Chapter 30: The Season of Cheer
I hear the bells
Saying Christmas is near.
They ring out to tell the world
That this is the season of cheer.
--“If Every Day was Christmas”
****
On Christmas Eve, I took Lois around town in my father’s truck. Despite her amused cracks about small towns, I pointed out landmarks and businesses, mentioning people and traditions and memories. If she had acted bored, I would have stopped, but she seemed to be enjoying herself, so I continued our tour for a while.
Finally, I decided we should eat lunch in a little place called Maisie’s. Lois didn’t seem inclined to argue, so it was settled. Maisie’s food was good—not as good as my mother’s, of course, but definitely delicious. And I’d had more than one of her homemade chocolate shakes growing up.
No sooner had Lois and I sat down than Maisie came over to us with a pen and a pad of paper. “Clark Kent!” she exclaimed. “Are you back in town for the holidays?”
I smiled at Maisie, glad to see her. She had graying hair and wasn’t as thin as she used to be, but she was one of the nicest people in Smallville, if a bit of a gossip. “Sure am.”
“You’re a big-time reporter now,” she commented, examining Lois. “And is this your girlfriend?”
I glanced over at Lois, who blushed bright red and said, “No, no. We’re just friends. Just friends.”
I frowned and tried to study Lois, wondering at the strength of her reply. Had I simply imagined her vehemence? If I hadn’t, then what did it mean?
“Just friends, huh?” Maisie asked, her eyebrow raised skeptically. “I heard you got over that phobia of yours—I thought it might be because you’d finally decided to settle down.”
Squirming in my chair as my thoughts flicked to my locket, I told Maisie, “Just . . . trying move forward.”
She smiled. “Well, in honor of your movement forward, you can each have a free dessert on me! Think about what you want—and remember, we make a mean chocolate pie.”
“Clark’s chocolate pie isn’t anything to sneeze at,” Lois remarked with a grin. I smiled at her. It made me feel good that she remembered my pie.
Maisie crossed her arms. “So, he cooked for you? Are you sure you two aren’t dating, child?”
I coughed and asked, “How’s Tom?” Maisie would have continued her present line of inquiry all day if she wasn’t derailed.
Maisie took up the new subject eagerly, as I knew she would. “Oh, you know Tom—he’s always got some pet project going . . . . ” And then she began to ramble on happily about what exactly it was that Tom—her son—was doing.
****
After we finished eating (and the pie got Lois’s stamp of approval), Lois and I walked back out to the truck.
“So, do you know everyone in Smallville?” Lois asked, only half joking.
“Not everyone,” I returned. “But a lot of us know each other, yes.” It was helpful to have a lot of friends in a farming community. Owing someone a favor could do a lot for a person—it reminded me of the favor Perry had owed to Professor Carlton. That favor had gotten me a job, and I wouldn’t ever forget it.
“It must be hard having everyone know your secrets,” Lois remarked.
“What makes you think I have secrets?” I returned. She raised an eyebrow, and I conceded, “Well, maybe I have one or two. But having secrets just means you can’t tell them to anyone.”
“What good’s a secret if you can’t tell anyone?” Lois exclaimed. “Why hide a light under a bushel and not let anyone see it shine?”
I laughed at her comparison. “Well, at least I have someone like you to share things with,” I said cheekily.
“You mean someone like me to ferret out all your secrets,” she corrected with narrowed eyes. “After all, you didn’t tell me about—” her voice got quiet “—Jericho.”
I winced. She had a point. “I’m sorry, Lois,” I told her. “Superman didn’t want me to tell anyone.” It wasn’t a complete lie, at least. I didn’t want myself to tell anyone. I was more sorry that she had found out than I was that I hadn’t told her. It wasn’t like I didn’t want to tell her all my secrets—it was just that it was best for her not to know them.
“Well, you should have made an exception for me.” Her tone brooked no room for argument, so I refrained from replying.
