Heart Bones

TableofContents
HeartBones
ChapterOne
ChapterTwo
ChapterThree
ChapterFour
ChapterFive
ChapterSix
ChapterSeven
ChapterEight
ChapterNine
ChapterTen
ChapterEleven
ChapterTwelve
ChapterThirteen
ChapterFourteen
ChapterFifteen
ChapterSixteen
ChapterSeventeen
ChapterEighteen
ChapterNineteen
ChapterTwenty
ChapterTwenty-One
ChapterTwenty-Two
ChapterTwenty-Three
ChapterTwenty-Four
ChapterTwenty-Five
ChapterTwenty-Six
ChapterTwenty-Seven
ChapterTwenty-Eight
ChapterTwenty-Nine
ChapterThirty
ChapterThirty-One
ChapterThirty-Two
Acknowledgments
AboutColleenHooverCopyright?2020byColleenHoover
Allrightsreserved.Nopartofthispublicationmaybereproduced,distributed,ortransmittedinanyformorbyanymeans,includingphotocopying,recording,orotherelectronicormechanicalmethods,withoutthepriorwrittenpermissionofthepublisher,exceptinthecaseofbriefquotationsembodiedincriticalreviewsandcertainothernoncommercialusespermittedbycopyrightlaw
Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Allnames,characters,locations,andincidentsareproductsoftheauthors?imaginations.Anyresemblancetoactualpersons,things,livingordead,locales,oreventsisentirelycoincidental.
HEARTBONES
CoverDesignbyMurphyRae
InteriorFormattingbyAlyssaGarcia,UpliftingAuthorServices
KellyGarcia,thisbookisforyou,yourhusband,andyourhappilyeverafter.ONESummer2015
There’sapictureofMotherTeresathathangsonourlivingroomwallwhereatelevisionwouldgoifwecouldaffordthekindoftelevisionthathangsonthewall,orevenahomewiththekindofwallsthatcouldholdatelevision.
Thewallsofatrailerhousearen’tmadeofthesamestuffwallsinanormalhousearemadeof.Inatrailerhouse,thewallscrumblebeneathyourfingernailslikechalkifyousomuchasscratchatthem.
Ionceaskedmymother,Janean,whyshekeepsapictureofMotherTeresaonourlivingroomwall.
“Thebitchwasafraud,”shesaid.
Herwords.Notmine.
Ithinkwhenyou’retheworstofpeople,findingtheworstinothersbecomesasurvivaltacticofsorts.Youfocusheavilyonthedarknessinpeopleinhopesofmaskingthetrueshadeofyourowndarkness.That’showmymotherhasspentherentirelife.Alwaysseekingtheworstinpeople.Evenherowndaughter.
EvenMotherTeresa.
JaneanislyingonthecouchinthesamepositionshewasinwhenIleftformyshiftatMcDonald’seighthoursago.She’sstaringatthepictureofMotherTeresa,butshe’snotactuallylookingatit.It’sasifhereyeballshavestoppedworking.
Stoppedabsorbing.
Janeanisanaddict.Irealizedthisaroundtheageofnine,butbackthen,heraddictionswerelimitedtomen,alcohol,andgambling.
Overtheyears,heraddictionsbecamemorenoticeableandalotdeadlier.Ithinkitwasfiveyearsago,rightaroundwhenIturnedfourteen,whenIcaughthershootingupmethforthefirsttime.Onceapersonstartsusingmethregularly,theirlifespanshortensdrastically.IGoogleditintheschoollibraryonce.Howlongcanapersonlivewithmethaddiction?
Sixtosevenyearsiswhattheinternetsaid.
I’vefoundherunresponsiveseveraltimesovertheyears,butthisfeelsdifferent.Thisfeelsfinal.
“Janean?”There’sacalmnesstomyvoicethatcertainlyshouldn’tbepresentrightnow.Ifeellikemyvoiceshouldbeshaky,orunavailable.Ifeelsomewhatashamedatmylackofreactioninthismoment.
IdropmypurseatmyfeetasIstareintenselyatherfacefromacrossthelivingroom.It’srainingoutsideandIhaven’tevenclosedthefrontdooryet,soI’mstillgettingsoaked.ButshuttingthedoorandshelteringmybackfromtherainistheleastofmyconcernsrightnowasIstareatJaneanasshestaresatMotherTeresa.
OneofJanean’sarmsisdrapedoverherstomachandtheotherisdanglingoffthecouch,herfingersrestinggentlyagainstworncarpet.She’salittleswollenanditmakesherlookyounger.Notyoungerthanherage—she’sonlythirty-nine—butyoungerthanwhatheraddictionshavemadeherappeartobe.Hercheeksareslightlylessconcaveandthewrinklesthathaveformedaroundhermouthoverthelastfewyearslookasifthey’vebeensmoothedoutbyBotox.
“Janean?”
Nothing.
Hermouthishangingslightlyopen,revealingyellowsliversofchippedandrottedteeth.It’slikeshewasinthemiddleofasentencewhenthelifeslippedoutofher.
I’veimaginedthismomentforawhilenow.Sometimeswhenyouhatesomeoneenough,youcan’thelpbutlieawakeinbedatnight,wonderingwhatlifewouldbelikeifthatpersonweredead.
Iimagineditdifferently.Iimagineditwouldbemuchmoredramatic.
IstareatJaneanforanothermoment,waitingtoseeifshe’sjustinsomekindoftrance.ItakeafewstepstowardherandthenpausewhenIseeherarm.There’saneedledanglingfromtheskinjustunderneaththeinsideofherelbow.
AssoonasIseeit,therealityofthemomentslipsovermelikeaslimyfilmanditmakesmenauseous.Ispinaroundandrunoutofthehouse.ItfeelslikeI’mabouttobesick,soIleanovertherottenrailing,carefulnottoputtoomuchpressureonitsoitdoesn’tbucklebeneathmygrip.
I’mrelievedassoonasIgetsickbecauseIwasbeginningtoworryaboutmylackofreactiontothislife-alteringmoment.Imaynotbeashystericalasadaughtershouldbeinthismoment,butatleastIfeelsomething.
IwipemymouthonthesleeveofmyMcDonald’sworkshirt.Isitdownonthesteps,despitetherainstillpummelingdownonmefromtheheartlessnightsky.
Myhairandmyclothesaresoakingwet.Soismyface,butnoneoftheliquidstreamingdownmycheeksistears.
It’sallraindrops.
Weteyesandadryheart.
Iclosemyeyesandpressmyfaceintomyhands,tryingtodecideifmydetachmentisbecauseofmyupbringingorifIwasbornbroken.
Iwonderwhatkindofupbringingisworseforahuman.Thekindwhereyou’reshelteredandlovedtothepointthatyouaren’tawareofhowcrueltheworldcanbeuntilit’stoolatetoacquirethenecessarycopingskills,orthekindofhouseholdIgrewupin.Theugliestversionofafamily,wherecopingistheonlythingyoulearn.
BeforeIwasoldenoughtoworkforthefoodIbuy,thereweremanynightsI’dlieawake,unabletosleepbecausemystomachwouldbecrampingfromhunger.Janeantoldmeoncethatthegrowlcomingfrommystomachwasaravenouscatthatlivedinsideofme,andthecatwouldgrowlifIdidn’tfeeditenoughfood.EverytimeIgothungryafterthat,I’dimaginethatcatinmybellysearchingforfoodthatwasn’tthere.IfeareditwouldeatawayatmyinsidesifIdidn’tfeedit,sosometimesI’deatthingsthatweren’tfoodjusttosatisfythehungrycat.
Sheonceleftmealoneforsolong,Iateoldbananapeelsandeggshellsfromthegarbage.Ieventriedeatingafewbitesofstuffingfrominsidethecouchcushion,butitwastoohardtoswallow.IspentmostofmychildhoodscaredtodeaththatIwasslowlybeingeatenfromtheinsidebythatstarvingcat
Idon’tknowthatshewaseveractuallygoneformorethanonedayatatime,butwhenyou’reachild,timefeelsstretchedoutwhenyou’realone.
Iremembershe’dcomestumblingthroughthefrontdoorandfallontothecouchandstaythereforhours.I’dfallasleepcurledupattheotherendofthecouch,tooscaredtoleaveheralone.
Buttheninthemorningsfollowingherdrunkenreturn,I’dwakeuptofindhercookingbreakfastinthekitchen.Itwasn’talwaystraditionalbreakfast.Sometimesitwouldbepeas,sometimeseggs,sometimesacanofchickennoodlesoup.
Aroundtheageofsix,Istartedtopayattentiontohowsheworkedthestoveonthosemornings,becauseIknewI’dneedtoknowhowtoworkitforthenexttimeshedisappeared.
Iwonderhowmanysix-year-oldshavetoteachthemselveshowtoworkastovebecausetheybelieveiftheydon’t,they’llbeeatenalivebytheirinternalravenouscat.
It’stheluckofthedraw,Iguess.Mostkidsgetthekindofparentsthat’llbemissedaftertheydie.Therestofusgetthekindofparentswhomakebetterparentsafterthey’redead.
Thenicestthingmymotherhaseverdoneformeisdie.
BuzztoldmetositinhispolicecarsoI’dbeoutoftherainandoutofthehousewhiletheyretrievedherbody.Iwatchednumblyastheycarriedheroutonagurney,coveredwithawhitesheet.Theyputherinthebackofacoronervan.Didn’tevenbothertakingherinanambulance.Therewasnopoint.Almosteveryoneundertheageoffiftywhodiesinthistowndiesfromaddiction
Doesn’tevenmatterwhatkind—they’realldeadlyintheend.
