Was it wrong to be thankful for the rain?
Lois needed a break from seeing the girl who was so close to the age her baby would have been, only a couple years older. Knowing the similarities she and Clark shared with other versions of themselves, there was no doubt in her mind that their Natalie would have shared at least some of the characteristics of this Natalie despite not having quite the same parentage.
It made her both curious and brought pain to her heart. Alike enough to hurt, yet different enough to also hurt. No other mother who miscarried had to see a "ghost" of their child. She could only imagine what her therapist would say if she could explain even a portion of this to her. This was uncharted territory in the world of psychology: how to cope with your interdimensional daughter from a parallel universe while coming to terms with the loss of same daughter in your reality.
She'd been hoping Clark would want to make use of their time alone together, and he was. He was giving her a massage that was out of this world good, melting the tension of the day away. It never failed to amaze her how hands that could bend steel and punch asteroids into dust could be so gentle. They ought to add magic hands to his long list of superpowers.
But Clark being Clark, who was so much better at talking emotions than she was, had to ask, "So how are you holding up?"
"It's hard for everybody."
"That's not what I asked. How are you feeling about all of this?"
"Gosh, Clark. You sound like a therapist. If farming falls through, you have yet another career option to pursue."
He didn't respond to her teasing. He just waited while continuing to work wonders on her tight muscles. The silence was uncomfortable for her because of the tension created by his question, and he knew it. It was the product of being married so many years to know each other's little nuances like that, to know it would force her into speaking to fill it. "How am I supposed to feel?"
"Honey, I don't think there is a right or a wrong way to feel about any of it."
That caused the tears to fall. Better here than out there in front of her kids. "I don't know what to do. She is very fragile. I just handed her luggage, and she looked ready to fall apart. I don't know what to say to her. I don't know what to do."
"She probably feels something of the same, wanting to somehow get close to you and afraid of the feelings it's going to dredge up, but if you hide from her-"
"I'm not hiding; it's raining," she said grumpily.
"That's going to be worse. She's going to think you don't want anything to do with her. It's better to make a not perfect attempt to talk to her than not to try at all."
"You're right. I know you are."
"And listen to that," he said, "the rain stopped."
"Joy. I guess you and I are on dinner duty, and the boys are the clean up crew."
"I guess so. I better go dry off some firewood before Natalie ventures out."
He had went out seconds before her, and she wasn't the least bit surprised to step out of the tent and find a fire already there in front of it and a Dutch oven of water heating over it. She would've been more surprised if there wasn't. She looked around at all the vegetables. "What are you making?"
"Campfire stew. It's an old Kent family recipe that has been handed down for generations."
"Really?"
He grinned. "At least one. Dad taught it to me."
"What can I do to help?"
He was looking around, trying to decide. It was taking him more time to think about that than it had to get everything together. "You up for peeling potatoes?"
"Sure," she said, sitting down beside him. He handed her three large potatoes, a plate, and a knife.
Some people made one long continuous ring and others peeled the skin off in patches, leaving smooth white potato behind. Lois' potatoes looked like they had been through a hatchet murder with a dull blade. Chunks went everywhere with the flesh of the potato clinging to the skins, and rather than nice, neat cubes, they were triangular, square, spherical, and every other shape she didn't want them to be.
Clark chuckled. "Don't worry about it. It tastes the same, however it's cut. Besides, it's my fault we lost. I can handle this."
"And what will I do?"
He gestured toward Natalie and John Henry, who had emerged from their tent now. "Why don't you go talk to her?"
"Yes, I should."
She wanted to, but her feet didn't seem willing to comply. She stood there like an idiot.
"You can act like you're getting more kindling. Maybe ask her to walk with you."
What would she do without this man? She hoped she never had to find out. "Thanks. Pray for me."
"I will, but don't forget she already knows you in a way. You don't have to be anyone but yourself."
She made it over to their tent. Why was it that she could look into the eyes of the worst villains and trade quippy comebacks, but a friendly conversation could totally unnerve her?
Natalie looked up at her, perplexed.
"Hey, um, I'm on a mission to get more wood, which will be a challenge with everything wet. You feel like coming along, N-natalie?" She couldn't even say her name without stuttering and stumbling over it. Maybe she should stick to sweetie. "Go for a walk to stretch your legs before dinner."
She looked to her father: for permission, an excuse not to go?
"It's okay with me or you can chill here. It was a long ride," her father said.
She shrugged after looking back at her. "Sure. Why not?"
They stuck to the dirt path made by other campers before them.
It was Natalie who spoke first. "Your family's nice."
"They are. They really want to get to know you. All of them." She'd love nothing more than for the boys to have a sister.
"Yeah, well, that is why we're here, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is." Arguably the world's most renown reporter, words should come easy to her. They didn't. They stuck in her throat. When she talked to her, she saw the sonogram. She witnessed the celebration in Clark's eyes when the doctor said it was a girl despite continuing to claim neutrality into the second pregnancy. She was reminded of everything she'd lost, and the emptiness set there hollow in her chest. No wonder John Henry had been so eager to get away even if he felt just a fraction of this.
"Cool," she said in return.
How did she get the conversation going again? She couldn't ask any of the safe questions one normally asked a teen like "How was school?" or "How are your parents?".
After a few more minutes of unsuccessful searching, they headed back. And despite all of Clark's reassurances that reaching out couldn't go wrong, she felt further from both Natalies than ever.