PREVIOUSLY...
“You have a problem with the beard?” Clark responded testily. “Sorry if my appearance is not up to your standards.”
The sympathy she’d been feeling for him only a moment before evaporated in an instant. Lois slammed her fork down on the table. “Enough! I’ve had enough, Clark! I thought we were friends - best friends. So when your mother called and said my best friend needed my help, I immediately flew half way across the country! I asked about the beard because I wondered if it was something you usually did when you were back on the farm or something. You know! Nice, casual conversation. But obviously you don’t want me here. Fine! I don’t stay where I’m not wanted. So if you don’t mind too terribly much, I’ll just finish up my dinner, head back to the house and pack up again. Don’t worry, Clark. I’ll go back to Metropolis and you’ll never have to see me again.”AND NOW...
Her rant over, Lois picked up her fork and stabbed a piece of meat, putting it in her mouth to chew viciously.
A couple of minutes of silence passed before Clark spoke again. “I have a beard because I can’t shave it off.”
Lois quickly swallowed the food in her mouth before speaking. “I’m sorry?” she asked.
“Normal razors won’t cut my hair. I have to use my heat vision. I bounce my heat vision off a mirror to shave. Since I can’t do that...” He gestured to his face.
“But your heat vision might still work. You said you haven’t even tried it.”
“Even if it did work, how would I aim it, Lois? I’d probably end up burning off all my hair in the process - and to top it off, I’d likely burn the house down around me.”
Lois opened her mouth to say something, but quickly shut it again before responding with a simple, “I see.” After another moment, she spoke again. “Do you think your mother would be willing to drive me back to Wichita tomorrow or is there another way I can get there?”
“Lois, please...”
“Please what?”
“Don’t go. I don’t want you to leave... especially not like this.”
She simply took another bite of her food.
“I want you to stay.”
“Why, Clark? Obviously, I was wrong about our relationship. I should have realized it when you left. There is no us. Isn’t that what you said? But here I was stupid enough to believe you were still my best friend.”
“I am your best friend.” His hand came across the table, blindly searching for hers.
She ignored it. “Are you, Clark? Then maybe we just have a different idea about what that means - because I don’t tell my best friend there is no us to avoid telling him the truth.” She sighed. “Clark, I know you had to leave Metropolis. I understand that. You couldn’t have people realizing that Superman and Clark were both blind. But what I don’t understand is why you let me believe that I meant nothing to you instead of taking a risk and telling me the truth. Of course, I’m not sure why I’m surprised by that. After all, for over a year and a half, you let me believe you were two people. At one point, you even let me believe you were dead. Damn, Clark, could you have written ‘not my friend’ in any brighter neon lights if you’d tried?”
Clark instantly moved his chair closer to Lois, dangerously knocking into the table in the process. Lois quickly reached out to steady both of their glasses.
“It’s not like that, Lois,” Clark said once he was again settled. “Not telling you... It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you or wasn’t your friend or that I wanted to make you think you meant nothing to me. It wasn’t anything like that.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“Lois, I’ve been keeping this a secret all my life. I had to keep traveling, keep moving around because sooner or later, I’d mess up and do something that would make the people around me suspicious and I didn’t want my life to become a circus or people stalking me or my parents. I just wanted something... normal. A normal life. When I moved to Metropolis and I met you...”
She felt her heart skip a beat.
Clark looked slightly flustered as he continued quickly. “...uhh... and Jimmy and Perry and everyone and got a job I really liked, I thought maybe, just maybe this was my shot at that normal life. But I was scared it was only a matter of time before something would happen... that I’d see someone in trouble and have to help and someone would catch it on a video camera and I’d have to move on again.”
“So you created Superman,” Lois said.
Clark nodded. “I created Superman. If I had thought it through, I would have realized what a sensation he’d become, but for some reason it didn’t occur to me that he’d become such a... superstar, I guess. I figured he could swoop in, save the day and then just disappear into the sky until he was needed again.”
Lois bit her lip as her mind flashed back to a conversation she’d had with Clark shortly after Superman had first appeared, when everyone in the fourth estate was desperately trying to get the definitive story about him.
“I’ll find him,” Lois had said.
“What if he doesn’t want to be found?” Clark had responded.
“What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t he want to be found?”
“Maybe all this frenzy isn’t what he expected. Maybe he’s shy.”He’d been talking about himself, she suddenly realized. He really hadn’t expected the media frenzy that had followed Superman’s initial appearance. She let out a breath. He really was so wise in some ways and so naive in others. But she was getting off track. “That still doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell me. Maybe at first... but later on - after we became friends.”