We drove to the farm in silence. After we got out of the truck, she started to head toward the house, but I told her, “Wait. I want to show you something.” Maybe I couldn’t tell her I was Superman, but I could give her a bit of insight into part of my past.
She came back to me expectantly, and I led her to my treehouse. Then I scuttled up the ladder and looked down at her. “Come on up.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You expect me to come up there? How old is that thing, anyway?”
“It’s sturdy enough to hold us,” I told her confidently. “Come on.”
Lois sighed and then climbed up with obvious reluctance. She entered the child’s playhouse and gazed around. The childhood mementos in my room couldn’t hold a candle to those found in my treehouse. It was like a museum dedicated to young Clark Kent. Baseball cards, action figures, trophies, sports equipment, comic books, and other countless toys were stuffed into every nook and cranny. It was the kind of clutter only a boy could enjoy.
“Welcome to the Fortress of Solitude,” I proclaimed grandly with a sweeping gesture. Then I noticed an old candy wrapper on the floor and grabbed it and stuffed it into my pocket sheepishly. Not even boys wanted there to be trash on the ground.
“Fortress of Solitude?” Lois echoed in a skeptical tone as she continued her inspection. “You make that name up all by yourself?”
“Dad might have suggested it,” I conceded. “I was up here alone a lot, and it did seem to fit.” It had been particularly fitting later in my life. It was a place for me to go when I wanted to be alone while still being somewhere my parents could find me. But they had known not to bother me when I was in the treehouse unless they really needed to.
Lois smiled and reached out to touch an old quilt my mom had put in the treehouse a long while back. I had curled up with it many a time in my youth when my developing powers had appeared to be a disaster of mountainous proportions. I would hide my head under it and pretend the outside world—with its loud noises, suddenly see-through locked doors, and flammable homes—didn’t exist.
Lois sighed and remarked, “I wish I had had a place like this.” The sadness on her face tore at my heart. “The only place of refuge for Lucy and me was our bedroom. We’d go there when Mom and Dad started fighting, and we’d hide under the covers . . . . ”
Hesitantly, I reached out and grabbed her hand, trying to offer her comfort.
She gave me a grateful look and continued. “I started telling her stories about a handsome prince who would come charging in on a great white steed to take her away to some magical land where everybody was always happy. When she got older, I had to get more creative, and I stopped making the stories specifically about her. One time, I decided that the lowly stable boy rather than the handsome prince should end up with the princess, and she really liked that.” She smiled. “After that, she shunned endings in which the prince and the princess ended up together. She rolled her eyes whenever the princess was called on to save the stable boy instead of the other way around, but I think she liked it.”
I gave her hand a gentle squeeze. It was strange how that story resonated with me—in many ways, I felt like the stable boy. But sometimes, a stable boy just couldn’t end up with the princess.
“It sounds to me like you were a great sister,” I told her. The words felt inadequate. How could I express the sympathy I felt for her? I hoped the warmth of our hands was good enough. Sometimes, small actions could speaker louder than great words. That was something I had really begun to realize after meeting her.
Lois shrugged, looking bitter but sad. “I had to be sister, mother, father . . . . Our parents weren’t there for her, so someone had to be.”
“But who was there for you?” the words slipped out of my mouth.
Her eyes met mine, and she didn’t have to answer. Nobody had been there for her but herself.
I placed my free hand on top of hers, and we sat there in companionable silence until it was time for dinner.
****
After dinner, we all gathered around the tree to decorate it. Mom brought out the boxes of ornaments, and I found some hooks to hang them up with. Then we started decorating the tree amid smiles and conversation. There was something great about the simple act of decorating a Christmas tree. Maybe it was the colors—maybe it was the company—maybe it was just the comfort of tradition. Or maybe it was everything. But whatever it was, I certainly enjoyed it.
When Lois dropped an ornament and broke it, her expression became one of horror. “I am so sorry,” she whispered, staring down at the pieces and moving to pick them up.
Kneeling to help, Mom told her, “Honey, if you knew how many Clark has broken, you wouldn’t even worry about it. We could have kept a small Christmas store in business.” She took the pieces from Lois and threw them away.
