Epilogue
Martha wiped her forehead with a gloved hand and walked to the house for a few minutes of rest and some iced tea. Her new piece, “Secrets,” was coming along, despite some false starts and one entire base she’d cast aside for later reuse. The day was really too nice to be working indoors, but artists worked on Saturday just like they did any day when their muses decided to tickle their subjects’ fancies.
Mean old muse with no appreciation for the beauty of the day.
She heard a tractor rev twice and looked in that direction. Wayne Irig waved at her as he plowed the near field, then pulled the plow from the ground and turned in her direction.
”Howdy, Martha!” he called as he shut down the motor. “How’s the art coming?”
She leaned on the fence and smiled. “Not too badly, Wayne. How are you these days?”
He lifted his hand and wiggled his fingers. “It’s all healed up now. Good as new.”
“I’m glad.” And she was glad. The madman Jason Trask had nearly killed both of them just weeks before, but good had triumphed over evil once again – if only by the skin of its teeth.
“Hear you got another piece you’re puttin’ together in that barn. Ain’t you got enough iron to weld already?”
She laughed. “It’s how I make my money now.”
“Ain’t you gettin’ rich off that land you’re leasin’ to me?”
They laughed together, both knowing that the lease payments were enough for Martha to keep the mortgage paid but little more. “Of course I am, Wayne. I’m just doing this to pass the time between crops.”
He smiled and touched the brim of his Stetson. “Sure. Well, this old field ain’t gonna plow itself. I gotta get back to work.” He restarted the tractor and gave her a jaunty wave.
She returned the wave and watched for a moment as Wayne returned to his work. Wayne was a nice man, she reflected. A bit too literal to understand her art, and although he’d never actually said so, such things were not important in his worldview. Wayne saw the world in farmer’s terms – plow, plant, reap and sell, pay bills, maintain the property, calculate whether or not he could afford a new tractor or if the old one would have to last a few more seasons, and so on. The man was the salt of the earth, honest as the day was long and dependable as the sun in the sky, but possessed a very limited imagination. Like so many of the people in and around Smallville, he made a good friend but an uninspiring companion.
Which was why she’d been so glad to meet Lois and Lucy several months before. They both “got” her art without being pretentious about it. Lucy had even shyly told Martha that while she deeply loved “New Beginnings,” “Moonrise Over Kansas” had left her puzzled. Martha had shared the secret of the latter piece – that it was the only one she had left over from the time before Jonathan’s death, and while it was technically excellent, it didn’t say much to her either. The small revelation had allowed Martha and Lucy to develop a real friendship over the next few months, both via phone and e-mail. And it seemed that both of them were profiting from the relationship, Lucy from Martha’s lived-in wisdom and Martha from Lucy’s youthful enthusiasm and optimism about life.
While Lucy was truly inspired by Martha’s art, though, Lois seemed to be inspired by Martha’s son. There was something between Clark and Lois that transcended simple friendship. The two of them sometimes seemed to think the same thing at the same time. Occasionally one would finish the other’s sentence, something Lucy claimed she found “spooky.” Twice, Martha had witnessed Lois giving Clark halfway decent excuses to disappear and perform Superman feats, and even though Lois fussed at Clark about his disappearing acts, there was no censure in her voice or manner. It was almost as if she knew what Clark was doing during those times.
If that were so, then their relationship was deeper than either of them would admit. When Martha had asked if they were seeing each other, both had all but stepped on their tongues denying the possibility. But when they had battled Jason Trask in Smallville, Lois had acted more like a girlfriend than just a colleague, and then had written the story discounting any possibility that there was a substance which could harm Superman. Her boy seemed to have found not just a home in Metropolis, but an unrelenting champion.
If Clark’s life was going well, then Martha’s was sailing over a glassy sea with all canvas billowing out fully. Her Metropolis show had done well – every piece she’d exhibited had sold, even the tabletop ones – and she’d just completed two commissions for her first European customers, one a French diplomat with a lineage which he claimed reached back to Louis XIV, and one to a petite Swedish lady with a diffident manner and a huge bank balance. The demand for her artwork had pushed the value of her existing pieces into the sky and promised to make her comfortable, if not wealthy, for the rest of her life. And the piece she was working on at the moment had already garnered the largest bid she’d ever received. She was determined to make it museum quality.
If only the silly thing would come together! The point of the piece was still just out of her reach, tantalizing her with its ethereal snarkiness. Some secrets, apparently, didn’t want to be shared.
She was glad to have met Perry White, too. Every time they’d seen each other, Perry had treated her like the lady she’d always felt she was when Jonathan was alive. The man was charming and polite and genuine and she was truly sorry that there was no practical way for them to pursue any kind of relationship.
