"Jess, whose car is out front?" Hiram Kent shuffled into the kitchen, letting the screen door slam behind him while he continued to the sink to wash his hands.

"Hiram, honey, we have a guest." Mrs. Kent stood at the kitchen counter putting away the last of the dishes and inclined her head toward the kitchen table where Jonathan and Martha both sat finishing their sandwiches. "This is Martha."

"You mean she's real?" Hiram looked over at Martha and squinted as if he suspected her to be only a trick of the eyes. "I thought he just needed a reason to sneak off on Saturday nights." The man wasn't serious, of course, and it was clear where Jonathan got his sense of humor from. "Hi, Martha. I'm Hiram Kent. It's good to meet you," he said amiably, drying his hands with a dish rag and tossing it in the sink. "Jon-boy tells us you're studying to be a lawyer, is that right?"

Martha could see Jonathan cringe from the corner of her eye. She raised an eyebrow at the name and took a sip of milk from her glass in an attempt to hide her amusement.

"Jonathan, Dad," he corrected, then turned to Martha. "My grade school teachers called me the Walton kid for years." Judging from his expression, he didn't find that fact nearly as funny as she did so she decided to give him a helping hand.

"Yes, that's right, Mr. Kent, but I haven't really made up my mind yet."

"Well, you're young. You don't have to have it made up yet, just as long as you have a good mind to do your decidin' with," Hiram reassured her. "Jonathan"-- the name was emphasized to make clear that it was said in lieu of another-- "also says you live in Metropolis. This all must seem pretty different to you, I would imagine."

"Different, yes, but in a good way. It's truly beautiful here...and if someone mugs you in Smallville, you can just call his mother when you get home."

A rather undignified but happy snort came from Jonathan's direction.

"Brains and a sense of humor. You better hold on to this one, kiddo," Mr. Kent remarked cheerfully, strolling up behind his son's chair and gripping the back of it. "Oh, son, I hate to break up you and your lady friend here, but I need your help unloading the feed. It won't take too long. Do you mind if I steal him from you for bit, Martha? I promise I'll return him just the way I got him...If you consider that a good thing," he added with a wink and a slap on his son's shoulder.

"Oh no, not at all. Go right ahead."

Jonathan cast Martha one more questioning look to be sure she honestly didn't mind. Satisfied that she was comfortable being left there without him, he stood and picked up both their plates and took them to the sink. "As long as you're sure."

"You boys go and do whatever you have to do. Martha and I will be fine, won't we dear?" said Mrs. Kent.

"Yes, ma'am."

"All right, well, you girls have fun. Time, tide, and the bill collector wait for no man," called Mr. Kent, stopping only to kiss his wife on the way out.

Martha still sat sipping her milk when Jonathan walked back to where she sat and gave her an unexpected in-front-of-mother peck on the cheek. "I'll be right back," he told her, then grabbed a peanut butter cookie from a plate at the center of the table, took a bite, and trotted off after his father, leaving the slam of the screen door in his wake.

"Jonathan and his father aren't as different as I thought they would be."

Somehow the signals that sent words to one's brain versus one's mouth must have gotten crossed because what she had meant as a private thought had actually been spoken out loud. Her eyes darted to Mrs. Kent to gauge her reaction. Luckily, the woman just smiled wisely and replied, "Don't let either of them hear you say that."

---

Jonathan's shoulders stooped slightly under the heavy sacks of grain he carried. He shrugged them off onto the ground inside the barn with a flop and headed back for more. Normally he took his time but that afternoon his steps were a little quicker, despite his load being a great deal heavier.

"Hey, boy, I know you're young and invincible and all, but take it easy. You could do yourself an injury that way." Hiram carried a sack of his own but moved only half as fast while walking back to the barn.

Jonathan spared a short glance in the man's direction before tossing the next load to the ground, dragging a hand across his forehead, and huffing a determined, "I'm fine."

"Son, she's not going anywhere. You don't have to worry."

Jonathan dropped the next two sacks to the ground. It was just a simple observation on his father's part, but it had gotten his attention. He straightened and put his hands on his hips.

"What?"

"Martha is fine spending some time with your mom. Slow down before you hurt yourself."

Some of the tension eased from Jonathan's shoulders. His hands fell back at his sides as he walked back over to the flatbed of the Kent truck, then heaved another two sacks over his right shoulder. "I know that. I just want to get done, that's all," Jonathan panted, marching off toward the barn once again.

"Was there something else on your mind?"

