Description: Sequel to
The Letter. Superman has taken to heart some of the things Lois said in her letter. What will happen when one of Lucy's granddaughters turns up to contest part of Aunt Lois' will?
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Chapter 2Lauren closed the door behind her, after entering the apartment, and called after Clark as he headed for the kitchen. "Actually, I'd prefer coffee this time please."
"All right," he called back.
"Cream and two sugars please," came the following request.
"Okay," Clark replied from the kitchen.
"I know, it's bad for you. I know."
"Hey, it's okay. That's exactly how I take it too," he said as he returned to the living area carrying two coffees. He passed one over to her and then they both took seats on the couch, exactly copying the poses that they had taken the day before.
Taking a sip of his, Clark studied his guest for a moment. She wore those slightly yellow tinted glasses again. Did that mean they were prescription? Or did she just love the fashion statement so much? Her clothing was much more casual today. Yesterday's brown suit had probably been working clothes. Clark recalled the numerous similar suits that Lois would wear to the office, day after day. Today Lauren was in casual, cream slacks and a soft aqua-blue t-shirt. Clark immediately knew that the choice of t-shirt colour was directly related to her eye colour. He remembered that they reminded him of a tropical ocean when the tinted glasses had come off yesterday. There was a small logo above the right breast area … well, right to him … left to her. A palm tree with four stylised leaves curved gently out of a perfect semi-circle shaped sandy island. It solidified the link in his mind. Lauren … and her eyes … would always make him think of a tropical paradise.
"So," Clark started. "Not that it isn't nice to see you again, Lauren, but what exactly brought you back here?" He smiled.
"I just … I wanted to feel close to her. I miss her so much." Clark felt his heart beat in empathy with her pain.
"So … tell me about Lois then." Clark was torn. Lauren probably needed to talk about her best friend. Plus there was a desperate need, inside Clark, to reconnect with Lois … to strengthen his memories of her, but he also dreaded being overwhelmed by emotion. Still he'd asked, so he waited for Lauren to reply.
"Lois Lane." Lauren paused. "She was an investigative journalist most of her life. She loved it. She was brusque, and forthright. It could come across as rude to those who didn't know her, but she was just being as truthful as she could, and not beating around the bush. She was kind and gentle and honest. Loyal. Loving. She loved watching football and basketball and baseball, although I'm not sure why. She didn't support any team, and it was more like … she put it on in the background. She didn't sit down and actually
watch very often." Lauren paused again. She shuffled back further into the couch and took another sip of coffee. Clark let himself relax. His eyes drifted closed as she began again. "She loved Mel Gibson films, and chocolate, and ice cream. And the Daily Planet was her life. I used to visit her there, as a girl … when dad would let me …"
Lauren's voice faded away and Clark drifted into memories. He recalled exactly the things Lauren was talking about. As she rattled on about the news room, he found himself dealing with the warring emotions of nostalgia, grief, longing and so many more.
"I wanted to be like her when I was little." Lauren's voice intruded into his memories. "I guess I am, actually. Just like her. And also completely the opposite too." She stopped and laughed. "Yeah. That's it. I'm just like Aunt Lois, and completely the opposite of her, too."
"And how do you figure that?" Clark smiled, not opening his eyes, but just revelling in her babbling voice.
"Well, she was an Investigative Journalist for the
Daily Planet. I work for the
Online Planet. Which is basically just the Daily Planet, but online, so it's the same thing … but not. And I'm a reporter … but not like her. I'm the food critic - well Food and Nutrition Specialist is my full title. Oh, and I guess that's a major difference. Food. And drink." She held up her coffee with cream and sugar. "Aunt Lois would have panicked at the thought of so many calories in one drink. Plus, she could burn a pot of water." Lauren laughed. "I even remember this one time when she decided to bake a chocolate cake. I've used the exact same recipe and … well, hers came out like a solid rock. A
so-lid rock. Mine are usually thick and gooey. Then there's clothes. I absolutely adored everything she wore, except she was taller … and slimmer than me, so …"
"Sounds like you babble, too." Clark teased, finally opening his eyes and looking at her.
