The sheets beside him were cold as Ron felt along the area where his wife had fallen asleep the night before. Her absence pierced his dream-hazed mind and he cracked open one eye and then the next to blink at the vacant spot.
"Mmh, sweetie?" His voice, rough and cracking, sounded loud in the shadowed room and a quick scan along with the answering silence confirmed he was alone. The clock by the bed displayed that it was six in red digital lines, still early, and it was what drove him from his cocoon of warm blankets to fumble and bump his way to the door in search of Judy.
The hall was empty and the apartment quiet with the peace of the morning hours. The kids slumbered on; the crack under Alex's door was dark and the large lump curled up on the living room couch only moved with quiet, even respirations. Soft incandescent light spilled from the kitchen, illuminating the opposite end of the hall. Ron padded his way toward it and found Judy at the table with a mug between her hands, the rich scent of coffee filling the air.
"Hey," he said in a hushed voice, shifting one of the chairs so he could sit beside her.
She was slow to respond as if coming out from the depths of a thought. "Oh... hi honey. What are you doing up?"
A kind smile lifted his lips. "I could ask the same of you."
Rather than reply, Judy's posture slumped at the question; head dipping low and expression falling.
"Couldn't sleep, huh?" he said with gentle measure. His fingers slipped between hers, pulling them away from the mug and into his grip. Her palm was warm from where it had touched the ceramic. "I'm surprised you were able to get any rest at all..."
"I didn't think I would either but I was exhausted. Not that sleep helped much." She grimaced and rubbed at her brow. "My mind keeps racing. There's so many things we have to do. I'm already having trouble getting myself going and the day has barely begun."
"Don't go shouldering this by yourself," he said gently. "We'll get through this together. One task at a time."
She hummed and brought the cup to her lips.
Ron watched for a moment before the aroma of the brewed grounds spurred him into getting his own. He went to the cupboards, rooting through them for what he needed.
"To the right of the sink." Judy pointed.
Following her guidance, Ron found an assortment of mugs and, selecting a fat green one, he poured in the rich brown liquid until it sloshed just below the rim. The coffee was full-flavored and strong, just how he liked it, and the first few mouthfuls were savored before he busied himself by refilling the reservoir to make another pot.
"What's on the to-do list?" he asked, thinking they could select something small from the itinerary. Completing a simple task could help them find strength to push forward with the rest.
"I need to take a look through Mary's things for the display after the funeral," Judy said, gaze in the direction of the master bedroom. "Trinkets. Photos. Any sort of keepsake will do. Items that reflect her life and how amazing she was."
Ron nodded along, making a mental note to locate some folding tables.
"We still need to select an urn and to decide on what music to play during the funeral. Then there's the catering. The obituary. The list just goes on and on." She shook her head. "And we haven't even touched on the arrangements we need to make for Alex."
"Such as?"
"Well, we'll have to get a school transfer. Figure out what she'll need to bring with her now and what can be sent for later. We need to speak to the landlord regarding the remaining lease on this apartment. Hopefully that can be settled right away but if not, I'm sure something can be worked out."
Knowing this topic had been coming, Ron took a seat again beside his wife. "So, she'll be coming to live with us," he said, not a question but as a matter-of-fact. "Do you think Ethan will object?" It was a cautious probe as Alex's father tended to be a sore spot of Judy's.
She shook her head. "He hasn't played any part in Alex's life so far so I don't see him starting now. Besides, it's been over ten years since Mary was last in contact with him so I'm not even sure how we'd let him know of her death…" She paused for a moment before huffing and taking on a look of determination. "No. Alex belongs with us. We're her closest family and Southgate was her home once. Now, it'll be her home again."
"There is the small matter of the government coverup in our garage," Ron reminded her, to which he earned a snort from his wife.
"If the government has a problem with our niece moving into our house so she can be loved and nurtured and grow up into a productive young woman whose taxes go toward paying their salaries, then they can kiss my ass."
The fierce reply would have made him chuckle had it not been for the sadness he could see lingering in Judy's eyes.
"Also," she continued, "our houseguest will understand. He's been very supportive of our family so far."
