Lois was starting to get really sick of the smell of smoke clinging to her hair. She tried to ignore the campfire stench as she typed up her article, but it kept invading her senses.
She had planned to spend Saturday morning sleeping in and then the day leisurely getting a few things done around her apartment interspersed with some overdue email chatting. A nice, relaxing day was just what she needed since she would be spending the entire evening at the mayor’s town hall where she expected him to face some tough questions about the rising crime rates, only to rush back to the newsroom to write up her story as quickly as possible and get it in before the paper went to print.
Instead, she had been awakened by a phone call from Jimmy telling her their arsonists had finally struck again. After two weeks without a fire, and still no leads on who was responsible, she had begun to wonder if the arsonists had completed their mission, whatever it might have been, and moved on.
It seemed that they had moved on after all – but not to a new city or a new crime, just to a new target. This time the target was headquarters of Dynastic Ventures, a leading producer of microchips and other electronic parts. At first, Lois had been unconvinced that this fire was related to the others, but as soon as she arrived on the scene and spotted the tell-tale dark arcs of accelerant, she changed her mind.
She had spent most of the day grilling investigators on the scene while Jimmy frantically ran searches for anything to connect Dynastic to any of the warehouses.
They had turned up nothing, and now Lois was more confused and frustrated than ever. And now she had less than an hour to get this piece on the fire written up and submitted so she could get home and shower and change and be at the town hall by six. So much for her nice relaxing day.
Her fingers flew over the keys, hammering out the details of the blaze. Finally complete, she gave the article a quick read through and sent it on to editing.
She stood and reached for her bag, then hesitated and sat back down. A few keystrokes, and her email inbox was open. Three new messages.
From: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
To: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
Subject: good morning
Date: May 19, 1995, 9:12am
Hey there. Are you having a nice, relaxing morning? Sorry I didn’t catch you last night. I forgot it was Tim’s birthday, and he insisted we close the place down. We didn’t wind up leaving until after midnight, and then I had to take him home because he was in no condition to drive. He lives way out past my parents’ farm, so I’m sure his wife was thrilled when she woke up and realized she had to drive him into town to retrieve his truck.
From: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
To: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
Subject: hellooooo
Date: May 19, 1995, 11:23am
I know you aren’t still sleeping. Where are you? Come chat with me.
From: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
To: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
Subject: Re: hellooooo
Date: May 19, 1995, 4:11pm
Okay, since you disappeared on me today and it’s all rainy and gross outside, I decided to start The Secret History, and oh man, hurry up and read so we can discuss!
I hope you’re having a good day!
She glanced at her watch. His last email was only sent 15 minutes ago. Maybe she could catch him. If not, she could at least shoot him a reply and let him know why she disappeared.
From: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
To: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
Subject: Re: Re: hellooooo
Date: May 19, 1995, 4:27pm
So much for my relaxing morning. I woke up bright and early to the sound of my phone. Another fire. At an office building this time. I’m so confused. I just finished my article, and now I need to rush home and shower and change to get to this town hall. Sorry we’re having such a hard time connecting this week.
She hit send and waited. Her inbox chimed almost immediately, and she smiled for the first time all day.
From: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
To: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: hellooooo
Date: May 19, 1995, 4:29pm
We’ll find a time eventually. Go home and get ready. Maybe you’ll have a few minutes to relax before you have to leave again. We’ll talk soon.
She hesitated for a minute, an unfamiliar ache in her chest. She missed him.
From: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
To: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: hellooooo
Date: May 19, 1995, 4:32pm
Okay, I’m going. Call me tomorrow after dinner?
From: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
To: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: hellooooo
Date: May 19, 1995, 4:33pm
Count on it.
Her heart tightened in her chest. She could hear those words in his voice, soft and low. Count on it.
They had fallen into such an easy friendship over the course of the last month that she sometimes forgot how she had felt in his presence. The way her heart sped up she saw him, the flutter of butterflies when he smiled at her, the prickle of desire when he said her name.
Sometimes she wondered if she had imagined it all. If the chemistry between them had been all in her head. And then he would end their phone calls with a quiet good night, or reply to her request for him to call with a simple phrase that made it sound like there was nothing in the world he wanted more, and suddenly it all came rushing back.
*****
Lois cast a glance around and then pulled up her email. They had talked for hours the night before, his voice soothing away the stress of her weekend. So there was no reason to think there would be a message waiting for her first thing Monday morning. But she couldn’t resist checking.
She grinned when she saw his name in bold, the unread message waiting at the top of an inbox full of his emails.