Ipressmycheekagainstthecarwindowandtrytolookupatthesky.Therearenostarstonight.Ican’tevenseethemoon.Everynowandthen,lightningwillstrike,revealingclumpsofblackclouds.
Fitting.
Buzzopensthebackdoorandbendsdown.Therainhasslowedtoamistnow,sohisfaceiswet,butitjustmakeshimlooklikehe’sdrippingsweat.
“Doyouneedarideanywhere?”heasks.
Ishakemyhead.
“Needtocallanyone?Youcanusemycell.”
Ishakemyheadagain.“I’llbefine.CanIgobackinsidenow?”
Idon’tknowthatIreallywanttogobackinsidethetrailerwheremymothertookherlastbreath,butIdon’thaveamoreappealingalternativeatthemoment.
Buzzstepsasideandopensanumbrella,eventhoughtherainhasslowedandI’malreadysoakingwet.Hestaysastepbehindme,holdingtheumbrellaovermyheadasIwalktowardthehouse.
Idon’tknowBuzzverywell.Iknowhisson,Dakota.IknowDakotainsomanyways—allwaysIwishIdidn’t.
IwonderifBuzzknowswhatkindofsonhe’sraised.Buzzseemslikeadecentguy.He’snevergivenmeormymothertoomuchshit.Sometimeshestopshiscaronhispatrolthroughthetrailerpark.HealwaysaskshowI’mdoing,andIgetthefeelingwhenheasksthis,hehalfexpectsmetobeghimtogetmeoutofhere.ButIdon’t.Peoplelikemeareextremelyskilledatpretendingwe’rejustfine.IalwayssmileandtellhimI’mgreat,andthenhesighslikehe’srelievedIdidn’tgivehimareasontocallChildProtectiveServices.
OnceI’mbackinsidethelivingroom,Ican’thelpbutstareatthecouch.Itlooksdifferentnow.Likesomebodydiedonit.
“Yougoodforthenight?”Buzzasks.
Iturnaroundandhe’sstandingrightoutsidethedoorwiththeumbrellaoverhishead.He’slookingatmelikehe’stryingtobesympathetic,buthismindisprobablyworkingoutallthepaperworkthishasjustcausedhim.
“I’mgood.”
“Youcangodowntothefuneralhometomorrowtoplanthearrangements.Theysaidanytimeaftertenisgood.”
Inod,buthedoesn’tleave.Hejustlingersforamoment,shufflingfromoneunsurefoottotheother.Heclosestheumbrellajustoutsidethedoorlikehe’ssuperstitious,thentakesastepintothehouse.“Youknow,”hesays,creasinghisfacesohardhisbaldheadspillswrinklesoverhisforehead.“Ifyoudon’tshowupatthefuneralhome,theycandeclareitanindigentburial.Youwon’tbeabletohaveanytypeofserviceforher,butatleasttheycan’tstickyouwithabill.”Helooksashamedtohaveevensuggestedthat.HiseyesdartuptotheMotherTeresapaintingandthenhelooksdownathisfeetlikeshejustscoldedhim.
“Thanks.”IdoubtanyonewouldshowupifIheldaservice,anyway.
It’ssad,butit’strue.Mymotherwaslonely,ifanything.Sure,shehungwithherusualcrowdatthebarshe’sbeenfrequentingforalmosttwentyyears,butthosepeopleweren’therfriends.They’realljustotherlonelypeople,seekingeachotheroutsotheycanbelonelytogether.
Eventhatcrowdhasdwindledthankstotheaddictionthat’sravagedthistown.Andthetypeofpeopleshedidhangoutwitharen’tthetypetoshowupforafuneral.Mostofthemprobablyhaveoutstandingwarrants,andtheyavoidanykindoforganizedeventsintheoff-chanceit’saploybythepolicetodoawarrantround-up.
“Doyouneedtocallyourfather?”heasks.
Istareathimamoment,knowingthat’swhatI’llendupdoing,butwonderinghowlongIcanputitoff.
“Beyah,”hesays,pronouncingmynamewithalonge.
“It’spronouncedBay-uh.”Idon’tknowwhyIcorrecthim.He’ssaiditwrongsinceI’veknownhim,andI’venevercaredenoughtocorrecthimbeforethismoment.
“Beyah,”hecorrects.“Iknowthisisn’tmyplace,but…youneedoutofthistown.Youknowwhathappenstopeoplelike—”Hestopstalking,asifwhathewasabouttosaywouldinsultme.
Ifinishthesentenceforhim.“Topeoplelikeme?”
Helooksevenmoreashamednow,eventhoughIknowhejustmeanspeoplelikemeinabroadsense.Peoplewithmotherslikemine.Poorpeoplewithnowayoutofthistown.Peoplewhoendupworkingfastfooduntilthey’renumbinside,andthefrycookoffersthemahitofsomethingthatmakestherestoftheshiftfeellikethey’reatadisco,andbeforetheyknowit,theycan’tsurviveasinglesecondoftheirmiserabledaywithouthitafterhit,chasingthatfeelingfasterthantheychasethesafetyoftheirownchild,untilthey’reshootingitstraightintotheirveinsandstaringatMotherTeresawhiletheyaccidentallydie,whenalltheyeverreallywantedwasanescapefromtheugliness
Buzzlooksuncomfortablestandinginsidethishouse.Iwishhe’djustleave.IfeelsorrierforhimthanIdomyself,andI’mtheonewhojustfoundmymotherdeadonthecouch.
“Idon’tknowyourfatheratall,butIknowhe’sbeenpayingtherentonthistrailersinceyouwereborn.Thatrighttheretellsmehe’sabetteroptionthanstayinginthistown.Ifyouhaveanout,youneedtotakeit.Thislifeyou’vebeenlivinghere—it’snotgoodenoughforyou.”
Thatmightbethenicestthinganyonehaseversaidtome.Andit’scomingfromDakota’sdad,ofallpeople.
Hestaresatmeamoment,likehewantstosaysomethingelse.Ormaybehewantsmetorespond.Eitherway,theroomstayssilentuntilhenodsandthenleaves.Finally.
Afterheshutsthefrontdoor,Iturnandstareatthecouch.Istaresolong,IfeellikeI’minadaze.It’sweirdhowyourwholelifecancompletelychangeinthehoursbetweenwakingupandgoingtobed.
AsmuchasIhatetoadmitit,Buzzisright.Ican’tstayhere.Ineverplannedto,butIatleastthoughtIhadthesummerlefttoprepareformyexit
I’vebeenworkingmyassofftogetoutofthistown,andassoonasAugusthits,I’llbeonabustoPennsylvania.
IreceivedavolleyballscholarshiptoPennState.InAugust,I’llbeoutofthislife,anditwon’tbebecauseofanythingmymotherdidforme,orbecausemyfatherbailedmeoutofhere.It’llbebecauseofme.
Iwantthatvictory.
IwanttobethereasonIturnoutthewayI’mgoingtoturnout.
IrefusetoallowJaneantoreceiveanycreditforanygoodthingsthatmighthappeninmyfuture.InevertoldheraboutthevolleyballscholarshipIreceived.Ididn’ttellanyone.Isworemycoachtosecrecyandwouldn’tevenallowawrite-upinthepaper,oraphoto-opfortheyearbook.
Inevertoldmyfatheraboutthescholarship,either.I’mnotevensureheknowsIplayvolleyball.MycoachesmadesureIhadeverythingIneededasfarassupplies,equipment,andauniform.Iwasgoodenoughthattheyweren’tgoingtoallowmyfinancialsituationtopreventmefrombeingpartoftheteam.
Ihaven’thadtoaskmyparentsforasinglethingrelatedtovolleyball.
Itfeelsstrangeevenreferringtothemasparents.Theygavemelife,butthat’sabouttheonlythingI’veeverreceivedfromthem.
Iamtheproductofaone-nightstand.MyfatherlivedinWashingtonandwasinKentuckyonbusinesswhenhemetJanean.Iwasthreemonthsoldbeforeheevenknewhe’dgottenJaneanpregnant.Hefoundouthewasadadwhensheservedhimwithchildsupportpapers.
HecametoseemeonceayearuntilIwasfour;thenhestartedflyingmetoWashingtontovisithim,instead.
HeknowsnothingaboutmylifeinKentucky.Heknowsnothingaboutmymother’saddictions.Heknowsnothingaboutme,otherthanwhatIpresenttohim,andthat’sverylittle.
I’mextremelysecretiveabouteveryaspectofmylife.Secretsaremyonlyformofcurrency.
Ihaven’ttoldmyfatheraboutmyscholarshipforthesamereasonInevertoldmymother.Idon’twanthimtotakeprideinhavingadaughterwhoaccomplishedsomething.Hedoesn’tdeservetofeelpridefulofachildheputsafractionofhiseffortinto.Hethinksamonthlycheckandintermittentphonecallstomyworkareenoughtocoverupthefactthathebarelyknowsme.
He’satwoweeksoutoftheyearDad.
Becausewe’resofarapartonthemap,it’sconvenientforhimtoexcusehisabsenceinmylife.I’vestayedwithhimfourteendaysoutofeverysummersinceIwasfour,butinthelastthreeyears,Ihaven’tseenhimatall.
OnceIturnedsixteenandjoinedthevarsityteam,volleyballbecameanevenbiggerpartofmydailyroutine,soIstoppedflyingouttoseehim.I’vebeenmakingexcusesforthreeyearsnowastowhyIcan’tmakeourvisits.
