#45: Reality’s Leftovers

Both Simon and I awoke early, not even daybreak, well before either Trent or Stella. We snuck down to the kitchen, me in my replacement civvies and Simon in his pajamas, clutching his stuffed dinosaur. I began to make us some pancakes. For a kid who’d nearly been blown to pieces by Arms of Krupp henchmen a mere twelve hours earlier, he hardly seemed traumatized at all—he seemed well-rested and cheerful, whereas I had hardly slept a wink. “I’m going to call her Dobie, Aunt Clarissa,” he said. “Dobie the Dinosword.”
     “How do you know she’s a girl?” I asked. “On second thought, don’t answer that; I want to go on thinking of you as an innocent kid for as long as I can.”