Walking with Sam by Andrew McCarthy;

Author:Andrew McCarthy; [MCCARTHY, ANDREW]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hachette Book Group
Published: 2023-05-09T00:00:00+00:00

“That’s not a good idea”

268 miles to Santiago

I get the impression that it’s only because Eduardo has good impulse control that he refrains from giving Sam a good smack upside the head. Eduardo is thin, with a week’s growth of beard, wears a wool cap pushed back on his head, and is in possession of a strong work ethic and street English. Sam has just asked for his second cup of morning coffee in a “to go” cup.

“You’re too fancy for us,” Eduardo tells him by way of dismissal. “Too fancy.” Just a few minutes earlier, Sam had been slumped in a chair in the lobby of our hotel, scrolling his phone as I served him his first cup of coffee. He had been slumped in the same chair on our arrival while I checked us in. And when I ordered him a Coke, and when I asked about where we might find Sam’s daily hit of ice cream. Eduardo had watched it all without comment. He had also acted as our waiter at dinner. Eduardo does everything at his simple hotel, as well as at the albergue next door, the only two places to stay in Boadilla del Camino.

“We’re gonna keep you here for a few weeks,” he says to Sam. “No phone, just work.”

Sam offers a wan smile and gulps his coffee down.

That I wait on Sam too much is certain. Partly it’s out of pleasure, and in a large part it’s just easier in order to get things done more quickly and efficiently. Either way, it’s bad parenting and bone-deep behavior.

After Sam’s traumatic birth, he spent the first five days of his life in the neonatal intensive care unit. Sucking is one of the first signs of brain function and normalcy in a newborn—and for days, Sam didn’t. Lying in an incubator, he was connected by wires to beeping monitors. Sam was fed intravenously, but he needed to begin to eat on his own. For hours I sat with my son in my lap, trying to feed him with an eye dropper. On the third day, I thought I saw Sam swallow a drop I put in his mouth. I squeezed another, then another. Then the eye dropper was empty. Sam was eating. I was crying. And our dynamic was established.

Upstairs, a few minutes prior to the coffee incident, Sam lay under the covers. I told him I was leaving. It was just after 7:00 a.m., our previously agreed-on departure time. The heat was forecast to be even more intense today. An early start was imperative.

“So, you sleep,” I said. “I’ll see you down the road.”

“You said that’s not a good idea.”

“I don’t think it is. But I’m not looking for a fight, and it’s time to go. It’s just a few more days in the Meseta.”

I left.

“I’ll be there in five minutes,” Sam called as the door closed behind me.

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