From Part 6...
Maybe this was what she needed. Maybe this was Step One in the long journey back to fervour and commitment and normality. “OK, I’ll do it.”
Perry favoured her with an encouraging smile. “Good.” His phone rang and he picked it up. Lois figured he was finished with her and stood up. “Ah, Lois?”
She turned, seeing he had covered the phone with his hand. “Yes?”
“There are two other conditions. The interview must be taped – one copy goes to them, one to us – and someone sits in on the interview and OKs everything said.”
“So if I ask a question he doesn’t like ...”
“The interview ends.”
Lois raised her hands in frustration and stormed out of Perry’s office.
ADRIFT
Part 7
Lois sat in the conference room at the Planet. Franklin Hodge sat opposite her, his broken right arm still in a plaster cast, his head of dark curls gone, replaced by a close-cut clip – which made him seem younger, closer to thirty than forty. He seemed nervous. He’d jumped when she’d walked in and had stammered over his greeting.
A third person – male, thirties, unidentified - sat between them, silent and foreboding.
Lois skimmed her notes in a final attempt to haul her thoughts into a cohesive whole. Then she smiled, businesslike, at Hodge. “What would you like me to call you?” she asked, hoping it would relax both of them.
“Call me Franklin,” he said, with a mirroring smile.
“No names in the story,” the third person informed her gruffly.
She *knew* that, but managed to refrain from responding in any way. Lois reached for her tape recorder and pressed ‘record’. She cleared her throat and began. “Why did you decide to leave your former position?”
Hodge thought for a moment. “Unfortunately, the very nature of the job is incompatible with maintaining personal relationships.”
“Have you visited with your family yet?”
“Sadly, no,” he said, without a flicker of emotion. “I have to go through a lengthy debriefing process first.”
“But you will see them?”
Another pause. “Eventually.” His tone carried no eagerness, no anticipation. Maybe he’d contacted them and things hadn’t gone well.
“What do you think will be the biggest challenge in your new life?”
“Learning to be a normal person again.”
“Examples?”
“Learning a new mindset.”
Lois waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, she felt a jolt of annoyance. Why offer an interview and then give her nothing? “What are you looking forward to most?
“Coming home every night to a wife. And a family.”
He’d hesitated again before answering. All his responses had been stilted … as if he’d rehearsed this and needed to check the script in his mind. Maybe he was juggling the truth with what would be acceptable to the nameless watchman. “Are you concerned that any part of your former life could follow you into your new life? Enemies? Contacts? Information?”
“Knowledge is something I never had a lot of. My role was more the small pieces.”
Lois knew she couldn’t ask more about his role, so again, she’d hit a dead end. “Do you think you are being adequately prepared for your new life?"
“Generally, yes.”
“Would you care to outline the process?” Lois glanced to her left – to the unmoving, all-seeing sentinel. “Without specifics.”
“Essentially, it is a cutting of ties with the past and an establishing of new ties for the future.”
“Can you be more specific than that?” she said, knowing her frustration had crept into her tone.
“Too many specifics aren’t allowed.”
Well, she knew that, but this was bordering on the ridiculous. She couldn’t claim to know Franklin Hodge well at all, but today he was weird … tense … preoccupied. She surreptitiously glanced to the third person. *Who* was he? Did he have something over Hodge? “Where do you see yourself in five years?”
“Somewhere I can enjoy life. Married maybe, with a family, just doing a normal job and being a normal person.”
This was the second time Hodge had mentioned a possible marriage. Lois’s reporter’s instinct twitched. “Did something happen - you met someone perhaps - which influenced your decision to leave your job?”
“Maybe.” Franklin Hodge stood abruptly and pressed ‘stop’ on the tape recorder. The interview, such as it was, had finished. With his left hand, Hodge reached into the back pocket of his jeans and withdrew a small envelope. He held it towards her. “I heard about your parents,” he said, his blue eyes steady as they gazed at her.
