Chapter Twenty

Sam

By the time they get to the Parthenon, a light snow has mixed with the cold rain. The wind has picked up, and she hopes Cory and Paige are already there.

“Alpha Dog to PeeWee Little Fella’, come in, over,” Cory teases across the radio.

Simon shakes his head and scowls at his friend’s humor.

“Professor here, go ahead,” Simon returns, not feeling the love for the new handles that Cory has just assigned them.

“We’re not gonna make the rendezvous point,” Cory tells them. “Are you there yet, over?”

Sam is upset by this news. Simon also seems to be so because his jaw clenches with distress.

“We made it and are almost set,” Simon says calmly.

“We’re too far out, over,” Cory tells them.

“We’ll come to you,” Simon offers. “What’s your position?”

She knows he is looking for some sort of information that will let him know of their exact location in the city without forcing Cory to just blurt it over the radio. They never know if someone could be on the same channel as them. They must take precautions against unsafe radio chatter.

“Nah, too far. Don’t go to the nerdville, either. Hotspot,” Cory informs them.

She assumes he means Vanderbilt University. That’s a shame if vandals and vagrants have taken it over. It used to be such a lovely old school full of beautiful brick buildings and landscaped lawns.

“Are you in trouble, over?” Simon asks with worry.

“Negative. We’re all good. Gonna lock it down for the night somewhere else, over.”

“New rendezvous point?”

There is a long pause and then static and another pause.

“We’ll meet at Dick’s, over,” Cory suggests.

Simon looks over at Sam and shakes his head confusedly. Sam offers a shrug. They aren’t sure where Cory means for the meeting place.

“Repeat,” Simon tells him.

“Hunt, fish, camp, over,” Cory says.

“Oh!” Sam exclaims, catching on. “He means Dick’s Sporting Goods. I think there’s one over east of the college, Vanderbilt where they were. He must’ve gone there with Paige or passed it today sometime.”

“Got it,” Simon says into the receiver of the walkie-talkie. “Oh-nine-hundred. We’ll meet you at your namesake.”

Sam’s mouth falls open. She can’t believe that Simon’s making a joke, first of all; and two, she can’t believe that he’d say something so crude.

“Later, dude,” Cory says. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Simon replies, “That doesn’t leave much. Later.”

He maneuvers the big SUV onto the overgrown lawn of the Parthenon and drives around toward the back. They’ve already driven by it twice to ascertain that nobody was squatting there. It seems safe, but like so many places they’ve been over the years, it could be a cesspool of criminals who would harm them.

“I hope they’ve found somewhere warm to stay tonight,” Sam comments. “We’ve got the only heater, so I don’t know what they’ll do.”

“They’ll be fine,” Simon tells her as he pulls the car close to the building and a rear exit. “I’m sure he’ll build them a fire or something.”

Sam sniffs hard, her nose running from the low temperature outside the vehicle and her hair being wet through. Then she sneezes.

“Great, now you’re getting sick,” Simon says angrily. “I knew you should’ve stayed home.”

“I’m fine, Simon. I’m just a little chilly. We’ll get warmed up soon enough,” she assures him.

“You’re probably gonna have pneumonia,” he says with fervor and cuts the engine.

They both look around at their dark surroundings. They are late getting to the meeting spot. They were supposed to be here sooner to make sure nobody was around. She’s thinking it’s probably a good thing Cory and Paige didn’t beat them to the Parthenon in case danger awaits them inside.

“I’m not getting sick. Stop,” Sam insists. “I don’t need a father, Simon.”

The look he sends her lets Sam know that she has definitely irritated him and that he strongly disagrees with her.

“Let’s go,” she says impatiently and gets out of the vehicle.

Simon meets her around back and snatches her arm.

“Hey, I’m in charge here, young lady,” he scolds. “I say when it’s safe to go in. I wanted to wait out here a while longer to make sure nobody comes out.”

“Too bad,” Sam argues. She’s watching tiny snowflakes land on his deep cheekbones and eyelashes. “And nobody told me that you’re in charge anyways, so I think you’re just making that up to lord it over me.”

Simon frowns hard at her. “Your defiance lately is starting to wear thin, Samantha.”

Sam just snorts through her nose and ignores him.

“Let’s go in and check it out first. We’ll come back for our gear once it’s clear inside,” he reluctantly agrees. “Just stay close. You never know.”

