“That’d be awfully good of you. Were you freaking out when he asked about that?”

“Totally and trying not to die laughing at the same time. The faces he was making were hysterical. I wished you’d been there to help me out.”

“I doubt I would’ve been much help. I would’ve been too busy screaming. I never thought I’d be so thankful that a murder kept me away from home.”

Laughing, he held her close to him, thrilled by her, by them, by their son and their life. He had everything he’d ever dreamed of, and it was so much more than even his vivid imagination could’ve come up with. “Love you, babe.”

“Mmm, love you too.”

Long after she drifted off, he lay awake enjoying the simple pleasure of having her sleep all over him.

* * *

Sam woke much later, roused by a sound coming from the hallway. She dragged herself out of bed, pulled on a robe and went to investigate. As she left her bedroom, she nearly tripped over Scotty’s huddled form outside the door.

Sam squat next to him and rested a hand on his back. “Hey, buddy, what’s wrong?”

“I had a bad dream,” he said, sniffling.

She wondered how long he’d been there. “You should’ve come in.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You wouldn’t have bothered us.” Sam reached for him, and he lunged at her, breaking down into sobs that brought tears to her eyes. She’d never seen him so upset. “It’s not possible for you to bother us. Anytime you need us, you come in. All right?”

He nodded and clung to her. In that moment, Sam realized that while he might be growing up quickly, he was still a little boy in many ways and still in bad need of a mother. She was thrilled to fill that role for him.

“How about we get you back in bed?”

Shaking his head, he tightened his grip on her.

“I’ll stay with you.”

“You will?”

“Sure, I will. Come on. It’s cold out here.” She helped him up and got him tucked back into bed under the Red Sox comforter he’d chosen after much debate between sports and superheroes. The walls of his room were plastered with the posters he hadn’t been allowed to have in the state home. Nick had insisted on as many posters as the walls could hold. In the glow of the nightlight, Spider-Man stood watch over them from the ceiling. “Move it on over, mister. Here I come.”

He giggled as she made a big production out of getting in bed with him, “accidentally” hitting a few of his most ticklish spots in the process, which made him laugh some more. She much preferred the laughter to the tears that were so unlike him.

“Snuggle me,” she said. “I’m cold.”