Before she could reach for the proffered card, the third person had taken it. He ripped open the envelope and removed the card.
“Excuse me!” Lois said, incensed.
He didn’t respond. He studied the card - *her* card - and, seemingly satisfied, returned it to the envelope and dropped it onto the table. He ejected one tape from the recorder and slipped it into his pocket.
Lois snatched the card. “Thank you,” she said to Hodge, with a glare at the other man.
“I liked it,” Hodge said, stretching his left hand in her direction. “The verse is cleverly written ... and you being writer, I thought you’d be good with words.”
She awkwardly put her left hand in his. He lingered in their hold a second longer, and gripped a touch tighter than was necessary.
Lois added the second tape to her notes and Hodge's card. She refused to open the card in front of the rude sentinel. She hoped Franklin would understand. Maybe that’s what the hand shake was about.
Someone rapped on the door and Perry entered. “Lois,” he said urgently. “Have you finished here?”
“Yes.”
“Get down to the Waverley rail bridge. A truck ran into it, the track is damaged and a train has de-railed. Take Jimmy.”
Without a backwards glance, Lois was out the door of the conference room and hurrying to a story, feeling like a reporter for the first time in weeks.
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A huge truck, loaded with two tiers of automobiles, was wedged under the rail bridge. The top tier had rammed into the bridge, the force of the impact had driven the front vehicle onto the train tracks. The truck’s cabin, squeezed under the bridge, had caved in. The driver was still trapped inside.
On the bridge, a crowded passenger train had hit the automobile, left the train tracks and was now listing at a precarious angle, far too close to the edge. Lois could see the frightened faces of the people in the train. A police officer with a megaphone pleaded with them to remain calm, remain still, until a safe and orderly evacuation could begin.
It didn’t take a whole lot of imagination to see the horrifying possibilities.
Next to Lois, behind the press barrier, Jimmy feverishly worked his camera. She recognised the person in front of her as a reporter from the Metropolis Star. “They’ve sent for a crane,” he informed her.
“How long will that take?” she asked.
“At least an hour.”
Lois groaned. It would only take the smallest catalyst - one person in the train to reach the edge of tolerance - for panic to spread.
If the train toppled, the driver of the truck would be hopelessly trapped. Rescue workers would lose their lives. As for the passengers – it wasn’t possible to see how any of them could survive.
An hour for the crane.
It was too long.
Then came the thunderbolt in red and blue.
Lois gasped. In unison with everyone around her.
Superman stood on the bridge next to the train, his red cape fluttering in the breeze. He went to the front of the train and pushed it back from the edge. He worked along the train, carriage by carriage, carefully straightening them.
He opened the doors of the train and people flooded out. Superman remained on the bridge, helping individuals who were a little shaky.
When the bridge was empty of people, Superman pushed the dislodged automobile back into its place at the front of the top tier. Then, he dropped off the bridge and paced to the back of the truck. He grasped it firmly and eased it out from under the bridge. The crowd gasped audibly. Superman flew to the cabin and within moments, the driver was in the waiting ambulance.
The gawking, mesmerised crowd burst into loud, spontaneous applause.
“Superman!” The Star reporter called out. “Superman! Could we ask a few questions?”
A chorus of requests and questions rose from the gathered press. “Superman?”
Superman hesitated, and then strode in their direction.
Lois snatched her sunglasses from her bag. From the cover they afforded, she stared at him, more transfixed than when he’d crashed through the ceiling of Luthor’s dungeon.
When he reached them, Superman folded his arms and faced them as a group, careful not to single out anyone. “How is the truck driver?” someone behind Lois asked.
Superman’s eyes swung towards her, but deliberately focussed behind her. If he saw her, he gave not the slightest indication. “His legs were trapped, but his injuries are not as severe as they could have been.” Superman’s voice was raised, so all could hear. He spoke formally, without a trace of emotion.
