Clark watched as Grandma Tildy walked off. A couple of the younger boys - one appeared to be about seven and the other maybe nine - ran up to her, excitedly calling to her and begging her to teach them how to play poker. Grandma Tildy laughed deeply and allowed them to pull her down the hall to the rec room. He watched as she disappeared from sight, leaving him all alone to contemplate his own thoughts and feelings about what was now his new residence. He dared not call it "home" in his mind. That would take time, and a willingness to embrace his lot in life. He simply wasn't ready for that. His heart still hurt far too much.
Still, he had to admit, he could have wound up in a lot worse of a situation. The house itself was gorgeous and spacious. He could easily find someone to talk to and hang out with to chase away the suffocating loneliness he felt, if he wanted to. Or he could just as easily find ways - he hoped - to be alone if he wished. That was important. As an only child, he'd grown accustomed to having his own space, and having the freedom to work on his burgeoning powers whenever he wanted. Now, in this orphanage, he would have to work harder than ever before to keep his abilities both under control and hidden from everyone else.
He thought about Grandma Tildy too, deciding that, despite the circumstances that had led to him meeting her, he liked her. She was quick to smile and laugh. She spoke easily, in a manner that was inviting and encouraging, and put him on a level that felt like he was nearly her equal, not just some teenaged kid. She seemed very open - refusing to hide any part of herself. He wasn't sure how he knew that - after all, he'd only known her for a couple of short hours. But his instincts told him to trust her, that she was a genuine and lovable woman.
Mom and Dad would have liked her, he decided.
Unsure of what to do with himself, he made his way back upstairs to his bedroom, and unpacked the small collection of his belongings. He took the blanket his mother had made and placed it on top of the comforter on the bed, but he took care to hide away the blanket and manila envelope that were connected to the night he'd entered the Kents' lives. The strange globe he'd been found with he hid as well, wrapping it in the folds of the deep blue blanket that had fended off the cool night air before he'd been found and instantly become a Kent.
With all of his possessions unpacked, he went back down the stairs. His sensitive nose could smell chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven. He'd been aware of their mouthwatering scent for a while now - they had to be close to finished, he reckoned. Never one to resist a treat, he allowed his nose to direct his footsteps, half expecting to see Grandma Tildy taking a tray of cookies out of the oven.
Someone was there in the kitchen, bent over and extracting a cookie sheet from the oven when he arrived, but it wasn't Grandma Tildy.
It was one of the boys, a tall, scrawny Asian youth. He looked to be fifteen or sixteen. He eyed Clark for barely three seconds.
"You're new," he said as he turned his attention back to the cookies.
"Yeah. Just got in tonight. My name's Clark," Clark offered in a friendly tone.
The other boy gave him a half smile and a nod of acknowledgement. "Chen. Chen Chow. Welcome to Grandma's, Clark."
Clark managed a small smile. "Thanks." He gestured at the cookies. "Those smell great, by the way."
Chen smiled. "Thanks. My grandpa's recipe." He began to remove the cookies from the metal sheet with a black plastic spatula. "So, where are you from?" he asked casually as he worked.
"Smallville," Clark said. "You?"
"Kansas City," he said with a near-sneer in his voice. Clark was curious, but chose not to ask. "Here, have one while they're still hot," Chen said, pushing the plate of chocolate chip cookies toward Clark.
"Thanks." He took one and blew on it before biting in. "Wow!" he said after the first bite. "This is delicious!"
Chen's smile widened. "Glad you like them."
Clark merely nodded as he chewed. Silently, he appraised the young man before him. Chen looked genuinely happy and welcoming. Clark already liked him, and could see them forging a true friendship. He wondered if Chen might feel the same. God knew, Clark was desperate for a friend. Everyone he'd ever known had been left behind when he'd been forced to leave his home.
Chen said nothing as he got to work prepping a new batch of cookie dough to put into the oven. He moved with fluid grace around the kitchen, like some kind of good spirit brought to life. He worked with practiced efficiency too - no movement seemed wasted. Everything he did seemed purposeful. It was somehow calming to watch him work.