“I think it’s empty,” Sam says. “Someone would’ve come out when they saw our headlights. Or shot at us. That seems to be a popular thing to do today.”

Simon offers a lopsided grin and nods. “Right. Let’s hope the shooting is done for the day. I just want to get you inside. Then we need to get you warmed up.”

“Hm, sounds like that could be promising,” Sam remarks with a sly smile, making Simon blush. “Are you gonna do it the same way you did in the back of the clinic?”

Referring to the kiss is off limits, but she can’t seem to stop herself from bringing it up. She thinks about it often- his arms around her, his mouth so greedily moving on hers. These memories are all she’ll ever get for intimacy between them. She knows Simon will never allow it to happen again.

“Not funny,” he tells her and takes his handgun from his hip holster.

“It was kinda’ funny,” Sam mumbles as she trails after Simon to climb the stairs of the rear entrance to the massive structure.

They come to a long, open-air hallway of sorts with the massive pillars resembling the original Greek Parthenon. Sam was struck by their sheer size and beauty when she’d come with her mother. At night, however, they seem imposing, the dark corridor frightening. The pillars loom skyward to a thick roofline that must be fifty feet overhead. Water is puddled around some of the bases of the large structures. Vines climb around a few. Shadows bounce around as their flashlight beams aim forward and down. Anyone could be hiding behind one of the pillars or in a dark corner. This will be a tricky area to secure. They sneak around to a service entrance, but the steel door is locked.

“Hold my flashlight,” Sam tells Simon.

She takes her lock picking kit from her pack and gets to work. She’s usually faster than he is with breaking and entering. If only her parents could see her now. She doubts that lock picking, shooting at people, or fast car chases would impress them much with how she’s turned out. A few seconds later, she has the lock disengaged, and they enter the tall building. Simon relocks the door so that nobody can sneak in behind them.

As they move forward, passing a maintenance room, Sam can hear the soft dripping of water somewhere. She wonders if the roof has a leak. The water pinging echoes eerily in the massive building.

“We’ll take those with us when we leave tomorrow,” Simon tells her, pointing at the shelf full of cleaning products.

“’Kay,” she whispers. He’s obviously not as spooked by this structure and the strange sounds.

They leave the back room and head toward the public areas of the museum. The building is rectangular and very dark, which takes them a long time to search. There are ornate castings along the ceiling, a two-story gold statue of the Greek goddess Athena on the second floor, and sculptures molded into the architecture. Their footsteps sound like those of a giant clomping around on the marble flooring, making it difficult to be sneaky. Sam feels bad that Paige wasn’t able to meet up with them. She knows how much her new friend loves architecture.

Finally after every area and hidden nook and cranny are searched, Simon calls it safe to sack out. They unload their provisions for the night from the Suburban and set up in a small gallery room where paintings from some famous American artists were kept. A few even still hang on the walls. Sam knows he has chosen this room because it was one of the few with a lockable door, even if they are glass.

They quietly work together to get their temporary camp set up. Sam lights the two short beeswax candles from her sack and places one on the floor and one on a nearby bench. He lights the two from his bag and does the same. Everyone’s bags are stocked with the same basic supplies and provisions in case they get separated. They have enough to survive about three days, which is also the same amount of time it would take to travel on foot back to the farm if they had to.

Simon gets the small kerosene heater ignited while she unpacks their sleeping bags and food. She’s starving and knows Simon must be even more so since he retched his lunch in the cemetery after he was forced to kill that woman. She can’t judge him for it. He’d done it to keep her safe. She’s seen him do it before.

“Mm, Sue and Hannie packed us jars of roast pork and potatoes and carrots,” she informs Simon as he shucks off his wet coat.

“Sam, you’d better change. I’ll get that heating,” Simon suggests. “You will get sick if you don’t change out of your wet clothing.”

Sam nods and rises from her knelt position near their crate of food stuff. She glances around the mostly empty room. There really isn’t anywhere to change with any modicum of privacy.

“Um, I’m going to go out in the hall to change,” she tells him.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Simon disagrees. “Just change over there in the corner. It’s dark over there behind that half wall. I won’t see you.”

“No way,” she argues. “I’m going out to the hall. I’ll be right back.”

Simon furrows his brow and gives her a disparaging look.

“I’m ignoring you and all your brooding stares tonight, Simon,” Sam says as she goes out the door with one lit candle and her backpack.