Hepretendstobebummed.
Ipretendtobeapologeticandbusy.
Sorry,Brian,butamonthlychildsupportcheckmakesyouresponsible;itdoesn’tmakeyouafather.
There’sasuddenpoundingonthedoorthatstartlesmeenoughthatIletoutayelp.Ispinaroundandseethelandlordthroughthelivingroomwindow.Normally,Iwouldn’topenupforGaryShelby,butI’mnotreallyinapositiontoignorehim.HeknowsI’mawake.Ihadtousehisphonetocallthepolice.Plus,Ikindofneedtofigureoutwhattodoaboutthiscouch.Idon’twantitinsidethishouseanymore.
WhenIopenthedoor,Garyhandsmeanenvelopeashepusheshiswayinsidetogetoutoftherain.
“What’sthis?”Iaskhim.
“Evictionnotice.”
IfthiswereanyonebutGaryShelby,I’dbesurprised.
“Sheliterallyjustdied.Youcouldn’twaitaweek?”
“She’sthreemonthslateonrent,andIdon’trenttoteenagers.I’lleitherneedanewleasewithsomeoneovertheageoftwenty-one,oryou’regonnahavetomoveout.”
“Myfatherpaysherfortherent.Howarewethreemonthsbehind?”
“Yourmothersaidhestoppedsendingherchecksafewmonthsago.Mr.Renaldo’sbeenlookingforabiggerplace,soI’mthinkingImightletthemswitchto—”
“You’reanasshole,GaryShelby.”
Garyshrugs.“It’sbusiness.I’vealreadysenthertwonotices.I’msureyouhavesomewhereelsetogo.Youcan’tjuststayherebyyourself,you’reonlysixteen.”
“Iturnednineteenlastweek.”
“Eitherway,yougottabetwenty-one.Termsofthelease.Thatandactuallypayingtherent.”
I’msurethere’ssomesortofevictionprocessthathastogothroughthecourtsbeforehecouldactuallyforcemeoutthedoor,butit’spointlesstofightwhenIdon’tevenwanttolivehereanymore.
“HowlongdoIhave?”
“I’llgiveyoutheweek.”
Theweek?Ihavetwenty-sevendollarstomynameandabsolutelynowheretogo.
“CanIhavetwomonths?IleaveforcollegeinAugust.”
“Maybeifyouweren’talreadythreemonthsbehind.Butthat’sthreemonthsontopoftwomonthsandIcan’taffordtogiveanybodyalmosthalfayearoffreerent.”
“You’resuchanasshole,”Imutterundermybreath.
“Wecoveredthatalready.”
IgothroughamentallistofpotentialfriendsthatIcouldpossiblystaywithforthenexttwomonths,butNatalieleftforcollegethedayafterwegraduatedtogetaheadstartonsummerclasses.TherestofmyfriendseitherdroppedoutandareontheirpathtobecomingthenextJanean,ortheyhavefamiliesIalreadyknowwouldn’tallowit
There’sBecca,butshe’sgotthatsleazystepfather.I’dratherlivewithGarythanbenearthatman.
I’mdowntomylastresort.
“Ineedtouseyourphone.”
“It’sgettinglate,”hesays.“Youcanuseittomorrow.”
Ipushpasthimandwalkdownthesteps.“YoushouldhavewaiteduntiltomorrowtotellmeI’mhomeless,then,Gary!”
Iwalkintherain,straighttohishouse.Garyistheonlyoneleftinthistrailerparkwhostillhasalandline,andsincemostofusherearetoopoortohavecellphones,everybodyusesGary’sphone.Atleasttheydoifthey’recaughtupontheirrentandaren’ttryingtoavoidhim.
It’sbeenalmostayearsincethelasttimeIcalledmyfather,butIhavehisnumbermemorized.It’sthesamecellnumberhe’shadforeightyearsnow.Hecallsmeatworkaboutonceamonth,butmostofthetimeIavoidhiscall.There’snotmuchconversationthatcanbehadwithamanIbarelyknow,soI’drathernotspeaktohimthanspewlieslike,“Mom’sgood.School’sgood.Work’sgood.Life’sgood.”
Iswallowmythick,compactedprideanddialhisnumber.Iexpectittogotovoicemail,butmyfatheranswersonthesecondring.
“ThisisBrianGrim.”Hisvoiceisscratchy.Iwokehimup.
Iclearmythroat.“Um.Hey,Dad.”
“Beyah?”Hesoundswaymoreawakeandworriednowthatheknowsit’sme.“What’swrong?Iseverythingokay?”
Janeandiedisonthetipofmytongue,butIcan’tseemtogetitout.Hebarelyknewmymother.It’sbeensolongsincehe’sbeentoKentucky,thelasttimehelaideyesonher,shewasstillkindofprettyanddidn’tlooklikeashallow,stumblingskeleton.
“Yeah.I’mfine,”Isay.
It’stooweirdtellinghimshediedoverthephone.I’llwaitandtellhiminperson.
“Whyareyoucallingsolate?What’swrong?”
“Iworklateshiftandit’shardformetogettoaphone.”
“That’swhyImailedyouthecellphone.”
Hemailedmeacellphone?Idon’tevenbotherinquiringaboutthat.I’msuremymothersolditforsomeofthestuffthat’ssittingfrozeninherveinsrightnow.
“Listen,”Isay.“Iknowit’sbeenawhile,butIwaswonderingifIcouldcomevisitbeforeIstartcollegeclasses.”
“Ofcourse,”hesayswithouthesitation.“NamethedayandI’llbuyaplaneticket.”
IlookoveratGary.He’sjustafewfeetaway,staringatmybreasts,soIturnawayfromhim.“IwashopingIcouldcometomorrow.”
There’sapause,andIhearmovementontheotherend,likehe’scrawlingoutofbed.“Tomorrow?Areyousureyou’realright,Beyah?”
IletmyheadfallbackandIclosemyeyeswhileIlietohimagain.“Yeah.Janeanjust…Ineedabreak.AndImissyou.”
Idon’tmisshim.Ibarelyknowhim.Butwhateverwillgetmeaflightoutofherethefastest.
Icanheartypingcomingfrommyfather’send,likehe’sonacomputer.Hestartsmutteringtimesandnamesofairlines.“IcangetyouonaUnitedflighttoHoustontomorrowmorning.You’dneedtobeattheairportinfivehours.Howmanydaysdoyouwanttostay?”
“Houston?WhyHouston?”
“IliveinTexasnow.Haveforayearandahalf.”
That’sprobablysomethingadaughtershouldknowaboutherfather.Atleasthestillhasthesamecellphonenumber.
“Oh.Yeah,Iforgot.”Igripthebackofmyneck.“Canyoujustbuyaone-wayticketfornow?I’mnotsurehowlongIwanttostay.Maybeafewweeks.”
“Yeah,I’llbuyitnow.JustfindaUnitedagentattheairportinthemorningandthey’llprintyourboardingpass.I’llmeetyouatbaggageclaimwhenyouland.”
“Thanks.”Iendthecallbeforehecansayanythingelse.WhenIturnaround,Garythrowsathumbinthedirectionofthefrontdoor.
“Icangiveyouaridetotheairport,”hesays.“It’llcostya,though.”Hegrins,andthewayhislipscurlupmakesmystomachchurn.WhenGaryShelbyofferstodoafavorforawoman,itisn’tinexchangeformoney.
AndifI’mgoingtobeexchangingfavorswithsomeoneforaridetotheairport,I’dratheritbeDakotathanGaryShelby.
I’musedtoDakota.AsmuchasIdespisehim,he’sbeendependable.
IpickupthephoneagainanddialDakota’snumber.MyfathersaidIneedtobeattheairportinfivehours,butifIwaituntilDakotaisasleep,hemaynotanswerthephone.IwanttogettherewhileIstillhavetheopportunity.
I’mrelievedwhenDakotaanswersthecall.Hesoundshalf-asleepwhenhesays,“Yeah?”
“Hey.Ineedafavor.”
There’samomentofsilencebeforeDakotasays,“Really,Beyah?It’sthemiddleofthenight.”
Hedoesn’tevenaskwhatIneed,orifeverythingisokay.He’simmediatelyannoyedwithme.Ishouldhaveputanendtowhateverthisisbetweenusassoonasitstarted.
Iclearmythroat.“Ineedaridetotheairport.”
IcanhearDakotasighlikeI’manuisancetohim.IknowI’mnot.Imaynotbemorethanatransactiontohim,butit’satransactionhecan’tseemtogetenoughof.
Ihearthecreakofhisbedlikehe’ssittingup.“Idon’thaveanymoney.”
“I’mnot—I’mnotcallingyouforthat.Ineedaridetotheairport.Please.”
Dakotagroans,andthensays,“Givemehalfanhour.”Hehangsup.SodoI.
IwalkpastGaryandmakesuretoslamhisscreendoorasIleavehishouse
Overtheyears,I’velearnednottotrustmen.MostoftheonesI’veinteractedwitharelikeGaryShelby.Buzzisokay,butIcan’tignorethathecreatedDakota.AndDakotaisjustabetterlooking,youngerGaryShelby.
Ihearpeopletalkaboutgoodmen,butI’mstartingtothinkthat’samyth.IthoughtDakotawasoneofthegoodones.MostofthemjustappeartobeDakotasontheoutside,butbeneathallthoselayersofepidermisandsubcutaneoustissue,there’sasicknessrunningthroughtheirveins.