I grinned in embarrassment. “It’s true. You should have seen how sad I was when I broke a polar bear ornament.”
Mom laughed. “He took the pieces up to his room and glued them together. But when he put the bear on the tree, it fell apart after a few hours, and so he insisted on having a small burial service for it.”
“It’s probably still out there under that old oak tree buried in a shoebox,” Dad noted with a chuckle. “I tried to convince him you didn’t need to have a funeral for a plastic bear, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Sounds like you were a cute kid,” Lois commented in amusement.
“I bet you were even cuter,” I returned without thinking. My face promptly became a dark shade of red.
Lois just laughed it off. “What do you mean? I’m still a cute kid.” She reached out and grabbed an ornament and moved to put it on the tree.
“Not that one!” I exclaimed. I felt instantly sheepish for my outburst, but there was no taking it back.
Lois stared at me as if I’d just sprouted another eye. “Excuse me?”
I took the ornament from her, smiling down at it as I recalled past Christmases. “This is Frank, and he goes on last.” Frank was a lime-green dinosaur with a Santa hat.
Lois shook her head. “You and your crazy traditions.”
I crossed my arms, careful not to break Frank. “Hey—I like things the way I like them.” Routine had always been of some comfort to me.
“You’ll have to excuse him,” Mom said in a conspiratorial voice. “The Kent men are set in their ways.”
“Apparently,” Lois commented as she grabbed a different ornament. She held it in the air for my inspection. “Can I put this cow up, or is he supposed to be added to the tree three ornaments before Frank?”
“Bessie can go on at any time,” I informed her mirthfully.
She rolled her eyes and put the ornament on the tree with a flourish. Jericho, as if to support her, barked.
****
After we finished decorating the tree, we went to the Christmas Eve service at the United Methodist Church. It was a candlelight service, so at the end the lights were dimmed, and we all held candles and sang carols. My singing voice was a little off-key, but what I lacked in talent I made up in spirit, and Lois didn’t tease me more than once or twice about how I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. Her voice, I noticed, was spectacular.
We returned to my parents’ house, and I—per another Kent family tradition—read aloud from our worn-out copy of “‘Twas the Night before Christmas.” Everyone listened with bright smiles as I walked around and made the appropriate gestures. My favorite was shaking my stomach like a bowl full of jelly. It made Lois roll her eyes, but I could tell she was amused, so I didn’t feel bad for acting goofy.
When I at last proclaimed, “Merry Christmas to all—and to all a good night,” my mother returned with a laugh, “Good night!”
My parents stood, and Mom told us, “We’re going to go sleep. You two don’t stay up too late. Santa’s coming in the morning.” She gave us a wink.
After a round of hugs, they left for bed with Jericho at their heels (evidently, he wanted to sleep with everyone in the house but me). Lois wandered back to the tree, which was covered in lights and lit up like . . . well, like a Christmas tree. She touched a branch reverently, as if the sight of it were something precious, and then she turned toward me. “Thank you, Clark. This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”
I gave her a half smile, my heart aching for her. “But it isn’t even Christmas yet. Just you wait—there’s still more in store.”
She tilted her head wistfully, and I pulled her into an embrace, wishing there was some way I could comfort her and take away the pain of past years. But I couldn’t change what had been—I could only affect what was to be. It was a sobering thought . . . yet it also made me a little hopeful.
I enjoyed the feel of her soft body against mine and the soft scent of her shampoo. I wished I could stay like that forever, but I didn’t want to seem as if I was lingering, so I gave her a gentle squeeze and pulled away. “Good night, Lois.”
She gave me a small smile. “Good night, Clark.”
I watched as she walked away slowly, as if reluctant to leave the warmth of the glow coming off the tree. She was such an integral part of my life, and I didn’t want her to be in pain ever again. I only hoped that this Christmas would be a step toward healing those wounds of the past.