She makes fast work of it, though. She’d been confident of her plan of changing in another room without him, but being out in the pitch dark hallway is about as spooky as it gets. The ancient-inspired building creaks and groans, echoes, pops and snaps, or at least those are the sounds she hears as she strips out of her cold and very damp jacket and shirt. She can barely see to find her rolled up clothing at the bottom of her pack. An icy shiver trails up her spine as she imagines someone coming upon her from behind. Sam pulls on clean undergarments, a dark blue, long-sleeved tee and tops it with a green flannel shirt. Black sweatpants follow, which are more comfortable for sleeping than jeans. She also tugs on a gray hoodie that Sue lent her. Wind whistles somewhere through one of the corridors, startling her. Sam stands still a moment, waiting and listening. Then she expels her held breath and resumes. Warm, dry socks are last. She’ll need to put her shoes back on before they go to bed in case they need to get up quickly in the middle of the night, but for now it feels good to wear no shoes at all. She carries her dirty items under her arm with her shoes, slings her bag over her shoulder, and re-enters the room with no windows. She nearly runs Simon down, who’d obviously been waiting just on the other side of the door for her.

“Sorry,” Simon blurts. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Yep, I’m fine. Just like I told you I would be, Mr. Worrywart,” Sam chides and squeezes past him. She’s not going to admit that it was eerie in the dark hall. He already thinks of her as a child.

She spreads out her damp clothing across one of the viewing benches at the other end of the room. She’s not sure if they’ll dry all the way, but it’s better than nothing.

“The food’s heating,” Simon tells her.

“Good, I’m starving,” Sam reveals. Her eyes follow him as he moves about the room.

“Don’t get too excited,” Simon informs her. “It’s going to take a while to heat up.”

“That’s fine,” Sam says as she pulls out her small, portable sketchpad and sets it on the floor beside her. “I’ve got stuff I can do.”

Simon doesn’t ask her, probably because he knows. Sam takes a candle and strolls around the gallery room looking at the artwork that has been left behind. It’s a shame that Americans were worried about looting for liquor, cigarettes and electronics, but much of the lovely artwork in this museum still hangs on the walls untouched. Nobody tried to save it or preserve it. She studies the painting, Mt. Tamalpais by Albert Bierstadt. The soft hues nearly glow by candlelight. Perhaps when he’d painted this, he’d done so by candlelight or hoped that people would view it in such a fashion because the painting invokes such a vision of golds and yellows that she can literally feel the dawn breaking over the hillside he’s painted.

Without turning to face him, Sam says, “You should change clothing, too, Simon. If you get sick, I’m getting payback on you for all the times you’ve made me drink some of your nasty tea or for having to take gross medicine that you and Grandpa have ground up.”

She moves on to a painting by Samuel F. B. Morse and studies it a few moments, taking in the dark and light contrasts.

“I’ve only ever had to treat you once, if you remember correctly, young lady,” Simon reprimands.

She hates it when he talks down to her like she’s a child.

“It was bad enough just the one time that it seemed like more,” Sam reminds him.

Simon stops unpacking his gear and grins at her. The light from the candles plays on his auburn hair, making it appear shimmery and gold streaked. A shadow of stubble has covered his chin and cheeks. Sam moves on to a painting by another man named Emanuel Gottlieb Leutze. He seems to have been a patriot painter who had a love for America. His painting depicts a battle from the Revolutionary War. Sam wonders what he’d think of their great country today. Seeing his proud painting on this lonely wall where no one will ever see it again makes her feel gloomy. These paintings will all be destroyed eventually from humidity and chemical weathering.

“You got better, right?” he continues with a cocky attitude.

“You’re always hovering over me like I’m some wilting flower,” Sam comments with exasperation. She barely had the sniffles last year, but he’d insisted- like the control-freak he is- that she take his tea for three days and some weird, powdered medicine that made her want to retch.

Simon chuckles and answers, “It’s my job to keep everyone on the farm healthy. I mean, along with Doc and Reagan, of course.”

“Yeah, but when Reagan got sick, you were checking me like four times a day for fevers. Gimme a break! You didn’t check anyone else that much!”

“I have to take care of you,” Simon says with an uncomfortable edge to his voice. “And all the other kids, too.”

Sam scowls at how his last sentence makes her feel.

