IN THE AIRPLANE CABIN, the lights are off. His mother’s eyes are closed. He thinks she’s asleep until, in a soft, middle-of-the-night voice, her eyes flutteringly sealed, she begins to talk.
“I’ve been sitting here wondering what you could have been thinking when you hurt that other boy. The violence of it still shocks me. That you could do something like that. But I don’t believe you’re a person who would ever want to hurt someone else. I don’t believe that. I know you, Sam, and that’s not you. You’re not a person who would ever want to hurt another person. I’ve never believed that about you, and I’m never going to.”
Sam watches his mother’s eyes peel open in the dimly glowing darkness. From two feet away, he can see the whites of her eyes shining like lights across a river at night.
“So you can talk to me or not talk to me. It’s been a long time, and I guess I doubt you’re going to start now. You can let me in or you can keep sitting there in silence, hour after hour. But one way or another, Sam, you’re going to need me. Because I’m here. I’ve always been here. It’s the one thing I’m probably any good at, just being here for you and loving you a whole lot. I’m good at it. I’ll be here for you, and I’ll love you, Sam, whether you decide to talk to me or not.”