"Yeah," Ron agreed, scratching his chin lightly. "He's a good kid."
The room grew quiet and Judy busied herself with wiping away the ring her mug had made on the surface of the table. Ron watched her actions, not missing the beginning tremble of her lower lip.
"It's the right thing to do," she affirmed, breath beginning to hitch. "This way, Alex can finish school. We can make sure she stays healthy and get her help if she needs it. Make sure she's cared for… Just as Mary w-would want—"
"Sweetie," he whispered, moving closer to her as she stumbled over the words. His chest ached, mirroring what he saw playing across her face.
Blue eyes, swimming in fresh tears, lifted to meet his. "I can't believe she's gone," Judy choked. "That man… he s-stole my baby sister from me."
And then he was holding her again and willing his strength to be her own, as pain, hot and terrible, left them both shaking in its wake.
0-0-0-0-0
Sam wiped away the steam obscuring the mirror's surface and grimaced as an annoying twinge radiated down his neck. His fingers kneaded the tender spot and he gave his head several twists and turns trying to stretch it out with little effect.
He'd woken that morning in an odd predicament. The pillow that cradled his head overnight had somehow been tossed to the floor to lay useless against the carpet, while his neck subsequently became pressed at an unnatural angle against the overstuffed arm of the couch. This left his shoulder pinned in the crevice between the back and the cushions.
And here he'd been promised it was comfortable…
"Stupid couch," he muttered, digging through his duffle bag.
A hissed curse slipped past his lips as he came up short, realizing he'd forgotten to pack something as simple as a bottle of Advil.
The twinge came again, its little tendrils of electricity threading rapidly from one muscle to another. Sam's eyes darted about the bathroom seeking options. The mirror in front of him covered a wall cabinet and a quick feel along its rim revealed a small notch that allowed him to open the front. The cabinet behind contained three glass shelves holding an assortment of hygiene products and, to Sam's relief, multiple medication bottles of varying sizes.
Turning the bottles this way and that to read the brands scrolled across their labels, Sam selected one advertising fast pain relief and choked down two of the small blue tablets with a handful of water. As he was putting it back in its resting place, his attention was drawn to a cluster of orange containers with white caps, indicative of prescription medications, nestled off to one side. Alex's name was in bold print across their labels.
The strong prickle of curiosity was what made his fingers close around a bottle and he brought it close in order to read the smaller text that sat below her name.
Clozapine.
A slight tilt and shake showed it was half full of round white tablets. He skimmed the rest.
Haldol… Trazodone… Lorazepam… Lithium.
Five in total and none holding any sort of familiarity. It seemed a lot of drugs for just one person.
A bang came from the door and Sam jumped from the three heavy knocks that sounded in rapid succession. The bottle tumbled from his hand and bounced off the vanity. He grabbed for it with clumsy fingers, which just sent it spinning out of reach. It struck the wall and dropped to the linoleum where it rolled to a stop at the edge of the shower. By the grace of God, the cap stayed tightly adhered during the flight and the bottle managed to avoid a dunk in the toilet.
"Sam!" His dad bellowed from behind the wood. "You've been in there for over an hour! There are three other people in this house and only one bathroom."
"Yeah, Dad, I'll be out—" He scrambled to retrieve the bottle and put it back with the others only to almost knock the rest out of place in his haste. "Out soo—I'll be out soon!"
"Not soon. Now!" Came the irritable reply.
Everything returned the way it was, Sam opened the bathroom door a crack and came face to face with a dark scowl.
"Sixty-three minutes and you're not even dressed." Ron scoffed, nodding at Sam's toweled waist and otherwise bare form.
"It hasn't been sixty-thr—"
"I counted." Ron tapped his watch. "You'd better hope there's still hot water left in the building, buddy-boy."
Sam snorted and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Well, can I at least get dressed? Unless you want me walking the halls in just my towel. Two minutes. I just need two minutes and I'll be out."
His father gave a little shrug and turned his watch upward. "One minute fifty-nine, one minute fifty-eight…"
"Wait, I didn't mean literally," Sam huffed.