Now she knew, it was obvious. This was Clark. Same mouth, same brown eyes. Even the same little freckle above his upper lip. How *could* a pair of glasses have rendered her so blind?
Lois glanced sideways to Jimmy who was eagerly taking photos of Superman – not for one moment thinking the person in his frame was his friend, CK.
At least she wasn’t the only one.
“Were there any injuries on the train?” someone asked.
Lois closed her eyes and concentrated on Superman’s voice.
“Nothing major,” he said. “You should check with the hospital.”
It was *his* voice. *Clark’s* voice. It was deeper and without the usual warm intonation, but it was definitively Clark.
Lois took a deep breath and opened her eyes. It hurt being this close to him. Having his deception laid out so graphically before her.
Yet, his proximity had set her entire body a-shiver.
She missed him.
Lois gasped as the revelation rolled through her. He must have heard, but he didn’t respond – not even with a glimmer of movement through that angular jaw. Lois pulled her eyes from him, aware she’d been oblivious to several questions and answers. She scribbled some rough notes from the little she had heard.
“What are you going to do now?” someone asked Superman.
“Get the train safely to the rail yard,” he replied evenly. “Clear the truck from the road. X-ray the bridge for internal damage.”
She missed him so much.
“You haven’t been seen this past week,” came from the other side of the group. “Where have you been?”
“Around.”
“Have you left Metropolis?”
Superman’s composure cracked a little. Lois could tell by the tension in his upper lip. No one else seemed to notice. “It was time to move on,” he said.
He couldn’t lie. And yet ...
There were some cries of objection and disappointment, but Superman ignored them. He turned back to the scene of the near-disaster and walked away, his cape swinging to the rhythm of his stride.
He hadn’t looked at her. Not so much as a glance. Not the slightest indication she was anything more to him than just one of the twenty media jostling for his attention.
Well, she wasn’t.
And it was entirely her doing.
It was what she wanted.
Lois turned away, fiercely swiping at the treacherous tears which had sprung, unbidden, and leaked past her sunglasses and down her cheeks.
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The next morning, Lois lay motionless in bed, hovering in the neverworld between sleep and wakefulness.
She’d been dreaming.
The dream had been so vivid and she had awakened so gradually, it seemed the reality of the dream had followed her into consciousness, and lingered still.
She’d had a similar dream a week ago. In that dream she’d been with her parents. Not doing anything, not saying anything – just *with* them. Their presence had been like a balm and had left her with a feeling of wellbeing. It had been short-lived, but for a few, brief moments, there had been peace.
Now, it had happened again.
Except this time, she hadn’t been with her parents.
She’d been with Clark.
Lois kept her eyes closed and her body languid. It was almost possible to convince herself he was here with her, just as he had been the nights following her parents’ deaths. She could almost smell his coconut pomade. Almost hear his gentle voice. Almost feel his loving touch on her face.
<You want him back,> her inner voice screamed in her head, hard and accusing.
<No I don’t,> her other voice retorted, low and desperate.
<You want him back.>
<He wouldn’t come back, not after what I said.>
Lois eyes jerked open and with a tired sigh, she headed to her bathroom to face the drudgery of another day.
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“Lois!” Perry sprang from his chair and paced behind his desk, his agitation visible in every step.
She waited, knowing what was coming.
He stopped and faced her. “You don’t need me to tell you that your Hodge interview story was ...”
“Pathetic,” Lois finished for him. “Uninteresting, insipid, lacking insight, shallow ...”
“And your story about the truck under the rail bridge –“
“Read like it had been written by a copyboy.”
Perry’s irritation seeped away. “Lois,” he said, concern foremost in his tone now.
Lois sighed and tried to disperse her overwhelming apathy. “I know, Chief, I know.”
“Would you like some time off?”
The thought horrified her. Long hours, long days with nothing to do. Except think about what she had lost. “No, Perry,” she pleaded. “I’ll do better, I’ll get back to –“
“Have you seen Clark?” he cut across her promises.