"Oh yeah. That's definitely another way that we are identical … yet different, because she could babble, but then she'd realise and shut up, whereas I babble, and then even when someone points it out I continue and continue and…. Oh." She paused and brought her hand up to cover her mouth when Clark began to smirk. "Just like that, I guess."
Clark let his laugh out and Lauren began to laugh with him.
"Everyone loved her." Lauren sighed. "There were so many Aunts and Uncles and Great Aunts and so on. Grandpappy was an only child but Grandma's second … well first husband really, as she never had chance to marry daddy's father - that's why my last name is still Lane - came from a very big family. But Aunt Lois was everyone's favourite. She had so much love to give, to everyone. I asked her about it once. She said that Clark had taught her to love. He'd also taught her the value of friendship, and family, and making sure you never regretted your actions … or your in-action. I try to be just like her." Lauren paused and her lips trembled. "But I'm not. I regret everything." Her voice was so shaky filled with tears. "I never told her how much she meant to me, and I never told her I loved this place." She paused again. "I never told her I loved her."
Clark took Lauren's body into his arms.
Neither did I, he thought.
At least, not when she believed me, or wanted to hear it. He rocked her gently as she cried. It was different from the previous day. Standing at the window Lauren had been shaking with grief. This time Clark could just hear her ragged breathing. Eventually she pushed away and, when she looked up, Clark could see the tear streaks down her cheek. Her yellow tinted glasses hid the bright, ocean blue of her eyes, but they couldn't hide the sadness.
"I think I'm going to start visiting just for your hugs, Clark, and not only to remember Aunt Lois," she chuckled quietly.
Clark laughed in reply and stood up from the couch. "I think that would be fine by me …" He strode away, into the kitchen to check on his food just as Lauren finally noticed the sound of bubbling water.
"Oh, Clark. I'm sorry. I didn't realise. I've interrupted your dinner." Clark watched from the kitchen as Lauren stood and headed for the door.
"No," Clark called out desperately. "Stop! There's no need to leave."
Lauren turned. "But you're cooking. I can tell now. I can hear the water bubbling, and smell the pepper. And there's a sauce …"
"Stay. Lauren, I've made enough for at least three people. I would have just frozen the left-overs." Clark quietened his voice. "Please. Stay, and have dinner with me."
He watched as Lauren frowned. She didn't reply immediately. When her head began nodding Clark felt himself relax. "All right." She smiled and stepped towards the kitchen. "So what is it?"
"Ahhhh." Clark's eyes widened in fear, suddenly remembering that she was the food critic for the Planet, meaning that she had a particularly discerning palette. "Um, just a concoction of my own. It's kind of a cross between curry and bolognaise. I guess you have to try it to … well, um, is that okay?"
Lauren laughed and Clark felt self-conscious at his unintelligible rambling. "Sounds great. How long will it be?" She began looking into the pots and sniffing the air.
"About fifteen minutes."
"Oh, all right. Um, should we sit back down then? Or do you need to do something? I could always help. I do know about food. Or maybe I could work on a dessert. I know plenty that only take ten minutes preparation."
"Yeah, sure. I guess we could make something."
Lauren immediately walked over to the refrigerator and pulled open the door. "Do you have any mascarpone?" she asked while reaching in and pulling out some milk and some butter.
"Ahh," Clark grimaced. "Not at the moment, no."
"Right." Lauren stood upright and turned back to look around the kitchen. "Okay, then, what about flour?"
Clark immediately smiled. "Up here," he said and reached around to open a door above him revealing all kinds of baking implements and ingredients.
"Fruit?" Lauren asked.
Clark spun around and spread his arms wide. Lauren followed his gaze and blushed when she noticed the table covered in various fruits on clear display right in front of her.
"Okay. I'll whip up a quick batter, if you cut up some fruit, and we'll just have pancakes, fruit and cream."
"Sounds great … but I do have ice cream, or maple syrup, or even some merengue, and we could do an Eton Mess."