WhenI’mbackinsidemyownhouse,Ilookaroundmybedroom,wonderingifthere’sanythingIevenwanttotakewithme.Idon’thavemuchthat’sworthpacking,soIgrabafewchangesofclothes,myhairbrushandmytoothbrush.Istuffmyclothesinplasticsacksbeforeputtingtheminmybackpacksotheydon’tgetwetincaseIgetstuckintherain.
BeforeIheadoutthefrontdoortowaitonDakota,ItakethepaintingofMotherTeresaoffthewall.Itrytoshoveitinmybackpack,butitwon’tfit.Igrabanotherplasticsackandputthepaintinginit,thencarryitwithmeoutofthehouse.
TWO
Onedeadmother,onelayoverinOrlandoandseveralhoursofweatherdelayslater,I’mhere.
InTexas.
AssoonasIstepofftheplaneandintothejetbridge,IcanfeelthelateafternoonheatmeltingandsizzlingmyskinlikeI’mmadeofbutter.
Iwalklifeless,hopeless,followingsignsforbaggageclaimtomeetthefatherI’mhalfmadeof,yetsomehowwhollyunaccustomedto.
Ihavenonegativeexperiencesofhiminmymemories.Infact,thetimesIdidspendwithmyfatherinthesummeraresomeofmyonlygoodchildhoodmemories.
MynegativefeelingstowardhimcomefromalltheexperiencesIdidn’thavewithhim.TheolderIget,thecleareritbecomestomewhatlittleefforthe’smadetobeapartofmylife.IsometimeswonderhowdifferentIwouldbehadIspentmoretimewithhimthanJanean.
WouldIhavestillturnedouttobethesameuntrusting,skepticalhumanI’vebecomehadIexperiencedmoregoodtimesthanbad?
Maybeso.Ormaybenot.SometimesIbelievepersonalitiesareshapedmorebydamagethankindness.
Kindnessdoesn’tsinkasdeepintoyourskinasthedamagedoes.Thedamagestainsyoursoulsobad,youcan’tscrubitoff.Itstaysthereforever,andIfeellikepeoplecanseeallmydamagejustbylookingatme.
Thingsmighthavebeendifferentformeifdamageandkindnesshadheldequalweightinmypast,butsadly,theydon’t.Icouldcountthekindnessshowntomeonbothhands.Icouldn’tcountthedamagedonetomeevenifIusedthehandsofeverypersoninthisairport.
It’stakenmeawhiletobecomeimmunetothedamage.Tobuildupthatwallthatprotectsmeandmyheartfrompeoplelikemymother.FromguyslikeDakota.
Iammadeofsteelnow.Comeatme,world.Youcan’tdamagetheimpermeable.
WhenIturnthecornerandseemyfatherthroughtheglassthatseparatesthesecuredsideoftheairportfromtheunsecured,Ipause.Ilookathislegs
Bothofthem.
Igraduatedfromhighschooljusttwoweeksago,andwhileIcertainlydidn’texpecthimtoshowuptomygraduation,Ikindofheldoutasmallsliverofhopethathewould.ButaweekbeforeIgraduated,heleftmeamessageatworkandtoldmehebrokehislegandcouldn’tmaketheflightouttoKentucky.
Neitherofhislegslookbrokenfromhere.
I’mimmediatelygratefulthatIamimpermeablebecausethislieisprobablysomethingthatwouldhaveotherwisedamagedme.
He’snexttobaggageclaimwithnocrutchesinsight.He’spacingbackandforthwithoutalimporevenahitchinhisstep.I’mnodoctor,butIwouldthinkabrokenlegtakesmorethanafewweekstoheal.Andevenifitdidhealinthatshortamountoftime,surelytherewouldberesidualphysicallimitations.
Ialreadyregretcominghereandhehasn’tevenlaideyesonmeyet.
Everythinghashappenedsofastinthelasttwenty-fourhours,Ihaven’thadachanceforitalltocatchuptome.Mymotherisdead,I’llneverstepfootinKentuckyagain,andIhavetospendthenextseveralweekswithamanI’vespentlessthantwohundreddayswithsinceIwasborn.
ButI’llcope.
It’swhatIdo.
Iwalkthroughtheexitandintothebaggageclaimareajustasmyfatherlooksup.Hestopspacing,buthishandsareshovedinsidethepocketsofhisjeansandtheystaythereforamoment.There’sanervousnesstohimandIkindoflikethat.Iwanthimtobeintimidatedbyhislackofinvolvementinmylife.
Iwanttheupperhandthissummer.Ican’timaginelivingwithamanwhothinkshe’llbeabletomakeupforlosttimebyover-parentingme.I’dactuallypreferitifwejustcoexistedinhishomeanddidn’tspeakuntilitwastimeformetoleaveforcollegeinAugust.
Wewalktowardeachother.HetookthefirststepsoImakesureandtakethelast.Wedon’thugbecauseI’mholdingmybackpack,mypurse,andtheplasticsackthatcontainsMotherTeresa.I’mnotahugger.Allthattouchingandsqueezingandsmilingisnotonmyreunionagenda.
Weawkwardlynodateachotherandit’sobviouswe’restrangerswhosharenothingbutadismallastnameandsomeDNA.
“Wow,”hesays,shakinghisheadashetakesmein.“You’regrownup.Andbeautiful.Andsotall…and…”
Iforceasmile.“Youlook…older.”
Hisblackhairissprinkledwithsaltystrands,andhisfaceisfuller.He’salwaysbeenhandsome,butmostlittlegirlsthinktheirfathersarehandsome.NowthatI’manadult,Icanseethatheisactuallyahandsomeman.
Evendeadbeatdadscanbegood-looking,Iguess.
Thereissomethingelsedifferentabouthiminawaythathasnothingtodowithaging.Idon’tknowwhatitis.Idon’tknowthatIlikeit.
Hegesturestowardthebaggagecarousel.“Howmanybagsdoyouhave?”
“Three.”
Theliecomesoutofmymouthimmediately.SometimesIimpressmyselfwithhoweasilyfabricationscometome.AnothercopingmechanismIlearnedlivingwithJanean.“Threebigredsuitcases.IthoughtImightstayafewweeks,soIbroughteverything.”
Thebuzzersoundsandthecarouselbeginstoturn.Myfatherwalksovertowheretheluggagebeginsspillingoutoftheconveyorbelt.Ipullthestrapofmybackpackupontomyshoulder—thebackpackthatcontainseverythingIbroughtwithme.
Idon’tevenownasuitcase,muchlessthreeredones.Butmaybeifhethinkstheairportlostmyluggage,he’lloffertoreplacemynonexistentbelongings.
Iknowthatpretendingtolosenonexistentluggageisdeceitful.Buthislegisn’tbroken,sothatmakesuseven.
Alieforalie.
WewaitforseveralminutesincompleteawkwardnessforluggageIknowisn’tcoming.
ItellhimIneedtofreshenupandspendatleasttenminutesinthebathroom.IchangedoutofmyworkuniformbeforeIgotontheplane.Iputononeofthesundressesthathadbeenwrinkledupinmybackpack.Sittingaroundalldayinairportsandinacrampedairplaneseathasmadeitevenmorewrinkled
Istareatmyreflectioninthemirror.Idon’tlookmuchlikemyfatheratall.Ihavemymother’sdull,lifelessbrownhairandmyfather’sgreeneyes.Ialsohavemyfather’smouth.Mymotherhadthin,almostinvisiblelips,soatleastmydadgavemesomethingotherthanhislastname.
Eventhoughpiecesofmeresemblepiecesofthem,I’veneverfeltlikeI’vebelongedtoeitheroneofthem.It’sasifIadoptedmyselfwhenIwasakidandhavebeenonmyownsincethen.Thisvisitwithmyfatherfeelsjustlikethat…avisit.Idon’tfeellikeI’mcominghome.Idon’tevenfeellikeIjustlefthome.
HomestillfeelslikeamythicalplaceI’vebeensearchingformywholelife.
BythetimeImakeitoutofthebathroom,alltheotherpassengershavegoneandmyfatherisatacounterfillingoutaformformymissingluggage.
“Itshowstherewerenobagscheckedwiththisticket,”theagentsaystomyfather.“Doyouhavethereceipt?Sometimestheystickthemonthebackoftheticket.”
Helooksatme.Ishruginnocently.“Iwasrunninglate,soMomcheckedthemformeaftertheyhandedmemyticket.”
Iwalkawayfromthecounter,pretendingtobeinterestedinasignpostedonthewall.Theagenttellsmyfatherthey’llbeintouchiftheyfindthebags.
Myfatherwalksovertomeandpointsatthedoor.“Caristhisway.”
Theairportistenmilesbehindus.HisGPSsayshishomeissixty-threemilesaheadofus.Hiscarsmellslikeaftershaveandsalt.
“Afteryou’resettledin,Saracanrunyoutothestoretogetwhateveryouneed.”
“Who’sSara?”
Myfatherlooksoveratmelikeheisn’tsureifI’mjokingornot.
“Sara.Alana’sdaughter.”
“Alana?”
HeglancesbackattheroadandIseeatinyshiftinhisjawasittightens.“Mywife?Isentyouaninvitationtotheweddinglastsummer.Yousaidyoucouldn’ttakeoffwork.”
Oh.ThatAlana.Iknownothingaboutherotherthanwhatwasprintedontheinvitation.
“Ididn’trealizeshehadadaughter.”
“Yeah,well.Wehaven’treallyspokenmuchthisyear.”Hesaysthislikehe’sharboringsomeresentmentofhisown.
