Sam nodded solemnly.
Alejo closed his eyes, testing the mate bond, which glowed in his mind, firm and strong. Stronger, even. The bond between mother and son also glowed, but now Alejo sensed one reaching between him and Sam. It was faint, but it was there.
“Now I have a question, man to man,” Alejo said.
Sam straightened up unconsciously, and Alejo sensed a kind of bloom within Sam. As if he’d rarely experienced simple respect between human beings, one would think a basic rule of civilization.
“I had planned to tell your mom about me. It’s important that she know, but I was waiting until she and I got to know each other a bit better. Should I tell her now? Not tonight,” he amended quickly. “It’s a school night, and my guess is, she won’t be happy to find out you’re not in bed, watching your film. But soon?”
Sam’s small body wriggled as he thought. Squeak sat quietly on his shoulder, big dark eyes reflecting the street lamp. Alejo wondered what Squeak understood. Later, he’d shift to try communicating. But this moment with Sam was too important.
Sam looked up. “But she might have to tellhim. He always asks me if Mom has a boyfriend, or has sleepovers with men. I didn’t think grownups have sleepovers. Do they? Do you make a blanket fort in the TV room?”
“They can if they want to.” Alejo said, telling himself it was definitely too soon.
“Will you show me your flying?” Sam asked. “Can you take me with you?”
Alejo laughed. “How about this? I promised Granny Godiva that I would fix up your house down there on the beach. If you want, you can help a little, and when it’s safe, I’ll show you some things. Including flying. But you have school tomorrow, so you should get back in the house now, and finish your film.”
“It’s justAnimal Treasure Island,” Sam whispered. “I’ve seen it a hundred times.” But he breathed a good night, and when Squeak vanished in a faint pop! Sam climbed off the loveseat and scampered inside, for the first time looking more like a kid and less like a scared little ghost.
Alejo watched him go, torn between being pleased that had gone well, and worry that the revelation might turn into a disaster.
“Why doesn’t finding your mate come with a user’s manual?” he muttered under his breath as he went inside.
NEST, his lion insisted.
“Somehow I knew you were going to say that, buddy. You and your—as Godiva says—one-crack mind.”
TEN
WENDY
Sam usually came back from Bill’s overtired and silent, as Bill apparently left him to watch TV until he fell asleep, rather than bother to supervise bedtime. Occasionally, if he’d been with his grandparents, he came back cranky. He’d been cranky and tired the night before. Wendy made waffles for breakfast, knowing that they were Sam’s favorite.
This morning? He appeared in his school clothes, and though his buttons were still done crookedly, she saw a smiling face as she quickly redid them. “Waffles,” he said happily. “I’m starving!”
Alejo emerged from the guest wing right them. Wendy held her breath, ready for Cranky Sam to appear, though by now she trusted Alejo not to bray at Sam, or try to “joke” him out of his silence, much less scold him.
“Good morning, Wendy, Sam,” he said, as he always did.
“Morning,” Sam actually said, and he actually looked at Alejo.
Then, to Wendy’s astonishment, he smiled.
And then, he spokeagain. “What should I call you?”
Wendy stared, midway between utter delight and total shock.Sam was talking to Alejo?The day after what sounded like an especially tedious weekend with all three of the Champlains, which had included a close encounter with beef stroganoff (which Sam hated), fancy marzipan pastries (which he also hated), and asparagus (which he loathed with a fiery passion), on top of Mrs. Champlain’s very long lecture (“A hundred hours. No, FIVE hundred,” Sam had said) on what constituted good taste and bad taste, in museum art, followed by a quiz on who had painted which blob. “To see if you were listening properly”—all guaranteed to ensure that Sam would hate art forever.
Wendy blinked.
Alejo was looking at her expectantly. He said, “Sam can call me Alejo, as far as I’m concerned, but do you have a rule about names, Wendy?”
“Ah,” she said, trying to gather her wits. “Sam, what would you be comfortable with?”
“Ah-lay-ho,” Sam said slowly. “What language is that?”
“Spanish.”
