Esther
Now:
Esther Krystin Straker Kimborough adjusted the lace veil that covered her hair and cascaded down her back.
"You look like a fairy princess," her mother, Elizabeth Kathryn Straker, told her, adjusting the tiara under the veil.
"I'm too tall to be a fairy princess," Esther reminded her mother.
"An Elven princess, then?" Johannen Edward Straker, USAF Major General retired, joked. "You're missing the pointed ears, though."
"Very funny, Daddy," Esther complained. She inspected her reflection critically. "Am I doing the right thing, marrying Clark?"
"It's a little late to worry about that now," her father observed. "Do you love him?"
"Yes," she said. "He's my best friend. He was there when I needed someone. And I think he needs me just as much as I need him. You've never seen his eyes when he comes in after dealing with some tragedy, reporting on it. It breaks my heart, sometimes. He's such a good man. But sometimes, it's like I'm holding a great bird with a mending wing. I don't know how long it will be before he flies off, and if he does, if he'll be back."
In the mirror, she caught the reflection of her parents looking at one another with knowing expressions.
"That is one of the problems when a mortal gets involved with an angel," Elizabeth said with a smile. "Their priorities aren't always the same as everyone else's. And they do have wings, even if you can't always see them."
"I don't want to be the one to clip them," Esther said.
"Honey, he's just as afraid of clipping your wings," her father assured her, adjusting his uniform tie.
Then:
They met following an incident at the Chicago air show where the air force was showing off its newest stealth fighter.
Major Esther Straker was putting the plane through its paces over Lake Michigan when the engines flamed out and refused to re-ignite. Without power, the angular machine was as aerodynamic as a rock, and started falling out of the sky like one.
She pulled the ejection seat controls. The canopy blew off, but the seat stayed in place. This can't happen. These are supposed to be foolproof.
She knew she was dead. She would be joining her beloved husband Steven soon. She hoped it wouldn't hurt too much. Then the plane stopped falling, silently coming to Earth on the edge of the airstrip she'd taken off from. She didn't dare protest, didn't dare cry in disappointment.
Superman helped her out of the crippled plane. "Are you all right? Major Straker?"
"I'm fine, thank you," Esther said, pulling off her flight helmet. If Superman was surprised to see he had rescued a female pilot, he hid it well. She tried to put a neutral expression on her face. Why had he saved her?
He smiled his famous smile and said: "I won't tell you that flying is still the safest way to travel. You will, of course, look into why a billion dollar aircraft decided to become a rock?" He flew off without waiting for her reply.
The reporters showed up within minutes, all asking about Superman, all except one. He stood toward the back, watching, listening. Tall, with over-long dark hair, over-size glasses and the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. He seemed oddly familiar. He asked about the plane, the mechanics of the failure. He didn't ask about Superman.
She cut the impromptu press conference short, allowing the security guards to shoo the reporters away from her, all but the tall man in back. She walked up to him, held out her hand to be shaken. His hand was warm and dry, handshake firm. He didn't seem surprised at her boldness.
"I'm Esther Straker-Kimborough." She struggled to keep disappointment out of her voice at her rescue. She wasn't suicidal. She wasn't.
"Clark Kent, Chicago Star," he introduced himself. His voice was quiet, a little tentative. He's shy.
"Why didn't you ask about Superman?"
"Why, when everyone else was doing such a good job?" he asked. "Besides, I just moved here from Metropolis. Superman's old news there. Why a billion dollar aircraft fell out of the sky, and why the ejection seat mechanism failed are much more interesting, even if the final inquiry results are going to be classified." He peered at the name stenciled on her flight suit. "Your uniform says 'Straker'."
Smart, too. He sees things other people miss. "I kept my maiden name for professional reasons."
She saw a flicker of disappointment cross his face.
"My husband died last year."
"I'm sorry," he murmured.
The disappointment was still there, hidden under the polite response.
"How about a cup of coffee, Mister Kent?" she said. The disappointment disappeared. Does he know how transparent he is?
She changed out of her flight suit and found he was still waiting for her outside the locker room. He followed her to the airstrip coffee shop, seemingly content to allow her to take the lead, although he did open the coffee shop door for her. A gentleman in the Twenty-First Century.
They talked, or rather she talked. He had a gift for listening, for getting other people to open up to him. Afterwards, she realized she had given him her life history, except for one minor detail. About himself he'd said almost nothing, except that he worked for the Daily Planet before transferring to the Star a month before. She suspected a woman was involved. More the fool her, letting this one go.