“I’m not one of the kids,” Sam retorts angrily. She can barely concentrate on the lovely artwork because he’s making her so mad. “Don’t be such an ass, Simon.”

She passes a painting of a shipwreck by Edwin Church and then pauses to study another by Mary Peale. The artist has captured the grief of her subject, invoking the spectator to wonder at the woman’s source of heartache. Perhaps she had to deal with a difficult man like Simon.

“Hey, that’s not appropriate language,” Simon scolds her.

She’d like to yank this lovely Mary Peale painting from the wall and club him over the head with it.

“You aren’t in charge of me, remember? I’ll talk how I like,” Sam tells him haughtily.

Simon says quietly, “You need to stop hanging out with Reagan so much. She’s a bad influence.”

“Wrong. She’s a good influence. Now I just need her to tell me how to deal with my annoying best friend when he’s trying to order me around like I’m one of the children on the farm.”

The next painting is by Edwin Blashfield called The New Dress. It is just lovely, the tones so vibrant and realistic.

“You don’t need advice from her. You’re a big enough pain in my butt most of the time,” he tells her.

“I’d like to give you a kick to the butt,” Sam tells him without looking over her shoulder. Sometimes he can vex her nerves like no one else.

“You’d just hurt your foot,” Simon tells her.

“It might be worth it,” she grumbles and studies the painting again.

“This was about as good a place as we could’ve possibly picked for our first night in the city,” he comments, changing the topic. “You get to look at art all night.”

“I’m glad you guys decided on it,” Sam agrees, admiring another painting.

“I thought it would be a nice change of pace for you,” Simon comments, drawing her attention.

“You suggested it?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment. “Yes, I did. Are you glad?”

“Oh, yes,” Sam says. “That was really thoughtful, Simon. We should take some of these with us when we leave. Can we? They’re just going to be ruined soon. Artwork can’t stand up to humidity. We could give them to Grandpa. See what he wants to do with them.”

“Sure, Sam,” he says, appeasing her. “I’ll see what we can fit in the SUV in the morning.”

“Thanks for doing this, for choosing this place.”

“No problem. I’m glad you like it. What are you looking at over there?”

“This is…” Sam says as she turns back to Simon, only to find him stripping out of his clothing in a semi-darkened corner of the room. Apparently he thought it was darker. It’s not. She can see his long, lean torso and bare stomach quite clearly. “…um, really lovely.”

Sam doesn’t actually mean to say that. The painting is hardly pretty, and it’s an insult to the artist to suggest it.

“Oh yeah?” Simon calls over to her as he tugs a fresh shirt down over his chest lightning fast.

Sam doesn’t answer but goes back to the portable heater and their temporary camp site. She sits cross-legged on her sleeping bag and waits for him to finish dressing. Simon joins her a few minutes later wearing dry, clean clothing. He’s also wearing his eyeglasses, which leads her to believe that he’s tired from their hectic day. His black turtleneck and holey jeans are in stark contrast with one another. It’s like he’s going for the casual, yuppy-meets-grunge appearance. His distressed work-boots just add to his unusual manner of dress.

“That feels a lot better, huh?” he asks nonchalantly as he takes their food off of the heater.

Sam just stares at his finely hollowed out cheekbones, wishing secretly that she could sketch him in his bizarre, yet somehow distinguished clothing. She knows he’d reject the idea for something more practical like oiling down the guns that got wet.

“What does?”

“Getting dry clothes on. I can’t stand running around when the weather’s like this. It sucks,” Simon admits.

“Yeah, I guess it does. I wonder if we’re going to have an early winter. Grandpa said we might.”

“Let’s hope not. I’m not too fond of these snowy, cold Tennessee winters.”

“Right,” she says, remembering his roots as an Arizonian.

“Want some food?” Simon asks as he sets her small jar on the floor in front of her using the long sleeve of his discarded damp shirt. “It’ll warm your belly.”

“What?” Sam asks. She wasn’t really paying attention. She’d picked up her drawing pad and started her sketch of him without showing it. “Did you just ask me something about my belly?”

Simon scowls. His blush is too hard to hide, so he averts his face completely from her view and turns his back to her. “No,” he responds in a huff of contrite anger. “I said you need to eat.”

“Oh,” Sam says with a frown. She’s not sure he said that at all. “Thanks. I could’ve got my own. Let me get the bread.”