“No,” she mumbled, staring at her tightly-clasped hands lying in her lap.
Perry leant across his desk and looked squarely at her, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I don’t want you back here until you’ve seen him.”
“Perry,” she whimpered. “Please.”
“I never thought I’d say this, Lois, but you’re not worth squat to me the way you are.”
“I can’t see Clark,” she said, trying to sound assured and in control. Instead, she sounded desperate and forlorn.
Perry backed away and sat down. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he conceded. “But I *do* want you to take a few days off, Lois. I’m serious.”
“All right,” she agreed, because she didn’t have the spirit to argue.
“What happened with the Hodge interview?” he asked gently.
Lois shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “He gave me nothing.”
Perry looked unconvinced.
“My heart wasn’t totally in it,” Lois admitted, feeling herself colour. “But there was something else going on.”
“What?”
“I don’t know,” Lois said, her frustration rising again. “Maybe something between Hodge and the other guy.”
“I can’t print your story.”
“I know.”
“Lois,” Perry said, his tone so paternal, it stirred her tears again. “I know this is a hard time. I know it’s about now when the rest of the world gets on with their lives and you’re still nostril-deep in grief.” He raised his hands in frustration. “But I have a newspaper to run.”
“I’m sorry, Chief.”
His look softened to bare sympathy. “Go and do whatever you need to do” he said. “Take as long as you need.”
“Thanks, Perry.”
“And don’t come back until you’re ready,” he said, more forcefully.
Lois stood slowly and left his office. At her desk, she tidied a few things and closed down her computer. She took her jacket from her chair and put it on.
Clark’s desk was vacant. Just like her heart.
The computer he’d used was still there. She could see a thin film of dust on it. She wondered if he’d ever changed his password. Chocolatecroissant. *French* chocolate croissants. From Paris, probably.
With a sigh that heaved her shoulders, she turned and left the Planet.
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Lois arrived at her apartment and unpacked the groceries she had bought on the way home. She stilled, wondering idly if her apartment had always been this quiet, this hollow, this abandoned. She wondered how long she would have to stay away from the Planet before Perry would believe she was ready to work again.
She wondered how she was going to survive with nothing to do and no one to do it with.
She noticed the envelope on her counter. It was the card from Franklin Hodge. She hadn’t looked at it yet. She did so now.
The front was a picture of a country scene. In the foreground was a lake with a little wooden pier. Trees filled the background. It had the feel of being homemade – maybe he’d bought it at a market. She opened it and read the verse.
Kindly thoughts come to you
In these so-difficult days
Love surrounds you as you grieve
Loved ones’ memories shine like ray
Shared joys, the best of times too
May they bring deep comfort to you
It was signed ‘from Hodge’.
A knock sounded on her door, cutting through the silence. Lois’s heart jolted. What if it was ...? It wouldn’t be. *Couldn’t* be. Why would he come back for more of her anger?
She opened the drawer of her bureau and added Hodge’s card to the others she’d received. Then she looked through her peephole and collapsed against her door, heart thundering, stomach clenched, head spinning.
It was Jonathan Kent.
Could she pretend she wasn’t home? He’d probably heard her footsteps. Could she call through the closed door that she didn’t want to see him?
He’d come all the way from Smallville. Obviously this meant a lot to him.
Although he’d probably come courtesy of Superman, so it wasn’t that much of an effort.
Lois went to her window and looked out. If he was here, he was not in sight.
Back at her door, she opened it and faced Jonathan. “Is Clark with you?” she asked without preamble.
“No. He thinks I’ve gone to a farmers’ conference in Idaho.”
“So this wasn’t his idea?” she questioned, allowing the full extent of her suspicions to sound in her tone.
“No.”
Did she believe him? Did it matter anymore? Lois stepped back and gestured for him to come in.
Jonathan sat awkwardly on her sofa. “How have you been?” he asked.