"Need lots of cookies to keep everyone happy," he explained, his back to Clark, as he put two more cookie sheets into the oven.
"I can imagine," Clark said with a slight nod. "Need a hand?"
"Nah, I'm good. Thanks though."
Chen closed the oven door and rested his elbows on the high marble-topped kitchen island. Clark pulled up one of the stools and sat on the opposite side. He noted, briefly, the scars that covered the other boy's arms. He tried to be discreet, but Chen noticed. He laid his arms down, showing Clark the extent of the damage.
"My dad," Chen explained. "He's a mean drunk. Most of these? Cigar burns."
"I didn't mean to look..." Clark tried to apologize.
Chen shook his head. "I don't mind. And I don't blame you. They're kind of hard to ignore."
"Your father did that?" Clark asked, incredulously. "How can anyone do that to their kid?"
"I've asked myself that same question a thousand times. Best I can come up with is that Dad always had a short temper. Turns out it's even shorter when he's drunk." Chen shrugged. "Mom tried to get us out. Dad found out and snapped. Beat the living hell out of her before he turned on my sister and me. When he finally left to go down to the local bar, I called 911." Here, Chen's face contorted in pain. "There was nothing they could do for my sister - she was already gone before the ambulance arrived. Mom died three days later from her injuries. Dad was arrested and once I was healed enough, my grandpa took me in. I was six at the time, and for a while, things were good. But when I was eight an aneurysm burst in his brain, killing him. There wasn't anyone else to take me in, so I was sent here. Been here ever since."
"I'm so sorry," Clark said sympathetically.
Chen shrugged again. "Don't be. This place is like Heaven compared to what I lived through as a kid. Grandma's even been training me to eventually help run this place."
"That's great," Clark said. Chen seemed enthusiastic at the prospect of one day becoming the one to run that home for boys. "I guess that answers my question of how you like the place," he added wryly.
Chen chuckled. "Yeah. Safe to say I like it here. Hope you will too."
"Thanks."
"So, what's your story?" Chen asked. It was blunt, but casual. Curious, but not rude.
"My mom died in a car accident while we were driving to see my dad at the hospital. I was lucky to escape unhurt, but my mom...she died instantly, at the moment of impact, or so they said. My dad...I overheard people at the funeral saying that even though he never knew about Mom's death - he was heavily sedated after a bad heart attack - that he somehow knew and lost the will to live. He had another heart attack that night and didn't make it."
Chen snorted. "You really believe that? That he lost the will to live?"
Clark shook his head. "No. He loved my mom, but I know he would have fought to stay alive for me. It was just...bad timing, is all. His heart had been weak for a couple of years. I just never really thought I'd lose him. The people who said he'd lost the will to live...I think they just wanted some...I don't know. Some romanticized reason for his death. Something other than the fact that his body hadn't been able to take the strain of two massive heart attacks so close together like that."
Chen appeared to soften a bit. "Yeah...well...either way, I'm sorry. Losing your family stinks."
"Yeah, it does," Clark agreed. He took another cookie and fidgeted with it for a moment before biting into it.
"You know what? I like you, Clark," Chen said after a moment, during which he checked on the timer to see how long he had before the newest batch of cookies needed to come out of the oven. "You seem like a cool guy. Friends?"
"Friends," Clark said, extending a hand and shaking with Chen.
"Cool," Chen said, smiling again. "Listen, it's almost time for lights out. I need to finish up here, but you should get some rest. Move-in is never easy, no matter how few possessions we get to bring with us. See you in the morning? You shoot pool at all?"
"Once or twice," Clark replied. "I can't say I'm any good at it."
That made Chen laugh. "All the better! After breakfast, let's play a few rounds. What do you say?"
"I say I'm looking forward to it."
"Perfect. See you in the morning then."
"Night Chen. Thanks for the cookies."
