His head lolls, but the airport chair is too short and his head rolls down onto my shoulder. I brush the dark hair back from his brow and try to keep a tender smile from curling my lips. One of the things I love about this job is being there for him when he needs me, which is more and more often as time has gone by. These quiet moments of almost-intimacy on the road are a delight. I note that he cut himself more than usual shaving this morning. Did he sleep? His eyelids flutter.
"I'm here, Sam."