"Mmmm, yum." Lauren grinned up at him. She began to collect the items she wanted and placed them neatly in a row on the counter. When she turned back around, and began to look confused, Clark laughed. "I don't see what's so funny," she growled and placed her hands on her hips. "How am I supposed to know where you keep your bowls, and measuring cups … you want me to just guess?"
"No. I don't want you to just guess, Lauren." He laughed good naturedly again and opened the cooking cupboard once more, extracting a glass bowl, a measuring cup and a sieve. "Actually, I was wondering at the placement of the ingredients." He raised his eyebrows and nodded in the direction of the worktop.
Lauren glanced back over her shoulder and then blushed back at Clark. "Oh. I do that. It's just my way of putting the ingredients in order, and making sure I haven't forgotten anything. My dad complains terribly. But if I have even one item missing, or in the wrong place … He says it's OCD … but, come on, what's wrong with being organised.? If it means a better meal, then why does he complain? Does he want Aunt Lois to cook, because her method is particularly disorganised and I can tell you that not a single thing she ever makes is edible and …"
She suddenly stopped. Clark's amused face, and quiet chuckles had done nothing to stem her babbling, but when she began mentioning Lois … and using present tense, rather than past, he knew his face had changed. Possibly the shock, or the pain, or … something … was showing, because Lauren clearly realised what she'd been saying at that moment.
She took a deep breath and her animated face fell. "She's gone. She's never going to cook again," came her quiet, shaky voice. She closed her eyes for a moment and Clark watched her breathe slowly and deeply for another few seconds. "It's probably a good thing," she forced a laugh, to bring some lightness, and dispel the grief. "I don't know how much longer my stomach could have taken her attempts at chicken curry and rice."
Clark smiled, recognising that she was not really insulting her dearly departed Aunt, but acknowledging one of the things that actually
made her Lauren's beloved 'Aunt Lois'. He figured that it would be a good idea to make a clean break from that small foray into memory and so he strode over to the fruit and picked up a few apples.
"I'll slice some apples, then. I also have grapes, oranges, kiwi, cherries and a fresh pineapple in the refrigerator."
"Sounds perfect," replied Lauren. She turned and opened up the milk then began measuring her ingredients. "I think I have an idea about making lots of tiny, tiny pancakes and we can put them into the whole mess."
"Lovely." Clark took his fruit to the other side of the kitchen and made sure his body hid the surreptitious use of his speed. Pretty soon there was a bowl full of diced pineapple, sliced apple and kiwi, orange segments, grapes and cherries. Clark turned back to the meal and adjusted the heat under the rice and gave the bolognaise mixture a stir, adding some final spices. "Oh," he called, "we could add some cinnamon to the batter, if you like."
"Yeah, that would be a great idea." Lauren replied, clearly agreeing with the suggestion. "Although, I wouldn't normally do that. I have a friend who is allergic to all kinds of spices. She'd be in hospital if she came across any cinnamon."
"Oooo, that can't be nice."
"No, it isn't. It has made me be much more careful with ingredients, though. And I've become particularly inventive with the spices that she can have. I used her in a series on allergies recently, and took her along to most of my tastings. It was fascinating."
Clark nodded. "I can guess." He stood back and surveyed all the food. "Okay. Everything's coming along nicely, but it does still need another five minutes."
"Perfect timing, Clark," Lauren chirped up from the other side of the room and held up her bowl. "Do you want to do the pancakes, or do you trust me with your pan?" She grinned.
"Hthssssss," Clark pulled in a teasing, shocked breath. "I'm pretty protective when it comes to my … pans." He grinned back at her. He reached into a cupboard to his left and pulled out a large pan.
Lauren strode over and put down the mixture next to the burners. "Okay … shoo." She swiped at Clark's arms. "Go, trust me. Set out the table, or put on some background music, or turn on the TV … whatever it is you usually do."
Clark left Lauren in the kitchen, strangely confident in her ability and completely trusting of her with his pans. He pulled out a tablecloth and covered the table, then even managed to find some place mats. He paused momentarily as he pulled them out of the drawer, remembering them from the farmhouse kitchen. The grief over the loss of his parents was long established in his heart. They had been gone for decades, and it was no longer intensely painful whenever he thought of them. Mostly they were happy memories, and he smiled whenever he thought of them. Sometimes there was even a chuckle of joy.
