I thought initially that this story would easily be told in three parts. Now, I’m not quite so sure about that. It won’t be long, but it may take four parts before my muse is satisfied with it.
Part 2
*******
The days after Jenna delivers the news to me—that Clark Superman Kent is coming home to Smallville at long last—pass quickly. We scour the house, tidy the yard. Jenna spends hours meticulously cleaning her truck. When Daniel was here a couple of months ago, he repainted the house and barn, so they look as good as…well, not new exactly, but better than they did before he was here. Jenna borders on obsessive-compulsive, so she wants everything to be the picture of perfection. She can be something of a slave-driver.
I’m not really complaining, though. I’m glad for the non-stop cleaning. It gives me something to do to keep my mind off of Monday. I have been filled with adrenaline since Friday, and I know my nerves are on edge. This is it, really. I’m only going to get one shot to tell Mr. Kent my story and hope he is willing to help me.
My nerves have become a thick coil wound tightly into my stomach. They’ve prevented me from sleeping much, and the quality of what sleep I have managed has been poor. Sunday night, I barely sleep at all. I spend hours staring at the ceiling above my bed before I finally give up and wander into the kitchen. It’s four in the morning, so I put on a pot of coffee and then patiently watch it brew.
Once the coffee is done, I sit down at the table with my notebook to start sketching out a timeline and organize my facts. I think if I’m organized, it might help me explain my story a little better when I have the opportunity. I don’t get very far in my intentions, though. I’m not sure how long I stare at the cover of the leather-bound book, unable to open it, as I’m lost in my thoughts.
This book, with the word “Journal” stamped smoothly into its dark cover, holds every reminder there is of my past life. There is nothing else left of me except this paper and this ink. Jenna and Daniel are the only ones who know who I really am. In Smallville, I’m not Lois Lane. Lois Lane is dead. I think I’m most affectionately known around town as Crazy Katie. Crazy Katie, the reclusive and slightly deranged sister of sensible and practical Emily Fulton.
As far as the citizens of Smallville are concerned, I’m harmless but very eccentric. The story, as everyone knows it, is that I am unable to socially interact with other people, but believe I can communicate with nature. Out of concern for me, my sister Emily took it upon herself to take care of me and moved the two of us to the country after my parents passed. She thought being in a rural area would keep me away from the crowds of people who didn’t understand me, and also give me the land to roam and enjoy the nature I so adore.
That’s the story, anyway.
Thus, I have only met a handful of townfolk in the eleven years I’ve lived here, and only because those people have ventured near the farm. I know the town only through the stories Jenna has relayed to me over the years. To keep our cover, she works in the kitchen at Maisie’s Diner, where she hears and sees a lot of funny things. They’re cute little anecdotes, but despite her best efforts to keep me at least a little in touch with reality, the good people of Smallville are really only two-dimensional characters to me.
I shake myself a little to bring my thoughts back to the present. I open the book, where the first sight that greets me is my press pass. It has been dulled down by the years, but is still a representation of every dream and hope I ever had. Lois Lane. Award-winning respected reporter. Daily Planet. All gone. I had three beautiful Kerth awards sitting in my curio cabinet at home. I wonder where they are now. All the hard work I poured into achieving those little symbols of my success was in vain. Because I was too blind to realize when I’d gotten too close to a story. Too ambitious to know when to step back and let the proper channels handle things. Too reckless to check the water level before jumping in.
I used to think the most important thing in life was getting the story. Be there first, be the best, get the scoop that blows everyone away. Win a Kerth, win a Pulitzer. Prove that a woman can make it in this man’s world. Show everyone that Lois Lane is the best there is.
I was wrong.
The most important thing in life is *life.* Having family, having friends, having freedom. I’d give anything to be able to just run down to the corner store to pick up a loaf of bread. I’d like to be able to go shopping to pick out my own clothing without worrying about being discovered. I can’t call Perry or Lucy. I can’t take a vacation. I can’t do any living. On one stupid, careless worthless Tuesday, I traded my life for a story, and I can admit it now—it wasn’t worth it.
Sighing wistfully, I pick up my pen and start to trace my outline again for the thousandth time. This is pointless, going over every detail, but it’s something to do. Maybe Jenna is starting to rub off on me—I want this to be perfect.