"One minute fifty-four—yes, literally—one minute fifty-three…"
The door slammed closed and Sam became a blur as he dodged about the bathroom grabbing his stuff, body twisting this way and that as he fought to pull his clothing on over damp skin. He was out just as his father's meaty fist raised to knock again.
"See, record time," Sam said in short, winded clips.
"Ah-huh." Ron brushed past. "Your fly's open by the way."
With an exhaled grunt and burning ears Sam quickly tugged the zipper to close his jeans. "Sixty-three minutes my ass—"
"Sixty-five now!" Ron's muffled correction came through the door.
Realizing the argument was lost, the teen gracefully retreated and padded down the hall toward the kitchen with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. Maybe he was spending too much time getting ready in the mornings but that didn't mean he was willing to admit to his parents that they'd been right all along.
He found his mother standing attentively at the stove, spatula in hand and eyes monitoring the bacon that sizzled and snapped in the pan.
"Morning, Mom." He greeted her with a peck on the cheek as he passed by on the way to the coffee pot. "Breakfast smells great."
"Morning, hun," she replied, carefully lifting out the bacon with a fork and setting the strips on white paper towel. "How did you sleep?"
"Pretty good." It was a lie but he knew she didn't need to hear him belly-ache about something as trivial as a stiff neck. Not when she had so much else on her plate.
With a coffee in hand, Sam grabbed for a piece of bacon and hoo-ed and haa-ed as he bounced it about in his palm, trying to keep the hot grease from searing his skin.
"Really?" Judy raised an unimpressed brow. "I just took that out of the pan."
The delicious pork morsel quickly disappeared inside his mouth with a satisfied hum. "Totally worth it."
"Sweetie, you may not care about third-degree burns but I do as your mother. So keep your fingers"—she waved away his second grab at the plate of bacon—"to yourself and go set the table."
The spatula presented a formidable opponent and, not wanting to be on its receiving end, Sam grudgingly obliged.
It didn't take all that long for the remaining food to cook but to Sam the wait still edged on agonizing. He was a growing teenage boy after all, which made eating one of the most important necessities in his life; far above breathing and only marginally higher than girls. Thankfully, his dad and Alex showed up just as the stove turned off. He was already seated, utensils at the ready, as the platter of eggs hit the table.
Alex gave his parents a hug before occupying the chair across from him. He greeted her with a muffled, pancake-filled-mouth "morning", which was returned as a small smile and nod.
Sam chewed thoughtfully as he watched Alex from his place across from her, unable to help but notice the disheveled state she was in. Her pajamas were heavily creased from sleep and her hair was twisted up loosely into an oversized clip that perched precariously off-center of her head. Several limp, erratic strands framed her face and dark under-eye circles gave a sickly pale tint to the surrounding skin. He could practically feel waves of misery radiating out from her even though her affect remained flat as she stared at the dishes on the table.
Sam glanced at his parents who were busy with their meals. They gave no indication they noticed what he had.
Alex poked the tines of her fork into an egg yolk repeatedly but made no move to actually eat it and, feeling he had to make good on the promise he made last night, Sam tried the first thing that came to mind.
"Uh… bacon?" he asked, offering the crispy plated meat to her.
There came the same smile as before as she accepted two pieces and proceeded to nibble away at them with lack-luster gusto. Dejected for being terrible at consoling, Sam took a piece himself before passing them down to his dad.
Fortunately, his awkwardness was cut short as his mother chose that moment to pipe-up.
"Alex, there is something important that your uncle and I wish to talk to you about," she began, making sure she had Alex's attention as well as catching Ron's eye before continuing, "and it involves a rather large decision on your part."
Mug partially raised to his lips, Sam paused, casting a curious look at his parents.
"Please know that the last thing we'd want to do is cause any further upheaval to your life, however, given the circumstances, you may have to leave Meaford."
"Okay..." Alex hunched lower in her chair, the meal forgotten in front of her.
A soft smile appeared on his mother's face but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "If you want, we can try reaching out to your father."
Ron shifted in his chair and spoke up. "But I thought—"
Judy raised her hand, her eyes darting his way briefly and, message received, Ron fell into silence.
