A/N: Okay, I'll say up front that I know my posting tonight cannot possibly compare to the new episode on in just an hour, but I hope that when you need a pick-me-up after it's over you'll come give me a read! There's nothing like the real thing, though!
XXX
Two Years, October:
"Go up!" Sam cried. "Go up! Go up!"
Here Mary thought he'd never talk and now she couldn't shut him up. He was jabbering and pointing like a madman, nearly knocking his jacket off, his flyaway curls tossed by the breezy afternoon. She could scarcely hold onto him and devour her funnel cake at the same time. She was going to drop one of them in a moment, and she was already mourning the loss of the powdered sugar fluffiness soon-to-be-caked in dirt.
"You're not going up," she groused, hitching the squirmy boy higher onto her hip. "Make your peace with it."
Sam paid no attention, chattering excitedly, and Marshall shot her a very dark scowl from underneath his sunglasses.
"Why did we come if he's not going up?" he asked seriously.
Mary tipped her own sunglasses to glare at him, no easy feat with both hands already occupied.
"I thought if he could see the damn things he might chill out," she grumbled. "I thought all the colors and supposed-merriment with the drumming and the noise and the fiddler crap, he might get distracted."
It appeared it was not to be. Since they'd arrived, Sam could not stop squealing skyward at the enormous, vibrant, striped figures of hot air balloons sailing serenely across the nearly cloudless blue. Mary had never, in all the time she'd been in Albuquerque, understood the appeal of the festival. There was simply no need to watch, let alone go up in one. And Sam – it was simply out of the question. He was too little.
"Mare, it's his birthday…" Marshall attempted to guilt her where they stood in their secluded patch of grass.
"His birthday was yesterday," she argued at once.
Marshall ignored the technicality, "Mom's visiting; Julian and the kids are here," he reasoned. "You don't want to make it for nothing, do you?"
He was good. Very good, actually. She'd thought in the absence of Brandi and Peter – six-months-Jesse at home with the sniffles so he couldn't even meet the brief appearance of the Mann clan – she might wiggle out of all the persuading. But Marshall had always been more willing to let Sam spread his wings. Almost literally, in this case.
Mary shifted from foot-to-foot, tossing her half-eaten funnel cake into a nearby trashcan before all of Sam's gesturing whacked it to the ground. She was grateful to be able to hide behind her sunglasses.
"He's too small…" she finally said in a low voice. "And he's too worked up…" she shook her head. "He could wiggle loose and fall right out of the thing…"
"Mary," Marshall stepped even closer, and she sensed she was in for a talking-to.
She knew it to be so when he placed his hand on her shoulder. She was realizing how chilly the air was, and she wished she'd brought a heavier jacket. She reached to zip Sam's up to avoid looking at Marshall.
"Fly birdies!" Sam articulated gleefully at his mother's touch. "Birdies and balloon!"
"You're a boy," Mary teased him, trying to sound funny but knew Marshall wasn't buying it. "Boys don't fly."
Evidently, Sam did not buy it either and continued to crane his neck at all the excitement.
"Boy fly!" he repeated. "Sam fly! Sam fly!" he even flapped his arms, his eyes huge at the balloons in the sky above.
"Mary," Marshall repeated, and now he squeezed her shoulder.
"What?" she almost snapped, but held off just a little, fixing him with her eyes.
"I talked to the guy; he said it's perfectly safe," he assured her. "If he gets too squirmy, there's a strap in the seat we can stick him in," he continued. "It'll be a cinch."
Mary did not want to back down so easily and shook her head.
"No…" she just couldn't help herself. "He can watch."
"Mary…!"
It was Marshall's turn to rein himself in, something he rarely had to do. But he'd yanked his hand off her shoulder and spun on the spot, hands to his hair in frustration. Mary was so unaccustomed to seeing him truly angry with her that she slipped the sunglasses onto her head to get a better look.
"What is your problem?" she spat, and Sam began to fidget at their raised voices.
Marshall faced her once more, but he was still visibly tense.
"He doesn't want to watch," he informed her through gritted teeth. "He's wants to go up there – he wants to try! Let him try!" he pleaded. "He wants to!"
"Marshall, he's two years old!" now she was trying not to scream so passerby would not stare. "He doesn't get to decide! I do!"