*******
Jenna finds me around six o’clock, scrubbing grout in the kitchen. My notebook has been abandoned in favor of what I think might be a new mildew problem on the tile backsplash. I’ve gone through an entire pot of coffee, and I’m pretty sure I look a little disheveled. She stands like a statue in the doorway. Her hands are on her hips, her hair is bed-rumpled, and she looks like she might possess a little of Superman’s heat vision. I’m glad at the moment that she doesn’t. She can be rather formidable, which is impressive considering her petite frame. Jenna Scardino is tough enough that even I don’t want to tangle with her. And I’m Crazy Katie Lois Lane. Either identity you pick, people cower in fear of me.
“Lo-is. It’s six in the morning. Can you pick some other time to test my ability to hear through the walls?” She picks up the empty coffee pot, frowns at it, shakes it upside down a couple of times as if that is the secret to making more coffee appear, and then sets it down on the counter with an exasperated sigh. “And could you at least have some coffee ready for me if you insist on waking me up?”
“Sorry,” is all I can manage, as I studiously inspect the grout. There’s this little fleck of grey right at the joint where the counter meets the wall. It is stubbornly resisting my attempts to remove it.
Jenna either doesn’t hear my melancholy tone, or she’s chosen to simply ignore it. She’s already going about the motions of brewing another pot of coffee. “I had to get up anyway. I traded my lunch shift off in favor of working this morning. Daniel is going to be in town later this afternoon.”
Suddenly, grout doesn’t seem all that interesting anymore. “What!? You’ve had enough advance warning that he’s going to be in town to change shifts at the diner, but you didn’t see fit to tell me?” I feel betrayed. She can’t leave me here on my own to handle Clark Kent. I can’t do it all by myself!
“You’ve had enough on your plate, Lois. I didn’t think you needed something else to worry about, so I didn’t see the point in telling you. I’m leaving around two to meet him. If we think he wasn’t followed, we’ll be back here after dark.”
“But…Kent! Superman! He’s coming today, sometime today, and I have to talk to him. If you’re out traipsing around with Daniel, I’m going to have to do this all by myself. I can’t do this alone, Jenna. I can’t.” I’m floundering here, trying to figure out how I’m supposed to cope with this.
Jenna whirls on me, those heat vision eyes flashing brightly. “Oh, for Pete’s sake. Yes, you can. You’re Lois Lane. You can handle this perfectly well all by yourself. In fact, I think you’ll handle it better alone than you will if I’m hovering over your shoulder and interjecting my own random comments. This is my husband, Lois. I only see him a few times a year. If I tell him not to come today, I don’t know when I’ll see him again.” Her face softens a little. “Please don’t ask me to tell him not to come…”
She would, if I really asked her to. If I told her, without a doubt, that I needed her moral support when dealing with Mr. Kent, she’d stay. Even if it meant it would be another six months before she sees her husband again. I can’t deprive her of that. I know what it’s like, missing family, not being able to talk to them.
I’m fixing to relent when a thought occurs to me. “Crazy Katie!” I exclaim. “You can’t leave me to talk to Mr. Kent alone. I’m supposed to be Crazy Katie.”
“Uh…Lois. You’re forgetting something important…” She trails off, her eyes indicating to me that I’m supposed to understand what she’s implying.
I wave my hand at her, encouraging her to continue. I have no idea what she is talking about, and no patience to deal with her vague statements today.
“The whole point of this is to prove to him that you’re not Crazy Katie. To tell him the story of Lois Lane…” She quirks an eyebrow, obviously wondering if the light bulb has gone off over my head yet.
It has. I wince and shake my head to clear the fog in my brain. “Of course. Sorry, I’m a little flustered. Go on. I’ll see you and Daniel both tonight?”
Jenna smiles and squeezes my shoulder. “You better believe it. And I’m expecting good news when we get back. I’m going to go hop in the shower and head off.”
She’s walking around the corner toward the bathroom when she turns back. “Oh, Lois, by the way…you might want to freshen up a bit before Superman gets here. You look like crap.” She flashes me a grin and darts off as my sponge hits the wall above where her head was.
*******
After Jenna leaves, I start to go a little stir-crazy. I take her advice, and indulge in a long, hot shower to sooth my tense muscles. I figure that Mr. Kent won’t be here until at least the afternoon, so I throw on some comfortable jeans and my favorite red shirt. It’s cool in the house, so I grab a flannel and move back into the kitchen to straighten my earlier mess.
I’ve cleaned the wall where my poorly-aimed sponge hit it earlier, wiped down the counters, washed and stowed the coffee pot. Then I decide I should sweep again. Maybe eat some breakfast. Then I have to clean up after that. Before long, I’ve gone into round two of scrubbing the house from top to bottom, and time has passed rapidly. I surrender to any remaining dust bunnies and grab my notebook to review a couple of points.
