“Hey,” Lana said, sliding into the seat next to him in the teacher’s lounge and opening her lunch bag. “How’d it go this weekend?”
Clark shrugged. “Fine. I think we’re all done with the planting.”
A week of rain had set his father behind on planting, and Clark had spent all weekend working side by side with him and their hired hand to get caught up.
“Did you get any time to yourself?”
He looked at her silently, waiting for her to ask her real question.
“Did you get a chance to call Lois?” she asked with a grin.
“Yes,” he said. “I called her last night after dinner.”
“And…” she asked eagerly.
“And nothing. We talked. It was nice.”
“Nice? Nice?! Come on, you gotta give me more than that.”
He grinned. Lana was so easy to torment.
It had been more than nice. After a long tedious weekend planting, it had been exactly what he needed. They had discussed everything from her ongoing investigation to his classes to their own high school days. She had told him all about her downstairs neighbor, who claimed to be able to read minds and speak with the dead. And he had regaled her with stories of a shaman he had met on his travels. Three hours had passed in the blink of an eye, and he was amazed yet again by the way they could talk about everything and nothing.
“Fine,” Lana said with a sigh. “What are you doing tomorrow after work? Sophie has a t-ball game. You want to grab an early dinner with us and come to her game?”
Clark hesitated. Lois was having internet set up at home tomorrow, and he had been looking forward to emailing with her in the evening.
“Do you have something better to do?” Lana asked suspiciously.
“No,” he said finally. “That sounds nice.”
Lana took pity on him and launched into a story about one her students, and Clark relaxed and let his mind wander while half listening.
*****
Clark closed the door behind him and went straight to his office. He had gone straight from work to Pete and Lana’s for dinner, and then to the neighborhood park where Sophie’s t-ball team played.
The game was only a half hour long, the most their little attention spans could handle, and even still Sophie had spent half her time in the infield with her glove off drawing in the dirt.
Clark and Lana had sat together in the stands snickering as Pete yelled “heads up!“ and “look alive!” and “baseball ready!” ineffectively from the dugout.
The team had gone out for ice cream after, but Clark had begged off, claiming he needed to get some stuff done around the house. Lana had given him a skeptical look, but let him bow out without comment.
He winced at the screeching noise of the computer dialing in and then smiled at the “you’ve got mail!” announcement.
From: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
To: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
Subject: New Email Address
Date: May 15, 1995, 2:33pm
All set! I can check this email at work or home, so you can switch to this all the time and then the spies won’t be able to read our super secret emails. Cat assures me that no one would be interested in reading any of my boring emails, but I’m not taking any chances.
I’m going to go beat the pavement for a bit, and see if I can catch any breaking news stories before deadline. Unless I get something really exciting, I should be home before you get done with Sophie’s game, so email me when you get home and we’ll chat!
He smiled at her message. It was amazing how much had changed in a month, from his first email, long and formal, with days of waiting for a response to this casual knowledge of his schedule and the assumption that they would chat tonight even with overlapping busy schedules.
He hit the reply button and started typing.
From: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
To: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
Subject: Re: New Email Address
Date: May 15, 1995, 6:54pm
Home! The t-ball game was highly entertaining. Watching Pete try to corral fifteen 5-6 year-olds who run the wrong way around bases and routinely throw the ball into the outfield brought Lana and I great joy.
Though I won’t be laughing in August when my players show up out of shape and out of practice and just as distractible as six-year-olds.
Did you find a story?
He hit send and waited a minute. When she didn’t respond, he stood, leaving his email logged in and wandered aimlessly around the downstairs of his house. Flipping on the tv and then turning it back off. Making himself a cup of tea and then abandoning it on the counter.
Finally he heard his favorite sound, and he disappeared in a blur, reappearing in his office chair. He clicked her message and waited eagerly for it to load.
From: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
To: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
Subject: Re: Re: New Email Address
Date: May 15, 1995, 7:08pm
I’m glad the game was entertaining, but the real question is…did they win?
The mayor called a last-minute press conference to talk about some new crime stats, so I covered that. Nothing glamorous, but easy enough.