Attention back on his cousin, Judy continued. "I'm not sure how much you know about your father, but he's a good man and he and your mother had a very good relationship together for many years. When they grew apart, the decision to separate was mutual and on amicable terms. Also, from what your mother told me, he was very happy whenever she let him know you were doing well."
"I... could be with my dad?"
Sam thought he saw a flicker of pain cross his mother's face but then she nodded and the smile was still there so he just chalked it up to his imagination.
"It's a good possibility," Judy replied. "Now, we've fallen out of touch with him over the years but your uncle and I will do everything in our power to get the two of you connected. If that's what you want of course." She cleared her throat and picked at a tiny piece of toast that lay on the table beside her plate, flicking the crusty flake onto a napkin. "If not, there is the option of living on your own, seeing as you're seventeen. You can apply at the courts for emancipation. It would take a lot of preparation in order for you to be approved but we can help you through that process as well..."
Alex shook her head, mouth set in a grim line. "No... no, I'm not ready to be on my own. I don't want that."
"Alright." Judy's posture relaxed slightly as she leaned against the table before repeating herself. "Alright. Honestly, I wasn't too keen on that option myself."
"Me neither," Ron said with a chuckle that died as soon as it started.
The laughter, ill-suited as it was, did seem to help dissipate some of the tension in the room, although Alex's expression remained guarded. Sam swirled his mug and sipped at the remaining liquid that was tepid at best. Beside him, his mother spoke on and he tried to listen with an impartial ear to the planning of a future that nobody asked for.
"I want you to understand that we love you, Alex. No matter what happens, we are here for you." Judy emphasized. "We're family. Your family. And that means there is a home for you, with us, in Southgate."
Sam promptly choked on his coffee.
He sputtered and coughed, fully aware of the glare his dad was aiming his way. Frantically, he waved his hands. "Sorry! Sorry… That went"—he cleared his throat—"down the wrong way there. Anyway, w-what were you saying, Mom?"
"I was trying to say—" Judy waited as Sam coughed several more times before continuing. "That we would love for you to live—"
It was Alex this time who cut her off. "Are you sure?" she blurted out, sitting erect in her chair and appearing the most energized Sam had seen since their arrival.
"Of course, sweetie." Judy cupped Alex's cheek. "Nothing is more important than family. We belong together."
Practically leaping from her seat, Alex grabbed his mother in a tight embrace.
"Do I take that as a yes?" Judy laughed; a wide, hopeful grin splitting her face as her arms wound themselves around Alex.
"Yes, yes!" Alex nodded against Judy's shoulder and then withdrew to give an enthusiastic hug to Ron.
"We're more than happy to have you with us, kiddo," his dad said against the mess of her hair.
When Alex returned to her seat, Sam could see she had started to cry again and it made him feel like the lowest piece of shit on Earth for his off-guard reaction.
Alex twisted her hands in front of her. "I just… I wasn't sure what was going to happen to me after the funeral. I mean, I did wonder if I could stay with you guys but I didn't want to assume and I didn't want to ask in case I overstepped…"
Sam's silence caught her attention.
"Is this okay with you too, Sam?"
Resisting the urge to shift in his spot under the naked hope in her eyes, he replied, not missing a beat. "Yeah, sure. Of course." It wasn't the most convincing statement but it seemed to work, if the relief on Alex's face was any indication.
Sam buried himself into his breakfast as his parents began spouting off everything they could do to the house to make Alex feel at home, and as soon as the last bit of egg was shoved into his mouth he excused himself and made a hasty exit to the living room. His phone lay where he'd left it overnight and he flipped it open. The sooner Bumblebee knew about Alex, the sooner they could work on smoothing out the fallout that was bound to happen. Perhaps the Autobot could be the one to break it to Corporal Matthews. Sam grimaced; not wanting to be in that particular line of fire.
The thought made him pause mid-dial. Bee mentioned he'd be monitoring incoming house calls in case trouble somehow found its way to Sam during the trip. What the Scout hadn't mentioned, however, was if the signal from his cell alone was enough for the bot to hightail it to his location.
Not wanting to chance it, he shut the phone with a loud snap and shoved it into a pocket.
"You know that was pretty smooth of you back there," spoke a male voice behind him.