"I'm his father," Marshall was much closer now; she was surprised to see how rigid his jaw was. "Aren't I?"
The question made Mary very uncomfortable when you considered logistics, but she did her best to skate over it.
"Yes…" she managed in a shameful voice.
"So I don't get a say?" he wanted to know. "You're scared, so it's out?"
Mary hadn't meant for things to go like this at all. But deep down, she'd never intended to let Sam fly in the hot air balloon and she'd known it was wrong to deceive Marshall into thinking she might. At least a portion of his family had come all this way just for Sam's birthday, and she was going to be responsible for ruining the whole thing if she continued to be so stubborn. She was trying to work out how much she cared.
But she cared about Marshall. She cared that he was this irate, despite attempting to deny it.
"He could get hurt," she finally said, somewhat reasonably.
"You let him ride a horse," Marshall reminded her with a sigh. "And he loved that."
"He was on the ground!" she protested. "And you were with him! And I didn't know what the hell I was thinking – I'd just lost my father…!"
She shut herself up a little too late, face falling, the sun warm on her neck but the breeze cool on her cheeks. Sam was getting extremely restless and was beginning to whine; now not sure what was going on or what he wanted.
"Mama…mama…" he bleated in Mary's ear over the silence. "Wa-wa…?" his word for water. "Want wa-wa…mama…"
He'd only recently graduated to sippy cups, and seemed very liberated by the whole thing, but Mary didn't care enough about appeasing him to delve into the diaper bag at the moment.
"Not now, bud…" she smoothed his hair in hopes that he would quiet. "Later."
She sighed as she looked at Marshall. She had to admire his ability to want Sam to take risks. And she had to question her ability to shoot that theory down when she and Marshall himself took a wide variety of perils every single day.
"Mary…" he said for the fourth time. "He's not going to be little forever. He'll be old enough to decide for himself, and I think it's only fair that we let him try when he's still too young to know what he wants and what he doesn't," he whispered. "He trusts us to give him that chance."
Before Mary could open her mouth to respond to this logic, she saw the figures of Carolyn and Julian in the distance. Claire was bolting ahead of them holding cotton candy on a stick, her strawberry hair flying behind her like a flag in the wind. Daniel jogged close behind with his own cotton candy, savoring each bite. Griffin and the rest of the crowd had-had to remain in Kansas, unable to spare the time.
"Uncle Marshall!" Claire cried as she skidded to a halt. "Daddy let me and Daniel get a cotton candy!" the six-year-old proclaimed.
"I can see that," Marshall turned it right on. "You know that all cotton candy is actually white, and they add food coloring to match its flavoring. In countries like Great Britain, it's sold under the name candy floss, or even fairy floss."
Mary rolled her eyes at this, but Claire fed him a very toothy grin and expertly ignored the lesson.
"Do you want a bite?" she offered kindly, holding out the stick to share. "It's strawberry."
"Thanks Claire Bear, but I'm good," Marshall declined politely as the rest of the party approached.
Claire shrugged, and then remembered Mary. Sam was practically revolving in her arms he was so desperate to get down, but she really didn't want to set him free and she hadn't wanted to drag the stroller along.
"Mary, can Sam have some?" her little niece posed, obviously eager to share. "I bet he'll like it."
Mary's instinct was to say no, but she didn't relish another argument with Marshall, especially with an audience. She also realized it would be a good excuse to let Sam go while giving him something to focus on at the same time.
"Yeah…" she slipped him to the grass, but kept a tight hold on his hand. "Just a little bit though…"
Claire knelt right in front of her cousin and tore off a bigger piece than Mary would have with her already sticky fingers and held it out to Sam like she was feeding goats at the zoo. Sam accepted at once, however, and mashed it mostly on his face instead of inside his mouth. This made the onlookers laugh, including Claire.
"It's good, huh Sam?" Claire asked with a vigorous nod.
"Good!" he was poking his tongue in and out like a lizard trying to get an actual taste. "Good! Care…" his word for his cousin, unable to pronounce the 'L.' "Go up!"
He had not been deterred and now wanted a flying buddy.
"Go up!"
Without further ado, he made for the gap in-between Julian's and Carolyn's legs, like he thought he could run skyward. Mary would've been willing to give this a try – to just let him scamper and scuttle to the ends of the earth until he reached the depths of that forget-me-not-blue.