“There were times I really wanted to tell you. To come clean. But it just got so... complicated. I was scared about how you’d react. I knew you’d be mad. Lois, you are the best friend I’ve ever had. I just so desperately didn’t want to lose you.”
“But you did lose me, Clark. Not because you told me your secret, but because you didn’t. You simply walked out of my life. How could that have been better than to risk losing me by telling me the truth?”
“I always intended to come back. I just didn’t want you to see me like this.” He gestured to himself.
Huh? “Like what, Clark? What are you talking about?”
“Like this, Lois. You know... disabled.”
“Disabled? You mean because you can’t see?”
“Well... yeah. I’m an invalid and I didn’t want you to see me like that.”
“You’re not an invalid, Clark!”
“I can’t see.”
“Well, I can’t fly!”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Do you think I’m somehow... worth less because I can’t fly?”
“Don’t be ridiculous! That’s not the same thing at all.”
“No? I can see. You can’t. I can’t fly. You can. Do you think less of me because I can’t fly?”
“Of course not, Lois. But...”
“No, Clark. No buts. You know it seems to me that you really must not think very much of me. My best friend is blind and you think I’m going to think less of you because of it.” She couldn’t quite keep the slight hitch out of her voice.
He raised his hand to gently cup her cheek. Her first instinct was to move away, but then she realized what he was doing. Whether he realized it or not, he was trying to ‘see’ her. Her natural instinct was to hide, but she forced herself not to move, to let him ‘see.’ He needed to know how his actions had hurt her - and she needed to let him know. Besides, she and Clark had always had such a physical relationship. And, damn, she had missed his touch.
His fingers resting in her hair, his thumb gently traced her cheek. She could see the realization in his face when his thumb encountered moisture. The look of contrition on his face softened her heart. In recognition of that fact, she turned her face into his hand even as her hand came up to hold his hand in place.
“I’m sorry, Lois,” he finally said softly.
Lois let out a breath. “You’re a lunkhead. But I guess you’re my lunkhead.”
He smiled slightly, telling her that he’d taken her response as she’d intended it - as acceptance of his apology.
“So... will you stay?” he asked.
“Only until we finish our dinner.”
“Lois...”
“Your mother made apple pie for dessert. I only had two hands so I couldn’t bring it with me. I suggest that after dinner we go over to the house to eat it. After that... I have a bit more unpacking to do.”
Clark smiled. When he spoke again, the relief in his voice was obvious. “We’d better hurry then - before my dad decides to finish that pie off himself.”
* * * * * * * * *
Lois lay in bed, lazily listening to the early morning sounds coming from downstairs. Softly spoken voices, the contents of which she couldn’t make out. The scraping of a chair against the floor. The clatter of pots. The door closing. Martha faintly singing.
Then the smell of coffee wafted up. Lois breathed deeply, allowing the mere smell to revive her. She’d expected to be awake half the night, mulling over the events of the past twenty-four hours in her mind. But when she’d gotten into bed, she’d finally let go of her feelings, crying herself to sleep fairly quickly.
So how did she feel about everything she had learned? She probed cautiously at those feelings. Was she still angry? Yes, she decided. Anger was still there. But there were other feelings, too. The most dominant of which was the incredible pain she felt about Clark losing his eyesight. But there was also relief - relief at the fact that he hadn’t really meant to dismiss her from his life.
Her thoughts drifted slightly. Superman was Clark. Only twenty-four hours ago she had been completely oblivious to that fact and she still had not adjusted. She’d pushed the thought aside to deal with more pressing matters. But the truth was... she was hurt more than angry. The fact that Clark had kept it from her, had even at one point let her believe he was dead rather than tell her, hurt more than she could articulate. So could she forgive him? She wasn’t entirely sure. Of course, she wasn’t about to abandon him when he needed her help, but on a personal level... She hated being lied to and Clark had lied to her for more than a year and a half. Daily. How did she deal with that?
Martha was right when she deduced that Lois loved her son. Lois had known that simple fact for some time now. When she’d thought him dead, she’d even wished she’d told him. Still, was love enough?
She’d watched lies destroy her parents’ marriage and had sworn never to get involved with a man who lied. Okay, so maybe part of her did understand why Clark had kept his Superman identity a secret. And she could see how telling her would have been complicated. Still, he had walked out of her life rather than telling her the truth. So where did that leave her and Clark?