From: Clark Kent [cjkent@aol.com]
To: Lois Lane [loislane@metnet.com]
Subject: Good Morning
Date: May 21, 1995, 7:20am
It was good to hear your voice last night. I hope today goes easy on you after your busy weekend. I’ve got the end of year banquet for scholar athletes tonight, so I won’t be home until late. Chat tomorrow?
Her smile widened. It had been good to hear his voice last night too. After a stressful weekend spent working even more than she had anticipated, she had been exhausted and irritated Sunday night. But the second she answered her phone and heard his voice, it all melted away.
He’d had her laughing in minutes, describing his mother’s latest painting and his father’s unfortunate decision to compliment her bold color choices for the pastoral scene, only to discover that it was, in actuality, a self portrait. The resulting silent treatment had been meant as a punishment, but Clark said he thought his father had actually enjoyed the brief respite.
The conversation had meandered from there, eventually taking a more serious turn. Clark seemed more contemplative than usual, asking her if she thought people had a moral obligation to help their fellow man to whatever degree they were capable, and if so how did one balance that with the obligations of their own lives and families.
She had tried to draw him out, wondering what had prompted this question and whether he was struggling with balancing his obligations to his students, his family, and his community with his own desires. But he had deflected, insisting it was only a theoretical question.
He had impressed her, as always, with his quiet thoughtfulness and insight. She wondered sometimes if she had dreamed him, this farm boy from Kansas who devoted his life to taking care of his family and improving the lives of his students; who talked about justice and equity and systemic change as easily as he discussed crop rotation and classic literature.
Sometimes, when they hadn’t spoken for a few days, she almost convinced herself that he wasn’t who she thought he was. That she had built him up in her imagination to be something special when he was just an ordinary man. A kind and good man, but nothing special. And then he called her and wanted to discuss moral imperatives and she laughed quietly to herself, charmed yet again by his caring, his integrity, his innate goodness.
“Conference room, people!” Perry bellowed, dragging her from her musings. She stood and grabbed a notebook and pencil, then hesitated and grabbed her empty coffee cup. She took a detour past the coffee pot for a refill, earning her an eye roll from her boss, and then hurried into the conference room.
She sat quietly, daydreaming, as Perry handed out stories that didn’t affect her. And then sat up straighter once he started talking about metro stories.
“I just got word that the mayor’s going to announce a public panel discussion for next weekend due to the overwhelming response to Saturday’s town hall. Sunday at six. Any volunteers?”
All eyes were on her. She always volunteered for weekend assignments, and this one in particular seemed like it was a job for her, given that she had covered the town hall.
But on Sundays she talked to Clark. It wasn’t set in stone, but it had just sort of become a part of her routine. She was sure Clark would be willing to find another time to talk or skip one week, but…she didn’t want to. She liked their routine.
She knew she should take the assignment. She never turned down assignments. But Sundays…
“I, uh, I…” she stumbled over the words, all eyes on her. “I have plans Sunday? I don’t know if I can…”
Perry raised his eyebrows, obviously surprised, but refrained from commenting. “Anyone else want to volunteer before I assign it? Johnson? Murphy?”
He found a taker pretty quickly. The story was almost certain to make the front page, and no one turned down an easy front page story.
Across the table, Cat was looking at her suspiciously. Lois tried to ignore her, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cat scrawl something on her notebook and then hold it up to her. “Hot date?”
Lois rolled her eyes and shook her head, and Cat shrugged and went back to whispering to Karen from Arts and Leisure.
Lois nodded at Perry’s directive to work on a follow up Saturday’s fire, and then sat in contemplative silence while he wrapped up the rest of the meeting. Had she really just turned down a front page story so she could talk on the phone with a cute guy? Who was she becoming?
*****
The week passed in a blur of boring articles, a tolerable happy hour with coworkers, and a long-overdue phone call with Lucy.
By the time the weekend rolled around, she was restless and antsy. Some open gym sparring practice Saturday morning seemed like just the answer, and when some of her friends from class invited her to join them afterward for brunch, she leaped at the opportunity.
She wondered briefly, as conversation flowed around her, what Clark was doing. They had chatted for an hour or on Tuesday, but hadn’t had a chance to do more than exchange a few emails since. The end of the school year was approaching, and he was bogged down in banquets, ceremonies, exam study sessions, and all manner of school obligations. Plus it was a busy time on the farm, and he was helping his dad in whatever free time he could find.
Sunday evening found her pacing nervously in her apartment. She had convinced Clark to let her call him tonight, because it didn’t seem fair that he should be footing the bill for all their conversations, even if he did insist that he was happy to do so. But now she was inexplicably nervous to dial the numbers.
It made no sense. She knew he was waiting for her call, and she knew how delighted she was to hear her phone ring every Sunday night. There was no reason to be nervous.