IhopeI’mmisinterpretinghistone,becauseI’mnotsurehowhecouldberesentfulofmeinanyway,shape,orform.He’stheparent.I’mjustaproductofhispoorchoicesandlackofcontraception.
“There’salottocatchyouupon,”headds.
Oh,hehasnoidea.
“DoesSarahavesiblings?”Iask.Iprayshedoesn’tThethoughtofspendingthesummerwithmorethanjustmyfatherisalreadyashocktomysystem.Ican’thandlemorevoltage.
“She’sanonlychild.Alittleolderthanyou,afreshmanincollege,homeforthesummer.You’llloveher.”
We’llsee.I’vereadCinderella.
Hereachestowardthevent.“Isithotinhere?Toocold?”
“It’sfine.”
Iwishhe’dplaysomemusic.Idon’tknowhowtohaveacomfortableconversationwithhimyet.
“How’syourmother?”
Istiffenwhenheasksthatquestion.“She’s…”Ipause.Idon’tevenknowhowtosayit.IfeellikeI’vewaitedsolongtobringitup,thatnowitwouldseemstrangeorworrisomethatIdidn’ttellhimonthephonelastnight.OrwhenIfirstsawhimintheairport.Andthenthere’sthelieItoldtheticketagent—thatmymotherwastheonewhodroppedmeoffattheairport
“She’sbetterthanshe’sbeeninalongtime.”Ireachdowntothesideofmyseattofindthelevertoleanitback.Insteadofalever,Ifindabunchofbuttons.Ipushthemuntilmyseatfinallystartstorecline.“Wakemewhenwegetthere?”Iseehimnod,andIfeelkindofbad,butIdon’tknowhowlongofadrivethisisgoingtobeandIreallyjustwanttoclosemyeyesandtrytosleepandavoidquestionsIdon’tknowthatIcananswer.THREE
Myheadisknockedaroundbyaviolentshake.Myeyesflickopenandmywholebodyjerksawake.
“It’saferry,”myfathersays.“Sorry,it’salwaysbumpyontheramp.”
Iglanceoveratmyfather,alittlediscombobulated.Buttheneverythingcomesbacktome.
Mymotherdiedlastnight.
Myfatherstillhasnoidea.
Ihaveastepsisterandastepmother
Ilookoutmywindow,buttherearerowsofcarsblockingmyviewineverydirection.“Whyareweonaferry?”
“GPSsaidtherewasatwo-hourtrafficbackuponhighway87.Probablyawreck.IfiguredtheferrytoBolivarPeninsulawouldbefasterthistimeofday.”
“Ferrytowhere?”
“It’swhereAlana’ssummerhouseis.You’llloveit.”
“Summerhouse?”Icockaneyebrow.“Youmarriedsomeonewhohasseasonalhomes?”
Myfatherchuckleslightly,butitwasn’tajoke.
WhenIlaststayedwithhim,helivedinacheapone-bedroomapartmentinWashingtonandIsleptonthecouch.Nowhehasawifewithmorethanonehome?
Istareathimamoment,realizingwhyheseemsdifferent.Itisn’ttheage.It’sthemoney.
He’sneverbeenarichman.Notevenclose.Hemadeenoughtopayhischildsupportandaffordaone-bedroomapartment,buthewasthetypeofdadwhousedtosavemoneybycuttinghisownhairandreusingplasticcups.
Butlookingathimnow,it’sapparentthatthesmallchangesinhimarebecausehehasmoney.Ahaircuthepaidfor.Namebrandclothes.Acarthathasbuttonsratherthanlevers.
Ilookathissteeringwheelandseeashinysilverleapingcatinthecenterofit.
MyfatherdrivesaJaguar.
Icanfeelmyfacecontortingintoagrimace,soIlookoutthewindowbeforehecanseetherepugnanceradiatingfromme.“Areyourichnow?”
Hechucklesagain.Ihateit.Ihatehearingpeoplechuckle;it’sthemostcondescendingofalllaughs.“Ididgetapromotionacoupleofyearsago,butnotthekindofpromotionthatwouldaffordmeseasonalhouses.Alana’sdivorceleftherwithafewassets,butshe’salsoadentist,soshedoesokayforherself.”
Adentist.
Thisissobad.
Igrewupinatrailerhousewithadrugaddictforamother,andnowI’mabouttospendthesummerinabeachhousewithastepmotherwhoholdsadoctorate,whichmeansheroffspringismorethanlikelyaspoiledrichgirlI’llhavenothingincommonwith.
IshouldhavestayedinKentucky.
Idon’tpeoplewellasitis,butI’mevenworseatpeoplingwithpeoplewhohavemoney.
Ineedoutofthiscar.Ineedamomenttomyself.
Iliftinmyseat,tryingtogetabetterlookoutthewindowtoseeifotherpeopleareoutoftheircars.I’veneverbeentotheoceanbefore,norhaveIbeenonaferry.MyfatherlivedinSpokanemostofmylifeanditisn’tnearthewater,soKentuckyandWashingtonaretheonlytwostatesI’vebeentountilnow.
“AmIallowedtogetoutofthecar?”
“Yep,”hesays.“There’sanobservationdeckupstairs.Wehaveaboutfifteenminutes.”
“Areyougettingout?”
Heshakeshisheadandgrabshiscellphone.“I’vegotsomecallstomake.”
Igetoutofhiscarandlooktowardthebackoftheferry,buttherearefamiliestossingpiecesofbreadathoveringseagulls.There’salsoacrowdatthefrontoftheferry,andattheobservationdeckaboveme,soIwalkuntilI’moutofmyfather’ssight.There’snooneontheothersideoftheboat,soImakemywaybetweenthecars.
WhenIreachtherailing,Igripitandleanforward,staringoutovertheoceanforthefirsttimeinmylife.
Ifclearhadasmell,thiswouldbeit.
I’mconvincedI’veneverinhaledpurerbreathsthantheonesI’minhalingnow.IclosemyeyesandbreatheinasmuchofitasIcan.There’ssomethingaboutthesaltinessoftheairthatfeelsforgivingasitmixeswiththestaleKentuckyairstillclingingtothewallsofmylungs.
Thebreezewhipsmyhairaround,soIgrabitinmyhandsandtwistit,thensecureitwiththerubberbandI’vehadonmywristallday.
Ilooktothewest.Thesunisabouttosetandthewholeskyisswirlsofpinkandorangeandred.I’veseenthesunsetcountlesstimes,butI’veneverseenthesunwhenit’sseparatedfrommebynothingmorethanoceanandasmallsliverofland.Itlookslikeit’sdanglingabovetheearthlikeafloatingflame.
It’sthefirstsunsetI’veeverfeltthisdeepinmychest.Ifeelmyeyesbegintotearupatthesheerbeautyofit.
Whatdoesthatsayaboutme?I’veyettoshedatearformymother,butIcansomehowspareoneforarepetitiveactofnature?
Ican’thelpbutbealittlemovedbythis,though.Theskyisswirledwithsomanycolors,it’sasiftheearthhaswrittenapoemusingclouds,communicatingherappreciationtothoseofuswhotakecareofher.
Iinhaleanotherdeepbreath,wantingtorememberthisfeelingandthissmellandthesoundoftheseagullsforever.I’mscaredthepowerofitallwillfadethemoreIexperienceit.I’vealwaysbeencuriousaboutthat—ifpeoplewholiveonthebeachappreciateitlessthanpeoplewhoseonlyviewisthebackporchoftheirshittylandlord’shouse.
Ilookaround,wonderingifthepeopleonthisferryaretakingthisviewforgranted.Someofthemarelookingatthesunset.Alotofthemremainintheircars.
IfI’mabouttospendthesummerwithviewslikethis,willIstarttotakeitforgranted?
Someonefromthebackoftheferryyellsthattherearedolphins,andwhileIwouldlovetoseeadolphin,Iliketheideaofgoingintheoppositedirectionofthecrowdevenmore.EveryoneatthefrontoftheferryarelikeJunebugstoaporchlightastheyflocktotheback.
Itaketheopportunitytomovetothefrontoftheferry.It’semptyandmoresecludedfromthecarsnow.
Inoticeahalf-emptyloafofSunbeambreadlyingonthedeckoftheferrynearmyfeet.It’swhatthekidshavebeenusingtofeedtheseagulls.Someonemusthavedroppeditintheirrushtogolookatthedolphins.
MystomachrumblesassoonasIseethebread,remindingmethatI’vehardlyeateninthelasttwenty-fourhours.Besidesabagofpretzelsontheplane,Ihaven’thadanythingtoeatsincemylunchbreakatworkyesterday,andeventhen,allIatewasasmallorderoffries.
Ilookaroundtomakesuretherearenopeoplelingering,thenIpickuptheloafofbread.Ireachmyhandinsideandpulloutaslice,thenputtheloafbackwhereitwasdiscarded.
Ileanagainsttherailingandtearthebreadoffinpieces,slowlywaddingthemupandputtingtheminmymouth.
I’vealwayseatenbreadthisway.Slowly.
It’samisconception,atleastinmycase,thatpeoplewholiveinpovertyscarfdownfoodwhentheydogetit.I’vealwayssavoreditbecauseIneverknewwhenitwouldcomeagain.Growingup,whenI’dgettotheheelofaloafofbread,I’dmakethatslicelastalldaylong.
That’ssomethingI’llhavetogetusedtothissummer,especiallyifmyfather’snewwifecooks.Theyprobablyhavefamilydinnerstogether.
Thisisgoingtobesostrange.
It’ssadthatit’sstrangethatI’llhaveregularaccesstofood.
