“Is he…Amy, is he older now? Did he grow?”
“It doesn’t seem like it to me. He looks like he did in that last picture I saw. I don’t think he’s aged at all.”
“Did he look okay to you? Did he cry a lot? Was he scared?”
“Oh, Costa, no. He’s great. Smiled a lot. Slept in my arms. I’d let him nap. And sometimes, he would grab my hair and laugh. I wish I could have heard his laugh because it looked like it’d be so sweet. He’s just wonderful.”
Sam is fascinated. “So, somehow, he adapted to living under, huh? It’s pretty amazing how resilient kids are.”
“I need…to sit down,” Costa says. He suddenly looks faint, and Sam walks him to a chair. “The thought of him down there with no one…God, until you. Thank God for you, Amy. You took care of my son. I’ll never be able to thank you…this is a lot. This is all possible? This could be real? I can’t hope again, not after last time when I was so sure.”
Amy kneels in front of him. “Toby is under. I’ve spent many months with him, and he’s real.”
Costa holds back tears. “I’m scared.”
“Stay calm,” she says. “Toby needs that.”
“Okay.” He pushes a smile through his worry. “We’re gonna need a lot of watermelon.”
Sam ruffles Costa’s hair. “I’m gonna buy every watermelon I can find.”