“Fine,” she said, taking a perverse, childish pleasure in lying to him. “Why are you here?”
“I know Clark told you his secret and –“
“And you want to know if I’ve told anyone.”
He didn’t flinch at her hostility. “And I know this is none of my business, but -”
“If you’ve got a message from Clark, don’t even bother. I don’t want to hear from him and even if I did, I’d expect him to be man enough to come himself, not send his father.”
“Clark didn’t send me,” Jonathan said patiently. “He doesn’t know I’m here.”
“Why *are* you here?” Lois said.
“Because I had a part in this and I’m trying to see if there is any way to undo some of the damage I caused.”
Lois stared at him, determined not to speak until he’d explained himself.
“From the moment we brought Clark home after we found him in that little spaceship, we were so worried someone would take him away from us. We’d always wanted a baby of our own, but it was so much more than that, right from the start. As we carried him from the truck to our home, we didn’t want just a baby anymore, we wanted *him*.”
Jonathan shifted on her sofa. It probably felt hard and unyielding after the big, comfy armchairs at the farmhouse.
“I knew if anyone took him away, it would break Martha’s heart. And I couldn’t even bear to think about what they might to do him.”
Jonathan shuddered, almost imperceptibly, but Lois saw it. She felt an echoing tremor. They couldn’t hurt Clark physically, of course. But to lock him away, to keep him from the people he loved, to reinforce his alien-ness ... that would slowly destroy him.
But how could anyone keep the strongest man in the world locked away? A man who could pull a fully-loaded truck out from under a bridge?
The answer came swift and harsh. They would threaten someone he loved. They would use the strength of his love to control his powers.
And the most likely target would be Martha.
Lois stared at Jonathan as a groundswell of understanding and respect rolled through her. Here was an unpretentious farmer, a man who’d taken an unknown child into his home, into his heart, and when that child was different to how they’d expected - how anyone could have expected - his loyalty and love had not wavered – even when the child’s differences threatened the safety of his wife.
“Clark always wanted to fit in and never did,” Jonathan continued. “For all his physical strength, he’s vulnerable in other ways.”
Lois pulled in a deep breath, wondering if that was aimed at her, but Jonathan didn’t even seem to notice.
“So, I came up with another story,” he said. “The one about Chrissie. I knew our original story - the one we made up as we sat in our kitchen that night, as Martha held Clark and just couldn’t take her eyes off him – I knew it wouldn’t stand up to any scrutiny.”
Jonathan looked directly at Lois.
“I’m sorry that involved lying to you,” he said with simple sincerity. “I didn’t know then that you would become so ... so central to Clark’s life. You had that photo of Clark which they said was the alien. I thought we were trapped with no possible way out. I was trying to buy us some time.”
“You didn’t trust me?”
“You were a city reporter; we were sitting on a big story.”
*Big*? “How did Clark feel about you telling me the Chrissie story?”
Jonathan’s face darkened. “He was more enraged than I’ve ever seen him. He was so angry with me, he could barely speak. He sent Martha out of the room, so we could talk.”
That shook Lois. That splattered her image of Clark conspiring with his parents to keep her out of the secret. “He was angry with you?” she said, barely able to believe it.
Jonathan nodded. “Eventually, he understood why I did it. He was never happy about it, though. He wanted to tell you the truth when he came to Metropolis.”
“Then why didn’t he?” Lois implored.
“I can’t really answer for him, Lois, but my guess is he was scared of losing you, just like we were scared of losing him.” He smiled sadly. “Fear of loss makes people do things they wouldn’t usually do.”
They were silent for long moments.
“You and Martha have the world,” Lois mused eventually.
“You and Clark could have it too.”
“Not anymore.”
“Because he’s an alien?”
“He’s *not* an alien,” she flared. Lois paused, taken aback by the ferocity of her response. “He’s the most human person I know,” she added quietly.
Jonathan looked confused. “So ... what’s holding you back?”