Not that Clark wanted more than friendship from her. In spite of Martha’s comments, which had certainly served to give Lois hope, doubts that his feelings went beyond friendship still lingered. After all, what had his relationship been with Mayson? They’d gone out on at least one date that Lois knew about - which was one more than Lois have ever gone on with him. Mayson had wanted to go away for the weekend with Clark and apparently he had accepted. Was the fact that Leit had blinded him before they could leave the only thing that had prevented him from going? And if he had only recently been planning to go on a weekend getaway with another woman, what did that say about his feelings for Lois?
No. In spite of Martha’s comments, Lois wasn’t entirely sure that Clark was interested in her as anything more than a friend. And even if he was... How did Lois get past the fact that she had fallen in love with a liar? Should she tell Clark how much his lies had hurt her? No. Definitely not. They had already discussed his reasons, but nothing changed the fact that he had lied to her on a daily basis for over a year. This was something she would have to work through on her own. Right now he had enough on his plate. She wasn’t about to add to it.
Well, now wasn’t the time to try to figure it all out. Nor was there time to give in to her grief. There was work to do. And she thought she just might have an idea about where to start. What she wanted to do was to hold Clark, cry with him about what had been done to him, but after talking to Martha and realizing that he’d been doing exactly that for the past month, she knew that was the last thing he needed. No. He needed tough love which meant bottling up her own grief so that she could pull him out of his.
She leaned over to glance at the clock. Good grief. Five thirty. Well, when in Rome...
Pushing the sheets aside, she crawled out of bed to begin her day.
* * * * * * * * *
“Morning,” Martha said when Lois finally entered the kitchen.
“Morning,” Lois responded, reaching out to take the cup of steaming coffee Martha thrust into her grateful hands.
“So how did it go last night?” Martha asked.
“I’m still trying to decide,” Lois responded thoughtfully. “I think we declared a truce,” Lois finally added, giving a firm nod of satisfaction at the pronouncement.
“I can’t thank you enough for coming, Lois. But you know... you aren’t required to stay. I made that ticket open ended so if at any point you decide you’ve had enough of that mule-headed son of mine...”
“I think I can handle that mule-headed son of yours,” Lois interrupted. “He might be mule-headed, but I decided last night that he’s my mule-headed idiot.”
“Did you tell him that?”
“In so many words. Except I used the word ‘lunkhead.’”
Martha laughed.
“Well, what can I say? We all have our burdens to endure,” Lois added, trying to sound much put-upon.
“Well, Lois,” Martha responded, “I can only say you must be a saint.”
It was Lois’ turn to laugh. Martha joined her.
“Anyway,” Lois said after the laughter died down, “I have an idea. What were Clark’s morning chores when he was growing up? I assume he had some. All farm boys do, don’t they?”
* * * * * * * * *
“Hey, sleepyhead! Wake up. Day’s a wasting away. It’s almost daylight.”
Clark opened his eyes at the sound of Lois yelling from outside his cabin and experienced the same feeling of disorientation he had every day now. Opening his eyes and seeing... nothing. He wondered if he’d ever get use to it.
Further pounding on the door forced him to his feet before he was ready. After hearing her cry herself to sleep the night before, he wanted nothing more than to continue hearing that light tone in her voice.
“Come on, lazy. Open up,” Lois called again.
“I’m coming, woman,” Clark yelled back. “Keep your britches on. I’m blind, you know.” But even he could hear the amusement in his voice. God, he had missed her.
In some ways, Lois was a lot like his mother. But in others... He supposed both had been shaped by their environment. Living on a farm, one came to accept that things happened in the fullness of time. There was no rushing a crop to grow or the snow to melt. So his mother was laid back, able to go with the flow. Lois, on the other hand, demanded that the flow go with her. Even in the laid-back atmosphere of the country, Lois couldn’t sit still for more than a minute. That boundless energy was one of the things he loved about her. She energized him.
“How could I forget that you’re blind - you remind me of it every few seconds,” she said, the same playful tone in her voice that he knew she’d heard in his.
He quickly felt his way over to the door, jerking it open even as she went to knock again. He opened his mouth to make some witty - or what he hoped would be witty - comment in reply about her lack of sympathy, but instead was surprised when her fist pounded into him. She must have been unable to stop the forward momentum of her fist when he’d opened the door so suddenly.
“Hey, I got here as quickly as I could,” he protested, rubbing the imaginary hurt.
“I’m sorry. I just...” Her voice trailed off into a slight gasp. “My, god,” she whispered under her breath.
Clark immediately wondered what he was wearing. He hadn’t gone to sleep in the nude or something... Had he? He quickly reached down, relieved to discover that he was wearing his sleep shorts. But then again, that was all he was wearing.