He laughed and rolled his eyes.
From: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
To: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: New Email Address
Date: May 15, 1995, 7:10pm
You are the most competitive person I’ve ever met. It’s T-BALL. It’s just an instructional league. They don’t keep score.
From: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
To: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: New Email Address
Date: May 15, 1995, 7:11pm
Don’t even pretend you didn’t keep score in your head, Coach Kent.
From: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
To: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: New Email Address
Date: May 15, 1995, 7:12pm
24-6 us. We creamed them.
From: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
To: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: New Email Address
Date: May 15, 1995, 7:13pm
I knew it! How’s Lana? Did you ever tell her about Beach Music?
From: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
To: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: New Email Address
Date: May 15, 1995, 7:15pm
Yes! I can’t believe I forgot to tell you. I gave her my copy last week when I finished it, and apparently she stayed up all night on Saturday reading and crying. And Pete woke up in the morning and thought someone died.
From: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
To: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: New Email Address
Date: May 15, 1995, 7:17pm
Oh my god, is it wrong that I’m cracking up?
From: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
To: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: New Email Address
Date: May 15, 1995, 7:19pm
I laughed in her face, and she was incensed. It was hilarious. I warned her!
From: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
To: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: New Email Address
Date: May 15, 1995, 7:20pm
I mean, I can’t judge too hard. I also stayed up all night to finish it.
From: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
To: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: New Email Address
Date: May 15, 1995, 7:22pm
I know! I TOLD her that when I gave her the book. She was warned.
From: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
To: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: New Email Address
Date: May 15, 1995, 7:23pm
Have you decided what we should read next? Your turn to pick.
He grinned. Apparently this was going to be an ongoing thing.
When she had mentioned a couple weeks ago that she was reading and loving Pat Conroy’s latest novel, he had confessed that he had only ever read The Prince of Tides, and she had been appalled. She had harped on him relentlessly until he’d finally gone out and bought Beach Music so they could read together and discuss.
Sunday, when he had called her after dinner with his parents, they’d had a long meandering conversation about their favorite parts and the characters they loved and loved to hate. Lois had insisted she had gone to college with a guy who must have been the inspiration for Capers Middleton, and Clark had laughed as she skewered him and his slimy, underhanded betrayals.
They had discussed many books in broad strokes over the weeks that they had been talking, but he had loved reading and discussing a book intentionally with her. And apparently she had enjoyed it as well.
They hadn’t discussed reading another book together explicitly, and he wasn’t sure what made him happier – that she wanted to read another book with him, or her casual assumption that they would.
From: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
To: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: New Email Address
Date: May 15, 1995, 7:25pm
Lana’s been trying to get me to read The Secret History for a solid year. Have you read that yet?
From: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
To: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: New Email Address
Date: May 15, 1995, 7:27pm
No! And I heard it was really good. Let’s do it.
How was school today?
From: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
To: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: New Email Address
Date: May 15, 1995, 7:28pm
I love how you ask that like I’m the student. I feel like next you’re going to ask me how I did on my math test.
From: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
To: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: New Email Address
Date: May 15, 1995, 7:29pm
Shut up. You know what I mean.
How was your math test, anyway?
From: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
To: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: New Email Address
Date: May 15, 1995, 7:30pm
Ha, very funny.
School was fine. One of my sophomore girls went off about Holden Caulfield. You would have been very proud.
From: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
To: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: New Email Address
Date: May 15, 1995, 7:32pm
Oh, that does my heart good. The next generation carrying on the torch of Holden Caulfield hatred.
From: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
To: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: New Email Address
Date: May 15, 1995, 7:34pm
Did Jimmy get up the guts to ask coffee girl out again?
From: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
To: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: New Email Address
Date: May 15, 1995, 7:35pm
Ugh, no. And he will not stop talking about it. I was only in the newsroom for an hour or so today, and I think he mentioned her twelve times. If he doesn’t hurry up and ask her out again, I’m going to do it for him just so I can stop hearing about it.
