That face.
That face is exactly the reason I didn't want Sam to know about the moloch box and my deep sea plans.
Because of that face.
Teary eyes, red nose, bangs hanging in his eyes, he's thirty-five, he's twenty-two, he's eight years old, and he's cracking under the realization of what our life really means.
"Why don't you believe in us, too?"
More than any words, any argument, more than the sucker punch he landed on me, all Sam has to do is give me that face and I'll agree to anything he wants.
"All right, let's go home."
