garrison – he’d never forgive himself. You don’t know him like I do, Clark, he…” Her voice faded as she looked at him. Her fear for Superman melted into that expression of love which came to her eyes whenever she spoke of Superman, that expression which made it impossible for him ever say goodbye, that expression which made him fall for her all over again each time he saw it.

Clark’s brow furrowed. “Lois, did something happen at Menken’s Gym?”

Lois waved the incident away as if unimportant, before responding, “Tommy fractured a couple of Jimmy’s ribs.”

“What?!” Clark really couldn’t let those two go off on their own.

“Tommy invited Jimmy into the ring with him. I didn’t know he was crazy or would actually punch Jimmy, otherwise I never would have… allowed it,” Lois said, her voice breaking. Unexpectedly, she launched herself into his arms. “Oh, Clark. It’s all my fault. I told him to go into the ring. I’m the lead reporter. I should have protected him.”

“Against Tommy Garrison?” Clark said hoarsely, as painful pleasure coursed through him. Pleasure at having her embrace him. Pain in knowing that it was totally circumstantial and probably would never happen again. He hated that it took James getting hurt for him to receive even this little dose of happiness. He needed to stop this course, before he did something he really wanted to do, like kiss her. Maybe if he said something funny, perhaps Lois would reconsider and allow them to be just friends. “Tommy never would have known what hit him.”

Lois slugged him in the arm playfully, and stepped back, looking him in the eye. “He only hit Jimmy three times, Clark. It was unreal,” she said with a shake of her head. “I wish you could have…”

His eyes widened in anticipation of the end of that sentence. Been there? Seen it? Stopped it? What?

She didn’t say anything as she stared at him for a moment, her chest leaning against his, his arms gently resting at the curve of her back. They fit perfectly together.

Her hand moved up from his chest to caress his cheek, her heart rate increasing, but her hand never reached there as she took several steps back as she shook her head. “No. I should go write up my story. Not that there’s anything to write up,” Lois grumbled, practically bolting out the door.

Clark’s gaze followed her leave, wondering what had just happened and wanting very much for it to happen again.

***

Part 27

A series of knocks on his door woke Jimmy Michael (aka James) Olsen up out of a sound sleep on his couch. He didn’t mind as Tommy Garrison was about to pummel him again. He really didn’t want to move. His chest ached and his head felt kind of dizzy. Those were some strong pain pills Dr. Lane had prescribed him.

“Come on in; it’s open,” he called, figuring whoever it was would be friendly, being that his neighborhood was known more for being where the criminals lived, not worked.

“Jimmy?” Lucy Lane said, peering her head through the doorway.

Wow! Those really were some terrific pain pills. He was now dreaming of Lucy Lane. He could live with that. She was much prettier to look at than Tommy Garrison. Actually, most people were much better looking than Garrison. Good thing she was only a dream, or he might feel embarrassed by the state of his apartment. “Hi, Lucy. What brings you over here?”

Lois’ sister shut the door behind her and crossed over to him at the couch. “You’re not Jimmy,” she said confidently.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” Jimmy corrected her.

“But… but… but… I know you,” Lucy said, pointing at him. “You work at the Daily Planet with Clark. I’ve seen you there.”

No pulling the wool over the eyes of this girl.

“You dropped a huge pile of papers, and then came to our apartment looking for my sister once, instead of calling on the phone,” she continued.

“Yes,” Jimmy admitted, realizing he never had a chance with this woman. She obviously considered him an idiot. Thank you, imagination, you can take me back to pummeling again. It doesn’t hurt as much.

“I got a call this evening from my father. He wanted to check up on Jimmy Olsen, who had been beaten up by Tommy ‘The Torturer’ Garrison,” Lucy said, stating the facts he already knew. “It was the first I had heard of it. I couldn’t believe that Lois hadn’t called me.”

“Uh-huh,” Jimmy groaned, placing a hand to his chest as he tried to sit up. “What do you care?”