Sam spun on his heel, face pinching in a scowl. "Yeah well, that was a hell of a bomb to drop without any warning," he retorted.
Ron sighed and crossed the room. "You must have known that Alex coming home with us was an option. Honestly, where else would she have gone?"
Scoffing, Sam threw up his hands. "Um, well maybe with her dad?"
"Keep your voice down," Ron ordered through clenched teeth, glancing back toward the hall. "The man is a stranger to her. How would you feel having to give up everything, to live with someone who knows nothing about you beyond your name and that you share DNA."
"It'd only be for what, like a year?" Sam pointed out. "She just needs a place to stay until then and after she can—"
"Can go to college? Get a job? Live on her own?" Ron listed. "I understand that, as a teenager, you think you know everything but guess what? Success in all of those things comes a lot easier when you have someone to help you. When you have guidance. And that's what Alex needs right now. Especially considering what she's been through."
"You're talking about more than just losing Aunt Mary, aren't you?" Sam asked, having heard bits of Alex's history from his mother. "You know, I don't think Alex is as fragile as you make her out to be."
Ron rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Sam, why you have to be so argumentative about this? I don't see what the problem is. Why you're so against it."
"Did it slip your mind that we were ordered not to tell anyone about him?" Sam hissed under his breath. "Remember? The whole threat of treason?"
A dismissive wave was cast in his face.
"It wasn't as if your mother and I were suddenly going to lose our minds and blurt out everything to her. Do you take us as complete idiots? Wait"—Ron held up a pointed finger— "don't answer that."
"Your words, not mine…"
"Thin ice, buddy."
The warning tone was blatant and Sam clenched his jaw shut to stop the further retort that was on the tip of his tongue.
Ron shook his head, moving toward the hallway. "Alex is living with us, whether you agree with it or not. Your… car will just have to stay the way it is. At least for the meanwhile."
"That's not very fair," Sam muttered under his breath.
"I know, but that's the way it is," Ron agreed softly, leaving Sam to stare after him.
0-0-0-0-0
The day of the funeral came quickly upon them. So wrapped up in the work and preparations, Sam hadn't even noticed how the time had flown by until he found himself sitting in the front pew of a church, gaze focused on a portrait displayed on the dais before him.
He studied it from his spot and swallowed the lump that continuously rose in his throat as the gentle smiling face of his aunt, captured within the white frame, overlooked the throng of those who came to wish her farewell. Family and friends surrounded him; each dressed in their best somber-hued clothing. They sat in silence, listening to the sermon recited by a pastor who stood in his place behind the pulpit. Occasionally a muffled sob or caught breath pierced the biblical passages and in response, the small man would acknowledge the sounds of grief by clasping his withered hands together while casting empathetic eyes toward the source.
Sam turned briefly to scan the crowd but found he only recognized a select handful of individuals and, even then, they were hard to place. His aunt had touched so many lives since she had left Southgate and he found it inspiring and terrible all at once, for now it was all at an end.
The lump returned; choking and with a foul taste in the back of his throat. It welled and constricted as he looked again at the picture of the woman who had shown him nothing but love and kindness. Every birthday came with a handwritten note and card from her. Every Christmas he received the practical gift of socks that hid a gift card tucked into one of the pair. His aunt cheered for him from the stands at his little league baseball matches, gave congratulations for every school accomplishment, and lavished him with tight hugs and hair ruffles at every visit.
And now she was gone and Sam couldn't remember if he'd told her he loved her the last time they'd spoken.
He must have made a noise for suddenly his father's hand was on his arm, squeezing gently. Quickly coughing and swiping at the tears that threatened to fall, Sam nodded in reassurance that he was okay and sat up straighter as the pastor addressed the crowd.
"On today, we desire to honor and remember the life of Mary. When the reality of death sets in and we are in loss of a loved one, one of the ways to work through our hurt and pain is to share stories in remembrance of the person and their positive influence on the lives they touched." The pastor spread his arms, palms upturned, making the purple vestment around his shoulders sway with the motion. "And so, I now invite the family members of Mary to share their stories with us so we may remember together. Miss Taylor, we would be honored…"
Alex rose from her place beside his mother and took stiff steps toward the pulpit, clutching sheets of paper against her chest. The pastor gave supportive words as she reached his side and then graciously withdrew to his own seat just off to the side of the dais. Quiet moments passed as the speech was laid out and the small microphone adjusted before a deep breath was taken and she began.
