Memoir / Chapter 14

"Dad, are you ready?"

"Up here John." I croaked out roughly, my throat dry from lack of use—the words sounded dusty to me. I realized I hadn't spoken to anyone since her funeral.

"I thought I might find you up here. We should go soon—Ashley will be upset if we're late." I nodded and continuing staring out the window. John came and stood beside me. He respected my silence. He understood me.

"I've never been to one of these things without your mom." I said at length.

"You can do this, dad."

"I know I can, I just don't want to." John didn't bother telling me that it would get easier. He knew that I wouldn't ever feel that way, so he didn't waste his time.

"Dad, what are all these books?" He asked, referring to the mountain of books scattered across the table and on the sofa of the loft.

"They're your moms' journals. She had them stored in a trunk." He looked at me for further explanation. When I looked at him I saw worry in his eyes. I knew that he'd been skulking around in the months since the funeral—checking on me. My family was worried. If Lois were here she would tell them that this is just my way, that I was a man of few words, that I preferred solitude. She would reassure them. That's what she did. "She gave them to me . . . a month before . . . she passed away." My voice cracked a little—the pain still too raw.

"So that's how you've been spending your time--holed up here in the barn, reading moms' journals?"

"John, she had a way with words--the words leap off the page, they come alive. When I read them, I can feel her, like she's still here."

"I understand." He gave my shoulder a squeeze. I embraced him, realizing he was hurting too.

"Don't worry about me. I just need time."

"I know. And time you shall have, but not today. We have to get moving. Your newest great-grandchild is being blessed in less than an hour and I don't feel like flying to get there on time."

We walked down the stairs and out of the loft in silence. Spring came late this year and the snow was just starting to melt. As we climbed into Johns' car he asked me; "Have you finished reading all of moms' journals?"

"All but the newest one. I get to a certain point and then I go back and start again."

"Why? Is it not good?"

"No. Your mom was a great writer. And she had the Pulitzers to prove it. She portrays me as being more romantic than I see myself, but it's her perspective on our life."

"Then what's the problem?"

"Once I finish it, I have to accept that she's gone."

"I don't know dad, I'd have to say that she had you pegged pretty well."

We drove the rest of the way to the church in silence.

John planned on bringing me back home after the ceremony, but I preferred to walk back to Smallville. I made my way to the cemetery, wanting to talk to Lois about our great-granddaughter. The snow was still hard-packed here at the graveyard, and crunched noisily beneath my feet. The wind was cool--the last vestige of winter. I hoped it would grow cold enough to sting my face, numb me.

"Lo, I went to the Blessing today of Ashley and Richards' daughter. They named her Lois Joanne Grayson. She's beautiful. She has your eyes."

I don't know how long I sat in the cemetery on Lois' bench. The air was crisp and still. The trees were silent and naked, standing sentinel in the mute graveyard. I thought of the day a few months ago when I found Lois sitting in this very spot talking to my mom about her imminent death. I thought about how much pain she was in, emotionally, physically, and I guess, spiritually too. And I thought about how selfish I had been to not be more attuned to her feelings. When I read her journals, I kept trying to read the clues. Tried to see what she was trying to tell me. I thought of the things I should have said that would have eased her mind and given her comfort.

"I'm sorry, Lois. I'm sorry I let you down." I hung my head in my hands, as if to blot out the pain—if only for a moment. I felt a familiar hand settle on my shoulder. I didn't move to acknowledge it. It was likely Kara, or Ellen, or even Ashley. It would be like her to go looking for me when she would have her hands full with her family on this special day.

"Clark?" It was a whisper. I raised my head, puzzled. The voice didn't belong to Kara and there was only one other person on the Earth that had called me Clark, and she had been gone for months now. To everyone else I was either dad or grandpa—regardless of the actual blood relationship. I turned to look at the source of the voice. I was speechless at first. And then, I'll admit, I was frightened.

"L-lois?" I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Is this what madness is like? I thought she might be a ghost—or who knows what. This was Smallville—anything was possible. Before my eyes was my Lois—well not my Lois. She looked like she did when I first met her, but this was Lois. She had glorious chestnut hair, she smelled of lavender, and she had her heartbeat.

"Yes, Clark."

"Are you . . .? " I grabbed her shoulders, expecting my fingers to grab at the air and not connect with a solid form. "Are you real? . . . How?"

"I gave some samples of my DNA to Sammy and he had me cloned."

"Our Sam? Cloned? Why didn't you tell me?" questions were firing off in my head like fireworks.

"We didn't want to say anything, in case something went wrong."

"Wrong?"

She shrugged. "You know, if it didn't work. Or if I was a zombie, or something."

"But you're not–a zombie, right?"

"Too soon to tell." She broke into one of her captivating smiles that managed to steal my breath away.

'I've missed you." I seized her, hugging her close to me, being careful not to crush her. I kissed her hungrily, like a starving man that has just been invited to a sumptuous banquet. "You don't know how much I've missed you."

"I had to come back." She said breathlessly between kisses. "You promised to take me to our beach."

"I'll take you anywhere you want."

"Anywhere?"

"Yes, where would you like to go Mrs. Kent?"

"Take me home, Mr. Kent."