As I sink down into the comfortably worn old armchair, I glance at the clock. It’s now right at three o’clock. Jenna and I anticipated we’d see Mr. Kent after the funeral, so I have maybe a half hour to look over my notes before I need to get acceptably dressed.
The funny thing about having days to prepare for Mr. Kent’s arrival is that I’ve also had too many sleepless nights, no thanks to all of my nerves and excitement. Before I can even realize I’ve fully passed out in my armchair, I’m being jerked awake by the sound of footsteps crunching up the drive.
Since I’m half asleep, my mind instantly makes a connection to the Thompson kids. They’ve made it their life mission to see what they can do to draw out Crazy Katie. I think it might be a dare, but if it is, it has gone too far. Over the years, they have made their share of messes around the farm.
Crazy Katie. Right. I’m playing a role here, and I have to maintain it even in the face of freckled little brats. I snatch up the unloaded gun—it really is only for appearances—that is sitting by the front door, and fling the door open.
Only to come face to face with a wall of muscle.
Oh, god. This is not a good start.
“I’m so sorry!” I exclaim. I can’t believe I succumbed to exhaustion. I can’t believe I even momentarily forgot that Mr. Kent was supposed to be arriving today. I can’t believe I greeted him with a gun in his face! I quickly lower the gun, and start to explain myself. “I thought the noise I heard was those blasted Thompson kids again. I don’t really shoot them, I just try to scare them off. They’re always stealing or vandalizing or...” No, no, no. Stop babbling Lane! You’re screwing this up way too quickly! “Nevermind. You must be Mr. Kent. I was told you may stop by today. Please, come in.”
I step back, and hope he’ll follow me inside. Otherwise I’m going to die of embarrassment right here in the doorway of a quaint little Kansas farmhouse. I think he’s gaping at me, and he hasn’t said a single word yet. This can’t be good.
Finally, he seems to accept my invitation. “Lois?” he asks, looking a little dumb-struck.
Okay, that’s a little better. He spoke. I nod my assent at whatever he said, anything to get him to actually enter the house. “Come in, have a seat. Can I get you some tea? Coffee? Maybe a soda? Do you like wine? I think we have a bottle of wine around here somewhere. My sister said that Rachel said you’d be here to potentially make us an offer on the farm, and that’s something we need to talk about, but I have some other things we need to talk about first, and I’m so glad you’re here, because you’re not going to believe the story I have to tell you…” I trail off suddenly as my brain starts to actually catch up with my auditory senses.
Wait a minute. What did he call me?
Lois? How does he know I’m Lois?
My steps falter. No, this can’t possibly happening. I thought he was a good guy. He can’t be on *their* side.
A hand touches my arm and I feel electricity arc through my body. It tingles in a delicious way that I’ve long forgotten. I look up at him, suddenly forgetting my train of thought. It has been derailed by the most gorgeous chocolate eyes I have ever seen.
“Lois?” He queries again.
Yes, I was right. He knows I’m Lois. I have to get my though process back on track. Come on Lois. Forget the eyes. Forget that nice little…freckle? Oh, god, who knew a freckle could be so sexy…Lois. He knows I’m Lois. This could be a disaster. Come on, Mad Dog Lane still has to be in there somewhere…
I stiffen my spine, find a defensive posture, and shake his hand off. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid you’ve gotten the wrong information. My name is Katie. Katie Fulton. I was told you’d be here to discuss the sale of the farm. I don’t think we’re going to be interested, but I appreciate you taking the time to stop by.”
Okay, that’s something. Maybe if I can get him leave quickly enough, I’ll have enough time to gather my notebook and leave Jenna a note before I flee to our safe spot. This man is from Metropolis, and no matter how nice he is to look at, he knows who I am. I’ve got to get out of here, now. This was a stupid plan. It’s time to abandon ship.
Instead of taking my hint, he firms up. He becomes this unrelenting rock, rooted to the middle of my living room floor. “No, Ms. Lane, I know who you are. And you’re definitely not Katie Fulton.”
Fight or flight? Fight or flight?
He must see my thought process, because his shoulders slump, and he looks defeated already. “Please, Ms. Lane. Just give me a few minutes of your time. I think we should talk.”
There’s a desperate tone to his voice, and I evaluate the options quickly in my head. I can give him five minutes of my time, and then I’m out of here if I can make it. Really, I’m already helpless. This is Superman, after all. Really, I’m only going to make it out of here if he wants me to. “Okay, fine,” I assent. “You have five minutes. You’d better make it worth my time.”
He nods, and gestures to the chair. “Have a seat. I think you’re going to need it.”
*******
TBC