The other boy nodded and made a sound of agreement in his throat, then turned his attention to the oven as the timer rang. Clark headed back to his room and got himself ready for bed. He changed into pajamas, then padded down the hall to brush his teeth. When he laid down in his bed, however, sleep would not come to him. The room was too foreign for him, too different from his comfortable farmhouse. It was true that he'd been staying at other people's homes up until now, but those had typically been places he'd known - close friends of the family and places he'd slept over before, for the most part. But this was different
This place was different. It looked and smelled so completely wrong. Not in a bad way, he acknowledged to himself. Just not what he was so used to. Grandma Tildy's house smelled of citrus cleaner products and lavender and the perfume she wore. It wasn't an unpleasant smell - it was, in some ways, actually quite nice. But Clark yearned for the scent of fertile earth, growing crops, the cedar furniture of the room he'd grown up in. He wanted to smell his mother's chocolate chip cookies baking, or her apple pie, rather than Chen's - admittedly delicious - cookies.
After a while, Clark stopped trying to sleep, and, instead, turned to toying with his newly enhanced hearing ability. He'd been working hard on it, ever since he'd first realized that he could hear things he shouldn't have been able to. In his mind, he tried to imagine how his parents would have walked him through the process of refining his powers. Slowly, he tuned his hearing in and out - gradually going from the realm of normal hearing to as far as he could stretch it.
He heard a lot of soft snoring and even breathing in the house. It seemed that nearly everyone was asleep at that hour. Someone was snoring loudly - for a moment, the unexpected sound deafened Clark and he reflexively threw his hands over his ears. One or two of the boys were reading - he could hear the soft whispers of pages turning, uncovering whatever new facts were being discovered or new adventure the story's hero was facing. In the kitchen, the faucet was idly dripping. Whoever had been in there last - probably Chen, Clark thought - hadn't completely tightened the knobs. Someone was coughing and someone else sneezed. Two of the older boys were talking together - Clark quickly tuned out when he realized what, exactly, he was overhearing. Whoever the boys were, they were confessing their secret feelings for one another. Clark flushed with embarrassment, feeling the heat creep up his neck and spill into his cheeks, even as he aimed his hearing elsewhere. He didn't care that it was two boys and not a boy and girl who were admitting their love for one another. It just didn't feel right to eavesdrop on a private conversation like that. He'd been taught to respect people's privacy, especially when it came to matters of the heart. But still, he could not stop himself from scanning the rest of the house with his enhancing hearing. Part of him hoped he'd find something, some sound, that would put his aching heart at ease.
He heard Grandma Tildy as he searched for that phantom ointment for his grief. The older woman was awake and talking to herself. It sounded like she was going through paperwork. Bills, if Clark was guessing correctly. She sounded a bit stressed out. She was muttering to herself even as Clark heard her uncapping a pen. A moment later, he heard the pen scratching against paper. There was a sound of paper tearing along a perforated line. Clark realized that she was writing out checks. He hoped she was okay. She sounded so upset as she worked. He wondered if he could help at all, but of course he couldn't ask. That would only spawn uncomfortable questions about why he was inquiring about such things. He would have no answer for that, without revealing the abilities that set him apart from his peers. And he had already decided long ago that no one should ever know about the things he could do. His parents had always feared for his life - that if anyone should know of his differences, he would be taken from them, locked in a lab, and dissected like a frog.
Clark abruptly severed the connection he'd made with his hearing and retreated from the window back to his bed. This time, when he closed his eyes, exhaustion overtook him. Sleep came and whisked him off to a dark, dreamless void.
***
When he awoke, he was feeling only slightly less bleak than he had the night before. There was still a lot to get used to in this new place. For example, the moment he'd uttered the word "orphanage" while in a private conversation with Chen, the older boy immediately corrected him.
"That's not a word we use here," he told Clark as they finished up their breakfast of scramble eggs, toast, bacon, fruit, and chocolate milk. "We prefer the term 'halfway house' instead."
"Halfway house?" Clark asked, chewing a bite of toast thoughtfully. "Can't say I've heard that word before."
"Yeah," Chen said, nodding and draining the last sip of his drink. "This place...it's not just for kids who's parents have died. Like Nicholas over there, in the red shirt. He's here while his parents serve a prison term for petty theft, if the courts decide they're fit to be parents when they get out. Keith? The one laughing too loudly in the corner? His dad ran off with another woman and his mom had a psychotic break. So the word 'orphanage' is all wrong in situations like that. 'Halfway house' though? It works for all of us. We're all at this halfway point...this transitional stage from the homes we knew and whatever lies ahead for us. For some, it might be a foster home. For others, we're just waiting out our time until we're legal adults and can make our own way in the world."