“Uhh... yeah,” Lois said, sounding slightly breathless. “Well, anyway, I came over here to...” Her voice trailed off in confusion.
“Yes?” he asked, amused and, if he were honest, slightly pleased by her obvious reaction to his state of dress.
“Coffee!” she exclaimed. “I brought coffee!”
He heard some rustling and suspected that she was picking up a couple mugs of coffee from where she’d set them on the window ledge while waiting for him. As she did, the smell of fresh coffee finally penetrated his brain. He reached out and felt her put a mug of coffee into his hand.
Making sure he had a firm grip on the mug, he turned around and shuffled his way carefully to the table. He set the mug on the table before fumbling around with a chair. He heard the door close and a moment later heard the scraping sound of the other chair as Lois joined him. He sat down before taking his first sip of coffee.
“Anyway,” Lois said, “after you’ve finished your coffee, you’re going to need to get dressed because we have chores to do.”
“Chores? Lois, I can’t do chores. Look at me.”
“Well, not in that you can’t. That’s why you need to get dressed, Clark.” She patted his hand patronizingly. “Otherwise, what you have on works for me.”
“I’m serious, Lois,” he said even as he felt a blush rise in his cheeks. He should have at least thrown on a t-shirt before answering the door. He would do it now... together with a pair of jeans... but the idea of stumbling around the room with Lois watching wasn’t exactly appealing so he put the idea out of his mind to concentrate on the topic at hand. “How do you expect me to do chores?”
“Well, actually, we only have one chore this morning. Do you still call them chores when you only have one?” She must have decided the question was rhetorical because she went on without waiting for an answer. “As for whether you do it or not... I guess you’re an adult. You can hardly be forced to do chores if you refuse to do them. But according to Martha, we don’t get any breakfast until we get it done. Some sort of... I don’t know... barter system, I guess. She said something about that being the way things worked here in the hicks.”
“I doubt she said that, Lois.”
“No. You’re right. She said ‘sticks’ not ‘hicks.’ I substituted that last word myself. Anyway, I’m starving. So whether or not you decide to help, I plan to do my chores. She said something about french toast.”
Damn! His mother was in on this with Lois. Homemade french toast with lots of fruit, syrup and whipped cream was one of his favorites. And no one made french toast like his mother. Just the thought of it caused his taste buds to go into overdrive.
“Well, I don’t know about you...” He could hear Lois place her coffee cup on the table and push the chair back as she rose to her feet. “...but I seem to have cows to milk. So how do you milk a cow anyway?”
He closed his eyes and groaned softly. She’d never be able to do that by herself so if he refused to help, he’d be forced to listen to her complain all morning about how she’d missed out on french toast. And knowing his mother... she’d actually hold Lois to that deal.
“You coming?” she asked.
“Fine,” he grumbled, drinking down the rest of his coffee. “Just give me a couple of minutes to get changed.”
“Probably a good idea. Those heifers see you like that they’ll be too distracted to be milked.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Actually, Lois, a heifer is a cow before she’s had her first calf.”
“Oh... so have both of your cows had calves?”
“They would hardly be milk cows if they hadn’t given birth. Why exactly did you think they produce milk?”
“Because they’re milk cows and they wouldn’t be called milk cows if they didn’t produce milk,” Lois responded logically.
Clark shook his head in amusement even as he rose to his feet. Still, this was a bad idea.
* * * * * * * * *
“Okay, so let me see if I’ve got this straight,” Lois said as, Clark’s arm through hers, she walked them towards the barn as the first rays of sunlight began to make their way across the snow-covered ground. “All cows are female.”
“Right.”
“So then where do baby cows come from?”
“If it’s called a cow it’s because it’s female. Males are called bulls. Collectively they’re called cattle.”
“So we milk the cows, but not the bulls.”
“Right.”
“Ever heard the expression, ‘trying to milk a steer?’”
A new voice entering the conversation caused Lois’ head to snap up. Jonathan was coming towards them.
“Yeah. It means something is hard to do,” Lois said.
“Try impossible,” Jonathan responded. He chuckled, as did Clark, leaving Lois puzzled.
“Why impossible? What’s a steer?”
“Steer are male cattle.”
“You told me a male cow was a bull,” Lois said accusingly, looking at Clark.
“It is,” Jonathan explained. “A bull is whole while a steer is... uhh...”
“Unwhole?” Lois asked.
“Castrated,” Clark corrected.
“Oh,” Lois said, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, then. Okay. So we won’t milk any bulls or steers.”