The emails flew back and forth for another hour, discussing all the mundane details of their days, until finally they said goodnight and signed off. Clark logged off his computer and realized with a grin that the 1000 free minutes he had once thought would last a year, when he was just logging in to check his email once a day, were going to be eaten up fast if he and Lois continued to have two-hour long chats via email now that she had access at home. He made a mental note to call tomorrow and see about setting up internet service.
*****
The evening news droned on in the background while Clark sat on the couch grading papers. He cringed at the paper in front of him, the handwriting so illegible he needed a rosetta stone to translate it.
His attention wandered to his email, and he had to forcibly resist the urge to get up and check it. It was Thursday. She was at taekwondo. He knew that. And yet there was still the compulsion to check, just in case.
He glanced at his watch. Six thirty. Which meant seven thirty in Metropolis. Her class wouldn’t be over for another hour. There was absolutely no reason to check his email. He needed to focus on his grading, and then he could check his email once she was home.
He didn’t even want to think about what it meant that he was so addicted to her messages. That he longed to hear from her constantly. Every time he heard a funny story or read something interesting, he wanted to share it with her. And when he had a bad day at work or was just feeling down, it was her company he longed for.
He shoved that thought aside and picked up the paper again. Soon he was in a groove, his red pen jotting down corrections and comments on one paper after another.
As the bottom of the hour approached, he suddenly became aware of the grave-faced news anchor on the television.
“And now we go to Bethel, Maine where the search continues for two-year-old Ian Anders. Ian has been missing since approximately ten o’clock this morning, when his mother says he was playing in the yard with their golden retriever. She stepped inside to answer the phone, and when she came back out, the boy and the dog were gone.
“Ian was last seen wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a lightweight red jacket. Foul play is not suspected at this time, and Ian is believed to have wandered from the yard into the woods that border their property. Bethel is a small village in the foothills of the White Mountain National Forest, an area known for its majestic beauty and popular ski resorts.”
Clark sat aside the paper and reached for the remote, turning up the volume and watching as the scene cut to a reporter live in Maine. Behind him, search teams with canines moved hurriedly through the woods, calling Ian’s name.
“Thanks, Jessica. As you can see, search teams are working frantically, trying to beat the clock. As night falls, temperatures are dropping rapidly, and the low tonight is expected to be in the 30s. Temperatures that low could be fatal.
“Police teams from six nearby counties as well as an abundance of community volunteers have fanned out in every direction, searching for the boy, but so far there has been no sign of him or the family dog. Ian’s parents say the dog is extremely attached to the boy, and they are certain the two are still together.”
Clark couldn’t listen to any more. He flipped off the tv and zipped upstairs, changing quickly into black jeans and a long-sleeved black t-shirt. He added a black hat and black boots, and then rolled his eyes at the image in the mirror. He looked like a cartoon cat burglar. He took off his glasses and placed them on his nightstand. He didn’t need them reflecting any search lights. He glanced back at the mirror, always surprised by how different he looked without his glasses. Then he jogged downstairs and out the back door, giving a quick scan before rocketing into the sky.
Within minutes, he was hovering above the heavy clouds in the Bethel skies. Below, he watched the teams move through the rapidly darkening woods, as the sun slipped below the horizon and the clouds blotted out any light from the moon.
The police had set up searchlights, but the thick vegetation of the forest made it hard for the light to penetrate, and Clark knew the odds of them finding the boy unharmed dropped by the minute.
From his vantage point in the sky, he began to search methodically, scanning slowly and carefully using both his magnification and x-ray vision. Given how intensely the search teams had been working for the last ten hours, he knew the boy wouldn’t be sitting in plain sight, and he focused on examining every nook and cranny, from fallen trees to outcropping of rocks.
Time ticked by quickly, and he could feel his anxiety increase with every dead end. The cries of the searchers filled his ears, their voices lifted in a chorus of the little boy’s name. Occasionally other cries reached his ears too, and he knew these cries of grief must be from the boy’s family. His heart ached for them, but he tried to block them out, listening instead for any sounds from the boy himself, but so far he was having no more luck hearing him than seeing him.
