Siblings, part 2

A couple of notes first:
- I have changed the main characters name to Sam.  I was torn between Tom and Sam in the beginning.  I decided on Sam originally, but because I was writing on my tiny iPhone screen in the middle of the night, my sleep deprived brain switched part way through.  Anyway.  It's been changed to Sam.
- I have given it a (lame) working title so that I don't have to keep calling it "Story".
- You can find part 1 here.
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Sam gathered his sweatshirt and his backpack as the plane taxied toward the gate. He powered up his cell phone as he joined the slow rush to the front of the plane. Up the jet-way, through the halls, across the lobby, down the escalator, through the sliding glass doors and past the cluster of bundled mid-westerners waiting patiently for their loved ones to appear. Since moving to California a decade ago, Sam had followed this path dozens of times. It always felt like coming home.

After grabbing his single piece of luggage from the carousel, Sam found a quiet corner and checked his phone. He wasn't surprised to find a message from his mother.

“Sam, honey, I'm going to be a little bit late. The traffic must be bad today. I left right at 3 o'clock, but I'm still about 20 minutes away. I'm sorry. I'll be there soon. Start thinking about where you want to go for dinner. Love you.” Sam checked his watch with a sigh. 4:36. If Mom said she was 20 minutes away, it was surely more like 30.

waiting inside. call when you get here. He sent the text to his mother and flipped his phone shut. It didn't make any sense to stand out in the cold waiting. He didn't see any open chairs, so he sat on the floor, propped up against his suitcase. He leaned his head back against the wall and idly watched the stream of people trickle by.

In his travels, Sam had come to realize that although people were largely the same everywhere, it was the details that set the regions apart. He figured he could identify the airports he frequented most often just by observing the beings who populated it. Vegas had the college kids and the retirees, both equally enthralled by the siren call of the slots. Denver had scuffed cowboy boots and worn jeans, much like Houston, but without the barely concealed defiance of the Lone Star State. Los Angeles had the movie stars, both real and imagined, shielded from the masses by their wrap around shades and their Ugg boots. But it was in Minneapolis where Sam found his people. There was something about these folks with their Scandi-who-vian stoicism and their flannel-lined barn jackets that resonated with him, no matter how long he was away.

One little girl, perhaps 3 years old, caught Sam's eye. She leaned forward slightly as she clung to the hand of the woman next to her. Her eyes were riveted on the top of the escalator. Although she stood perfectly still, the air around her seemed to crackle with potential energy. A man in a tan overcoat appeared at the top of the escalator, and she exploded into motion. “Dad-dy! Dad-dy! Dad-dy!” she chanted as she raced circles around the woman's legs. Perhaps it was the little girl's long, dark hair, or maybe it was her enthusiasm, but something about this little firecracker made him think of his sister.

As a small child, Karen could dominate any room. In a family of tow-heads, her dark, eastern European looks drew you in, but it was the radiance of her personality that captivated. Thick eye-lashes framed eyes that sparkled with untold jokes, and ruby lips curled into a perpetual grin. Her sturdy toddler limbs never ceased their quest for adventure. Even in sleep she moved endlessly, flailing her limbs in response to dream stimuli.  Sam remembered being exhausted following afternoons of "baby-wrangling" while his parents worked in the garden.

Sam was startled from his reverie by the buzz of his cell phone. “Hi, Mom,” he said. “Where are you?” He gathered his bags and headed toward the exit. An icy breeze swept over him as he stepped through the sliding glass doors.

“Hi, Sammy. I'm just pulling into the pick-up loop. Are you ready? 'Cuz you know how much I hate it when those security guys wave their flashlights at me.”

“Yeah, Mom. I'm ready.” He bit his tongue to stop himself from commenting on exactly how long he'd been ready. “Look for me at baggage claim 2. Are you in the Tahoe?”

“Of course, sweetie. What else would I be driving? Oh! I see you!” The line went dead in his ear as a maroon Tahoe pulled up to the curb in front of him. He waved to his mother through the windshield and opened the door to throw his bags into the back seat. He climbed into the passenger seat and leaned over to give his mother an awkward hug over the center console.

“I'm so glad you're here, Sam. I don't know what I'd do without you.” His mother held on to him for an extra beat and then let go abruptly. She grabbed the steering wheel and turned to check her blind-spot, but not before he noticed that she seemed to be blinking back tears.

“Well.” She said, emphatically. “So, are you hungry?”

“I could eat,” Sam said. “What do you feel like?”

“What about that Italian place I told you about? Some of the girls at work were raving about it again yesterday.” His mom paused. “But we'll need to make a quick stop first. I asked Karen to join us for dinner.”

The knot in Sam's stomach pulled just a little tighter.

(to be continued)