What was her problem? She was Lois Lane. She thought nothing about calling presidents and CEOs and celebrities. She dialed those numbers without a second thought. Why was she nervous to call Clark? He was her friend.
She snatched up the receiver and dialed the number written on the notepad beside the phone before she could give it any further thought.
The phone rang only once before she heard the click of a connection and then his voice, warm and cheerful. “There you are. I was beginning to think you changed your mind.”
“Never,” she said with a laugh, refusing to admit how close he was to the truth. “I just wanted to make sure to give you enough time to get home from your parents’.”
“I’ll have you know, I turned down a second slice of my mom’s apple pie so I could rush home and talk to you,” he said. “And I never turn down my mom’s apple pie.”
“Well, I’ll have you know I turned down a front page story so I could call you tonight,” she countered.
He was quiet for a second. “You didn’t really?” he asked quietly. “You’re kidding right?”
“It was a boring story about the mayor and his crime taskforce,” she explained, suddenly self-conscious. “That town hall I covered last weekend was so well attended that he decided to hold a panel discussion tonight with experts from his taskforce.”
“And you were supposed to cover it?”
“Well, Perry offered it to me. I said I already had plans Sunday. So he assigned it to someone else.”
“You didn’t have to have to do that,” he said, his voice quiet and serious. “I don’t want you to… You don’t have to do that, Lois. We can talk any night. It doesn’t have to be Sunday.”
The gentle disbelief in his tone, his clear message that he didn’t expect her to make career sacrifices for him, the twist of longing in her chest that both those things elicited…this conversation was quickly venturing into a territory she wasn’t prepared to enter.
“It’s fine,” she said, as breezily as she could muster. “I like our Sundays. And it’s an easy page one, but it’s not like it’s going to win anyone a Pulitzer.”
“Oh, is that the criteria now?” he asked, his voice slipping back into his normal affable tone. “You’ll give up a story for me, but only if it’s not Pulitzer worthy?”
“Now you’re getting it,” she teased.
“Fair enough,” he said. “What did you do today?”
“Went for a run in the park, went grocery shopping, did laundry, read for awhile. Nothing exciting. What did you do?”
“Finished writing my exams, helped my dad repair some fences, did some planning for the summer. Actually…” he trailed off and she waited for him to finish. “I wanted to ask you about something.”
“Oh no,” she said automatically. “I’m not going to like it, am I?”
“What?” he asked, clearly confused. “No. Why would you say that? I just-”
“You have that tone. When someone wants to give you bad news, but they want to warn you about it first and try to soften the blow. I always hate that. Just rip off the bandaid, I say. Better to just get it out there and-”
“Lois. What in the world are you babbling about?”
She stopped, her brain catching up with her mouth.
“I wanted to talk to you about this summer. I only have a few weeks of school left, and I’m trying to finalize my travel plans. I can’t get a direct flight to Malaysia. I have to layover in either Atlanta or Metropolis. I just thought…if I flew through Metropolis, maybe I could stay overnight and we could meet up. I’ve never been to Metropolis. Maybe you could show me around, we could grab dinner?”
Her heart leapt in her chest. Suddenly she could see him here, in her city. And she wanted that so badly. Her mind drifted back to that hotel counter in Miami, when she had longed for just one more day.
“Lois?” he said tentatively. “No pressure. It was just an idea. I can always just-”
“No!” she said. “I mean, yes! Please come. I would love that.”
He exhaled, and her heart twisted again, knowing he had been nervous that she didn’t want to see him.
“I was just thinking…I wish we had more time. It’s going to be hard to show you much of anything in just one day.”
He paused. “If you’re serious, I can stay longer. I told you before, I never have much of an agenda on these trips. All my dates are flexible.”
She thought suddenly of all those unused vacation days. “Could you come for a long weekend? Maybe fly in on Thursday and out on Sunday? Or something like that? I don’t know how often flights run to Malaysia. I could take Friday off work. That would give us three days to play tourist and hang out.”
“I can definitely do that,” he said, his barely restrained excitement awakening the butterflies in her stomach.
“Just look at flights and give me the dates, and I’ll make it happen,” she said.
“I can’t wait,” he said. “I want to see everything. Will you give me a tour of the newsroom? I want to see the world famous Daily Planet.”
She laughed, allowing her excitement to smooth over the flicker of nerves she felt at the thought of bringing him into the busy newsroom and opening herself up to speculation and gossip from her coworkers.
“Of course,” she said.
“It will probably be the third weekend in June,” he said. “Classes end on the 12th, and then I have a week of post planning and teacher work days.”
“Just let me know when you find flights. My schedule is wide open.”
She closed her eyes and let herself imagine three whole days with him in her city. She didn’t even know where to start.
Last edited by AnnieM; 06/12/22 08:07 AM.