Ipopanotherpieceofbreadintomymouthandthenturnaroundtogetalookattheferry.RobertH.Dedmaniswrittenonthesideoftheupperdeckinbigwhiteletters.
AferrynamedDedman?That’snotcomfortingatall.
Severalpeoplehavereturnedtothefrontoftheupperdecknow.Thedolphinsmusthavedisappeared.
Myeyesarepulledtoaguyontheupperdeckwhoisholdingacameralikeitmeansnothingtohim.Thestrapisn’tevenwrappedaroundhiswrist.It’sjustdangling,likehehasreplacementcamerasathomeifheweretodrophis.
Thecameraispointedrightatme.Atleastitseemsthatway.
Iglancebehindme,butthere’snothingthere,soI’mnotsurewhatelsehe’dbetakingapictureof.
WhenIlookbackathim,he’sstillstaringatme.Evenwithhimbeingalevelhigherthanmeonthisferry,mydefensemechanismskickinimmediately.TheyalwaysdowhenIfindsomeoneattractive.
Inaway,heremindsmeoftheguysbackinKentuckywhocomebacktoschoolafterbeingoutonthefarmallsummerintheassailingsun.Theirskiniskissedwithatan,theirhairfulloflightblondstreaksfromthesun’srays.
Iwonderwhatcolorhiseyesare.
No.Idon’twonder.Idon’tcare.Attractionleadstotrustleadstolove,andthosearethingsIwantnopartof.I’vetrainedmyselftoturnofffasterthanIcanbeturnedon.Likeaswitch,IfindhimunappealingasinstantlyasIfoundhimappealing.
Ican’tdecipherwhatthelookonhisfacemeansfromdownhere.Idon’tknowhowtoreadpeoplemyageverywellbecauseI’vehonestlyneverhadmanyfriends,butIdefinitelydon’tknowhowtoreadtheexpressionsofrichpeoplemyage.
Ilookdownatmyclothes.Mywrinkled,fadedsundress.Myflip-flopsthatI’vemanagedtokeepintactfortwoyears.Thehalfsliceofbreadremaininginmyhand.
Ilookbackupattheguywiththecamerathat’sstillpointedinmydirectionandsuddenlyfeelembarrassed.
Howlonghashebeentakingpicturesofme?
Didhetakeapictureofmestealingthesliceofdiscardedbread?Didhephotographmeeatingit?
IsheplanningonpostingthepicturesonlineinhopestheygovirallikethoseheartlessPeopleofWalmartposts?
TrustandloveandattractionanddisappointmentarejustmanyofthethingsI’velearnedtoprotectmyselffrom,butembarrassmentisstilloneI’mworkingon,apparently.Itenvelopsmeinawaveofheatfromheadtotoe.
Iglancenervouslyaroundme,recognizingthemixtureofpeopleonthisferry.ThevacationersintheirJeeps,wearingflip-flopsandsunscreen.Thebusinesspeoplestillsittingintheircarsintheirbusinesssuits.
Andthenthere’sme.Thegirlwhocan’taffordacaroravacation.
Idon’tbelongonthisferry,transportingthesefancycarsfulloffancypeoplewhoholdcameraslikethey’reascheapasaMoonPie.
Ilookbackupattheguywiththecameraandhe’sstillstaringatme,probablywonderingwhatI’mdoingonthisferrywithallhispeoplewhileIwearmyfadedclothesandsportmysplitendsanddirtyfingernailsandnastysecrets.
Ilookinfrontofmeandseeadoorthatleadstoanenclosedareaoftheferry.Idartforthedoorandduckinside.There’sabathroomtomyimmediateright,soIretreatintoitandlockthedoorbehindme.
Istareatmyselfinthemirror.MyfaceisflushedandIdon’tknowifit’sfromtheembarrassmentorfromthisintenseTexasheat.
Ipulltherubberbandoutofmyhairandtrytocombthroughthemessystrandswithmyfingers.
Ican’tbelieveIlooklikethisandI’mabouttomeetmyfather’snewfamilyforthefirsttime.They’reprobablythetypeofwomenwhogotosalonstogettheirhairandnailsdone,andtodoctorstosmoothouttheirimperfections.They’reprobablywell-spokenandsmelllikegardenia.
I’mpastyandsweatyandsmelllikeamixtureofmildewandgreasefromaMcDonald’sdeepfryer.
Itosstherestofmybreadinthebathroomtrashcan.
Istarebackatthemirror,butallIseeisthesaddestversionofmyself.MaybelosingmymotherlastnightisaffectingmemorethanIwanttoadmit.Maybemydecisiontocallmyfatherwasmadeinhaste,becauseIdon’twanttobehere.
ButIdon’twanttobethere,either.
Rightnow,it’sjusthardtobe.
Period.
Ipullmyhairbackup,sigh,andpushopenthedoortothebathroom.It’saheavydoormadeofthicksteel,soitslamswhenitshutsbehindme.I’mnoteventwostepsfromthebathroomwhenIpausebecausesomeonepushesoffthewallofthetinycorridorandblocksmywaytotheexit.
Ifindmyselflookingintotheimpenetrableeyesoftheguywiththecamera.He’slookingbackatmelikeheknewIwasinthebathroomandhe’sherewithapurpose.
NowthatI’mmuchclosertohim,IthinkIwaswrongabouthimbeingmyage.Hemaybeafewyearsolderthanme.Ormaybebeingrichjustmakesyouseemolder.There’sanairofconfidencethatsurroundshim,andIswearitsmellslikemoney.
Idon’tevenknowthisguy,butIalreadyknowIdislikehim.
IdislikehimasmuchasIdisliketherestofthem.Thisguythinksit’sokaytotakepicturesofapoorgirlduringaslightlyvulnerableandembarrassingmoment,allthewhileholdinghiscameralikeacarelessdouchebag.
Itrytotakeasteparoundhimtogettotheexitdoor,buthesidestepsandremainsinfrontofme.
Hiseyes(they’relightblueandstriking,sadly)scrollovermyfaceandIhatethathe’sthisclosetome.Heglancesoverhisshoulderasiftoensureourprivacy,thenhediscreetlyslipssomethingintothepalmofmyhand.Ilookdownandseeafoldeduptwenty-dollarbill.
Ilookfromthemoney,backuptohim,realizingwhathe’soffering.We’renearabathroom.HeknowsI’mpoor.
HeassumesI’mdesperateenoughtohopefullydraghimintothebathroomandearnthetwentybuckshejustslippedintomyhand.
Whatisitaboutmethatmakesguysthinkthis?WhatvibeamIputtingoff?
Itinfuriatesmesomuch,Iwadupthemoneyandthrowittowardhim.Iwasaimingforhisface,buthe’sgracefulandleansoutoftheway.
Igrabhiscameraoutofhishand.IflipitoveruntilIfindtheslotforthememorycard.Iopenitandpulloutthecard,thentossthecamerabackathim.Hedoesn’tcatchit.Itfallstothefloorwithacrashandapieceofitbreaksoffandfliesatmyfeet.
“Whatthehell?”hesays,bendingtopickitup.
Iturnaround,preparedtorushawayfromhim,butIbumpintosomeoneelse.Asifbeingtrappedinatinycorridorwithaguywhojustofferedmetwentybucksforablowjobwasn’tbadenough,nowI’mtrappedbytwoguys.Thisnewguyisn’tquiteastallastheguywiththecamera,buttheysmellthesame.Likegolf.Isgolfasmell?Itshouldbe.Icouldbottleitupandsellittoprickslikethese.
ThissecondguyiswearingablackshirtwiththewordHispaniconit,buthisandpanicareintwoseparatefonts.Itakeamomenttorespecttheshirtbecauseitreallyisclever,butthenIattempttostepoutoftheway.
“Sorry,Marcos,”theguywiththecamerasaysashetriestopieceitbacktogether.
“Whathappened?”theguynamedMarcosasks.
Forafleetingmoment,IthoughtmaybethisMarcosguymighthaveseenourinteractionandcametomyrescue,buthelooksmoreconcernedaboutthecamerathanme.IfeelalittlebadabouttossingthecameranowthatIknowitdidn’tbelongtotheguywhowasusingit
Ipressmybackagainstthewall,hopingtosqueezepastthemunnoticed.
Theguyholdingthecamerawavesaflippanthandinmydirection.“Iaccidentallybumpedintoheranddroppedit.”
MarcoslooksatmeandthenbackatDouchebagBlueEyes.There’ssomethinginthewaytheylookateachother—somethingunspoken.It’sasifthey’recommunicatinginasilentlanguageIdon’tunderstand.
Marcossqueezespastusandopensthebathroomdoor.“I’llmeetyouinthecar,we’reabouttodock.”
Ifindmyselfalonewithcameraguyagain,butallIwanttodoisescapeandgobacktomyfather’scar.TheguyisfocusingonMarcos’scamera,attemptingtopieceitbacktogetherwhenhesays,“Iwasn’tpropositioningyou.Isawyoutakethebreadandthoughtyoucouldusethehelp.”
Itiltmyheadwhenhemakeseyecontactwithme,studyinghisexpressionasIsearchforthetellinglie.Idon’tknowwhat’sworse—himpropositioningme,orhimfeelingsorryforme.
Iwanttorespondwithsomethingclever,oranythingatallreally,butIjuststandfrozenaswestareateachother.Somethingaboutthisguyisdiggingintome,likehisaurahasclaws.