Clark mulled it over as his finished his bacon, then his drink. "Makes sense," he admitted. "And I have to say, it does sound a whole lot better than 'orphanage' ever did."
He wasn't lying. It did feel a little better to think of Grandma Tildy's house as a halfway house, rather than an orphanage. It didn't change Clark's status as a parentless child, but at least by using the term halfway house, it wouldn't be a constant reminder that he'd never see his parents again.
Chen grinned. "See, you're learning the ropes already. Stick with me, Clark, and you'll have it made around here."
Clark laughed a little. "Thanks for looking out for me."
"What are friends for?"
Clark nodded. "It's good to have a friend. When I was told I was going to be sent here, there was a part of me that thought...I don't know. That I'd be completely on my own."
"When I first came here," Chen replied, slipping into his memories, "I didn't know what to expect. I made friends with everyone. Back then, we had a lot of...turnover. New boys coming in. Other boys moving out. A couple of runaways. It hurt, every time I had to say goodbye to someone I'd gotten close to. For a while, I kind of shut down. I tried not to make friends with anyone who came in. I thought I was protecting myself that way. It only made me feel worse because now I was lonely. So I made the decision to start making friends again, no matter how long or short the others might be here. I'm glad I did. I've kept in touch with a few who have moved on."
"It's better not to be alone," Clark agreed.
"Much." Chen picked up his plate and glass, then started for the kitchen sink. Clark followed. "That said, not everyone here feels the same, you know? There's a couple of other guys you probably want to stay away from. They pretty much hate this place and everyone in it. It's their way of dealing with their issues. I don't want to see them hurt you."
Clark gave him a wry grin. "I can handle myself."
Chen gave him a skeptical once-over with his eyes. "Sure thing, Clark," he said, his voice hinting at his disbelief.
"No, really," Clark insisted. "I'm tougher than I look. That being said, I'm not eager to make enemies. So...who do I avoid?"
"Luis Martinez for one. Guy's nothing but trouble. He's been in and out of foster homes...oh...I guess it's four times now. Randy Dawson's another one. Grandma nearly threw him out last year for stealing from her. He gave back what he took and there haven't been any other incidents, but he's definitely not what I would call trustworthy, or friendly. You won't have to worry about him for long. His aunt finally got on her feet and he's set to go live with her at the end of next month."
"Good to know," Clark said. "Anyone else?"
Chen paused, thinking. "I guess that's about it, for now. Unless someone decides they don't like you for some reason."
"Thanks, Chen."
"Any time. Listen, I'm pretty much second in command around here, what with me planning on running things once Grandma retires. If anyone gives you a hard time, you let me know. Grandma and I will set things straight, okay?"
"Okay."
"Good. Now, let's go see if the pool table is free. What you do say?"
"Let's go," Clark said brightly.
As they went down the hall toward the rec room, Clark found his heart feeling just the slightest bit lighter. Some of the gloom and doom had dissipated with Chen's infectious grin and easy laugh. Though Clark didn't know Chen for long, it wasn't hard to see how genuinely good-natured the other boy was. For the first time, Clark thought he could learn to be content there, in that halfway house, if not ever completely happy. Maybe that would change, he mused, but for the time being, merely being content felt like a huge victory.
It was more than he ever could have hoped for.
Still, his heart was restless and he had his reservations about Grandma Tildy's home.
Chief among his concerns were his powers. On his farm, he had had all the space he could ever want or need to work on his abilities without running the risk of being seen. But here things were different. Though he had the bedroom all to himself at the moment, he had no idea how long that might last. At any time, he could wind up with a roommate. And even if he didn't, there was always someone around. There were always eyes that could catch him if he slipped up with his speed or strength. What then?
His lightened mood vanished as a little fear set in. He tried to banish such concerns from his mind but they lingered there, gnawing at the back of his brain, demanding that he figure something out. But no matter how hard he tried, he remained unable to come up with any real answers.