“I care because I’ve been dating Jimmy all summer!” she retorted.

He placed a hand to his throbbing head at her loud voice. “Wrong Jimmy. You’ve been dating my cousin, Jimmy ‘Jimbo’ Olsen,” Jimmy corrected her, holding out his hand. “Nice to officially meet you.”

Lucy gazed down at his hand unsurely, and then shook it. “How do you and Jimmy have the same name?” she asked.

“We were both named after our grandfather: James Olsen. To keep us straight, I’m Jimmy ‘M.’ Olsen, he’s Jimmy ‘B’ Olsen,” James explained. “Well, that, and I got the rugged good looks.” Had he said that out loud or inside his head? He wondered.

She smiled at his lame joke, so he must have said it out loud. “Jimmy ‘B’ is Jimbo,” Lucy said, connecting the dots.

Jimmy was glad to see she wasn’t the dullest knife in the drawer.

“Oh, well, I came over here to nurse Jimmy, and see how he was.” She held up a can of condensed chicken-noodle soup.

She must be an angel.

“I eat soup. You’re more than welcome to nurse me,” Jimmy volunteered before a sharp pain caused him to groan.

Lucy shrugged. “Well, I’m already here, which way to the kitchen?” she asked.

Jimmy pointed the way.

“Oh, thanks,” she said, heading into the kitchen. “Ugh! This looks like some eight-year-old’s pipedream. Haven’t you guys heard of nutrition? Or dish soap? Or a sponge?”

“They ring a bell,” Jimmy said, leaning back against the couch cushions.

“So, did you really fight Tommy Garrison?” Lucy asked, sticking her head out of the kitchen.

“Yep,” he said with a nod. “Although I don’t know if you could consider it a fight as my one punch didn’t connect.”

“Didn’t connect with what?”

“Tommy Garrison.”

“Wait a minute!” Lucy said, a slight awe to her voice. “You tried to punch Tommy Garrison? Either you’re really brave or really stupid.”

“He started it!” Jimmy retorted.

“He’s a boxer. They badmouth their opponents to rile them up. Don’t you know anything?” she asked.

“Obviously not,” he grumbled under his breath, if this beautiful angel knew more about boxing than he did. “He implied I was less of a man than Lois.”

Lucy chortled. “And what condition was he in once Lois got through with him?”

Jimmy attempted a laugh but it hurt too much. “Ow. Hey, don’t be so funny. Cracked ribs over here.”

“So, you work with my sister too?” Lucy asked, bringing out a bowl of soup. She really was an angel if she actually found a clean bowl and spoon in his apartment.

“Yeah, I was with her when she and CK… uh, Clark… were almost killed in the Messenger hanger,” Jimmy explained.

“That was you?” she asked, admiration filling her voice.

He shrugged modestly.

She pushed a pile of magazines and papers off the coffee table and set down the bowl.

Jimmy carefully turned back to a sitting position and leaned to pick up the soup, but ribs complained about the movement.

Lucy pulled a chair over from the dining table and sat down next to him. “Here, let me help.”

He gazed at her as she brought the bowl closer to him, lifting the spoon up and bringing it to his mouth. He was in heaven. “How did you and Lois come from the same womb?” he asked in disbelief.

“Well,” Lucy said, pushing a lock of her hair out of her face, before bringing another spoonful to his mouth. “Lois cares what other people think of her, and I don’t.”

His brow furrowed. Didn’t Lucy have that backwards? “Huh?”

“Lois has spent her entire life trying to win Mom and Dad’s approval by working hard, getting good grades, being the best she could possibly be, and basically being one big goody-goody,” she explained.

Okay, Jimmy was with her so far. It sounded like the difference between him and the other Jimmy. Only Jimbo was the goody-goody in his family.