"My mother, Mary, was everything to me. A care provider. A guide when I lost my way. An immobile force that I could always depend on. She was my teacher, a leader… my biggest fan."
Sam smiled at this and several others gave soft chuckles as Alex paused, her own lips upturned in melancholy.
"She was kind and compassionate to everyone she met. Our door was always open and mom in turn always made sure to have homemade cookies available for whoever decided to drop by for a visit. She loved to dance when she thought nobody was looking, blared her 80's rock collection on the car stereo during long drives, and had the biggest selection of tea that would put even a grocery store to shame."
More kind laughter including a hitched one from his mother, who nodded in agreement.
"She was the kind of person who would sacrifice everything to make sure her family were happy—that I was happy—and because of this, I did my best to work hard at school, to help with managing the household, and to be good to others. I knew how much she cared about me and I wanted to make sure she was happy in return."
Alex paused as her eyes skimmed the speech in front of her and Sam could hear the crinkling of the paper, her fingers squeezing at their edges.
"My mom was only 44 when she… when she was suddenly taken from us and it's so hard to say goodbye. I wish that I had more t-time. I… I wish—"
It was like watching a flower wilt before him as Alex hunched over the pulpit, face in her hands as her cries reached his ears. The crowd echoed in turn with murmurs of sympathy, while Sam bowed his head and silently pleaded for the day to be over. The memories that kept surfacing, the sights and sounds he kept being witness to, was cracking what little composure he had left.
There came the creak of the pew as Judy quickly left her seat to join Alex on the dais where she embraced her and whispered what he felt were words of encouragement in her ear. The small but powerful gesture helped to calm Alex enough that she was able to push through the rest of Mary's eulogy and, once the last of her fragmented goodbyes to her mother was uttered, Alex allowed Judy to guide her back to her seat.
Sam didn't miss noticing the streaks in his mother's makeup. The redness of her eyes. He didn't miss how his father's sniffles had become clipped hiccuping sobs. Finally, he didn't miss how Alex resumed her wails from behind one hand placed over her mouth in an attempt to muffle the sounds.
He tried to shut it all out but then the pastor was there, guiding them into the lyrics of "Amazing Grace". It flowed from the surrounding speakers to fill the church with its mournful melody and this time, when Sam felt warmth begin to trail down his cheeks, he gave up the fight and allowed the tears to fall.
0-0-0-0-0
His piece of chocolate cake teased him from its precarious balance on the flimsy paper plate held in his hand. Dark fudge with whipped vanilla frosting made his tastebuds water but as his stomach still churned in his gut, he couldn't find the will to take a bite.
Sam blew through his nose in a snort.
"Sweetie?"
Jarred out of his not-so-deep thoughts, he realized his mother had been talking to him. They stood together in the hall rented for the funeral reception, looking over the display his mother had put together in memory of his aunt.
"Sorry, mom." He grimaced, running a hand through his hair. "You were saying something?"
One slender finger pointed to the album that lay open in front of them. "I asked if you remembered our trip to Six Flags. You were still pretty little so I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't." Judy smiled lovingly down at the photos.
His five-year-old self smiled back from them along with younger versions of his parents, Mary, and Alex. Rides and other scenic areas of the park decorated the backgrounds and Sam could vaguely recall having spent a very long time in a car traveling across the country.
He gave his head a shake. "Not all that much. Was it fun?"
"Oh yes," Judy replied, voice colored with nostalgia as she turned the page. "The whole trip was really more for us than you kids. It was the first time either of you got to go on a ride and watching your little faces light up and hearing your shrieks of laughter… It was just wonderful."
A smile pulled at his lips under the glow of parental admiration and, not wanting to appear too keen on hearing about himself, he speared a piece of the cake and shoved it into his mouth. Stomach be damned.