However, Julian was too quick for him to even get started and snatched him up.
"Whoa!" he swung him into the air and over his head airplane-style; Sam gave a mirthless squeal of delight when his uncle dug his hands into his sides. "Not so fast, you little escape-artist!"
"Is he really going up?" Claire wanted to know immediately as Julian settled Sam in his chest; he'd gone breathless in all his anticipation. "Does he get to ride?"
There was a silence while Mary continued to brood, not liking the position she was being put in with everybody watching. Daniel was staring straight at her like she was some sort of spectacle, but Marshall was sighing ever-so-quietly as he took Sam from his brother.
"I don't know cutie…" he said to his niece, and there was no mistaking the dejection. "He's still pretty little…"
He was going to give in. He was going to let Mary walk all over him for about the zillionth time. Even in the small part of her that screamed triumph and victory, she had to wonder what made him do it. Did he really love her that much? To give her what she wanted every single time?
"Da-da, da-da…" Sam babbled over all the crowd noise. "Want balloon da-da…want fly…"
"I know sheriff…" Marshall kissed his hair and fed his son a sheepish look. "No…" he shook his head slowly. "No balloon."
Sam's face fell so fast it was almost comical. If not for the fact that he looked so painfully sad. Mary felt a piercing in her chest at that face – she'd never seen it on him before. He just flew into a tantrum if he was unhappy, or squealed if he was joyous. She'd never thought of him as being let down or disappointed, not when he was only – barely – two years old.
And yet, here he was. He was sad. And confused. After getting such a response from Marshall, he turned those gorgeous blue eyes to the next available source, which of course was Mary.
Even standing a good distance apart, it was still doing her in.
"Balloon mama?" he inquired in a tiny voice.
She turned into a puddle of mush so fast it was embarrassing. She was going to have a rough road ahead if he perfected that face as a teenager.
"Yes balloon," she nodded soundly.
Marshall about dropped him, so unexpected was the allowance, but Sam looked like he couldn't possibly have heard correctly.
"We go balloon?" he wanted to clarify.
Mary grimaced and tried to focus on Carolyn's warm, obliging smile in the background. It was helping her to take the leap, to let her child do something she was so frightened of. They'd never know until they tried.
"I guess so…" she reinforced, not exactly strongly. "We're going up."
The effect was instantaneous. Marshall laughed and blundered on to cover up Mary's nerves and Claire shrieked in excitement, which made Sam screech and caused Daniel to cover his ears in annoyance.
"We're going up, sheriff!" Marshall declared, and he made for the lines at once. "We're gonna fly with the planes and the birdies – won't that be fun?" he was bouncing Sam all over the place, jostling him on his hip and pointing out all the shapes in the sky.
Mary hung back at a slow walk as Marshall got down to business with an operator, who explained all the logistics in vivid detail. Julian had joined his brother, trying to corral Claire and Daniel was much too busy with his cotton candy to bother with the rest. This left Mary with Carolyn, who had taken to patting her arm the longer they roved around the enormous wicker basket.
"I'm sure the view is breathtaking up there," her mother-in-law made idle conversation, fingering the weaving on the wicker. "You'll have to let me know what you can see."
Mary nodded dully, and with each passing moment she was wishing she'd held on to her convictions. Why had she let Marshall guilt her into this? It was all kinds of dangerous. Something horrible and awful and ghastly was going to happen to her child and she'd have only herself to blame. Sam trusted them to keep him safe, not to take chances.
Evidently she was working herself up so severely she couldn't keep the words from being spoken, Marshall and the gang mostly out-of-earshot while they listened to directions.
"I don't want him to go," she croaked stupidly out of nowhere.
"I know, honey," Carolyn was very quick and rubbed her shoulder even though Mary was not looking at her. "But you and Marshall will be with him and they wouldn't let him in if they didn't think it was safe. He's a big boy now," she added on as an afterthought.
But it was this phrase that caught in Mary's conscious mind. He was a big boy. He was too big too fast.
"He's only two…" she found herself saying as she turned to Carolyn, whose calm face was uncannily like her son's. "He's just two years old…"
Hadn't it been yesterday Marshall had told her skin-to-skin was warmest as he lay brand new on her chest?