He sits across from her in the same manner on his own sleeping bag. By the time she passes the bread that has been wrapped in a muslin sack to Simon, he’s already eagerly digging into his main dish. He must’ve been pretty hungry. He normally has the refined table manners of a senator’s son, but tonight he’s wolfing down his food, licking his fingers and slurping with unabashed enthusiasm. Sam just grins and takes a bite of her stew. She dips the bread into the glass canning jar, letting the dense texture sop up the broth.

“Where do you think Cory and your sister will stay tonight?” Sam inquires as she next bites into a tender, roasted carrot.

Simon pauses between bites and says, “Not sure. Hopefully somewhere safe.”

“And out of this weather. I hope it doesn’t snow enough to stick.”

“Me, too,” Simon agrees through a mouthful of food. “He’ll make sure they find somewhere safe to stay. I doubt if they’re far from here, especially if that Dick’s store is on the other side of the school. It sounds like they didn’t get too far.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “I don’t like that he called the college a hotspot. That has to mean they ran into problems.”

“Maybe,” Simon says, his eyes narrowing. “If they do or did, Cory will get them out of it. He’s good at that.”

“So are you,” Sam praises and takes another bite of potato.

Simon chuckles and tells her, “You can be our designated getaway driver.”

Sam smiles at him, admiring the way the candlelight is touching his hair and skin, what little is showing. He’s removed his stocking cap, so at least his auburn hair is visible now.

“I’m happy with the supplies we got today, but we still need to scout out fuel,” Simon tells her as she hands him the rest of her bread.

“Here, I can’t eat this much,” she says. “I thought with the guys finding the gas converter thing that we’d be ok for fuel now.”

“Maybe,” Simon says with a nod. “But if it doesn’t work for some reason, I’d still like to bring some cans of gas back to the farm at the very least. I have a feeling we’re going to need to think outside the box tomorrow to find fuel. Everywhere in this town has already been raided and many times.”

“Not that hospital today. We had good luck there,” Sam reminds him.

“That’s true,” he agrees. “But our day got waylaid by that Dave the Mechanic guy and his friends. That put a big delay in getting started.”

Sam frowns with distaste and screws the lid back on her canning jar of food. She’s lost her appetite thinking about that man and his friends.

“I’m glad that the guys met up with someone they used to know,” Simon rambles, unaware of her distress. “I think that’s pretty cool. Plus, they might make valuable acquaintances to have in case we ever need them.”

Dave and his group seemed nice, probably very harmless, but she doesn’t know him or his men. She also didn’t like the way some of them looked at her, especially the man Dave kept calling Gunny. Sam is sure that if John and Kelly trust Dave, then he is a good man. And likely his group is made up of men of the same character. But she just doesn’t have the ability to openly and easily trust people anymore.

“What’s wrong?” Simon asks, finally picking up on her change of mood.

“Nothing,” she assures him, packing away her food in the crate. She swigs from her bottle of water and places it on the floor near her backpack.

Simon quickly stows away his empty container, sets aside his pack, and comes back to kneel on one knee in front of her.

“What is it, Sam?”

She shakes her head and lowers her gaze to his boots.

“Was it those men?” he asks.

It is difficult to hide anything from Simon because he knows her so well. She just nods because he’ll know if she’s lying. She glances up at him to see concern written all over his handsome face.

“Hey,” he says softly and tips her chin up to look at him. “They were ok, Sam. They weren’t bad. I didn’t get a vibe off of any of them.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” she says with another nod.

Simon lays a hand against her cheek and gives it a gentle petting.

“You don’t have to interact with them, though. I won’t let them get around you, not even if they come to the clinic for anything. If they come and you don’t want to wait on them, just give me a signal. I’ll take care of them or have Doc treat them. If you run into them in town this winter, just come and get me. You don’t have to be around people who make you uncomfortable anymore. I promise.”

Sam nods and tries to give him a small grin.

“Nobody’s ever going to get that close to you. Understand?”

“Yes,” Sam says in agreement, although she knows that he can’t promise against such an impossible to predict future. The world in which they currently live is full of unforeseen complications and horrifying probabilities. “It’s just that I feel bad when I get unsure of people. They’re probably nice. I don’t even know any of them. I probably don’t have any reason to fear them. They probably think I’m a freak.”

