(no subject)
By the time the weekend rolled around, Sam was quiet and moody at best, inconsolable at worst, and Veronica Mars didn't know what to do. It wasn't something she liked to admit often (or ever), but there was no pretending now that she knew what she was supposed to do or say when Sam demanded her parents. She'd tried to explain, but it just tied her stomach in knots to do so. Sam couldn't completely understand it yet; Veronica wasn't sure she did either.
She'd seen people come and go for years now, vanishing into the ether here, leaving her of their own accord back in Neptune, and loss had become a way of life long ago. That didn't mean it made sense. In times like these, she certainly didn't understand it. True, she'd known for years that, sooner or later, everyone would leave - even her, eventually - but Jim had seemed steady to her in a way few people ever did.
And now here she was, out on the beach with a child not yet three years old, trying to distract her with sandcastles and knowing that it couldn't entirely work. When Jim had named her Sam's other godmother months ago, she'd known this was a possibly, but she'd never really thought it through to this end, never imagined raising Sam in any capacity except as a slightly eccentric aunt figure. When she'd considered children, it had never really seemed like a possibility; she wasn't made for marriage and picket fences and raising a family, not anymore. It had never, in her head, come together like this. She wouldn't have wanted it to, but she had a responsibility now and she wasn't about to give Sam another lesson in being let down. Even when Sam seemed to grasp that they were gone, something normal here, she either couldn't or wouldn't yet accept they weren't coming back.
"Nice one," she said, eying a tower Sam was patting down. "That's pretty. Are you gonna make another?"
"Yes," Sam said decisively, pushing at Rembrandt's face as he came over to nose at the castle, "and then we show mommy."
I can't really blame her for being stubborn. I want them back, too, and it's tempting to think if we just push hard enough, we'll get our way. But I've learned this much around here - it just doesn't work that way. Nothing's that easy.
[Closed to new tags.]
She'd seen people come and go for years now, vanishing into the ether here, leaving her of their own accord back in Neptune, and loss had become a way of life long ago. That didn't mean it made sense. In times like these, she certainly didn't understand it. True, she'd known for years that, sooner or later, everyone would leave - even her, eventually - but Jim had seemed steady to her in a way few people ever did.
And now here she was, out on the beach with a child not yet three years old, trying to distract her with sandcastles and knowing that it couldn't entirely work. When Jim had named her Sam's other godmother months ago, she'd known this was a possibly, but she'd never really thought it through to this end, never imagined raising Sam in any capacity except as a slightly eccentric aunt figure. When she'd considered children, it had never really seemed like a possibility; she wasn't made for marriage and picket fences and raising a family, not anymore. It had never, in her head, come together like this. She wouldn't have wanted it to, but she had a responsibility now and she wasn't about to give Sam another lesson in being let down. Even when Sam seemed to grasp that they were gone, something normal here, she either couldn't or wouldn't yet accept they weren't coming back.
"Nice one," she said, eying a tower Sam was patting down. "That's pretty. Are you gonna make another?"
"Yes," Sam said decisively, pushing at Rembrandt's face as he came over to nose at the castle, "and then we show mommy."
I can't really blame her for being stubborn. I want them back, too, and it's tempting to think if we just push hard enough, we'll get our way. But I've learned this much around here - it just doesn't work that way. Nothing's that easy.
[Closed to new tags.]