"You two did have a few tantrums, just like all little ones do, but for the majority of the time you both were so well behaved," she continued, flipping another page and then coming to a stop with a motherly coo. "Oh, and you were quite the nudist that trip. Always showing off your cute little tushie."
The cake almost lodged in his throat.
There, in large print and full color, was a picture of him, nude as the day he was born with his backside front and center. Pink ice cream dripped down one arm from the cone he held and blades of grass clung to a pair of pale cheeks. The grin he tossed over his shoulder at the camera was one of pure pride.
Sam blinked at it and then down the table to where two girls his age, girls from Alex's school, were browsing the display.
"I'm... going to go find Alex," he told his mother in a voice a little too high for his taste.
Judy smiled and tugged at the sleeve of his dress shirt; forcing him closer so she could plant a kiss against his cheek. "Okay, sweetie," she said, running her thumb over the glossy lipstick smear left behind on his burning skin. "I think I saw her over by the entrance."
A nod and quick "thanks" was all he could muster before walking away on rigid joints.
He found Alex exactly where his mother had said she would be; sitting alone at a table by the door with her hands in her lap and eyes following the crowd as they mingled around her. Occasionally someone would approach to engage in conversation but it was never too long before they were moving on and she went back to silent observation.
It didn't sit quite right with him and Sam swung by the buffet before making a beeline to her side.
"Hey," he said, kicking a folding chair closer to her and taking a seat. He held out one of the two plates he was carrying. "Cake?"
Alex regarded him for a moment with a slight tilt to her head.
"This is the second time you've offered me food to make me feel better," she said, noticing his tight smile and stiff posture. She took the plate from his hand.
"Oh… well yeah," he replied, stumbling over the words; her knowledge of his motives catching him off-guard. "Just, you know, let me know when it works. I was gonna try tacos next."
Another curious look was given his way.
It wasn't as though it was the most awkward thing he'd said before in his life but the following silence had him pulling at the suddenly tight collar of his shirt. He groaned inwardly, thinking it literally impossible for a single person to be so bad at this and yet… here he was.
Just as Sam started to rack his brain for anything remotely appropriate to follow his bumbling response, the corners of Alex's mouth twitched. He watched in utter disbelief as she started to chuckle.
"That's okay, Sam," Alex told him with a grin as she pulled her plate toward her and picked up the tiny plastic fork that lay on its edge. "I happen to like cake."
The relief that washed over him felt amazing and his smile returned; wide and natural. He picked up his own fork and scooped up some of his leftover frosting. "I'm glad to hear that," he said as he accompanied her in the simplicity of enjoying a sweet treat.
0-0-0-0-0
The van bounced as it hit a dip in the road and Sam held on tightly as he sat on the edge of his seat. Beside him, Alex remained asleep, undisturbed from the jostling car ride; her upper body leaning against the duffle bags that were stuffed between them. When she didn't rouse, he let out an exhale he hadn't been aware he'd been holding and resumed his watchful stare out the window.
Only two more intersections remained between them and their destination. Sam peered out the glass as familiar homes zipped by, faces only partially illuminated by the street lamps, and it wasn't long until the Vossler Avenue street sign appeared. His father turned the van a sharp left down the darkened road and Sam slid his hand to the release of his seatbelt, holding a finger lightly against the buckle.
There was another bounce of the vehicle as it entered the driveway and, as soon as it came to a complete stop near the front door, Sam whipped his belt off and leapt out, running down the driveway that wrapped along the side of the house.
"Hey!" his father called after him. "We have things to unpack!"
Sam skidded to a stop, twisting around to give a quick wave to Ron. "I know, I'll be right back!" His sneakers smacked against the pavement as he continued and he yelled over his shoulder. "I just gotta check something real quick!"
He had seen Alex sit up in the backseat and he broke into a cold sweat, hoping his parents would keep her occupied and away from the backyard for at least the next few minutes.
The main entrance to the garage was closed but its windows were lit with the flickering glow of a television. Barking sounded as he ran up to the side door and he threw it open to duck inside. The door shut with a heavy thud behind him.