Perry, to his credit, kept up his end of their correspondence, both professional and personal. There was an open offer of half off any advertising she booked in the Planet for her art. He’d bought one of her smaller pieces and had made a standing offer of his hospitality any time she passed through Metropolis, whether it was between flights or a week’s stay for a show. And although he’d let her know that he appreciated her as a woman, there was never any doubt in her mind that she’d never be pressured to do anything she didn’t want to do.
And what she wanted to do now was drink something cold and refreshing.
She opened the kitchen door and stepped into the house. To her surprise, Clark sat at the table with a pitcher of iced tea, two glasses, two plates, and an boxed apple pie in front of him which bore a Metropolis-based bakery label.
He rose to greet her with a hug. “Hi, Mom. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Of course not, honey! I was just taking a break and get something to drink. Welding is hot work.”
“I know.” He turned and poured her a glass. “Here you go. Do you want a large or a small piece of pie?”
“Oh, I think I’m going to need a large one.”
Clark frowned. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I’m your mother and I know when you need to talk to me. So sit, talk. I’m going to eat pie and listen and pretend to be Yiddish.”
His grin reappeared at the old family joke, and she helped herself to a large piece. “Okay, Mom. Well – it’s about Lois.” He paused and waited for a comment which didn’t come. “Yeah. Anyway, last week I decided that I needed to tell her about – you know – “ he made a wavy motion with his hand.
Martha put down her fork. “Have you actually told her yet?”
“Yes.”
Now she waited for more information, but only for a moment. “When did you tell her?”
He dropped his gaze. “Last night.”
“Uh-huh. What happened?”
He stood and paced the width of the kitchen. “We just finished a big story yesterday on a congressman who was selling his committee influence to an arms dealer – Perry put it on this morning’s front page, above the fold – so I suggested that we go out to dinner to celebrate. Just the two of us.” He stopped and spread his arms wide. “I hadn’t – we’ve never been out together, just the two of us.”
“And she said yes?”
“She did. And she had a funny little twinkle in her eye when she did, like she was really looking forward to it.” He dropped his hands and returned to the table. “We had a very nice dinner at a pizza place and pool hall that Lois knows. The owner is the father of the girl she played doubles tennis with in college, a guy named Louie who Lois says ‘knows guys who know guys.’ And she said it with this wise-guy voice like she was trying to tell me that Louie is a little shady but a good guy anyway.”
“You got all that from one phrase?”
His mouth twitched. “That and his offer to Lois to have me ‘worked over’ if I didn’t treat her right.”
Martha burst out laughing. “The more I hear about Lois the more I like her! Did she take Louie up on his offer?”
Clark shook his head. “She said she’d take it under advisement.”
Martha laughed again. “I hope you never give her any reason for Louie to call the guys who know guys.”
He licked his lips. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. When I walked her back to her apartment – Lucy’s finally gotten her own place now, I’ll give you the address before I leave – she invited me in for coffee and a chat.”
Martha nodded for him to continue.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I sat down on her couch and picked up the coffee cup and when she picked up hers and took a sip I said, ‘Lois, it’s time I told you that I’m Superman’ and she nodded and said, ‘I’m glad you finally came clean about it. I only have so much patience, you know.’”
Martha’s jaw dropped. Her eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. A grin all but exploded from her mouth. “You mean she already knew? How? When? How long?”
Clark lifted a hand. “The gist of it is that she figured it out almost right away. Six months, Mom! She’s known for more than six months and never said anything!” He shook his head and sighed. “You remember that I told you that Lois was making occasional comments about how Superman’s voice was so deep and severe and his stance was intimidating and how he rarely smiled and stuff like that?”
“Yes. I thought they were just, oh, I don’t know, hero worship kinds of things?”
“I did too, but they weren’t. They were subtle hints to me to make Superman appear different from Clark Kent so no one else would make the connections she did. I told her she’d been sneaky and underhanded and she laughed at me!”
She put her hand on her son’s arm. “Honey, what did you expect?”
“I expected her to be stunned that I was Superman! And when she wasn’t – well – we – we sort of – “
“No.”
He looked shocked. “What do you mean, ‘no?’”
“Tell me you two didn’t have a fight over this!”
He leaned back. “How did you know? Did Lois call you?”
“I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had, but she didn’t. But what did you expect her to do?”
He leaped up from his chair and began pacing again. “I don’t know! I thought she’d be surprised, or astounded, or really mad, but she just smiled that Cheshire Cat smile and nodded like I’d finally understood something a fifth-grader would have known without being told.”
“So she stole your thunder and threw you completely off kilter and you reacted emotionally instead of rationally, right?”
He shook his head. “Yeah, pretty much.”
“And now you’re not sure what to do next.”