“Me, I know that nobody nags that much if they don’t care. Mom and Dad might not be able to show it, I’ll agree with her there, but that’s their problem, not mine. It’s their job to love me, no matter what, but it wasn’t my job to get them to love me. Either they love me for who I am or they don’t. I figured nothing I do would change their behavior – look what it’s done for Lois. Nothing, right? – so why should I try to please them?” She shrugged and brought another spoonful of soup up to his mouth. “So, I please myself instead.”

Smooth. Jimmy gazed at her. She liked to please herself and yet, here she was feeding and taking care of him. It didn’t take much to remember why he had been so smitten with her at the beginning of the summer. “And you’re dating my cousin?” he said with skepticism.

He liked how her long hair bounced when she laughed.

“Jimmy and I broke up,” Lucy said, spooning another mouthful of soup to him.

“You did?”

A single, nursemaid angel who was a self-proclaimed non-good girl? Now, Jimmy knew he was dreaming, but he didn’t care. This was a much better dream than that one where Tommy Garrison was hitting him.

“I’m heading back to my junior year at USC in a couple of weeks, and he’s going back to his at Gotham U. Neither of us are long-distance romance type people. We had fun this summer, but that’s about it,” she said, setting down the bowl of soup and patting him on the knee. “Now, what do you want to watch?”

Jimmy stared at her. Why would he want to watch TV with such a beauty to stare at instead? “Whatever,” he replied.

“Are you tired? Would you rather I left?” she asked, standing up and picking up the bowl.

“No!” he said emphatically. “Stay. You take my mind off of being in so much pain.”

Lucy smiled at him, patted his cheek, and went into the kitchen. “Do you need more pain medicine?”

Jimmy lifted up his wrist and glanced at the time. “No. I’ve got another hour,” he replied.

No wonder Jimbo had transferred from Gotham U. to University of Metropolis this summer. He’d follow that angel anywhere too. His cousin must have been bummed to learn that, even though she was from Metropolis, Lucy wasn’t going to school here. As Perry was fond of saying: “Pay attention to the details, son, the details.”

Lucy came back a few minutes later and sat down next to him on the couch. This dream was getting better and better. “Do you want to watch that new show about the colonists on that underwater submarine?”

He shook his head. “I’d much rather talk to you,” he replied.

“Are you flirting with me?” Lucy teased, pointing a finger at him. Nope, there was no fooling a Lane woman.

Before he could answer, they heard keys in the door and Jimbo burst in carrying a pizza box. “Cuz, I brought dinner!” He saw the two of them sitting on the couch next to each other and his face dropped. “Hey! What’s going on here?”

“Hi, Jimmy. I heard that you got some cracked ribs from Tommy Garrison, so I came over to take care of you,” Lucy explained, standing up and walking over to him.

“Oh. Um…” Jimbo blushed. “I see you met my cousin James.”

“Is he why you never invited me over here?” she asked, her hands on her hips. “Were you afraid I’d dump you for your good-looking cousin with the same name?”

James smiled. This dream was improving by the second, except for the part where his cousin walked in.

“Pizza? Please. No wonder you have cracked ribs, Jimmy,” she said, turning back to her patient. “Milk is good for strong bones, boys, and cheese pizza doesn’t cut it. I’m surprised the two of you haven’t developed scurvy as well.”

James sighed into the couch with a smile. What had Lucy said? “You only nag those you care about.” He could live with a little nagging from Lucy Lane.

“I drink orange juice!” Jimbo defended himself.

“Orange flavored soda pop isn’t ‘orange juice’, Jimbo,” Lucy corrected.

Jimbo looked at the ceiling, clearly not thrilled that his cousin had told his ex-girlfriend, his work nickname. “So, cuz, I hear you punch like a girl.”

James winced. Was that what Lois was telling people? “Jimbo, mind your manners; we have a guest,” he said with a shake of his head. His cousin could be so naïve. No Lane was going to take such an attack on womanhood lying down.