“Although if anyone could milk a steer, my money’s on you, Lois,” Jonathan said.
“I would hope it would be,” Lois responded. “After all, I have to deal with your son on a regular basis.”
This time both Lois and Jonathan shared a laugh at Clark’s expense.
“Hey! Don’t make fun of the blind man!” Clark objected in mock indignation.
“He sure does play that card a lot, doesn’t he,” Lois said to Jonathan.
“Yeah, you’d almost think he was blind,” Jonathan responded, keeping up the playful banter.
“Hah, hah,” Clark said. “Anyway, it’s a good thing you’re here, Dad.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because apparently Lois has to milk the cows. Perhaps you could give her a hand?”
“Uhh uhh,” Jonathan responded. “Your mother told me that was Lois and your chore for this morning and I’m not risking my french toast by going against your mother.” With that, he began to walk away, whistling ‘Heigh-ho’ from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.’
* * * * * * * * *
“Okay, so what do we do first?” Lois asked, not quite as sure about this plan while standing in the entranceway to the barn as she had been when Martha had first suggested it to her. The cows seemed a lot more formidable up close.
“You sure you want to do this?” Clark asked, obviously having heard some doubt in her voice.
She stiffened her spine. She’d faced down some of the biggest crooks in the country; she could take on a couple of cows. “Just tell me what we need to do.”
“Okay, well, first off... are the cows in their stalls?”
“One is. The other one is sort of... lingering around outside. Waiting for a phone call or whatever it is cows do when they’re not being milked.”
“Okay, start with the one in the stall.”
“You’re not going to help?”
“Lois...” he began to protest.
“Okay, fine. What do I do?”
“The one in the stall is probably Betsy. She’s older. Doesn’t give as much milk anymore and is getting too old to be bred again, which would help with her milk production, so my parents also got Daisy. My mom says that you can’t call a place a farm if you can’t drink fresh milk while you’re there. But, anyway, Betsy is probably the one to milk first since she’s much more of an old pro at this.”
“So what do I do?”
“Go in the stall with her and tie her up.”
Lois took a deep breath. It was now or never. She’d sort of figured by this point that Clark would have gotten tired of waiting for her and would have taken the lead. But so far he was acting as if she would have to do this alone. Well, there was no way she was about to admit she and Martha had made a mistake about the way to get Clark doing things so that he could see that life hadn’t ended just because he was blind. So walking forward, carefully avoiding any unfortunate offerings on the floor, she timidly slipped into the stall next to the large animal.
“Nice, Betsy,” she said nervously, doing her best to avoid touching the cow as she inched her way past it. “I’m Lois. Let’s make a deal here, okay? You be a good little cow and I’ll try to be gentle,” she said while fastening Betsy’s collar to a large ring at the front of the stall. “‘Cause I’m sort of new to this. So I really need you to work with me here. Okay, that’s a good cow. Now what do I do?” she asked once that was completed without incident.
Clark talked her through getting the milking stool, which turned out to look more like a small step-ladder than a stool, a bucket to collect the milk and cloth for cleaning the cow’s udder. Then came the moment of truth. Lois took a seat on the top step of the milking stool and reached under the cow, using the cloth to clean her udder, being careful to avoid actually touching anything with her bare hands.
The cow gave a disapproving moo and began to move sideways... towards Lois.
“Clark! Clark! Clark! Clark!” Lois yelped, jumping off the stool and backing up as quickly as possible until her back hit the wall of the stall. Still, the cow kept coming until...
The entire incident had taken no more than a couple of seconds. Lois breathed a sigh of relief when Clark was suddenly there, his strong arm pushing the cow back into place.
“Okay, that’s it!” Lois said. “French toast or not, that cow’s possessed. This experiment in country living is over. I give up. Surrender. I’d rather face Kyle Griffin again than this creature.”
She attempted to slip past Clark, but his free hand came around her waist, stopping her sideways movement out of the stall.
“It’s okay, Lois,” Clark whispered in her ear even as his other hand held Betsy at bay. “She’s just a bit nervous.”
“She’s nervous?” Lois asked in disbelief even as her heart calmed to a manageable rate.
“I’m right here. Look... how about I help?”
Lois instantly relaxed. “Well... if you insist on helping, I guess I can hardly stop you,” Lois said, a salve to her wounded pride. “It’s your place, after all.”
“Thank you, Lois. I appreciate that,” Clark said in his patientedly patronizing voice.
She knew the voice well. Still, she let it go. After all, he was here. And he was offering to help. She had won so... “Fine then. What’s next...”
TO BE CONTINUED...
ML