“No way,” Simon says tenderly and touches her arm. “They didn’t even notice. Just me. I’m the only one who noticed. I knew you wouldn’t like being around that many strangers. And that’s all right. You don’t have to feel bad. None of them has gone through what you went through. You’ve got the green light to go a little freak now and then.”

Sam chuckles and nods at his playful jesting.

“Just don’t go full-blown freak. That’d be too much,” he further teases.

Sam smiles at him and says, “Right. I’ll keep it in check.”

“They don’t need to be looking at you anyways,” Simon adds without any humor in his tone at all this time.

He rises from his knelt position and walks away.

“Why don’t we get some sleep now, all right?” he suggests in a comforting manner without turning back to her.

“’Kay,” Sam says with a nod.

Simon blows out three candles, carries one over next to their sleeping area and sets it down near the heater. She’s resumes her cross-legged position and braids her hair into two plaits to keep the dampness away from her face and neck while she sleeps. Sam watches him shimmy his way into his sleeping bag. They’ll both use their backpacks for pillows. She mimics his movements and crawls into her sleeping bag. She coils her two braids on the top of her head on her pack. She’s opted out on the rule of sleeping with her shoes on. It’s just too uncomfortable.

“Boy, is it cold! This room feels even colder and damper than it was outside tonight,” Sam comments as she tries to zip her bag higher.

Simon inches closer to her and says, “It’s because the ventilation system has been turned off for years. Scoot closer. My body heat should keep you warmer.”

“Thanks,” she replies with appreciation.

The cold, hard floor beneath her hip bone is uncomfortable. She has managed to slide closer to Simon and feels a warmth permeating from him. She can tell that it’s not going to take long for sleep to come. She’s more tired tonight than usual. Working around the farm or in town at the clinic is nothing like the stress of running around a city looting. Anxiety and fear take a toll on the body, she’s learned.

“Let’s play a game,” Sam suggests as she tucks both hands under her cheek. Simon just stares at her with that patient look of his.

“Why don’t you just get some sleep?”

The trace amount of light from the kerosene heater just barely gives her enough to see him.

“Let’s play ‘where would you be now and what food do you miss the most’?” Sam says.

“Sam,” he warns with growing impatience.

“Come on, Simon,” she presses. “We hardly ever have time to even talk anymore. You’re always busy. Or you’re busy dodging me!” Sam accuses.

“I’m not…”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say, Mr. Bossy Pants.”

She can see his profile, the roll of his eyes and huff of his breath.

“That’s not very mature,” he says and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I’m a kid, remember?” Sam taunts.

He actually chuckles.

“I’m not so sure you aren’t some sort of mastermind manipulator,” he admits and turns slightly toward her. “You would’ve had a great future with the CIA, Samantha Patterson.”

Sam harrumphs and says, “Besides, if you want me to go to sleep, then you should talk with me. It’ll help me relax. Then you can stay awake brooding all night.”

“See there? Manipulating me again. And I don’t brood,” he retorts.

“Yeah, right,” she corrects him. “Ok, I’ll go first. I’d hopefully be riding on the US equestrian team and gearing up training for the Olympics.”

“Where would you be? Here in Tennessee or somewhere else?” he asks, his curiosity piqued.

“Maybe for a while, but my parents had already been talking with a coach down in Georgia. They wanted me to attend college while pursuing my riding career, so I may have had to choose a school down there. Hey, maybe I would’ve gone to the same school as your sister. That would’ve been funny,” Sam speculates.

“Yeah, funny,” Simon reflects.

His tone is not like her own. He seems to find this information not humorous at all for some reason.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asks him.

“Huh? Oh, nothing really. I was just thinking about you living in Georgia all by yourself. That could’ve been dangerous for someone like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You just would’ve been so young like you are now. I mean, I don’t look at you right now in your life like you can take care of yourself, Sam.”

“Why?” she asks. This is starting to feel insulting again.

“You’re serious? You’re lying next to me with your hair in little girl braids. You look like you’re still fifteen. You wrecked Doc’s SUV today because you never even had driver’s education classes before the fall. You’re just a kid really,” Simon tells her.

“So are you then,” Sam counters.

“Hardly,” he murmurs. “Not after what I’ve done. I don’t think anyone would call me a kid anymore.”

“I don’t think you ever were,” Sam says with serious inflection.

“What do you mean?”

“You just seem like an old person, a grown-up. Even back when I first met you, you were like a thirty-year-old adult, not a seventeen-year-old boy. I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you as a teenager or as you love to call me, a kid.”