“I’ve been going to Taekwondo classes with Lois this summer. So, I’m betting this girl could flatten you easily, Jimbo,” Lucy said, getting into a defensive stance.

James figured she didn’t need the classes to accomplish such a feat.

Jimbo dropped the new pizza box on the pile of old pizza boxes on the coffee table and held up his hands. “Sorry. You’re right.” He smiled at her, and then glanced at his cousin.

What? James eyed Jimbo back with annoyance. Who’s interrupting whom, buster? She’s your ex-girlfriend.

“So, how do you feel, cuz?” Jimbo asked, realizing that he wouldn’t be getting anywhere with his ex-girlfriend, especially with James on the couch.

“Like I was hit with a crowbar three times. Garrison doesn’t pull any punches,” James replied.

“A crowbar? That’s a bit of an exaggeration, isn’t it?” Jimbo asked.

James shook his head. “Three punches with boxing gloves on, and he fractured my ribs. I think ‘crowbar’ is a pretty good description.”

Lucy sat back down next to him. “You don’t think he’s padding his gloves, do you?” she asked. Both men and stared at her, and she rolled her eyes. “You know like putting a roll of coins inside your fist to make you punch harder?” she continued.

The two Jimmys gazed at each other and shrugged in unison.

“Beats me!” James said.

“Worth checking out,” Jimbo agreed with a nod. “I’ll call Lois and tell her what you suggested; we can check on what Garrison’s fight record has been recently.”

“You can,” said James. “The Chief has given me the rest of the week off to recover.”

“I’ll be sure to stop by and check on my patient,” Lucy said, giving James a big grin and patting his knee again.

Oh, yeah, he was definitely dreaming.

“Hey!” countered Jimbo, clearly not liking the implication.

“What, Jimmy?” Lucy said, with an innocent bat of her eyelashes. “Wasn’t breaking up now your idea?”

Idiot, thought James. His loss, my gain. Hey, what goes around, comes around.

Jimbo flung open the pizza box and took out a slice. “Fine,” he said, sounding anything but ‘fine’ with these developments. “Cuz, I hope you don’t mind a woman who nags.”

James shared a smile with Lucy. “I’ll cope.” He’d miss Lucy when she went out west, but until then…

***

When Clark left the office, Lois was still plugging away on the Ultimate Street Fight story. She was working herself to the bone on this one, and he wasn’t quite sure why. Well, okay, she always worked too hard, but she seemed to be doing it more so for this boxing story.

He had wanted to wait to walk her out; maybe find out what that almost-caress had been, or… he didn’t know what else. That gesture, combined with her increased heart beat and slight flushing of her cheeks, told him that she had wanted to kiss him. Of course, he was letting his hopes fly wild and he was sure, like Icarus, they would soon come crashing back to Earth. It had been two long hope-free weeks since, what he had dubbed, the ‘ice cream incident’ and his Pandora’s box was shaking from all this excited hope. Clark was sure by the light of day, the wax would melt the wings off this hope, but until then he was happy to float its friendly skies once more.

A screech of tires broke through the silence, drawing Superman out of this reverie. He dove down to investigate and saw a delivery truck bearing down on a man in a crosswalk. It didn’t appear as if it was going to slow down. Using his super speed, he swooped down and zipped the man across the street.

“Allie!” Superman heard Lois call. Hearing the click clack of her shoes, running towards them, he glanced up at his heart’s desire. “Superman, thank you,” Lois said, embracing the man Superman had just saved. “Allie, that didn’t look like an accident. Someone’s gunning for you. What do you know?”

The man, Allie, started to shake from fear or adrenaline and clutched his chest by his left arm.

“Lois, I believe this man is having a heart attack. I’m taking him to Metropolis General. Why don’t you meet us there?” Superman suggested.

Lois nodded.

“Will you be all right? Did the driver see you?” he asked after a moment’s hesitation.

“Go!”

She was right, time was of the essence.