He shifted his position, rotating around the boy’s home, focusing his attention on a new swath of trees. Again, he scanned and x-rayed, looking under and around.
And then finally, there he was. His red jacket was the first thing that caught Clark’s eye. Just a little pop of red in the dark of the woods.
He was curled up with the dog, tucked under a large boulder. The boulder jutted out from the steep slope of the earth creating an almost cave-like nook underneath. The boy must have crawled in to explore, and the dog had followed him in. Clark hoped that the insulation of the earth and the body heat from the dog had kept the boy warm and safe.
He scanned the area, hoping to find a team nearby who would stumble across them. But he realized quickly that this area had already been searched, and the teams had moved past without finding the boy. If he didn’t intervene, they likely wouldn’t find him tonight since they were continuing to move in the opposite direction.
Clark hesitated, not sure of the best course of action. He needed to get the boy to safety, but how to do it. He could think of no reasonable way to alert the search teams to the boy’s location. How could he possibly explain how he had that knowledge?
He had to move the boy. That was the only logical choice. He could pull the boy from his hidey hole and place him somewhere that he would be found. Thankfully the boy was too young to communicate what had happened. He wasn’t sure how he would handle the situation if the child was older.
That settled, Clark descended from the clouds, landing softly beside the rock. He crouched down, and peered under.
“Ian?” he whispered. There was no response, so Clark reached under the rock, his hand finding the soft fur of the golden retriever. The dog startled at his touch, and Clark realized she had been asleep.
“Here girl,” he called softly, giving her a gentle shake and then backing off. The dog stirred and shook, and Clark could hear the tinny jingle of her tags on her collar. Eventually, she backed out of the little cave, and Clark gave her a quick scratch behind the years. “Good girl.”
Then he laid down, and peered under, and found Ian curled up fast asleep. He listened for a minute to the steady beat of his heart and his gentle breaths, and was assured that he was healthy and safe, just sleeping. Then he reached under and placed his hand on the boy’s back.
He rubbed gently, whispering the boy’s name, but he didn’t respond. Clark hooked a hand around his shoulder and dragged him out slowly and gently, expecting him to wake up along the way. Instead, the boy emerged from the little cave still curled in a ball and fast asleep.
Clark chuckled affectionately and lifted the boy into his arms and stood, cradling him. He scanned the woods, looking for the search crews. He found a nearby group of searchers then scanned the area directly in front of them, and found a little nest of fallen trees that would appeal to a toddler. He cradled Ian in one arm and lifted the dog with the other, and zipped quickled through the woods, depositing them both in the crook of the fallen trees.
The dog stood and shook, as if shaking off the strange experience of the flight, her tags jingling again. Ian began to stir and whimper, and Clark was encouraged. The more noise they made, the quicker they were likely to be found.
He rocketed back up above the clouds, and watched the group of volunteer searchers grow closer and closer to the boy. As he began to wake fully and realize where he was, Ian began to cry in earnest. And Clark watched as the search team froze, listening, and then began to run. Within seconds, he was scooped into the arms of a middle aged woman. The man beside her stripped off his coat, wrapping it around the little boy, and shouted for help.
Soon the woods echoed with the joyous shouts of police officers and volunteers alike as they converged on the little boy. They carried the boy back the short distance to his home where his exhausted mother ran out to meet them, sobbing with relief. Clark watched from above, thankful for this happy ending.
He started to fly toward home, but then decided just to fly for a while, floating somewhere between the earth and the stars.
There were times, so many times, when he wished for normalcy. He often thought he would gladly trade his powers for a life where he didn’t have to keep so many secrets; didn’t have to hide the truth about who he was and what he could do.
But how could he wish that when his powers could also do this? Ian Anders would sleep safely in his bed tonight because his powers enabled him to find the boy when others couldn’t. And those two little boys on a Miami beach last month slept soundly in their beds tonight because his powers had enabled him to find them and reach them just in time.
There was so much he could do to help, and those moments of joy made all the secret keeping worthwhile.
