Clark sat on the floor of the original Fortress of Solitude a.k.a. the hayloft surrounded by boxes filled with his high school mementos: journals, yearbooks, pictures, issues of the Torch, flyers for the Talon. Looking at a picture of the farm in winter, Clark was suddenly reminded of a Latin proverb that said 'a man is not where he lives, but where he loves.' Although he knew he'd been born on a planet in a galaxy far, far away, he couldn't imagine growing up anywhere but Smallville. There was nothing like the vast, white, barrenness of a Kansas winter or the warm glow of a harvest moon. Flipping through some pictures, Clark came across one of him and Pete standing next to one of the Kent's cows. That picture was taken on the day Pete had had the bright idea of taking photos of the ancient practice of cow tipping. But fear of what Jonathan would do to them if he found out quickly nipped that little idea in the bud. Growing up on a working farm, there had always been this smell in the air, it had probably been just a mixture of cattle, crop, grass and flower smells, but the only word he could think of to describe it was 'life.' It was the only word that made any sense considering the farm had created, sustained, and eventually took the lives of both his father and grandfather. His father, Clark thought as a lone tear fell down his face, God how he had loved that man.
After putting the pictures back into the box, Clark began leafing through one of his yearbooks. Like any high school yearbook, there were pictures of football games, students in the cafeteria and hallways. Then he came across a candid shot of Chloe in the Torch office. Chloe. When it came to her two passions in life, her friends and her journalism, she had been like a pit bull that wouldn't let go. They had both planned to attend Metropolis University and major in journalism but instead she had been killed a month before college by a drunk driver who had forced her off the road. He was supposed to have gone with her that day to investigate two mysterious deaths at an abandoned house on Miller Road but had cancelled at the last minute to help Lana at the Talon. Thinking of Chloe now, Clark let the tears flow freely as a great sadness overcame him. Then he was suddenly gripped by a thought that had haunted him every day for the past twenty-two years: if only I had kept my promise, Chloe would be alive today.
***
The day of Jonathan's funeral was bright, chilly and clear. As Martha and Clark stood by the casket talking to Reverend Deemer, it seemed as if the whole town had come out to pay their respects. Next to Clark stood Pete who was now a successful lawyer married with a ten-year-old son and a six-year- old daughter. When Reverend Deemer began the eulogy, Martha's shoulders began to visibly shake. Immediately Clark put his arm around her and held her close. As hard as it was for him to deal with his father's death, he knew that it was a hundred times worse for his mother. Martha had stood by Jonathan during the good times and bad, during drought, poor harvests, ill health, and the constant threat of losing the farm, her home. She had also stood by him when their only son had abandoned them.
After Jonathan's casket was lowered into the ground, Clark and Martha began walking to his rental car when he stopped to scan the faces of those at the cemetery.
"She's probably not even in town. If she were, *he* probably wouldn't let her come,"Pete said bitterly.
"Yeah, I know," Clark said softly.
After the service, many of the neighbors came by the house to pay their condolences, offer their love and support, and to drop off food: the Robinsons brought homemade bread, the Rosses, fried chicken, and the Stevensons, mashed potatoes. For hours, people came by to eat a light supper and reminisce about Jonathan - what an honest man he was, a dedicated and loving husband and father, a good farmer and a trusted friend.
The gathering went on for hours. But after saying goodbye to the last guest, Clark kissed Martha goodnight and climbed into his car and headed for Rayville. Rayville was another small Kansas town twenty miles from Smallville. Clark needed a drink but more importantly he needed to get away - from the farm, the town, people, they were all painful reminders of why he'd finally come home.
After sitting in McGuire's Bar and Grill for over an hour nursing beer after beer, Clark suddenly turned at the voice of a young woman asking for an apple martini. He caught his breath and froze. His heart stopped because he couldn't believe his eyes. It was as if time had stood still. She looked the same as she did the last time he'd seen her: long brown hair, mesmerizing green eyes, perfect skin, a bright smile.
"La . . . ," he began than stopped.
"Pardon?" the girl asked staring at him.
"Nothing. I'm sorry," Clark said regaining his composure. "I thought you were someone else."
"No problem," she said as she took her drink from the bartender and went back to her friends.
Of course it's not her, he thought, time does not stand still even in small Kansas towns in the middle of nowhere. But the resemblance was uncanny. This girl looked just like her at that age. Could it be? Could this be her daughter? Martha had told him that Lana had a daughter.
Clark continued sitting at the bar but instead of beer, he now drank coffee. He sat and waited. When the girl and her friends got up to leave, he followed them out. They were talking and laughing so they didn't notice him. His investigative skills would come in handy tonight, he thought, though he never would have guessed that he'd be more afraid of following an eighteen-year-old girl than the eldest son of Metropolis's most powerful crime boss. After the girl's friends dropped her off at home, Clark parked the car outside her front gate and just sat there until the sun came up.