Superman took off into the air, carrying the man in the cradle position. He landed with Allie right outside the emergency room at Metropolis General Hospital.

As he laid the man down on a waiting gurney, the man clutched at his cape and murmured so softly that even Clark had to strain to hear him say, “Ask Sam about Menken.”

When the nurse asked if Superman knew the man’s name, Clark responded that he believed that the man was Lois Lane’s uncle ‘Allie’ and that she would arrive momentarily to officially check him in. It wasn’t exactly the truth, which he fudged with the help of the phrase ‘I believe’, but perhaps it would disguise Allie long enough for whomever tried to kill him to not realize where he was.

In fact, Clark had no idea who Allie was in relation to Lois. She knew him and was worried about the man, which had made Clark believe it was a more personal tie than a source. Of course, Allie had mentioned Menken, who probably was Max Menken, boxing promoter and owner of Menken’s Gym. Maybe Clark had been mistaken, and Allie was a source for Lois’ current story. If a source was almost killed when he had gone to meet Lois, it meant that if the driver had seen her or knew that Allie was going to meet her, her life could be in danger as well.

Clark flew back to where he had left Lois to make sure she was all right, but Lois was gone. He searched the area to see if he could find her or the delivery truck, but too much time had passed. He found neither of them.

He returned to the hospital to wait for Lois to speak to her before she went inside. Again, he was too late. Lois was already entering the emergency room. He exhaled – half with relief that Lois had arrived safely and half with exasperation. As Superman, public figure, he could not wait with Lois and give her comfort, nor could he give her the message from Allie, whatever it meant.

All in all, he felt like a failure. True, he had arrived in time to save Allie from being hit by the truck, but he had cut it so close that the man had ended up in the hospital anyway. Because Clark had been too stubborn about revealing Superman’s true identity to Lois, he couldn’t be there as himself when she needed someone most.

Lois was a strong woman; he knew that. She could handle this situation on her own; he knew that as well. He wanted to be there for Lois; he just didn’t know how he could. Superman couldn’t come in and comfort Lois in her hour of need. It wasn’t his style, and it would draw unwanted attention to her. Yet, he couldn’t just show up as Clark without Lois specifically asking for Clark to do so, otherwise it would seem as if he and Clark – or should it be he and Superman? – were talking behind her back.

Clark was afraid it was becoming too late, that he had waited too long to reveal his secret to her. Lois had been dating Lex Luthor off and on for the last two months. How close had they grown? She must actually like the man to keep accepting dates with him. He knew she refused to listen to Clark on the subject of Luthor. They didn’t have that kind of relationship, and if Clark continued to rant about the man she was dating, he would lose the little bit of rapport they did have.

He certainly couldn’t complain as Superman. He hadn’t earned the right, stringing her along by telling her he cared, but not allowing their relationship to progress. He should have just told her the truth months ago. Instead he had been stubborn about wanting her to fall for his Clark side. Superman should have been firm with Lois, but that was his problem. He didn’t want to break her heart. He wanted to be in a relationship with Lois – a lifelong one, just as he assumed she wanted. So, every time Superman told her that she needed to move on – hopefully to Clark – she would read in his eyes how much he feared the freedom that option gave her. He feared the risk that she would move on to someone else, someone like Luthor.

He had really screwed up, big time. Clark wondered, not for the first time, how that other Clark from that other dimension had wooed and won his Lois? With a sigh, Clark doubted he would ever be half the Superman that Clark was, or ever the right Clark for any Lois.

Clark knew that if they were going to have a loving, lifelong relationship he was going to have to tell Lois the truth, confess that he had been lying to her, leading her on as Superman because what he really wanted was her to like him as Clark. By now, he figured love was out of the question for himself, for Clark. Half the time she couldn’t stand him and the other half of the time insulted him. Not exactly the recipe for true love.