****
On Christmas morning, we gathered in the kitchen before moving to the living room. Lois paused in surprise as she saw all the presents gathered around the tree, and she looked at them in wonder. I felt I could read her thoughts—she was thinking this was so unlike her family’s Christmases. The thought saddened me, but it strengthened my resolve to make this Christmas one to remember.
I nudged Lois and nodded at the stockings, which were filled to the brim. When her eyes moved to her stocking, she simply stood and stared at it until Mom prodded gently, “Go ahead and get it, Lois. It won’t bite you.”
Lois retrieved the stocking with careful movements and then went and sat awkwardly with it. I watched her briefly before sitting beside her with my stocking and Jericho’s. The dog’s full attention was on me as I pulled out a bone. “Do you want it, boy?”
He barked in confirmation, his eyes intent on the treat. With a grin, I placed several things from his stocking onto the floor: a bone, some rawhide chews, a tennis ball, and a stuffed snowman. Jericho promptly took his treats one by one to a corner and then sat and started in on the bone.
Laughing as I saw he would be busy for a while, I turned my eyes to Lois. “All right, Lois. You’re next.”
“What?” she asked in confusion.
“It goes from youngest to oldest. So, you’re up next.” I grinned.
“Ah, yes, tradition,” she said dryly. But she didn’t argue with me, and she started pulling items out of her stocking. First, she pulled out a Swiss army knife and raised an eyebrow at me.
“I might have noticed your knife was getting rusted,” I admitted. She took her Swiss army knife with her everywhere, and I knew how helpful it had been to her. I was glad I had been able to suggest something to my mom that I knew would be used.
Lois smiled and shook her head and then continued pulling out items—lotion, fingernail polish, pepper spray, Double Fudge Crunch bars, socks, a keychain flashlight, a Krypto ornament that made me roll my eyes . . . . She just seemed so surprised as she kept pulling out more and more items. When she was finally done, she commented, “When my mother did stockings—which wasn’t very often—she usually stuffed the bottom of them with toilet paper so she didn’t have to fill them up. This was . . . amazing, Martha, Jonathan. Thank you. You really didn’t have to do this.” I saw a tear gleaming in her eye.
Mom moved to hug her briefly, and Lois returned the gesture awkwardly. I wanted to embrace Lois as well, but I refrained. I didn’t want to overwhelm her.
“It was our pleasure, Lois,” Mom said with a smile. I hadn’t told Mom much about Lois’s past, but she seemed to have gleaned a lot.
It was my turn next, so I sifted through my stocking, which included the usual giant load of candy in addition to some other items like socks and yet another Krypto keychain. I smiled at the sight of it all. “Thanks, Mom, Dad.”
“You’re welcome, son,” Dad said warmly.
My parents took out items they had gotten each other from their stockings, and then we all opened presents. Mom had plenty of presents for everyone, including Lois. I paid close attention to what Lois got. There were frivolous things for her like a nice blouse which Mom thought Lois could wear under a business suit and a scarf full of holes that was more fashion-friendly than function-friendly, and there were also some practical things like an under-the-counter organizer. Lois gave my mom a bright pink jogging suit, and she gave my dad a subscription to a magazine he had once expressed an interest in. When I opened Lois’s present to me, I laughed.
“I figured I would give you one nice tie and one crazy tie,” she told me with glimmering eyes. “I didn’t give you one loud enough to be heard in the nearest seven states, but I did find one that’s hopefully to your tastes.”
Chuckling, I told her, “Yes. You did. And this ‘normal’ one isn’t bad either.” I grinned down at the ties in my hands. She hit me lightly in the arm, and I jumped up eagerly. “Now, it’s time for your present from me,” I remarked.
I went and got a small box from underneath the tree. I had placed it there last night. “Well—it’s from me and Superman,” I amended. “He, ah, helped with it.” Or rather, Superman’s powers had helped with it.
I handed the box to Lois nervously and backed away.
When Lois unwrapped and opened the box, she stared at its contents in wonder. “It’s beautiful, Clark.” She picked up the diamond bracelet with great care and slipped the white gold around her wrist. It fit perfectly, just like I’d hoped it would.