He stopped and gazed at the ceiling as if seeking inspiration in the old paint there. “I’m not unsure at all. I have no idea what to do.”
Martha nodded. “Go talk to her. Apologize for being so crazy. If she really cares for you, she’ll understand.”
“Yes, but what do – what do you mean, if she really cares for me?”
“You talked about that too, didn’t you? How much you really, really like her? You mentioned that you wanted to be sure she cared about you instead of about Superman, right? And that you’d never told Rachel about your abilities, and that might have contributed to the two of you breaking up.”
“Uh – I – we never got that far. But – I don’t understand how you – ”
Martha tried to stifle another laugh but wasn’t completely successful. “Oh, Clark, honey, she knows something about how you feel! I guarantee it.”
“Oh.” He slowly moved back to his chair and slipped into it. “Okay, if you say so.”
She patted her son’s arm again. “Look, Lois is an intelligent woman who knows her own mind. If you were hung up on Lucy, I’d be a little concerned that she knows your secret, but Lois is far more mature and stable than her sister. Lois may or may not be the woman you spend the rest of your life with, but either way she’ll be a faithful friend and companion. And she’ll help you any way she can.”
He sat back in apparent thought. Martha managed three more bites of pie before he roused himself. “Mom, I think you’re right. I’ll go find her and talk to her. I’ll get on my knees and apologize if I have to.”
“That’s a good idea, honey. In fact, why don’t you go see her now? I’ll clean up here.”
A smile split his face. “Okay! Thanks, Mom. You’re still the greatest.”
“Call me later and let me know how it went.”
He waved and nodded as he all but sprinted out the back door. Martha heard the telltale ‘whoosh’ of a Superman takeoff. She reminded herself to be glad that he’d refrained from creating a sonic boom this time.
She put the tea pitcher in the refrigerator and rinsed out the glasses, then covered the pie with aluminum foil and put it in the freezer. Only then did she pick up the phone and dial Lois’ number.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Lois. This is Martha Kent.”
“Oh, hi, Martha! To what do I owe this honor?”
“I’m warning you that Clark is coming and he’s in full-blown apology mode.”
“Oh. Well, I’d better get ready for him, then. I wouldn’t want him to think I’ve been waiting for him all morning, even if I have been.”
“He also mentioned something about begging for your forgiveness on bended knee.”
Lois laughed. “Oh, we can’t have that! I want him to save the knee bend for another occasion.”
“Do you now?”
Lois hesitated, then spoke. “Yes. I think – I think that it’s possible that Clark and I – that there might be some potential for something permanent.” She hesitated again, then asked, “What do you think?”
“Lois, that’s not my call. That’s between you and Clark.”
“Sure it is. He was just there talking to you about last night, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, he was. And I don’t think he realizes it yet, but he’s more than halfway in love with you.”
Lois made a sound Martha didn’t quite recognize. “I – I see. In that case, let me tell you that the situation is – is a mutual one.”
Martha grinned, knowing it would come through the line. “I thought it was. And for what it’s worth, I approve. Assuming, of course, that you love Clark because he’s Clark and not because he’s Superman.”
“My feelings for Clark don’t involve the flashy guy in blue tights. You’ll have to tell me someday how you got him to wear those red briefs on the outside, by the way.”
Martha laughed yet again. “It’s a promise.”
“I’m going to hold you to it, too. To continue my answer, Superman is who he is only because Clark is already such a good man. I’d hate to see some of the men I know have those powers. You and Jonathan did a wonderful raising him.”
“Thank you, dear. Now you’d better get ready for his arrival. He’ll probably be more nervous than a long-tailed rocking chair in a room full of cats.”
Lois laughed again. “I promise not to be too cruel. And I hope he knows how to get lipstick out of a shirt collar.”
“He does. Don’t be too rough on him, Lois. His heart is in the right place, even if his brain sometimes isn’t.”
“Thanks for the heads-up, Martha. Bye for now.”
Martha hung up the phone and smiled to herself. Those two had suffered so much in their short lives, and they deserved some happiness.
As for her own happiness, she had her art, the farm, the warm memory of a very good man, and the prospect of grandchildren in a few more years to keep her spirits up. Not to mention the opportunity to interfere in her son’s life for a good many years to come.
Time to get back to work, especially since her muse was whispering in her head a bit more clearly than before. “Secrets” would change direction once again, but this time Martha had a clear idea where to go with the piece. There were some secrets that should never be shared, some which made little or no difference, and some which all but cried out to be told. This secret would be shared with whoever deigned to look closely enough, although no one would ever know who the real subject was.
Except, of course, her son and the woman who seemed to hold his heart in her hands. And whose heart her son seemed to hold in his.
- # # # -