“The things I said to him.”
“Can you understand that he had no choice but to leave you at the funeral?” Jonathan asked gently.
Lois nodded. “That’s Clark. He can’t just ... ignore people who need his help.”
“Even if it means hurting someone he loves?” Jonathan enquired softly.
“Even if it means hurting someone he loves,” Lois replied, unable to keep her voice steady.
“Lois, I can’t tell you what to do, but I’m asking you, begging you, to tell Clark what you just told me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’m scared.”
“Of him hurting you again?”
“No,” she whimpered, realising it was the truth.
“Then what?” Jonathan asked with Clark-like concern.
“Of me hurting him.” Lois blinked to diffuse her congregating tears.
“Can I ask you a question?”
She nodded.
“If another reporter, or a police officer, or a government official ... or Perry White even ... walked through your door now and demanded you tell them what you know about Superman’s identity, what would you say?”
“I’d tell them I know nothing,” Lois said without hesitation.
“You’d lie?” His words were full of affection, empty of accusation.
“I’d lie,” she vowed.
Jonathan said nothing. But his silence said volumes.
Lois stood and took a tissue from the box on the countertop. “How are my baby calves?” she asked.
“Your calves are healthy and twice the size they were,” Jonathan told her with a proud grin.
“Good.” Lois winced as she sat down again. “Or maybe not so good.”
Jonathan shook his head with a smile. “They’re both heifers – females. They’re destined to be mothers, not beef.”
Again, they were silent. Jonathan waited, giving her time and space, not pressuring her for a decision. “I need time to think,” Lois told him. “I have to be sure about this.”
His smile was pure fatherly approval. “Good girl,” he said.
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For two days, Lois’s mind was engrossed with thoughts of Clark.
She mulled over every moment they had shared, reconsidering each of them through the window of his secret. She tried to imagine his life – being so different, so alone, so far from home ... wherever ‘home’ may be.
She reflected on the complications unique to him. The complications of loving someone. She remembered how Clark had told her he’d been in love only once. At the time, she’d thought his admission to be significant – now she realised it was monumental.
But – he’d fallen in love with her – and had admitted it.
That memory dragged a tortured groan from the depths of her soul – every single time she recalled it. Not that he’d loved her ... but that his love had made him so vulnerable to the cruelty that had sprung from her grief and shock.
He had loved her. Loved her so completely. So selflessly.
And she yearned for that back.
But doubts still plagued her. Was it the lure of his family – the antidote for her aloneness – that attracted her?
Because Clark Kent deserved far more than to be used as a membership pass.
And, if she went to him, she knew there could be no turning back. She couldn’t hurt him again. Ever. She couldn’t go until she was sure. Absolutely sure.
And then there was the other thing. The fear which froze her heart in the dark depths of the night. What if his love for her had died? What if she’d battered it to death with her ferocious insults and venomous contempt?
What if he still loved her, but couldn’t trust her not to crush him again?
Then, on the second night, as she lay in bed, Lois made her decision. She would go to Clark and tell him she loved him.
What happened beyond that was out of her hands. A peace descended upon her. She switched off her light and fell asleep.
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The next morning, Lois was awakened by loud, persistent knocking on her door.
She glanced at her clock and shot upright. Ten past nine! She had slept for eleven hours; she could remember nothing beyond turning off her light.
Lois got out of bed and slid into her robe, as the knocking on her door continued. When she opened the door, Sarah Crawford grinned back at her. “Whoa!” Sarah said. “Big night, eh?”
Lois grinned. “Yeah,” she said dryly. “A big night in bed.”
Sarah peered around Lois with sudden curiosity. “You have company?” she asked, suspiciously.
“I just got out of bed,” Lois said with a yawn.
Sarah stepped into the room. “So ... am I interrupting anything?”
Lois caught her meaning and felt herself begin to blush. “No. There’s no one else here.”