"He's growing up, Mary…" Carolyn reasoned. "I know it can hit you at the most bizarre times…"
"It's not hitting…" Mary didn't know what to say now. "I'm not…" she shook her head, wanting to get at least something coherent out. "I'm fine," she finally settled on. "I'm fine."
She shook her head a second time, blinking trying to clear her focus. Carolyn accepted this at face value just as Marshall beckoned with his hand, waving Mary over to the step that would lead them into the basket. Sam was chattering a mile a minute, unable to decide where he wanted to look – up into the clouds, into the hatch where he'd reside, at his mother or father or sticks of cotton candy.
Blindly, Mary left Carolyn and joined Marshall and a scruffy bearded man who was running the contraption.
"We're all set, babe…" he said. "You coming?"
Of course she was coming. He didn't really expect her to leave Sam alone after having agreed to this, did he?
"Yes…" her throat was dry. It tasted like stale powdered-sugar and funnel cake as though it hadn't gone down all the way; she knew she should've gotten a drink to go along.
Marshall's blue eyes were twinkling as he held tight onto Sam and he was giving her an unbendable smile. He understood where she was coming from, but he'd made his choice. They weren't backing down now.
"Just the three of you then?" scruffy-beard drawled as he pulled open the hatch to let them inside.
"Looks like it," Marshall told him, already stepping up, whispering sweetly to his son as Mary followed.
"Well, you've got room for one more," the man offered. "Any of your tourist buddies want to take the bird's-eye view?" he nodded at Carolyn, Julian, and the kids.
Mary, even as she assessed the space – which was not very big at all – and the supposed straps that were going to be used if Sam threatened to topple out at ten thousand feet, knew who was going to try and accompany them on their journey.
"Daddy, can I go?" Claire bounced up and down like a jackrabbit, thrusting her half-eaten cotton candy into his unsuspecting hands like he'd already said yes.
Julian looked a little bit skeptical, but exchanged a quick glance with Marshall. He paused in his chat with Sam to nod, indicating he would watch out for her.
"Are you sure, sweet pea?" Julian asked his daughter.
"I'm sure!" she declared at once, beaming brighter than the massive sun above.
"Really-really sure?" Julian wasn't going to be baited; Mary had never seen him act more like a dad. "Because you're not going to be able to come down once you're up," he warned. "I don't want to hear of you getting scared and begging to get down."
And yet Mary knew, even if this were to happen, that Julian would cut her the slack. Nobody liked seeing their children frightened.
"I won't!" Claire assured him. "I really-really won't! I want to go!" she reinforced. "Please?" she clasped her hands in front of her chest and crouched on her haunches like some figurine of a praying, porcelain doll.
Before Julian could respond, Sam had obviously caught a word he knew in Claire's beseeching her case.
"Peas!" he shouted at her politeness.
He did actually mean the manners version, not the vegetable, but as demonstrated earlier his 'L' sound could use some work. Marshall chuckled and rubbed his back so his son would not do anymore swaying of their guests.
Julian sighed and held up his hands in defeat.
"If you're really sure, Claire," he repeated. "Hop in…"
Claire was already making a mad dash for the basket in her excitement, not listening to any more of Julian's instructions, of which there happened to be a great many.
"You listen to Mary and Marshall…" he began. "And don't try to hold Sam, and don't lean too far over the side…"
Marshall started to laugh, but Mary found she had never appreciated Julian more. If Sam could've understood her, she'd have been saying all that and more.
"Julian, she's in good hands," Marshall promised. "We'll keep an eye on her."
"Your boy could come too…" their operator suddenly articulated even as he shut the tiny swinging door that had allowed them admittance. "These kids don't attribute much to the overall weight and don't take up as much room…"
"Daniel, what do you think?" Julian appealed to his son, bending slightly to catch his eye.
It was plain, to Mary at least, that Daniel was uninterested, a point he proved when he shook his head. See, why couldn't Sam be like that?
"Mom, you want to get onboard; do a little sight-seeing?" Marshall teased.
Carolyn gave a very disbelieving laugh as she shook her head.
"I don't think so, dear."