There’saheavinessbehindhisreflectiveeyesthatIassumedonlypeoplelikemewerefamiliarwith.Whatcouldpossiblybesoterribleaboutthisguy’slifethatwouldleadmetobelievehe’sdamaged?
ButIcantellheis.Damagedpeoplerecognizeotherdamagedpeople.It’slikeaclubyoudon’twantamembershipto.
“CanIhavemymemorycardback?”heasks,holdingouthishand.
I’mnotreturningeverypicturehejusttookofmewithoutmypermission.Ibenddownandretrievethetwentyfromthefloor.Iputitinhishand.“Here’stwentybucks.Buyyourselfanewone.”
Withthat,Ispinandescapeoutthedoor.IgripthememorycardinmyhandwhileImakemywaybackthroughtherowsofcars,towardmyfather’s.
Iclimbintothepassengerseatandclosethedoorquietlybecausemyfatherisonthephone.Itsoundslikeabusinesscall.Ireachintothebackseatandslipthememorycardintomybackpack.WhenIfaceforwardagain,thetwoguysareexitingtheindoorsectionoftheferry.
Marcosisonhisphoneandtheotherguyisstaringdownatthecamera,stilltryingtoputitbacktogetherastheymaketheirwayovertoacarnearours.Isinkintomyseat,hopingtheydon’tseeme.
TheyclimbintoaBMWtworowsover,onmyfather’ssideofthecar.
Myfatherendshisphonecallandstartsthecar,justastheferrybeginstodock.Onlyhalfofthesunremainsdanglinginthesky.Theotherhalfisswallowedbyearthandsea,andIkindofwishtheseacoulddothesametomerightaboutnow.
“Saraissoexcitedtomeetyou,”myfathersays,startingthecar.“Otherthanherboyfriend,therearen’talotofregularsonthepeninsula.It’smostlyvacationhomes.Airbnb,Vrbo,thingslikethat.It’salotofnewpeoplecomingandgoingeveryfewdays,soit’sgoodshe’llhaveafriend.”
Thecarsbeginexitingtheferrybyrow.Idon’tknowwhy,butIglancepastmyfatherattheBMWasitcrawlspastus.Cameraguyislookingouthiswindownow.
Istiffenwhenhespotsmeinthepassengerseat.
Welockeyes,andhisstareisunwaveringastheypass.Idon’tlikethatmybodyisrespondingtothatstare,soIlookawayandglanceoutmywindow.“WhatisSara’sboyfriend’sname?”
Everythinginmeishopingitisn’tMarcosorhisdouchebagfriendwiththeprettyeyes.
“Marcos.”
Ofcourseitis.FOUR
Thehouseisn’tquiteasextravagantasIhadfeared,butit’sstillthenicesthouseI’veeverbeenin.
It’sbeachfrontandtwo-story,builthighuponstiltslikeeveryotherhouseinthisneighborhood.Youhavetoclimbtwosetsofstairsbeforeyouevenreachthefirstfloor.
Ipausewhenwereachthetopofthesecondsetofstepsbeforefollowingmyfatherintohishousetomeethisnewfamily.
Itakeintheviewforamoment.It’slikeawallofoceanandbeachinfrontofusasfarasIcansee.Thewaterlookslikeit’salive.Heaving.Breathing.It’sbothmagnificentandterrifying.
Iwonderifmymothereversawtheoceanbeforeshedied.ShewasbornandraisedinKentucky,inthesametownshediedinlastnight.Idon’teverrememberhearingstoriesofanytripsshetook,orseeingpicturesofchildhoodvacations.Thatmakesmesadforher.Ididn’trealizewhatseeingtheoceanwouldmeantome,butnowthatI’veseenit,Iwanteveryhumanonearthtoexperienceit.
Seeingtheoceaninpersonfeelsalmostasimportantashavingfoodandshelter.Itdoesn’tseemfarfetchedtobelieveacharityshouldexistforthesolepurposeofallowingpeopletoaffordatriptothebeach.Itshouldbeabasichumanright.Anecessity.It’slikeyearsoftherapy,rolledupintoaview.
“Beyah?”
Ilookawayfromthebeachandtowardawomanstandinginthelivingroom.She’sexactlyhowIpicturedher.Bright,likeapopsicle,withwhiteteethandpinkmanicurednailsandblondhairthatlooksexpensivelymaintained.
Igroan,butitwasn’tmeanttobeheardbyanyone.IthinkmaybeitcameoutlouderthanIexpectedittobecauseshetiltsherhead.Shesmilesanyway
Icamepreparedtowardoffhugs,soI’mholdingmyMotherTeresapaintingandmybackpackagainstmychestasabarrier.
“Hi.”Istepintothehouse.Itsmellslikefreshlinenand…bacon.Whatastrangepairing,butevenalinen/baconcombinationisanicechangefromthemildewandcigarettesmokeourtraileralwayssmelledlike.
Alanaseemsconfusedastohowtogreetmesinceshecan’treallyhugme.Myfathertosseshiskeysonamantelaboveafireplaceandsays,“Where’sSara?”
“Coming!”Ahigh-pitched,manufacturedvoiceisaccompaniedbythesoundofbouncingfeetonthestairs.AyoungerversionofAlanaappears,beamingasmilewithteethsomehowwhiterthanhermother’s.Shedoesthisthingwhereshehopsandclapsandreleasesasqueal,andit’shonestlyterrifying.
Sherushesacrosstheroomandsays,“OhmyGod,you’resopretty.”Shegrabsmyhandandsays,“Comeon,I’llshowyouyourbedroom.”
Shedoesn’tevengivemetimetoobject.Ifollowbehindherandherswishyponytail.She’swearingjeanshortsandablackbikinitop,butnoshirt.Shesmellslikecoconutoil.
“Dinnerisinhalfanhour!”Alanayellsfromdownstairs.
Sarareleasesmyhandandpushesopenadoorwhenwereachthetopfloor.
Ilookaroundmynewbedroom.Thewallsarepaintedacalmingblue,almosttheexactsamecolorastheeyesoftheguyfromtheferry.Thebedspreadiswhite,withagiantblueoctopusonit.
Thebedisperfectlymadewithanoffensiveamountofpillows.
Itallsmellsandlookstoocleantotouch,butSaraplopsdownonthebedandwatchesmewhileItakeintheroom.It’sthreetimesthesizeofthebedroomIgrewupin.
“Myroomisacrossthehall,”Sarasays,pointingatthedoorwejustcamethrough.Thenshetossesahandtowardtwodoorsthatopenuptoabalconywithanunobstructedviewofthebeach.“Thisroomhasthenicestviewinthewholehouse.”
Theremustbesomethingwrongwithitifithasthenicestview,yetnoonechoosestostayinthisroom.Maybethebeachistooloudandactiveinthemorningsandthisroomfeelsthebruntofit.
Sarahopsoffthebedandopensadoor,thenflipsonalighttoabathroom.“Notub,buttheshowerisnice.”Sheopensanotherdoor.“Walk-incloset.Someofmyshitisinthere,butI’llmoveitoutthisweek.”Sheclosesthedoor.
Shewalkstothedresserandopensthebottomdrawer.It’sfullofstuff.“Junkdrawer,buttheotherthreedrawersarefree.”Sheclosesitandsitsbackdownonthebed.“So?Youlikeit?”
Inod.
“Good.Idon’tknowwhatkindofhouseyouliveinnow,butIwashopingyoudidn’thavetodowngrade.”Shereachestothenightstandbesidethebedandgrabsaremotecontrol.“Alltheroomshaveeverything.Netflix,Hulu,Prime.Youcanjustuseouraccounts,they’reallreadytogo.”
Shehasnoideashe’ssayingthistoagirlwhohasneverevenhadatelevision.Ihaven’tmovedorspokensincewewalkedintotheroom.She’sdoingenoughforthebothofus,butImanagetomutter,“Thanks.”
“Howlongareyouherefor?”sheasks.
“Notsure.Thesummer,maybe.”
“Oh,wow.Awesome.”
Ipressmylipstogetherandnod.“Yep.Awesome.”
Saradoesn’tcatchthesarcasm.Shesmiles,ormaybeshe’sstillsmiling.I’mnotsuresheeverstopped.“Youcanmove,youknow.Putyourthingsdown.”
Iwalkovertothedresserandsettheplasticsackontopofit.Itossmybackpackonthefloor.
“Where’stherestofyourstuff?”sheasks.
“Theairportlostmyluggage.”
“Oh,God,”shesays,overlyempathetic.“Letmegetyousomeclothesuntilwecangettoastore.”Shehopsoffthebedandwalksoutoftheroom.
Ican’ttellifthesmileonherfaceisgenuine.IthasmeevenmoreonedgethanbeforeImether.I’dtrusthermoreifshewerestandoffish,orevenabitch.
Itfeelsalittlelikethegirlsatmyhighschool.Icallthemlockerroomgirls.They’reniceonthecourt,infrontofthecoach.Butinthelockerroom,it’sadifferentstory.
Ican’ttellifwe’reonthecourtorinthelockerroomrightnow.
“Whatsizeareyou?”sheyellsfromacrossthehall.
Imovetomydoorwayandcanseeherdiggingthroughadresserintheotherbedroom.“Atwo,Ithink?Maybeafour?”
Iseeherpauseforamoment.Shelooksacrossthehallatmeandnodstightly,likemyanswerdisturbedherinsomeway.
BeingasskinnyasIamisn’tsomethingIstrivefor.It’sbeenaconstantbattletryingtoconsumeenoughcaloriestomaintaintheenergyIneedforvolleyball,whilealsonothavingasmuchaccesstofoodasmostpeople.I’mhopingbeforetheendofsummer,Icanputonsomemuch-neededweight.