“Pity,” Sarah murmured. She glanced at her watch. “You have ten minutes to be showered and dressed.”
Lois smothered her grin. “Why are you here, Crawf?” she said with phoney impatience. “And how did you know I’m not at work?”
“I called the Planet and asked to talk to you about the progress of the DC Memorial Hospital and they said you were on leave indefinitely.”
Indefinite. That pretty much summed up her life recently. “So, what are we doing?” Lois asked, surprised she didn’t need to muster interest.
“Golf!”
“Golf?” Lois wrinkled her nose. “Really?”
“Tonight’s the big charity ball,” Sarah said, as if that explained everything.
“So?”
“So, David belonged to The Metropolis Country Golf Club – the Crawfords were founding members. But because tonight’s the big charity ball thingo, all the other golf members will be preparing for that, so we can have the course to ourselves.”
“Are you going to the ‘big charity ball thingo’?” Lois asked, eyebrows raised.
“No. It’s too soon after David passed away to be out like that – even when it’s for charity. But a sombre round of golf with a friend on such a beautiful fall day ...”
“Where’s your secret identity?” Lois asked.
Sarah smiled. “The wig’s in the car, but I can’t use it today. It’s a private course. We can’t get in unless I’m Sarah Crawford.”
Loose ends made swift connection in Lois’s sleep-nourished brain. “Who suggested you use a secret identity?” she asked.
“Clark.”
Suddenly, Lois wanted to giggle. But she couldn’t explain to Sarah what was so funny, so she escaped to the bathroom with a muffled, “Be ready soon.”
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The sun was warm, the air cool, the grass crisp, the course almost deserted.
By the second hole, Lois was glad she’d come. Even when the ball showed no inclination to drop into the hole, indeed no inclination to go anywhere near the hole, it was enjoyable. Sarah was good company – down-to-earth but sensitive, fun but caring.
Best of all, Lois could relax because Sarah understood about living with grief as a companion. About how it could wander away for a time and allow you to believe it may be possible to get your life back on an even keel. Only to return, with such merciless force, it undermined every crumb of progress and rendered you feeble and exposed.
On the fourth hole, they were held up by two extremely ancient gentlemen putting on the green in the distance. Lois and Sarah sat down.
“How’s Clark?” Sarah asked, staring down the fairway.
“I haven’t seen him.”
Sarah turned and looked at her like a mother would look at a wilful child – a mix of disappointment and sadness, all bound together with loving concern. She said nothing.
Lois squirmed under her scrutiny. “You think I should make up with him, don’t you?” she said.
Sarah studied the doddering golfers. “If you love him, you should tell him how much he hurt you, then you should forgive him.”
“He knows how much he hurt me. What he doesn’t know, is that I know how much I hurt him. I said some terrible things.”
“Will he forgive you?”
Lois took a long, quivery breath. “With anyone else, I would say ‘no’. But Clark …”
“So, if you went to him,” Sarah speculated, “Any time, any place ... if you walked up to him and put your arms around his neck and sank into that broad chest of his, what’s he going to do?”
Lois tried to visualise Clark pushing her away, but the image simply wouldn’t form. She tried to feel his fury, but it just wasn't there. Her eyes filled with tears. “He’s going to cling to me like his life depends on it,” she said quietly.
“And can you think of anywhere you would rather be?”
“Nope.”
“I guess you’ve answered your own question, then.”
Lois looked regretfully to where the elderly gentlemen were still pottering around the hole.
Sarah chuckled knowingly. “We’re finished,” she declared. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Are you sure?”
Sarah stood up. “Sure I’m sure.”
“Thanks, Crawf.”
“I’ve already told you, Lane, don’t call me that.” With a big smile, she pulled off her golf glove and flung it at Lois’s head. “Not in public.”
Lois caught the glove and pushed it over the head of one of her golf clubs. The fingers sat up jauntily.
They dissolved into laughter, silly, releasing laughter, and swung towards the clubhouse.