With that, their handler quit trying to load more eggs into their very-literal basket, leaving the four of them alone; Julian and Carolyn waving from their sanctuary still in the grass. Mary's heart was beginning to pound so fiercely she thought certain she might have a stroke. She had never kept such a close watch on Sam – every gesture of his arms, every blink of his eyes, every word that came out of his mouth, she thought sure this must be the one that would send him over the edge.
Claire had her fingers curled around the perimeter of the basket, her reddish-blonde hair shining in the sunlight. Her freckles danced across her nose and she nearly did the same thing in the basket, jittering all over the place while Mary just stood there not knowing how much longer she could reel herself in.
"Uncle Marshall!" she burst, blundering to where he was stationed. "Will we be able to see your house from up here?"
Marshall chuckled and was honest, "We might see it, but we probably won't know we're seeing it," he decided. "We'll be too high."
"We should fly over Brandi's house and wave to Jesse!" Claire stated boldly. "Since he missed it!"
Mary about fell over while they were talking as she heard the burners rev up, and had to throw out a hand to the bench to steady herself. Marshall finally noticed what a tizzy she was working herself into and turned around.
"You all right over there?"
No; she was not all right at all. She was sending her son to his death sentence.
"Up-up! So high, so high!"
You sure wouldn't know it.
"Mary, you're not scared are you?" Claire asked kindly, her big eyes very round and concerned, just as the basket began to lift off the ground.
Mary shook her head, not knowing how else to answer. Both she and Marshall were staring at her like she had some sort of disease. Sam was paying no attention, but she was determined to fix that. If she was going to do this, it was going to be on her terms.
"Give him to me," she demanded, a little more harshly than originally intended.
She stuck out her arms and Marshall looked a little bewildered but resolved to do as asked and passed his son over. Mary was forced to step to the basket's edge to do this, something she didn't relish at all.
"Let's let you fly with mama…" Marshall told the boy as he squirmed because he wasn't getting a good look. "She's a tad nervous…"
Mary chose not to respond, but having Sam closer was much-much better. Her pulse was slowing down, and she could feel the chilly breeze once more. Sam was appropriately fidgety for the circumstances, but probably more so since Mary had both arms wound around his back, plastering him inside her chest so there was no chance he could escape.
"We're going up!" Claire shrieked from around her navel. "See Sam?" she flashed her gaze to her cousin's, her eyes bright. "Say bye-bye ground…"
And the little girl actually waved at the grass, which was fast-becoming smaller and smaller.
"Bye-bye g'wound!" Sam gurgled in repetition, unfortunately unable to work his fingers out of Mary's iron grip.
The first shock came when they were only about ten feet up; there was a roar from the burners below, and although it did not lift them significantly faster, the sound was deafening and Mary hadn't been expecting it. She stumbled backward right into Marshall.
"Sweet Jesus…" she breathed as she stuttered, landing clumsily in Marshall's arms.
It was a blur for moment while Claire ignored them, they rose higher and higher, and Mary fought to hang onto Sam even though he'd barely moved.
"Loud…" he whimpered just slightly. "Loud…" he sounded tearful and Mary was fully-prepared to tell them to get them down now or she'd sue, but rational Marshall stopped her.
"It's okay…" he stroked Sam's hair to keep him from losing it. "It's okay; it's just helping us get up…" he told his son. "It's not scary; it won't hurt you…"
Sam swallowed a few times with a few more fearful glances, but protested no further. He twitched and jiggled, whining not at the noise anymore, but at his mother's choking grasp. Marshall opted to alleviate this slightly.
"Mare, ease up a little…" he touched her arm to prompt her to recoil. "He's uncomfortable and he'll relax if you do…"
This sounded familiar and Marshall obviously realized it.
"Remember?" he teased with a kind smile, hoping this would break her open.
Reluctantly – very reluctantly – Mary calmed her digging nails and allowed Sam to breathe a little more freely, cautiously stepping back to the edge of the basket where Claire was perched on the ledge. It took a few minutes as they continued to ascend through the fairgrounds, not seeing much but people growing tinier and tinier.
But then, before Mary was ready, they emerged out of the treetops and into the clear blue sky, wisps of cloud reminiscent of cotton candy so close she felt sure she could reach out and touch one if she really wanted to. Not that she needed to give Sam any ideas.
Gazing out at the expanse that lay ahead, she saw nothing but an endless, eternal road. A bright cerulean vastness with no beginning and no end. You were so far away and yet so near all at the same time.
