he would never be alone.
He ruffled his palm through the thick, lush grass of the gravesite. He closed his eyes and remained quiet, though he badly needed to say many things. Jonathan Kent had always understood his thoughts, even when they remained unspoken.
IN THE FARMHOUSE KITCHEN, MARTHA KENT WAS JUST TAKING a golden-brown apple pie from the oven. He didn’t need supersenses to detect the aromatic cinnamon, sweet sugar, and tart Cortland apples. Martha’s face showed her delight when he opened the front screen door. “Welcome home, son. You’re just in time.” She displayed the luscious-looking pie.
“You always seem to have one ready, Ma. How do you know when to make them?”
Her eyes crinkled behind her gold-rimmed glasses. “Superman always knows when people need him. How can you underestimate a mother’s ability to do the same with her baking? There’s coffee in the percolator and a jug of whole milk in the icebox for you.” Her gaze traveled over him, and she nodded at his red boots, blue suit, and scarlet cape. “You go change clothes while I cut you a big slice of pie. That nice Pete Ross comes around to check on me at least once a week. He’d love to see Clark Kent, but it wouldn’t do for him to catch a glimpse of Superman at my kitchen table!”
Clark dashed up to his old bedroom and returned seconds later wearing an old plaid shirt and dungarees. Martha was just scooping a generous slice of pie onto an aqua Melmac plate. She cut herself a much smaller wedge and settled into her chair at the Formica-topped kitchen table.
“So how is Pete these days?” He did his best to follow the lives of the friends he had left behind in Kansas.
“Oh, still running the general store, still talking about heading out into the world and making his fortune someday.”
Clark laughed. “And still not doing anything about it?”
“That boy has never driven across the county line, as far as I know.” Martha sipped her coffee. They chatted about his daily work at the newspaper, his apartment in Metropolis, the new gladiolas she had ordered from the seed catalog, which would really spruce up her flower garden.
But Martha wasn’t fooled. During a brief lull in the conversation, she leaned forward and spoke in her no-nonsense way. “Something’s troubling you, Clark. What is it? You didn’t come here in the middle of the week just to chat with your old mother.”
Clark straightened quickly. “That’s not true! I missed you.”
Martha set her cup down and gave him the “mom” look. “I know that’s not technically a lie, Clark, but you didn’t answer me.”
With a sigh, he told her about his predicament with the “Lorna for the Lovelorn” column. “So many people have so many problems, and I don’t know how to solve them all. I don’t know what to tell them.”
Martha patted his hand. “For a man of steel, you’ve got a heart of gold.”
He was finally able to confess his deeper concern. “I’m not from Earth, I’m from Krypton—and I’m the only one of my kind. What if I never understand this world and this world never understands me?”
“Do you think any of us humans really understand each other? If the troubles of people could be so easily fixed, then nobody would be jumping out of windows, no marriage would end in divorce, no crime would ever be committed. But that isn’t the world we live in, so we have to do our best to make it a better place. And believe you me, son, you do far more than your share.”
Though she was trying to comfort him, she had inadvertently touched upon another thing that troubled him. “But I can do so much more, Ma. From the moment I first put on that suit, I’ve been helping people in danger, stopping criminals, preventing accidents—but people need to be saved every hour of every day. How many car wrecks have happened in the time I’ve been here talking to you? How many robberies? How many shootings?
“And it’s narrow-minded for me
He ruffled his palm through the thick, lush grass of the gravesite. He closed his eyes and remained quiet, though he badly needed to say many things. Jonathan Kent had always understood his thoughts, even when they remained unspoken.
IN THE FARMHOUSE KITCHEN, MARTHA KENT WAS JUST TAKING a golden-brown apple pie from the oven. He didn’t need supersenses to detect the aromatic cinnamon, sweet sugar, and tart Cortland apples. Martha’s face showed her delight when he opened the front screen door. “Welcome home, son. You’re just in time.” She displayed the luscious-looking pie.
“You always seem to have one ready, Ma. How do you know when to make them?”
Her eyes crinkled behind her gold-rimmed glasses. “Superman always knows when people need him. How can you underestimate a mother’s ability to do the same with her baking? There’s coffee in the percolator and a jug of whole milk in the icebox for you.” Her gaze traveled over him, and she nodded at his red boots, blue suit, and scarlet cape. “You go change clothes while I cut you a big slice of pie. That nice Pete Ross comes around to check on me at least once a week. He’d love to see Clark Kent, but it wouldn’t do for him to catch a glimpse of Superman at my kitchen table!”
Clark dashed up to his old bedroom and returned seconds later wearing an old plaid shirt and dungarees. Martha was just scooping a generous slice of pie onto an aqua Melmac plate. She cut herself a much smaller wedge and settled into her chair at the Formica-topped kitchen table.
“So how is Pete these days?” He did his best to follow the lives of the friends he had left behind in Kansas.
“Oh, still running the general store, still talking about heading out into the world and making his fortune someday.”
Clark laughed. “And still not doing anything about it?”
“That boy has never driven across the county line, as far as I know.” Martha sipped her coffee. They chatted about his daily work at the newspaper, his apartment in Metropolis, the new gladiolas she had ordered from the seed catalog, which would really spruce up her flower garden.
But Martha wasn’t fooled. During a brief lull in the conversation, she leaned forward and spoke in her no-nonsense way. “Something’s troubling you, Clark. What is it? You didn’t come here in the middle of the week just to chat with your old mother.”
Clark straightened quickly. “That’s not true! I missed you.”
Martha set her cup down and gave him the “mom” look. “I know that’s not technically a lie, Clark, but you didn’t answer me.”
With a sigh, he told her about his predicament with the “Lorna for the Lovelorn” column. “So many people have so many problems, and I don’t know how to solve them all. I don’t know what to tell them.”
Martha patted his hand. “For a man of steel, you’ve got a heart of gold.”
He was finally able to confess his deeper concern. “I’m not from Earth, I’m from Krypton—and I’m the only one of my kind. What if I never understand this world and this world never understands me?”
“Do you think any of us humans really understand each other? If the troubles of people could be so easily fixed, then nobody would be jumping out of windows, no marriage would end in divorce, no crime would ever be committed. But that isn’t the world we live in, so we have to do our best to make it a better place. And believe you me, son, you do far more than your share.”
Though she was trying to comfort him, she had inadvertently touched upon another thing that troubled him. “But I can do so much more, Ma. From the moment I first put on that suit, I’ve been helping people in danger, stopping criminals, preventing accidents—but people need to be saved every hour of every day. How many car wrecks have happened in the time I’ve been here talking to you? How many robberies? How many shootings?
“And it’s narrow-minded for me
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