He resumed setting the table and wondered if his memories of Lois would ever result in the same. Surely there would come a time when his heart would not ache, like it was pierced by an arrow, at the thought of her. Surely, fifty years of parental memories were stronger than two years of friendship. And if
that pain could fade, then surely
this pain would too.
He looked up at Lauren. Maybe it already had begun to. Comforting her yesterday had brought a sliver of closure: something he had never expected to happen, and definitely not so soon, or while he lived surrounded by her memory, day after day, here in this apartment.
He watched as Lauren deftly flipped her mini-mini pancakes then piled them up on a plate she had acquired. She gave the batter another stir and then dropped some more small patches into the pan and waited while they cooked. She pushed her hair behind her ear and Clark suddenly recalled Lois doing exactly the same manoeuvre on many occasions.
As Lauren started a third batch Clark returned and carefully reached past to take the rice off the boil. Lauren turned off the burner for him and flipped her pancakes again. Clark dished out the rice and then returned for his curry-bolognaise. Again Lauren turned off the burner for him and then added her finished pancakes to the pile on her left. She turned off the final burner and placed the pan in the sink, giving it a quick swill with the hot tap, along with the bowl. Clark added his concoction to the plates and then took them to the table. Lauren left the pancakes to cool and headed for the table. Clark reached up to his wine rack and removed a simple red wine. Sitting down together they raised their forks and began eating.
"Mmmm," Lauren moaned. "Nice." She pulled the fork out of her mouth and went for a sip of wine. After swallowing Clark saw her pause and breathe deeply. For a moment he worried that she hadn't liked his concoction and was just being polite, but when she spoke he knew that embarrassment over the coming conversation was to blame. "I looked into contesting the will today. I actually do have a case, if I want. Kellen versus Santiago, in 2037, set a precedent for 'unknown factors' which could have changed the deceased person's will. Granted you have to pull in a lot of character witnesses, and there's even a psych evaluation and a lie detector test … but.
"You're … you're gonna do it?" Clark panicked, his fork half way to his mouth.
"I don't know. If it had gone to another relative, maybe, or at least the
wrong relative. But it's the Superman Foundation. I mean, what a worthy cause. And it would mean voiding your contract, and you'd want your money back. But that's taking money away from the poor, and the sick, and underprivileged. I don't think I could do that." She sighed. "Plus, I know that Aunt Lois considered herself a friend to Superman. She said they were very close when she was younger. So it wasn't just about giving to charity for her. There's always the chance that she still would have … done this … even if I'd told her how I felt about this place."
"Oh. I … well I can't say I'm disappointed, you know." He let his heart relax and he returned to eating. "I have to be truthful with you, Lauren; I want to stay here." He noticed her watching him, her eyes bright with tears. Placing down his fork he leaned forward and covered her hand with his. "But I also understand what you are giving up. I can feel for you." Clark brought his other hand up to his chest. "In here. I know what you are feeling."
She looked up and met his eyes. "Yes. I think you do." He knew his eyes were reflecting his own grief. Sixty years of pain and loneliness. For a few moments they were both frozen in that tableau, only breaking away at the chiming of a clock from the living area. Lauren smiled shyly and then looked away, diving back into the rice.
They ate in silence after that. Clark finished first. Putting his fork down on his plate he reached for his wine and relaxed back into his seat. As he continued to sip at the wine Lauren also finished. She immediately stood, taking her plate. She passed behind Clark on the way to the kitchen and he caught a whiff of cinnamon from her. He smiled, guessing that there were some remnants of the spice lingering on her clothing. It was almost a certainty, based on what Clark had seen of her personality so far. She was so like Lois, in her manic movements and energy. It was a great possibility … probability … that there had been a spillage of the cinnamon whilst Lauren was making the pancakes.
"Are you ready for it?" came the call from the kitchen.