“Superman, uh, he mined the diamonds,” I told her, feeling a little uncomfortable. Mining wasn’t exactly my favorite thing to do, but I had the advantage of x-ray vision in addition to my great strength, so the task hadn’t been too difficult. “I had a friend of Mom’s help out with the setting,” I explained awkwardly. “You—you gave me jewelry once, and I figured I should do the same.” I had actually considered going for a necklace instead, but if she had asked me to put it on her, I wouldn’t have been able to—it seemed too . . . intimate. I would have probably just broken the latch. But I had wanted to give her something special, and jewelry was all I could come up with.
“Well, I’m glad you did,” Lois said with a smile. She stared down at it, and a strange expression crossed over her face. But the look was so fleeting that I didn’t quite know what I meant, so I finally just dismissed it.
We returned to opening presents from my parents, and when we were done, Lois went into the kitchen with my mom. When I did a little super peeking, however, I saw she wasn’t helping with food—just talking. But that was about all Lois could do in the kitchen (if she was to be believed). They seemed to be getting along fine, so I had no concerns.
“Lois is a very special woman,” Dad commented.
“I know,” I acknowledged. “Special” didn’t even begin to cover it. “Thank you both for letting her come.”
He smiled at me. “You know you can bring her any time, Clark. We know how important she is to you.”
I exhaled loudly. “Yeah.”
“Do you love her?”
I closed my eyes. “It was never a question of love, Dad.” And then I opened my eyes and walked into the kitchen, not wanting to talk about it anymore.
****
We ate a grand lunch which included a freshly made pecan pie. “This is incredible, Martha,” Lois exclaimed as she took a bite of her piece.
I nodded in agreement, too busy stuffing my face to speak. It was delicious.
“Thanks,” Mom returned with a smile. “It was my mother’s recipe.”
Lois looked at me questioningly, and I fingered my locket and gave her a nod. The picture inside my locket was of my mom’s mother. She had made great pies, and she had loved making them especially for me. The best pies always made me think of her.
After we put all the plates up, Mom shooed Lois and me out of the kitchen, and we went and sat on the couch in the living room. Lois looked at all her presents on the floor, marveling at them. “I don’t know if I can get them all home,” she said with a laugh.
Smiling, I told her, “I’m sure Superman won’t mind.” That was an understatement. I would’ve made a thousand trips if she had needed it. All she would’ve had to do was say the word.
She nodded and then furrowed her brow. “When is . . . Superman picking us up?”
My mood darkened slightly. Of course she would want to know when her superhero crush was arriving. I fought to keep my voice even. “Seven o’clock tonight. He wanted to give us a little time to recover from our festivities.”
She lifted up her hand and turned my head toward her. My bad mood instantly dissipated.
As I gently placed my hand on hers, I asked in confusion, “What is it, Lois?”
“Clark,” she said softly, “I want you to know how grateful I am for what you have done to help make this Christmas special. It has been the most magical time of my life.”
I stared into her eyes, drowning in their depths. The thought that I was hopelessly and irreversibly in love with Lois Lane swam through my mind with all the forcefulness of a striking shark. When she pressed her lips to mine, I pulled her body toward me without any hesitation and deepened our kiss, fire shooting through my veins.
It was all I could have hoped for and more. The taste of her on my tongue was like oxygen to my heart, and all I wanted was for it to last forever. But such bliss couldn’t be sustained, so I pulled away from her at last.
We stared at each other for a few seconds. I didn’t know what to say—what to do—what to think. I furrowed my brow. “Lois—”
She suddenly flushed bright red. After giving an unintelligible whirlwind of an apology, she muttered something about going outside and fled.
Dazed, I watched her leave the room. My lips felt like they were burning.
My thoughts flashed to my former resolve to never be in a relationship. How could I keep myself chaste when I felt such passion for this . . . this fireball of a woman? I wanted to hold her in my arms forever. When she left the room, a great emptiness had welled up inside me.
