It's food poisoning and I'm an enabler.
Sam needed a little more time. Yesterday's annihilation notwithstanding, he's not ready to face the world. He's not even ready to face the house and so I've been running interference for him, being his guard dog/nursemaid/bent ear/best friend/imaginary lover and he's said we're going to need a few more grenades to forget these days too as he smiles a bit shyly and reveals a little more of his old self.
I called him in 'sick' to church for a week or two, if he needs a second. We'll see. He probably will, the way he is acting and talking and thinking.
He isn't being Sam. That scares me.
Late at night he asks me not to go. To stay and just talk to him. This weekend we're moving him up to the main level. Duncan and Dalton are going to take over the big apartment downstairs and Sam will take Dalton's room in the front wing on this level so that he's closer, not closed off.
He hasn't let go of me. He's been frighteningly close and closely frightening and I still don't know what set him off.
You did, he says as he smooths my hair back from my forehead as we lie in the dark staring at each other, itemizing faults, cataloguing errors, registering gratefulness that at least we're not as bad off as each other. He landed a perfect sweet goodnight kiss on my philtrum before leaving his whole face there, falling asleep breathing against my skin, hands shaking slightly, heart still pounding ever so slightly, memories still blown to kingdom come.
What does it mean? I had asked him over dinner. I still don't know. Eight year olds aren't very good at symbolism, or conjuncture, for that matter. They're even worse at reading between the lines. Easily distracted borderline grounded mermaids aren't much better.
You'll see. When the time comes.
What if I miss it?
You won't. It won't be a lightning bolt, Bridget, more like a slow tide. We'll all know it when we see it. Like a fog of realization coming over us at once and then everything will be okay. Get some sleep. Are you warm enough?
I can't, Sam. I need to go upstairs.
Maybe just for an hour? Stay until I'm asleep. Please, Bridget.
I throw my arms around him and settle in. He's so comfortable it's as if I have died here and when I open my eyes next it's daylight and I've missed breakfast and a chance to redeem myself at all but there's not a thing I can do about it now. His face. He looks so happy.
Loch does not look so happy.
Great. Just what I need. Another one.