“Hm, maybe not. I guess I’ve never really thought about it,” he says.

“Except for the comic books and video games!” Sam blurts on a laugh.

“I think all guys are into something juvenile at one time in their lives or another,” he admits with a grin.

“You’re just an old soul, Simon,” Sam tells him. “I’ve heard Sue call you that, too. Reagan said you’re so much like Grandpa that she thinks you’re his long lost reincarnated brother.”

“Oh, great. More master manipulators,” he jokes.

“Back to our game. Where would you be? It’s your turn,” she reminds him.

He sighs and says, “Don’t know for sure. I was looking into colleges. I really liked the idea of genetic research for medical purposes. I kind of thought I might want to go to Johns Hopkins.”

“In Maryland?”

“Yep, that’s the one,” he teases with a grin. “Who knows, though? I was also looking into some other schools.”

“Did you get really good grades in school or something? That’s a pretty prestigious school, Simon.”

“Uh, yeah. I did all right,” he says with modesty. “Don’t misinterpret me, though. I’m no Doc or Reagan on the academic level.”

She’s quite sure that he did more than all right if he was looking into going to a medical college like Johns Hopkins. Strangely, Sam feels proud of him.

“I don’t know about that. Moving on,” she announces before he can argue. “Food you miss the most.”

He chuckles and says, “My mom’s homemade mac n’ cheese. Man, that was some good stuff. Sometimes, she’d make a big tray of it and a bunch of burgers on the grill for me and my friends on her days off from the hospital.”

“That’s right. She worked as a nurse. I forgot,” Sam tells him.

“Yes, she was very smart. Smarter than me, that’s for sure.”

Sam chuckles and remarks, “I doubt that. Besides, you had to get it from someone, right?”

“I suppose so,” he agrees. “I looked more like my dad, though. That’s where Paige and I get the red hair. It runs on my dad’s side.”

“I saw the picture of her you carry in your wallet,” Sam tells him.

“Right. And you definitely look like your mother. You were her twin,” Simon tells her.

“I suppose so. I’m glad really because I can carry that with me, that piece of her,” Sam admits.

“I’ll take you there when we get back, all right? I didn’t forget. We’ve just been busy finishing the harvest and getting ready for winter,” he promises.

“I think winter’s just about here,” Sam says, remembering the light snowfall outside.

“No doubt,” Simon agrees. “Now what food do you miss? We need to wrap this up so that you can get some sleep.”

Sam smiles at him, even though she isn’t sure if he can see her well because of the dim lighting.

“My mom’s sugar cookies. They were so good,” Sam says, drawing out the word ‘so.’ “She’d make them at Christmas, and we’d eat so many she’d have to hide them just so she’d have a few to set out for guests. She made them for my dad’s workers, too. She used to put them in little Chinese take-out containers all stacked inside so cute and pretty. She was a really good cook, but her frosted sugar cookies were the best.”

“All right, this game needs to end. I’m getting hungry thinking about all this food,” Simon jests with a grin.

“Me, too,” Sam says with a wide yawn. “Maybe Hannah will make sweet rolls for breakfast when we get back in a few days.”

“Great, now I’m thinking about those, too,” Simon jests again on a groan.

At least Sam thinks he’s kidding around. He sounds somewhat serious. She just chuckles at his hardship, causing him to frown.

He asks, “Are you warm enough?”

“Not really,” Sam sort of fibs. “Can I snuggle closer?”

Simon’s dark blue gaze jumps to hers. She can see his eyes clearly, even with the faint light from the heater.

“Uh, sure,” he stammers.

Sam closes in on him, pressing herself against his side. She tries not to hear his huff of indignant protestation.

“This is better,” she confesses gaily. “I think I can finally sleep now.”

“That makes one of us,” Simon mumbles.

Sam chuckles at him. She leans up and says in an austere voice, “Don’t try any funny business, Mister.”

He physically startles and says as if affronted by the insinuation, “I wouldn’t, Sam!”

Sam laughs loudly this time, without worrying about anyone hearing her. “I know, silly. Trust me. I know.”

“Oh, I thought you were serious.”

“No, of course I wasn’t. If I was being serious, I would’ve warned you against me making a move.”

“Wh…what?” he croaks, his voice a little higher in pitch.

Sam chuckles again and says, “Goodnight, Simon.”