Could I do it? Could I—be in a relationship with Lois Lane?
My hopes crept higher and higher, but then I thought of the pain in her eyes as she had spoken of her broken childhood, and I had to dash those hopes. I would never be able to live with myself if I accidentally hurt Lois.
I just couldn’t do it.
****
After a somewhat awkward dinner, I excused myself to go out to the barn. It was time for Superman to make his appearance. For that matter, I didn’t feel like I could face Lois as Clark for a second longer.
I went up to the door of my parents’ house and knocked.
Mom opened the door. “Oh, Superman, hello. I guess you’re here for Lois and Clark?”
I nodded, feeling strangely disgusted with myself for this charade. “Are they . . . ready?”
Lois appeared behind my mom. “Yes. We’re all packed.” She turned to my mother and hugged her. “Martha, thanks for everything.” And then she turned to my father, who was approaching, and gave him a hug, too. “And thank you, Jonathan.” There might have been tears in her eyes, but if there were, she blinked them away. “I had a wonderful Christmas.”
“Well, you’re welcome back any time,” Mom said with a bright smile. She gave me a significant look, but I ignored it. After what had happened between Lois and me, I had no intentions of getting this close to her again any time soon.
Lois gestured to her bags. She had more to take home than she had when she first came, as my mom had helped her put all her Christmas presents into bags for easier travel. Still, it wouldn’t be a problem for me to carry it all.
“Clark should be back in a minute,” Lois told me. “His stuff’s over there.” She pointed at my pile of bags.
After glancing at my luggage, I nodded. “All right. I’ll take your bags first, and then I’ll come back for you. Then I’ll return for Clark and, ah, the dog.” The animal in question was sniffing at my boots, and I gave his head a gentle pat. Even though it was probably okay for Superman to know that Lois knew Jericho was Krypto, I didn’t want to remind her of that particular secret. I was already going to be on thin ice after kissing her.
“Okay,” Lois acknowledged, looking away from me with a pensive expression.
I grabbed her bags and then left in a flash. When I returned, I told my parents with a nod, “I will be back soon.” Then I gathered Lois into my arms, took a deep breath, and rose into the air.
Lois was quiet for only a few seconds before speaking. “Thank you for the gift from you and Clark. It was really thoughtful.”
“It was my pleasure,” I told her with a faltering smile. But she didn’t notice my awkwardness; she seemed too thoughtful to pay me much heed. That was especially good because I was becoming increasingly conscious of having her in my arms.
“Superman, could I . . . talk to you about something personal?”
Swallowing, I fumbled, “Uh, sure.” If she wanted to talk, I wasn’t going to stop her, although if she confessed her undying love for Superman after having just kissed Clark, it was going to kill me.
“I have to admit—I once . . . well, I had a little crush on you.” She paused for a second and amended, “Okay, a big crush.”
Past tense. That was good, right? She wasn’t going to tell me her crush had grown into love, was she?
“But now,” she said hesitantly, “well, now I’m thinking seriously about Clark.”
I almost dropped her, but I caught myself after just a tiny hitch in our flight. The question “What?” reverberated in my head, and I had to bite it down.
Not even realizing how shocked I was with this revelation, she continued, “There’s this strange . . . connection between us. And I think he feels it, too.” Fortunately, she didn’t seem to be expecting a response—because I couldn’t give one. “But he’s holding back for some reason, and I don’t know why. It could be he’s still a little scared of touching people . . . . ”
She sighed and was quiet for about a minute before speaking again. Unfortunately, this time she did expect a reply. “What do you think, Superman? Do you think there could ever be a relationship between me and Clark?”
I wanted to respond that there couldn’t be one. I should have responded that way. But I just couldn’t. All I could manage was: “I don’t know. M-maybe.”
I dropped her off at her home, half expecting her to ask me to come in, but she didn’t. And so I flew slowly back to Kansas to get my bags, lost in my thoughts and dreams and fears.