"What could be on my mind?" The reply had been dismissively flippant, but old habits were hard to break. Frequently, Jonathan would still have to remind himself that things were expected to be different now. He and his father were both trying to piece together some semblance of a pleasant father-son relationship. They were getting along.

"Well, I'm sure I don't know. That's generally why a man asks questions, to get answers."

"I don't have a problem, dad," Jonathan answered wearily, still dutifully making the trek to and from the barn with sacks in tow.

Hiram grabbed the last of the sacks of feed. "I never said you had a problem." He dropped the bag at the door of the barn and ran a hand through his gray-white hair. "I was just wondering what had you so... " His thought was finished by a vague but sweeping hand gesture that indicated Jonathan's generally subdued demeanor.

Jonathan took a ragged breath and resigned himself to the fact that this conversation wasn't going to end without some kind of confession or another. "Look, dad," he sighed, ambling toward the older Kent and shoving his hands in his pockets. "I'm just a little stressed, all right. I have a lot to do--a lot on my mind." He paused and his tone gentled. "I appreciate your concern. I do, but...There's nothing you can do, okay?"

Hiram said nothing, but the many lines that had appeared over the years, some of which Jonathan had probably put there himself, seemed deeper, his face more tired. His son's reluctance to say anything more had clearly disappointed him, possibly even hurt him, but Hiram had never been the person Jonathan confided in--not as a child, the one that waited for promised things that never came; and not as the young man who grew up quicker than either had expected and didn't ask for promises anymore.

"If we're done here, I'm going inside."

----

"He really did that?" Martha rested her chin on her folded hands and stared at Jonathan's mother in disbelief.

"Oh, yes. His father had a fit, but Jonathan was determined. Once he sets his mind to something, it's not an easy thing to change." Mrs. Kent poured herself a glass of lemonade and sat across the table from Martha. "He said if football could pay twenty times what he made, then he was a fool to let the opportunity go by. Of course, he didn't use those exact words, but that was the gist of it. He was always a gifted player, though, ever since he was a child. I think he was throwing a football before he could walk." A fondness for the memories danced in the woman's eyes. Her finger circled lazily around the rim of glass in front of her.

"So what happened?"

She looked thoughtfully down at the drink she hadn't sipped yet. "He came back not a week later, said he didn't make the cut. He didn't say much else when he got back, but he did his chores without complaint. Hiram just pretended he never left, but I know he was happy to have him around the house again."

Martha got the distinct feeling there was more to the story, but before she could press the matter, the screen door swung open and Jonathan's work-shoes tromped loudly across the hardwood kitchen floor.

"So what have you ladies been up to?" he asked brightly, with the exuberant snap of a towel he grabbed off the counter to wipe his hands.

"Your mom's been filling me in on what an interesting year you've had. How come you never told me you tried out for the Sharks?"

He blinked a few times, eyes shifting to his mother and back to Martha then tried to cover his obvious surprise with a quick laugh and a cough. "I guess there wasn't much to tell. I went. I saw. I fell on my face," he joked. "Mom, have you been in here telling stories about me this whole time? This may be the last time I leave the two of you alone together." His mock sternness only sent them into giggles.

Martha folded her arms on the table and smiled. "Well, I did enjoy the one about the first time you sat on Santa's knee."

Jonathan's eyes widened in horror and the towel he was holding dropped to the floor. "Mom!"

Mrs. Kent just waved dismissively at her son. "Oh, honey, it happens to plenty of boys and girls. Mr. McCann is still Santa every year, you know. In fact, I saw him just this last Wednesday. He said to say hi."

"Jess, stop embarrassing the poor boy." Hiram came in and stood beside the table with the two women, taking in the sight of a very red-faced Jonathan , and shook his head. "It wouldn't have happened in the first place, if you hadn't let him drink your whole soda." He took a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped the beads of sweat from his face.

"Martha, would you like to see the farm?" Jonathan asked, louder than necessary and crossing his arms as if that might hold back the onslaught of embarrassing childhood antic dotes. "Please."

She looked from one of his parents to the other, then at Jonathan's pleading expression, carefully considering her options: Time alone with her handsome young man or stories that could prove highly entertaining and possibly useful in the future. Deciding one was far less cruel, she got up from her seat. "I'd love to," she said, and politely excused herself.

"Thank God," he muttered quietly, and picked up the towel he'd dropped, placing it back on the counter. He already had a guiding hand on her shoulder when Mr. Kent called out to him.

"Jon-b...Jonathan. I would still like to talk to you later, when you have the time."

By then, Jonathan's arm was around her. He looked quickly over his shoulder and replied, "Sure thing," then practically pulled her out the door.

TBC...