He floated for a long time, trying not to think of how many others out there he could be helping, if he didn’t have to worry constantly that he would be spotted and his carefully crafted life would come crashing down.
Finally he turned and flew home, arriving just in time for the ten o’clock news.
He flipped on the television and didn’t have to wait long for the update he was anticipating.
“Hello, and welcome. Our top story tonight is out of Bethel, Maine, where two-year-old Ian Anders has been found safe and unharmed. Police are calling it a miracle tonight. The little boy, who had been missing for ten hours after wandering away from his mountainside home, was found by volunteers just an hour ago. Tom?”
The camera cut to Bethel, where the correspondent on the scene stood now in front of the Anders home.
“A miracle indeed. Ian Anders is home now after being taken just briefly to the local hospital for observation. Doctors say the boy is in perfect health, without a scratch on him. The boy was found with his dog just a hundred yards from his backyard in an area of thick undergrowth. The boy’s dog is being hailed a hero tonight as the two were found together, and Police Chief Anthony Gray is speculating that the dog kept the boy warm with her body heat, preventing any serious injuries.”
The reporter turned to interview the police chief and Clark clicked off television, having seen enough. Ian Anders was home and unharmed, and there was no speculation that anyone unseen had been involved in his discovery.
He felt a momentary longing to share his joy with someone. Not to brag or receive any accolades, but just to share in the wonder of what he could do and the elation of knowing that one family’s nightmare was over.
He could tell his mother, but it was late and she was likely already in bed. His gaze drifted to his home office. He absolutely could not tell her. She was the last person in the world he should consider telling.
Still, even if he couldn’t tell her, maybe he could talk to her for a while.
He logged on and smiled at the familiar “you’ve got mail” alert and clicked on the first of her two emails.
From: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
To: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
Subject: you around?
Date: May 17, 1995, 8:05pm
The body of the email was blank, and he felt a pang of regret when he saw the time stamp. She must have come home from taekwondo and logged in immediately looking for him.
He glanced at the clock on his screen. Ten minutes after ten o’clock. Only just past eleven in Metropolis. He might still catch her.
He clicked on her next message.
From: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
To: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
Subject: good night
Date: May 17, 1995, 9:55pm
Ok, you must be out partying it up. Wild night out on the town?
Taekwondo was good but exhausting, and I have an early morning meeting with Perry tomorrow to discuss my Intergang investigation, so I need to get to bed.
I’ll catch you tomorrow.
He sighed and hit reply.
From: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
To: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
Subject: Re: good night
Date: May 17, 1995, 10:13pm
Sorry I missed you tonight. No big night out on the town. I just got caught up in some errands and chores and lost track of time. I didn’t realize how late it was until the ten o’clock news came on.
I hope you had fun at taekwondo. Good luck in the meeting tomorrow.
I’m not sure when I’ll be around tomorrow. It’s our monthly “guys night”. I think I mentioned before that Pete and I get together once a month or so for beers with some of the guys we went to school with. It’s generally pretty laid back, but most of the guys are married with kids and it’s their one night a month to pretend they are still young and single, and we usually wind up staying out pretty late.
I’ll check my email when I get home, but if it’s too late, I’ll catch you Saturday.
He hit send and sat back in his chair, frowning. Usually he looked forward to his monthly guys night out. As the only single member of the group, he often felt like a third wheel when he hung out with his friends and their families. Although everyone was always welcoming, and he genuinely liked their wives and kids, it was nice to have a night where it was just them, and he didn’t feel like the odd one out.
But for the first time he found himself dreading it. The truth was, as much fun as it was, he would rather be home talking to Lois.
For just a second he let himself imagine her here instead. Imagine that he was no longer the third wheel, but that he had his own family to bring to group barbecues and birthday dinners and holiday parties. The longing was so acute, the image of her on his arm so beautiful, that it hurt to envision.
He needed to stop. They were just friends. Whatever attraction there was or had been between them had been supplanted by a friendship that grew deeper by the day. Their conversations, though sometimes deep and intimate, were always platonic in nature.
On a night like tonight, he should know better than ever why that was for the best. But it didn’t stop the longing.