Superman did one more check of Metropolis for that delivery truck. At least, he had caught the license plate number for Jimmy to look up in the morning. Then he did what he always did when he was frustrated about some aspect of his and Lois’ non-relationship, he flew out to Kansas. He had been watching Smallville on and off all summer for any suspicious activity.

He hadn’t liked that people, like Trask and Bureau 39, knew about Kal-El’s spaceship and had a file on Smallville. Clark felt protective of his adoptive hometown and his adoptive parents. He liked to fly out and just watch them. The love, respect, and support they had for each other after all these years was enviable.

They were watching LNN in the living room.

A report came on about Superman saving a teenaged kid thrown into the canal, “Superman justified saving the gang member, wanted by police for selling drugs in a school zone, by saying it wasn’t his role to judge people; that is what the courts are for. A spokesperson for the Metropolis Police Department said that they were happy to have people like Tyrone behind bars where he belonged.”

“Can you believe that reporter?” snapped Martha, turning off the TV. “What did he expect Superman to do? Hover above a drowning man and ask if he had ever been convicted of a crime before agreeing to rescue him?”

Jonathan agreed and placed a calming hand on his wife’s arm. “He knows that the public wouldn’t want him to do that, Martha. He did the right thing.”

A wavering smile came to Clark’s lips as he wiped the back of his hand over his eyes. He wanted to go inside and give that Martha and Jonathan Kent hugs like they had never received, but they didn’t know him. Even the staunchest Superman supporters would be unnerved to find him stalking them. Still it felt good to hear them defend him against some of the bad coverage he got over at LNN. Not all of it was so obviously biased against him like this guy, but Clark had wondered, on occasion, if Luthor had any influence over what his reporters said or did.

“Thanks, Mom, Dad,” he whispered.

Superman stood up from where he sat on the roof of the old barn and looked to the west, admiring another Kansan sunset. Their words had been just the salve his bruised ego needed to return to Metropolis and face another day.

***

Martha went upstairs to get her fancy lotion out of her old bathroom. One of these days she’d move the last of her toiletries downstairs. The heat and extra exposure to the sun she had been getting lately wasn’t doing her skin any good. As she rubbed the lotion into her hands and arms, she wandered into the dark room which she and Jonathan used to share. It looked so different without all the furniture.

She went over to the curtains that she had sewed and hung with care and love. Now, they were just getting dusty with ill-use. She gave them a light shake. She would make sure she got this room the next time she cleaned house.

Martha pulled back the curtain an inch or two to look at the last vestiges of the day’s sun. There, silhouetted on top of the barn, stood a tall man.

She blinked her eyes once. He was still there. Twice. He was still there; his cape fluttering in the breeze. Thrice. He was gone. The fourth time, she moved her eyes up to the sky. She saw a flash of red and then nothing more.

As Martha continued to watch the sky, a thousand questions raced through her head. Not one of them was ‘who’. It had been clear as day who had been on her barn. The same man who probably fixed the fence in the west field, repaired the sprinkler, mended the stall doors, and planted her a vegetable garden. It was most likely the same man who had brought her strawberries in early June, raspberries in early July, and blueberries several weeks ago.

She and Jonathan had feigned knowledge of the elusive ‘Jerome’ that Thomas mentioned on occasion. Apparently, they had hired this Jerome character on several seasons over the years, even though neither of them recalled doing so. Jerome knew she was a good cook – drat, everyone in Lawrence County knew that – and he knew she liked daisies mixed with wildflowers on her kitchen table. That was something no wandering field hand should know. Jonathan used to pick them for her before the accident, and when she had seen them wrapped in a newspaper on her back porch, it had made her feel like she had her old husband back again, even though she knew the flowers weren’t from him.

There was no way that Jonathan would have been able to get a newspaper from that town in Nebraska where the twister had hit. The tulips had arrived in a Washington State paper after those ferries had collided in the Puget Sound, off the coast north of Seattle. The walnuts had come – shelled and cleaned – after those horrible California wildfires. The still frozen trout – one of Jonathan’s favorite – had come too, although she wasn’t exactly sure from where.

