"She's still resting," Clark says peering into the living room from the kitchen.
"Thank God she's all right," Martha says, pouring a cup of coffee for Jonathan.
"You said she knew your name, Clark, but you've never met her before?" Jonathan retraces the events that have just unfolded in his living room.
"No, I've never seen her before."
"Maybe she's a friend of Lana's, or Chloe's?" Martha asks, handing some coffee to her husband.
"There's a bunch of stuff in her car. Like she might be living in it." Clark says concerned.
"Well, she's not going to sleep out in that cold anymore. She can stay here," Martha proclaims.
"Martha, we know nothing about her."
"She's got nowhere to go, Jonathan. I'm not going to throw an innocent girl out into the streets to freeze to death," Martha says, her tone driving her point home.
Jonathan looks into the living room, his eyes soften as he is reminded of the frail girl sleeping on his couch.
"We should probably keep it quiet that she's staying here. At least until we figure this whole thing out," Jonathan says, instructing his family.
"And Clark, I think you better not use your abilities for a few days, and we'll just try to find out who she is."
x X x X x X
Clark barely sets his foot into The Torch office before Chloe is in front of him.
"There you are!" Chloe says, ready to shake him. "Where have you been?
"Good morning, Chloe," Clark says smiling, seeing she didn't miss her early morning cup of java.
"You won't believe who I ran into yesterday at The Talon," she says with a wide grin, her finger boastfully tapping on his chest.
"I am so excited. This is just the type of interview I need to get my foot in the door of The Planet."
"Who did you meet?" Clark asks, taking his seat at the desk.
"Miss Audrey Peyton," Chloe announces proudly, adding a picture of her subject up to her cork board.
Clark's eyes widen, recognizing her instantly.
His mind suddenly is overflowing with thoughts, so many questions swirling around the girl whose image is before him; who is at this moment laying on his couch.
Lost in his thoughts, the words "how does she know me?" escape his lips.
Chloe whips her head around, raising an eyebrow to Clark's odd outburst.
"She knows you?" Chloe asks, surprised.
Tangled within his words, fearful of her interrogation, he attempts to cover. "Uh, I mean how should I know her?"
Chloe stares at him for a moment, not sure she believes him, but deciding all she can do is blink off another unexplainable Clark Kent moment.
"You shouldn't know her," Chloe says bluntly. "Audrey Peyton is riding the elevator to the top of the art world and is only like the most sought after interview in Metropolis, well, if you don't count the Luthors," Chloe says, selling her story before she even has it.
"Can you believe she just landed in my lap," Chloe brags, tossing Clark a file with Audrey's name on it.
"How?" Clark asks, flipping through the file folder, stopping at the cover print of a recent edition of Metropolis Art Digest.
"Clark, do you not listen to anything I say? She came into the Talon yesterday," Chloe quips back.
"She's an artist?" Clark asks, looking up from the painting on the magazine cover.
"Yeah, and she has a fabulous new gallery in the east end of Metropolis."
"What's she doing in Smallville?" Clark asks.
"Well, I haven't found that out yet, but you can read my interview on the front page on Friday," Chloe says, playfully tapping the eraser of her pencil on his shoulder, her eyes sparkling just looking at him.
"You already got an interview?" Clark asks curiously, surprise filling his face at Chloe's skill.
"Well, not exactly. But, don't you worry your pretty little head about that. I'm going to find her later today and get my cover story out of her," Chloe says with a confident grin.
"Maybe she's already left. I mean, maybe she just stopped at The Talon for a drink, and then left."
"Trust me, Clark. Women like Audrey Peyton don't stop off in Smallville for a cup of hot chocolate. There's a reason she got off in our neck of the woods, and I'm here to find out what that reason is.
x X x X x X
The large pot is nearly full of quartered apples coming to a slow boil within the sugar mixture Martha made from scratch.
"This was Jonathan's mother's recipe," Martha says, trying to keep the conversation going while peeling one of the last granny smith apples in her bowl.
Audrey offers a small smile, drying off the pint sized mason jars with a dish towel. She keeps her eyes down, not sure what to say.
"The secret ingredient is the little cinnamon red hots," Martha says, with a glimmer in her eye. "She made me swear to never divulge that to anyone."
Audrey grins, finding comfort in Martha's ability to share a secret with her, even a silly one about cinnamon candy.
"Don't worry, your secret is safe with me," Audrey says softly, genuinely meaning it.
Martha finishes peeling the last apple, quartering it over the pot, the heat reducing the fruit to puree as she stirs it continuously.