As he spent time with Chen, however, Clark found himself forgetting, at least a little, some of his worries. Day by day, he grew more and more relaxed in his new surroundings. He'd always had a knack for making friends easily, and before the week was out he was on good terms with just about every boy in the place, with the few exceptions Chen had warned him about. Though his heart never stopped longing for the life he'd once known, Clark grew to be at peace with his situation. He forgot, for a time, that his living arrangement could change at any time, if the courts decided he should be moved into a foster home. The small part of him that did remember it from time to time hoped that wouldn't be the case. The friends he'd made at Grandma Tildy's house were not people he wanted to lose.
So, each day, week, and month that went by without word from the courts made Clark breathe a little easier.
He never forgot, however, the way he'd heard Grandma Tildy fretting over the bills that first night. From the beginning, he did whatever he could to help out. During the warm weather, he organized a few of the other boys to tend to the yard work - weeding, cutting the lawn, trimming the bushes, hauling off any dead branches that came down off the trees - effectively eliminating the need for paying the landscaping service she'd been using for the past three years. He and Chen got into the habit of clipping coupons for the local stores. Grandma Tildy did a fair amount of it herself, but it never hurt to have extra hands and eyes helping. Though Clark wasn't particularly crafty, some of the other boys were, so he and one of the other boys, Quincy, organized some craft sales in town. The boys made whatever it was they were skilled in - some painted, some were woodworkers, one of them even enjoyed knitting - in large batches and sold them, putting all of the proceeds to the halfway house and into getting more supplies. Chen's chocolate chip cookies were a particularly huge hit.
It made him glad, to be able to help out, even in small ways. He promised himself that, for as long as he lived, he would always do what he could to help people. His parents had instilled that in him - the desire to do good. In their memory, he would do everything within his power to be a force for goodness and justice.
The question was - how?
What career could he pursue which allowed him to help others, with minimal risk to himself? After all, he dared not let anyone even suspect him of being different from everyone else, let alone gather proof of it.
Joining the armed forces wasn't an option. If he saw combat, he would almost certainly put his secret in jeopardy. The same was true if he became a police officer or firefighter. One wrong encounter, one moment where he should have been killed but wasn't, and he would be exposed. He supposed he could be a doctor and help people, but medicine held no interest for him. And besides, that wasn't really the way he wanted to help.
It came to him one afternoon while he, Chen, Grandma Tildy, and the others went into town. There were errands to run, so the older boys had been split up into teams, each of them looking out for the younger ones. Clark and Grandma Tildy wound up with the task of grocery shopping. He'd swapped with Chen, giving his friend a chance to stop by the library, where his girlfriend, Mina, worked.
"So, it's been a couple of months," Grandma Tildy said as they entered into Docker's Groceries. "How are things going for you?"
"Good," Clark immediately replied.
"Are you happy at the home?" she asked, grabbing a shopping cart.
Clark grabbed a second one. "More than I imagined I would ever be," he said. "When I first came to the house, I think a part of me expected to hate it, no offense. It just wasn't home, not by a long shot. But everyone's been so nice and welcoming. It's been nice to make such good friends. It's...it's made losing my folks...I don't want to say easier but...maybe a little easier?"
Grandma Tildy hummed her understanding. "I'm glad you've found a little peace here. Really, I am."
"I know. Hey, Grandma Tildy?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you. You know. For taking me in and all. I guess maybe you didn't really have a choice. That some official or another just shipped me off your way whether or not you liked it. But...thanks. I know there are a lot worse places to wind up in. I'm glad you've made such a nice home for all of us."
Grandma Tildy smiled, looking touched. "Well, thank you, Clark! It's nice to hear that you like it here."
"You haven't...that is...the courts aren't going to make me leave...are they?" he asked nervously. He'd never before had the heart to venture the question, but now he felt he needed to know. Grandma's questions felt more than a little suspicious, in his mind.
She shook her graying head. "No. In fact, I heard from the court liaison this morning. You are to remain here. They think it's in your best interest, what with there being no immediate family and all. And not enough foster homes to go around, I'm afraid."
"So that's why you asked me how I like the home?" he asked, keeping any accusations out of his voice.