“Martha,” Jonathan called in the silent house. “You coming to bed?”

Martha dropped the curtain and left the dark bedroom. She shut off the hall light before heading down the stairs. She checked the locks and turned off the kitchen light she had missed earlier.

“What were you doing?” Jonathan asked with curiosity, not harshness, as she entered their new downstairs bedroom to get undressed. He was already in bed.

“I saw him,” she said. “He was standing on the roof of the barn, watching the sunset.”

“Are you sure it was him?” Jonathan asked, and she gave him her best ‘What do you take me for? A fool?’ look. He continued, “Was he in the getup?”

Martha nodded. “It’s kind of what gave his silhouette away.”

“So, there’s no more denying it. You have Superman as a secret admirer,” her husband said with a twinkle in his eyes to let her know he was teasing.

“I especially liked the ramp installed on the back porch for my wheelchair, and the bag of unshelled peanuts I have never in my life eaten,” Martha responded dryly, as she slipped her nightgown over her head.

Jonathan patted the bed next to him. “Did I ever tell you what happened that day those men came to build the front porch ramp?”

She shook her head, sitting down next to him.

“I hadn’t been home long and was in full pity mode. We had argued about something and you had marched off in a huff. I was laying here staring at the ceiling and feeling sorry for myself, wishing I had just died when I had fallen off that ladder,” he said.

“Jonathan, no!” Martha took his hand in hers.

“It certainly hadn’t been the first time I had thought that, Martha,” he said softly. “Suddenly, from out that window, I heard someone humming a song I hadn’t heard in these parts since I was a boy. It was a song my uncle Jerome used to sing to me before he left for Europe. He said he’d been taught it at boot camp by a buddy of his, who had learned it from his Italian grandmother.”

Martha’s jaw dropped. “Your uncle Jerome who was killed in forty-four? You must have been but a baby when you last saw him.”

Jonathan nodded. “Then I heard one of the men call out, ‘Jerome, you quite done with that railing?’ I nearly fell out of bed with fright. I had been lying here thinking about my own mortality and who should be outside my window but my uncle Jerome. Had he come for me, I wondered. Then I realized that he was working on my new wheelchair ramp. He must be telling me to live.”

Martha kissed her husband. “I’m certainly glad he came. That’s the best gift he could have given me.”

“All this time, I know you’ve been convinced that our secret admirer was him, but I wasn’t.”

She looked Jonathan in the eye as her jaw dropped. “Who else?”

“Well, it didn’t make sense to me, logically. Why, Martha? Why would this second visitor from Krypton come to us? Out of the six billion people on Earth, why would he single us out for help? Surely there must be needier people,” he explained. “I couldn’t fathom that he was that grateful to the people who buried his long lost countryman. It didn’t make sense.” He smiled in that embarrassed way he did that always tugged at her heart. “I thought that maybe my uncle Jerome had fathered a child in Italy before he was killed. That the ‘Jerome’ that Thomas mentioned meeting, and I heard called to was that man or his son. That he had come to Kansas to search out the family roots and had heard about my accident. Maybe he decided we didn’t need any more burdens but that he wanted to help us out.”

Martha relaxed into the crook of his arm. “Unless your new cousin wears a cape and can fly, I don’t think he’s our visitor. Plus, it would be quite a coincidence if they both showed up around the same time.”

“It was a good theory though,” Jonathan said a bit defensively.

“That’s quite a romantic tale you’ve weaved, Jonathan,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Maybe you should take up writing romances.”

He chuckled, leaning over to turn off his lamp and then turned back to his wife. “I’m a little rusty. How about you refresh my memory?” He ran his fingers down her arm, lifting her hand to his lips.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Martha said with a giggle before switching off her own light.

***End of Part 27 ***

Part 28

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