I turn quick, my hand squeezing Mike’s hand so hard I hear him wince. I see the face inside the glass. It’s Sam. In all the confusion, I’d forgotten all about having texted him. About his telling me he was coming over right away. Good old Sam.
“Hang on a sec, Boo,” I say, releasing his hand.
I go to the door, unlock it, let Sam in. His face beams with a smile upon seeing that my son is up.
“Well, what are you doing out of bed, little man?”
“Mom left my window open,” he says.
Sam goes to him, picks him up, looks into his milk-stained face.
“Now, I’m quite sure that if mom opened your window, it was for very good reasons.”
“Yes,” I say. “The little guy asked me too.”
Sam is wearing a jean jacket over the work-shirt he was wearing earlier. It’s old and worn with holes in the elbow
