Ellie’s desk, as it turned out, was actually more like a cubicle, and Maggie watched as she quickly tidied up, not to hide sensitive material from some high school kid but clearly an effort to look more professional. It only kind of worked. Maggie sat awkwardly beside Ellie for a few minutes, uncomfortable talking with a stranger while the reporter got caught up with the business of the day, listening as the office chatter around them continued, amused here and there by unexpected remarks on both community and cultural affairs. She'd never really thought about what a newsroom might sound like. It seemed pretty normal.
Finally, Ellie said they were off to make the rounds of interviews for stories she was expected to file by the end of the day. One of them was with the woman who'd made the claim. Just some crackpot, but also the reason Maggie had gotten the invitation, because she'd been the one to listen to this one, the latest in the very long line of people who claimed they knew all about Superman's origins in town. What set this one apart was that she claimed to know who Superman's parents were, that the mom had had an affair, and that Superman's dad never even had a clue, and so, yeah, wasn't his dad after all. Juicy. Ridiculous, and probably not even true, but it was certainly news one way or another, and deserved the attention of the Times-Reader at the very least.
They pulled up to the Kent farm first, just to get the lay of the land. Maggie didn't know much about cars, but that was another fantasy busted today, what Ellie's was like, which was to say, like any other car she'd ever been in. They'd be coming back here later. This was where they expected the drama to unfold.
They left the parked car and headed next door, if "next door" in farmland country meant the same as it did elsewhere. It was more of a hike than Maggie had anticipated. "Wrong shoes," she told herself. The lady she found at the house they found at the end of the trip was older than she would've thought, too, elderly, even, sitting in a proverbial rocking chair, although when Maggie first saw her she thought maybe she was dead, she wasn't moving. This was Jane, plain ol' Jane. Maggie went to school with Jane's granddaughter, the one who'd cracked a joke Maggie alone took seriously. She'd done enough investigating, and math, to take her theories to the paper, just when school was already setting up job shadows for seniors, and that's the short version of how she ended up there that day.
"You come to talk about Superman," Jane greeted.
"Yeah," Ellie said, matter-of-factly. No dissembling. Straight to the point. Professional. Maggie perked up a little.
"Not much to tell," Jane said. "Everyone knew the woman was barren. They never so much as had a pregnancy up at that farmhouse."
Maggie, for the first time, began to consider the implications. She started to panic a little.
"It was nothing more than an affair with my Jim," Jane continued. "He was an alien, you know. Well, folks back then didn't know, that's for sure."
At any other point in history the suggestion would have been greeted as absurd. But Superman, who looked perfectly human himself, had always been hailed as...Kryptonian? Was that what they always said? And he clearly worked with green-skinned Martians. Others. These were certainly interesting times.
"Of course, Jim died a long time ago," Jane said. "Cremated. No body. Spread the ashes. No proof. All you'll have is my word."
"That's fine," Ellie said, recording all of this, jotting notes at the same time. Maggie, watching, in that moment wondered if she ought to always have a notebook with her, and unconsciously patted her pockets as if she could have manifested one in them then.
"I don't care what people say, now," Jane said. "Never did, I guess. It just doesn't matter anymore. He's no family of mine. The Kents can't possibly care if people know. What'll they do? Come all the way out here in the middle of nowhere? Any tourists would quickly get bored. Not much more to see here than cornfields. People can get everything they want in the Metropolis giftshops. The California amusement park. Maybe we could get a plaque. Maybe a mention in the history books. Or the local paper. No offense."
Maggie started to fidget. Suddenly she felt dirty. This didn't feel like a scoop anymore. It wasn't much fun.
Ellie told the old woman thanks, and they headed back. The Kents were waiting, with a pitcher of iced tea. Martha Kent still looked youthful somehow, Jonathan less so, but hardy, the way a farmer should.
"I expect Jane told you everything," Martha said.
"She did," Ellie said, again so businesslike. They all sipped their iced tea.
"There's no sense denying it," Martha said.
"We talked about all this years ago," Jonathan said. "I don't think there's much that Jane told you that isn't true. All of it. You came out all the way here for nothing. Just some soundbites, I'm afraid."
"That's okay," Ellie said.
They finished their drink, Ellie put away her notebook and recorder, and she led Maggie back to the car, and back to the newsroom. Maggie had little to say but much to think along the way.
When the day was over, and they'd done various other things and she watched Ellie type her articles up, Maggie found the courage to ask the question she'd had all day.
"Why?"
"That's all you've got?" Ellie said.
"Why do this for a living?" she offered.
"Seems kind of pointless, doesn't it?" Ellie said. "No one is gonna care what news the Times-Reader breaks, not even in Smallville. And it's kind of insulting to suggest otherwise. It's a routine. It keeps the day going. Superman will still fly off to some new adventure tomorrow, and it won't matter what his father's name was, and nobody will care. If his mom were famous...But she isn't. And neither are we. I'm no Lois Lane, but in the final analysis...even Lois Lane doesn't amount to much. And she never did. Just stories journalists tell other journalists. But somebody has to do it. And I guess I always had an interest in it. But I'm guessing you don't."
"And please, please understand it has nothing to do with today," Maggie said. "I, I'm not judging you. Not at all!"
"More words spoken just now than all day," Ellie said. "A girl could start to wonder...I'm kidding! I'm a reporter, Maggie. I can read between the lines."
"Thank you," Maggie said. "I guess that settles it."
"What?" Ellie asked.
"The Kansas question," Maggie said.
"Your answers are elsewhere," Ellie said. "They often are. That's what a good reporter knows best. Even if they're reporters for a single day."
Later, Maggie wished she'd saved clippings of the articles from that day. She didn't. Life moved on.
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