Mojo, already at Sam's feet, yipped and danced on his hind legs as his tiny front claws dug into Sam's jeans; the chihuahua begging to be acknowledged. A happy whirr came from further inside the garage and Sam turned to face its maker.
"Welcome back," Bumblebee greeted from where he sat against the far wall.
"Hey Mo, hey Bee," Sam replied, a tad breathless. He patted the top of Mojo's wide head, which seemed to satisfy the pup enough to give one final bark before he trotted back to the bot where he circled about Bee's large feet.
Sam could make out a small green ball rolling between two of Bee's digits. It was held out toward the dog who started to shake from the excited whipping of his tail. Once he knew he had Mojo's attention, Bee flicked the ball into the air in a gentle arc and it came down to bounce against the padded floor, the chihuahua scampering after it.
"How was the funeral?" Bee asked as Mojo returned with the prize, dropping the ball so Bee could pick it up again.
Sam gave his head a shake, suddenly remembering the urgency of his arrival. "I'll tell you all about it later but right now we have a problem."
"What is—" Bee cut off suddenly, turning his head toward the garage door, gaze looking off into the distance. No doubt he was picking up the extra body on his sensors.
"My cousin came back with us," Sam explained. "She's going to be living here. It was my parent's idea and I only found out after we got to Meaford. I wanted to call and warn you but…" He trailed off, feeling that his reasoning on why he didn't alert Bee beforehand wasn't as strong of an excuse as it was when he first considered it.
Bee quickly rolled the ball along the floor away from him and, as soon as Mojo was out of distance, he transformed into his Camaro form with the familiar series of pulses, rumbles, and clanking of shifting metal.
"I'm sorry, man." Sam walked over to the driver's side as the window rolled down. Mojo, back again with the ball, sat down by the front tire; thin tail sweeping back and forth across the ground.
Bee's voice came through the radio, a slight static undertone to it. "Does she know about us?"
"No, nothing." Sam shook his head. "My parents have kept quiet and there's no way in hell I'm going to be the one to blab everything."
Bee hummed. "I'll assume then that Matthews doesn't know as well."
"No," Sam shuffled his feet, "and I don't really want to be the one to tell her either."
"Oh thanks…"
"In my defense, I've never seen her angry before but when I picture her angry in my head, it's scary. And this," he pointed toward the front of the house, "is going to make her angry. I don't want to experience that."
Air whooshed out the vents of the dashboard in what Sam took as a huff.
"And you think I do?" Bee asked.
"Well, I figured that she'd most likely catch me if I ran whereas you can go 200 miles an hour," he said, a lopsided grin accompanied the light jest as Sam tested Bee's mood. He hoped the Autobot wasn't actually mad at him for springing everything last minute. Irritated, sure, but hopefully not mad.
A rumbling whirr responded, one that Sam recognized it as amusement, and he thanked his lucky stars.
"I'll alert Matthews and Optimus," Bee finally offered, "and you'll tell Mikaela. She'll need to be in the loop as well. If anything comes about from this, I'll let you know. In the meanwhile, keep doing what you're doing. Not a word about us to your cousin."
"Done and done," Sam agreed with a nod. He glanced at the door, knowing he was likely testing the patience of his dad. "I should be getting back. Hey, how about we head out to the course tomorrow. To just hang out and stuff."
"I'd like that."
"Alright then." Sam smiled and patted the hood. "Have a good night, Bee."
"You too, Sam."
He scooped up Mojo and as he passed by the television, he paused; the screen showing an old kung-fu flick. "Hey," he called to Bee, "did you want the TV off?"
"Yes," the bot answered, his voice barely heard above a soft hum, almost a whine, from the engine. "It doesn't make much sense to keep it on, anyway."
The reply made him grimace and he felt guilt worming its way through his gut. Reluctantly he pressed the power button. The garage descended into silence that normally would have been peaceful but now all it seemed to do was emphasize a sense of emptiness.
Sam's voice echoed in the dark as he opened the door. "We'll have a good time tomorrow, you'll see," he said, casting Bee one last look.
The Camaro sat silent and still where he'd left it, the window now closed. Gone was any indication that moments before, the room had been lively and warm.
That was, until he had intruded.
And now, all that remained, was just a car.