Clark looked up, suddenly. "Pardon?" he called back, frowning.
"The dessert, Clark. Have you finished? Shall I bring it in?" He looked over to see Lauren checking on her mini-mini pancakes. She turned around and looked, questioningly.
"Oh, yes. Sure." Clark stood and picked up his plate then took it over to the kitchen worktop. At the sink he found that Lauren had already rinsed off her plate and had it draining. "Aw, you didn't have to do that Lauren. I'll clean up later."
"It's okay, Clark. It's another OCD thing. I have to clean up in the kitchen immediately after I'm done with something. Mostly because I can't
start any cooking if there is mess, so I then spend ages tidying up, and have no energy left for whatever I want to bake. So I just make sure the kitchen is always tidy." While babbling she'd been adding her pancakes and crumbling some merengue into the bowl of chopped fruit. "Oh, did you want to keep it separate and serve yourself," she suddenly asked, bringing her hand to her mouth in embarrassment.
"Nope, all in one bowl is perfectly fine," Clark replied then opened the freezer and pulled out some vanilla ice-cream. "Do you want it at the table, or back on the couch with the coffees?" he asked casually, not turning round from his search for an ice-cream scoop. When he heard a shocked gasp he whirled around.
"The coffees!" Lauren was looking at him with wide eyes and her hand covering her mouth once more. It seemed to be an instinctive movement for her. She dropped her hand and Clark saw her smiling. "We forgot them. Aww, they'll be cold."
"Uh, no. I'll go look, but I'm sure they will be fine." Clark strode into the living area with the ice-cream and a spoon. Placing them on the table he then lowered his glasses and sent a little dart of heat into each mug. "It's okay," he called to Lauren, then straightened up as if to show that he'd been checking with his hands. "The mugs are quite good, heat retaining, you know."
"Oh," Lauren replied. "Well, sitting on the couch with ice-cream could be quite … indulgent … or slovenly, then. Whichever descriptive you prefer."
"Oh definitely … indulgent. I can't imagine you ever being slovenly." Clark grinned at her as she brought the desert in, along with two spoons. Placing it next to the ice cream and the coffees she looked up at Clark and then flicked her gaze away, embarrassed.
"I, uh, couldn't find any bowls."
"Oh, um, they're … well, I'll go get … unless you just want to share from the big bowl?"
"Yeah, we can share," she nodded and smiled. "But then it definitely moves from indulgent to slovenly." Lauren laughed and slapped Clark on the arm. Sitting down she reached for a spoon and then slid back. Clark scooped some ice-cream into the larger bowl and then picked it up, placing it on the couch in between the two of them.
There was very little talk for the next few minutes. The fruit, merengue, pancake, ice-cream mix began to dwindle and the light began to dim. Clark reached behind him and flicked on a lamp, not wanting to move from his cross-legged position facing Lauren, with the bowl in between. He put his spoon back in the bowl, fishing out some pineapple and ice-cream. As he brought it back to his mouth he looked up. Lauren was staring at the lamp behind him. She opened her mouth, then closed it. She dropped her spoon back in the bowl and looked at her wrist, checking the gold watch inherited from her Aunt.
"Oh my goodness. I can't believe how late it is." She untangled her legs and almost stumbled off the couch. "I only meant to visit for a few minutes." She grasped her coffee and gulped it down. "I mean, I must admit that I hoped you'd offer me a drink, but I never expected … oh no, you must think me so presumptuous. I didn't mean to stay so long. I'm sorry. I'll just be off now. Thank for you dinner, it was fantastic. I'll be going now. Thank you."
By now she was at the door. Clark stood and followed her. "Lauren, it's okay." She turned to look up at him. Her eyes were glistening with tears. Possibly she really didn't want to leave her Aunt's apartment, but knew that she should. They were strangers. They shouldn't be acting so … friendly … in such a short space of time. It was only fitting that she leave.
But he didn't want her to.
"I don't mind. You can stay, if you'd like." Clark tried not to sound desperate and lonely.
"I think … I'd like to stay … and that's why I have to go." She turned, opened the door, and was gone again.
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