"Wow…" Claire exhaled from below her; Marshall had kneeled to gaze with his niece at the rim.
Their eyes were on the ground, Claire poking her finger at all that lay below; the tiny specks that were people, the minuscule matchbox cars that were automobiles.
"It's like everybody's ants!" she shrieked. "They're so little! I can't tell which one's daddy or grandma or Daniel!"
Marshall laughed, "I surely can't either, Claire Bear," he shook his head. "It's amazing, isn't it?"
That word – amazing – was the one that reminded Mary why they were here. It was not for the spectacular view, for the path that stretched to nowhere; it certainly wasn't for the blasting burners and the draft that became cooler with every rising inch. It was for Sam.
When she looked at his face next to her own, he was mesmerized. All of his excitement was gone, but his mouth was open part-way in obvious wonder, eyes darting in all directions, nary a word to say. He'd gone speechless.
Mary found that a smile had worked onto her face as she shuffled away from Marshall and Claire to the other end of the basket. Her son's soft, flyaway curls were lifted every few moments with the wind and his ears were a little bit red. But when they reached their own side, she finally spoke.
"What do you think, Smush?"
Sam did not appear capable of articulating. He pointed, but Mary wasn't sure at what.
"What do you see, bud?" she whispered.
Mary couldn't help thinking how many things resided this high that Sam did not know the words to – cloud, sky, sun. He wouldn't know what any of those things were. They were simply…up. Or they had been, until now.
He blinked slowly and finally chanced a glance below. Mary thought this might be a mistake, but the view of everything so distant beneath was evidently what caused him to finally say something.
"Oh…" he breathed, his mouth forming into a perfect, rounded circle. And then, "Far…"
"It's very far," Mary nodded, still keeping her voice down.
Unfortunately, the operator chose this moment to boost their burners again and Sam fussed as the sound died off.
"Shh…" Mary rubbed circles onto his belly and kissed his temple. "You're all right…"
To get his mind off it, she opened up a little more.
"Sam, see those white things?" she asked him, pointing with her long index finger. "That's called a cloud," she dictated distinctly. "Can you say that? Cloud?"
"C'owed."
Close enough.
"That's right; cloud," Mary told him. "It's where rain comes from."
Now he clued in and nodded in a very certain way.
"Wet."
Her child was brilliant. Dare anyone to say otherwise.
"You got it," she praised.
A sharp, briefly bitter gust of wind swept through the trees then, and carried to their balloon. Mary internally panicked, but it only caused the slightest sway and they were blown nowhere near off course – merely made to have goosebumps and Sam actually, miraculously, laughed.
"Cold…" he giggled, burrowing into the softness and warmth of Mary's jacket. "Cold…" he repeated.
"No kidding," she gave an involuntary shudder but rubbed his arms rapidly so he would not get too chilly. She knew the temperature had dropped slightly with the altitude, and she reached to zip his jacket but then remembered she'd done so already.
"Mama…?" he turned to face her, and Mary never got tired of hearing him say her name.
"Yes Sam?" she coaxed when he didn't continue.
She could've sworn he was studying her with the look in his huge blue eyes. Trying to get her number, trying to figure her out. She wondered if he ever would. For that matter, if she would ever get the same from him.
"Mama, fun?"
She could hear Carolyn in her head.
Bless his heart.
He wanted to know if she was having fun. Her. Two years old. Somewhere deep down, he'd known his mother had been worried.
Tears she knew would not fall remained just behind her eyes when she felt Marshall's hand on her back. She didn't have to turn around to know that he was smiling, that he'd been watching the whole time.
"Yes Sam…" she repeated without the question on the end.
She let one hand float off from supporting him and waited for Marshall to take it, which he did at once and squeezed in acceptance.
"Lots and lots of fun…"
She pecked three kisses on to his rosy pink cheeks, marveling in him being just two years old. Maybe if they stayed up here, dipping through clouds and sunshine, he wouldn't grow any older. He'd stay perpetually small. Forever.
"Happy birthday, Smush."
A/N: I went for a sweeter side this time. And from this point on, Sam's age goes in yearly increments rather than the six month (give or take) shifts. But beyond year four, the chapters get super long!
Anyway, enjoy the show tonight! Can't wait!