Audrey watches the pot, feeling as though she's watching her insides, bubbling, raging, any moment ready to boil over.
She wants to speak, wants to offer her secret to Martha, but she cannot find the strength to say it, not yet. She's at the end of her rope, and she's not ready to let go of it.
Trying to occupy her nervous hands, Audrey fidgets with the lids and rings to the jars, arranging them into neat rows on the counter.
"Audrey, do you mind taking over the stirring for just a second so the sugar doesn't stick?" Martha asks, stepping to the side, offering the handle of the wooden spoon to Audrey.
Audrey takes over, seeming a little out of place in control of the pot, but relishing a moment to indulge in such simplicity.
Martha watches her from behind, feeling as though she needs to save the girl standing before her, yet, she doesn't know why, or even where to begin.
"Here," Martha says, tying one of her aprons around Audrey's waist, hoping she doesn't feel too awkward wearing Clark's baggy flannel shirt.
Audrey's touched by how Martha seems to see no walls around her.
"Thank you," she whispers, suddenly feeling flushed by the combination of steam rising from the boiling pot, and her own nerves rising within her.
It's not fair to stand within the home of these kind people and say nothing, offer no explanation for why she is there. She swallows, feeling as though a vice is tightening on her. She just wants to speak the words, spill her soul, and for the first time in a long time sigh a breath of relief. But, when she opens her mouth no words come.
Martha slides in beside Audrey, filling the awkwardness with her frame as she scoops out some apple butter, ladling it into a mason jar. Working fast, she tops it off with a lid, quickly screwing on the metal ring, leaving the fruit to cool upside down on the dishcloth.
With hands that have preserved a field full of fruits and vegetables for twenty winters, Martha fills the jars, handling the hot glass full of steaming fruit in her bare hands, not at all flinching from the heat. One by one she plops the jars down on the counter, every one wrong side up.
Audrey watches her closely, not understanding why Martha continues to place the jars upside down, but sure there's a reason.
Martha, although busy with her hands, doesn't miss her guest's odd expression. "Have you ever tasted apple butter?" Martha asks, realizing she had somehow lost the part of herself that once saw things like canning as primitive.
Audrey shakes her head, trying to imagine the taste of a stick of butter rubbed over an apple.
Martha laughs, seeing the look on Audrey's face as proof she has no desire to try it.
"You know, some things only sound bad, you should still give them a try. There's a lot more to some things than their name," Martha says, talking about apple butter, but her words reminding Audrey of another book she judged by the cover.
Her heart sinks, the heaviness of her past weighing down any hope of her future. Her hand stops stirring, frozen by the thoughts flooding her mind. What does she have now? Nothing. Only a tiny piece to the puzzle she once solved; only questions to answers she had before.
The truth is she had come to Smallville seeking help, but now she wonders if anyone truly can.
Without realizing she lets a single tear escape her eye, salting the last spoonful of apple butter when it drops from her cheek.
"Oh my goodness," Martha says, shocked to see Audrey so upset.
"Sweetie, sit down," Martha urges, quickly turning the jars right side up, fearing she needs to speed up the canning process to comfort her guest.
Reaching over, she tears off two paper towels, handing them to Audrey to wipe her tears.
"I promise, I wasn't going to make you eat it," Martha says, hoping to lighten the mood for a moment, her smile assuring Audrey she's genuinely concerned.
Audrey allows her lips to smile for a moment, her eyes able to hold in their moisture as her lungs struggle to hold onto some air.
Doing the best she can to calm herself, Audrey focuses on exhaling through her lips, trying to silence the pounding of her heart.
"Tell me about Clark," she says quietly, not able to bring her eyes to meet Martha's.
Without hesitation Martha replies, "he's my joy."
Audrey stays quiet, tasting her next words, beginning to tremble at the thought of her confession.
"He's special-" Audrey begins, her tone seeming more like a question, but meant as a confession.
Martha replies to what she thinks Audrey is asking. "He really is the most special kid any mother could ask for."
"I know," Audrey says quietly, lifting her eyes to meet Martha's. "There's no one else like him, is there?"
"Well, I'm his mother, so I may be biased," Martha beams.
"No, he's more than that," Audrey adds knowingly, "with all of the things he can do, all of his powers."
Martha's eyes widen, the moment she often worried would happen just did. Someone knows about Clark, and suddenly she feels her own heart racing.
Martha had known this time would come, but in the nightmare she never envisioned a sweet girl like Audrey sitting across the table from her. But, she can help wondering what Audrey's agenda is, and how much it will cost her family.