"In part," she admitted, pushing her shopping cart toward the produce section. She stopped by the first display and began to select which Empire apples she wanted. "I wanted to know how you felt, before I told you the news. But I always check in with the boys and see how they are feeling, even the long term residents, like your friend, Chen."
"I...I guess that's true," Clark admitted from the other side of the display, where he hefted a bag of lemons up to inspect them for signs of rot. He had seen Grandma Tildy chat with each boy from time to time, checking in with them.
"You two have gotten pretty close, huh?"
"Who? Chen and me? Yeah," Clark said happily. "It's weird. Almost as soon as I met him, I felt like I'd known him my whole life."
She chuckled. "You're both good kids. It makes my heart happy to see you two become such great friends. It's done him a world of good to have you around. He's always been such a serious boy. Not that it's a bad thing, mind you. But in a lot of ways, he's had to grow up far faster than he ever should have needed to. And that started well before things went so badly with his parents...with losing them the way he did. He told me not too long after he arrived at the house...oh, maybe a year after he arrived, I guess it was...that he wanted to learn everything about running the halfway house. He said he wanted to take over one day, if and when I was unable to run things. Or, barring that, open one of his very own, so that he could help kids the way he'd been helped."
"So you took him under your wing," Clark supplied.
Grandma Tildy nodded. "He was adamant about it, so, after a time, I agreed. I'll admit, he's made things run a lot more smoothly. I'm glad to have his help. But the responsibility he wanted to take on...it's left him friendly but without a best friend. Until you arrived, that is. You don't know how good it is to see him finally letting loose a bit and having more fun than I've ever seen him have. So, thank you, Clark."
Clark smiled. "Glad to help. He's a great guy."
They moved in silence for a moment before Clark spoke again.
"Oh, watermelon! I have a coupon for that. Um...let's see." He flipped through the stack of coupons he'd stashed in his back pocket. "Ah, here it is. Forty cents off per pound."
"Well, we can hardly pass up a deal like that!" Grandma Tildy said with a grin. She hesitated a moment though before selecting a melon. "Clark...what made you decide to organize all of the...well...all of the ways for us to save or make money?"
"Oh." He blushed, his mind racing. He couldn't tell her about the super powered hearing he had that had let him listen in on her that first night. "I'm a farm kid," he said after a moment. "We had our good years, but we had our lean years too. We were forever finding ways to cut costs and save money." It wasn't a lie, even if it wasn't the reason why he'd started doing such things at the halfway house. "I guess it's just sort of ingrained in me."
Grandma nodded, easily accepting his explanation. "Your parents must have been some amazing people."
"They were," he agreed wistfully. "I wasn't even theirs by blood. They found me on their doorstep one night," he said, using the 'official' story the Kents had been using since the beginning. "They didn't have to take me in. They didn't have to love me. But they did. They never hesitated to take in the abandoned infant they'd found. They loved me like I was their own flesh and blood."
"It's not hard to see why. You're a pretty amazing kid, Clark."
"Thanks," he replied, fighting back an embarrassed blush. He knew he'd lost as soon as he felt even his ears go hot.
"And they raised you well. They'd be so proud of you."
"They were," he affirmed with a nod.
"I think they'd love how helpful you've been around the house," Grandma Tildy continued, examining ears of corn for the barbeque they were planning for the next night.
"I like helping," he said with a shrug. "I'd like to find a way to help people for the rest of my life. I just...I haven't figured out how yet."
"Well," Grandma Tildy said, dismissing the corn she had in her hand and picking up a new one. "You should love the career you pursue. So, what are the things you like to do best?"
"Writing," was his immediate answer. "I've always loved writing. Or did...before. Aside from my school work, I haven't really done much writing since...since that day." He didn't need to specify what day he meant.
Grandma Tildy nodded. "Maybe it's time to try writing again."
"I don't know," he hesitated. "I haven't exactly been...inspired lately."
"All the more reason to try," she gently argued back. "If writing is important to you, don't let it get away from you."
"I guess. But I don't see how writing can help anyone. And I want to help people."
