It was Sam, after all.
MY DAY STARTED OUT EARLY DESPITE MY LATE NIGHT.
I woke up to the sound of Sam's stomach growling.
Keeping him fed had attained a new priority level, so I bounced up and cooked him breakfast.
And then, because cooking is something I do when I'm upset or nervous--and because it sometimes helps me think, especially if the cooking involves sugar--I indulged myself with a spate of cookie baking.
I made a double batch of peanut butter cookies, and while they were in the oven, I made chocolate chip, for good measure.
Sam sat under the table, where he was out of my way, and watched me.
I fed him a couple of spoonfuls of dough even though he'd eaten several pounds of bacon and a dozen eggs.
He had shared the eggs with my cat, Medea.
Maybe that was why he was still hungry.
I fed him some of the baked cookies.
I was in the middle of putting cookies into baggies when Adam called.
"Mercy," he said.
His voice was fuzzy with fatigue, his tone flat.
"I saw the light was on.
Ben told me what you said.
I can help you with that." Usually, I follow Adam's conversations just fine, but I'd had less than three hours of sleep.
And I was preoccupied with Samuel, which he could not know anything about.
I rubbed my nose.
Ben.
Oh.
Adam was talking about how the pack had screwed up our date.
Right.
I had to keep Adam away.
Just until I figured out some brilliant plan to keep Samuel alive .
.
.
And here before me was the perfect excuse.
"Thank you," I said.
"But I think I need a break for a few days--no pack, no .