"Writing can do plenty of good!" Grandma Tildy said, sounding a little surprised that Clark didn't see whatever angle she did.
"How?"
"Well, for one thing, Journalism! Investigative journalists help people all the time by uncovering corrupt politicians, or awful landlords, or how a proposed law might hurt the poor. They help put away drug lords and criminals. They protect the people, Clark."
It was like a light bulb went off in Clark's mind. Grandma Tildy was right! He could combine his desire to help people with his love of writing! And the best part was, he ran little to no risk of exposing his secret in doing so.
"You're right," he said, even as those thoughts whizzed through his mind. "It's a perfect idea! Thanks, Grandma. I think, maybe, I'll look into it more."
The older woman smiled affectionately at him. "Glad to help."
***
That night, after dinner was eaten and cleaned up, many of the boys turned in early for the night. The younger ones, in particular, had been exhausted after their day in town, and all the errands and fun they'd had. Even the older boys were subdued, drained from watching the younger ones all day long. No one complained - everyone had seemed more than willing and happy to lend a hand. But it did make for a very quiet evening overall.
"How's Mina?" Clark asked Chen as they sat playing a hand of gin on Clark's bed.
"Good," Chen said, rearranging the worn cards in his hand. "She said to say hi to you."
"Sorry I missed her today," Clark replied as he looked over his cards. He'd met Chen's girlfriend a couple of times before and liked her.
"No problem. Next time maybe we can grab an ice cream or something with her," Chen said, the ever present smile on his lips broadening.
"That would be great," Clark agreed.
"In a couple of years, I'll be able to access the money Grandpa set aside for me," Chen continued dreamily. "The first thing I'm gonna do? Buy Mina a ring and ask her to marry me."
Clark's eyes widened and he nearly dropped his playing cards in surprise. He'd known the two were serious, but he'd never imagined that his friend had started planning for a wedding already.
"Wow!" he said. "That's great, Chen! You two are really great together. And Mina is wonderful. But...are you sure she's on the same page as you? I don't want to see you get hurt."
Chen nodded. "We've talked about it a little. I know we're young and I know that we'll have to see how things are at that point, before I actually do it."
"Then I wish you two a lifetime of happiness," Clark grinned.
"You'll be my best man, right?" Chen asked, all seriousness in his voice.
"Just you try and stop me," Clark said, extending a hand and shaking on his promise.
A knock at the door cut their conversation short. Clark looked over and saw Grandma Tildy standing in the doorway. Her hands were clasped behind her back, a common stance of hers as she observed things or waited to speak with someone.
"Evening, Grandma," Chen said respectfully as Clark echoed him.
"Hi, boys. Clark? Can I have a minute alone with you?"
Clark exchanged a look with his friend. Chen shrugged.
"Fine by me. I'm tired of losing to you tonight anyway, Clark."
Clark chuckled. "Aww, you didn't do too badly tonight," he pointed out. "You won almost as many rounds as I did."
"Yeah, yeah," Chen teased. "See you in the morning."
"Night, Chen."
Grandma Tildy waited until the older boy left the room with the deck of cards, promising to return them to the rec room before lights out. Then she came into the room and sat down on the foot of Clark's bed.
"Is there something I can do for you?" Clark asked.
She smiled and shook her head. "No. I just wanted to give you this," she said, pulling her right hand out from behind her back.
She held a black, leather-bound journal out to him. Clark took it, eying her with a small dose of confusion.
"I want you to get back to writing," she said gently. "When we talked today at the grocery store, I saw a fire in your eyes as we discussed your writing and a potential career in journalism. So, when you and the others were at the playground with the younger kids, I stopped into the bookstore and got you this."
"I can't...it's too much," Clark protested.
"Nonsense," she lightly chided. "Clark, you're a very bright young man. I'd hate to see any talent of yours go wasted. Take the journal. Write. Every day." She tapped a finger on the pristine black cover of the book. "Put down whatever it is you want. Random musings. Details about your days. Poems. Bits of fiction stories. Document the news. Whatever moves you. Just promise me that you'll never lose your passion."
Clark clutched the book to his chest, moved by the woman's gesture.
"I promise," he vowed.
To Be Continued...