“Well,I’mnotafour,”Sarasays,walkingbackintomyroom.“Triplethat,actually.Butherearesomeshirtsandtwosundresses.”Shehandsmethestackofclothes.“I’msurethey’llbebaggyonyou,butthey’llworkuntilyougetyourstufffromtheairline.”
“Thanks.”
“Doyoudiet?”sheasks,lookingmeupanddown.“Orhaveyoualwaysbeenthisskinny?”
Ican’ttellifthat’sabackhandedremark.Maybeit’sbecauseshehasnoideawhyI’masthinasIam,soitfeelslikeaninsult.Ishakemyheadalittle,needingthisconversationtoend.Iwanttoshowerandchangeandjustbealoneforawhile.Shehasn’tstoppedtalkingsinceImether.
Shedoesn’tleave.Shewalksovertothebedandsitsdownagain,thistimefallingontohersideandrestingherheadonherhand.“Doyouhaveaboyfriend?”
“No.”Iwalktheclothestothecloset.
“Oh,good.There’saguyIthinkyou’lllike.Samson.Helivesnextdoor.”
Iwanttotellhernottobother,thatmenarescum,butsheprobablyhasn’thadthesametypesofinteractionswithguysthatIhave.Dakotawouldn’tofferagirllikeSaramoney.He’djusthitonherforfree.
Sarahopsoffthebedagainandwalksacrosstheroomtotheotherwallofcurtains.Shepullsoneopen.“That’sSamson’shouserightthere,”shesays,pointingoutthewindow.“He’ssuperrich.Hisdadisintheoilbusinessorsomething.”Shepressesherforeheadtotheglass.“OhmyGod,comehere.”
Iwalkovertowhereshe’sstandingandlookoutthewindow.Samson’shouseisevenbiggerthantheonewe’rein.There’sonelightoninhishouse,inthekitchen.Saraispointingtowardthatpartofhishouse.“Look.He’sgotagirlinthere.”
There’saguystandingbetweenthelegsofsomegirlwhoisseatedonhiskitchenisland.They’rekissing.Whentheybreakapart,Isuckinaquietgasp.
SamsonisDouchebagBlueEyes.Samsonisthesameguywhojusttriedtopaymetwentybuckstojoinhiminaferrybathroom.
Gross.
Butslightlyimpressive.Heworksfast.HewasonthesameferryIwason,whichmeanshejustgothometenminutesago.Iwonderifheofferedthatgirltwentybucks.
“That’stheguyyouwanttosetmeupwith?”Iaskaswewatchhistongueexploreanothergirl’sneck.
“Yeah,”Sarasays,matter-of-fact.
“Lookslikehe’staken.”
Saralaughs.“No,he’snot.She’llbegonesoon.Samsononlymakesoutwiththegirlswhoarehereforaweekend.”
“Hesoundsterrible.”
“He’syourtypicalspoiledrichkid.”
Ilookather,confused.“Butyouwanttosetmeupwithhim?”
“He’scute,”Sarasayswithashrug.“Andhe’sfriendswithmyboyfriend.Itwouldbecoolifweallcoupledup.Didstufftogether.SometimesSamsonfeelslikeathirdwheel.”
Ishakemyheadandwalkawayfromthewindow.“Notinterested.”
“Yeah,hesaidthesamethingwhenItoldhimyoumightbehereforthesummer.Butyoucouldchangeyourmindafteryoumeethim.”
Ihavemethim.AndI’mstillnotinterested.“ThelastthingIneedrightnowisaboyfriend.”
“Oh,God.No,”Sarasays.“Iwasn’tsayingyoushoulddatehimlikethat.Ijustmean…youknow.Summerfling,butwhatever.Igetit.”Shesighs,likethatsaddensher.
I’mjustwaitingforhertoleavesoIcanhavesomeprivacy.Shestaresatmeamoment,andIcanseehermindtryingtocomeupwithanotherquestion,oranythingelsetosay.“Mymomandyourdadwon’tbeverystrictsincewe’reoutofhighschool.Theyjustwanttoknowwhereweareatalltimes,whichisbasicallyinthefrontyard,atthebeach.Wemakeafireeverynightandhangout.”
Itjustoccurredtomethatthisgirlknowsmyfather’sparentingstylebetterthanIdo.Ihadn’tthoughtaboutthatbeforethismoment.IknowhisnameisBrian,hislegisn’tbrokenandhe’safinancialplanner.That’saboutit.
“Wheredoyouwanttogoshoppingfornewstufftomorrow?We’llhavetogotoHouston,alltheyreallyhavehereisaWalmart.”
“Walmartisfine.”
Saralaughs,butwhensheseesI’mnotlaughing,shebitesherliptostophersmile.“Oh.Youwereserious.”Saraclearsherthroat,lookinghellauncomfortablenow,andthismightbethemomentsherealizeswe’renothingalike.
Idon’tknowhowI’mgoingtolastanentiresummerwithagirlwhothinksWalmartislaughable.I’veshoppedatthriftstoresandgaragesalesmywholelife.Walmartisastepupforme.
IfeellikeI’mabouttocryandIdon’tknowwhy.
Icansensethetearscoming.Isuddenlymissmyoldhouseandmyaddictmomandmyemptyfridge.Ievenmissthesmellofhercigarettes,andIneverthoughtthatwouldhappen.Atleastthatsmellwasauthentic.
Thisroomsmellsrichandsophisticatedandcomfortable.Itsmellsfraudulent.
Ipointtowardthebathroom.“IthinkI’mgonnashowernow.”
Saralooksatthebathroomandthenatme.Sherealizesthat’shercuetoleave.“TrytohurrybecauseMomlikestohavedinnerasafamilyontheweekends.”Sherollshereyeswhenshesaysfamily,thensheclosesmybedroomdoor.
Istandinthecenterofthisunfamiliarroom,feelingmorethanalittleoverwhelmed.
I’mnotsureI’veeverfeltmorealonethanIdorightnow.AtleastwhenIwasinthehousewithmymother,itfeltlikeIfitthere.Webelongedtheretogether,nomatterhowmismatchedwewere.Welearnedtonavigateandweaveourlivesaroundeachother,andinthishouse,I’mnotsureIcaninvisiblyweavearoundanyofthesepeople.They’relikebrickwallsI’mgoingtocrashintoateveryturn.
Itfeelsclaustrophobic.
IwalkovertothebalconydoorsandIopenoneofthemandstepoutside.Assoonasthebreezehitsmyface,Istartcrying.It’snotevenadiscretecry.It’sanalmosttwenty-four-hour-delayed-sob.
Ipressmyelbowsontotherailingandcovermyfacewithmyhands,tryingtosuppressitbeforeSaradecidestopopbackintomyroom.Orworse,myfather.
Nothingworks.Ijustkeepcrying.FivewholeminutesprobablypasswhileIstandandlookoutatthewaterthroughblurry,tear-filledvisionwhileIsob.
Ineedtotellmyfatherwhathappenedlastnight.
Iinhaleseveralbreathsandwipemyeyes,musteringupeveryounceofresolveinmeinordertoregaincontrolofmyemotions.IeventuallywipeenoughtearsoutofmyeyessothatIcanactuallyappreciatetheviewoftheoceanunderthemoonlight.
ThegirlSamsonwaskissinginhiskitchenearlierhasjustcrossedoverthesanddunebetweenthetwohouses.Shejoinsacrowdofpeoplegatheredaroundafire.They’reallyoung,probablyintheirlateteensandearlytwenties.They’relikelyallrichandcarefreeandconfident.ThisisprobablywhatSaradoeseverynight,andthoseareprobablyherfriends.
MorepeopleIhavenothingincommonwith.
Idon’twantanyonetoseemeupherecrying,soIspintogobackintomyroom.
Ifreeze.
Samsonisstandingaloneonthebalconynextdoor.He’sstaringatmewithanunreadableexpression.
Istarebackathimfortwoseconds,andthenIwalkintothebedroomandclosethedoor.
First,heseesmeeatingbreadoffthedeckofaferry.Thenheoffersmemoney,andI’mstillnotsureofhismotivesbehindthatoffer.ThenIfindouthe’smynewneighborforthesummer.
Andnowhe’switnessedthefirstbreakdownI’vehadinyears.
Great.
Fuckthissummer.
Fuckthesepeople.
Fuckthewholecurrentstateofmylife.FIVE
IhadmyfirstkisswhenIwastwelve.
ItwasaSaturdaymorning.Iwasstandingatthestoveabouttocookscrambledeggs.Ididn’thearmymotherreturnhomethenightbefore,soIassumedIwasinthehousealone.IhadjustcrackedtwoeggsintoapanwhenIheardmymother’sbedroomdooropen.
Ilookedovertoseeanunfamiliarmanwalkingoutofherbedroomholdingapairofworkboots.Hepausedwhenhesawmeatthestove.
I’dneverseenhimbefore.Mymotherwasalwaysinanewrelationshiporanewbreakup.Ididmybesttostayoutofherway,whethershewasfallinginloveorgettingherheartbroken.Bothwereequallydramatic.
I’llneverforgetthewaythemanlookedatme.Itwasaslowgaze,fromheadtotoe,likehewashungryandIwasameal.Itwasthefirsttimeamanhadeverlookedatmelikethat.IinstantlyfeltthehaironmyarmsriseandIimmediatelyturnedmyattentionbacktothestove.
“Younotgonnasayhello?”themanasked.
Iignoredhim.IwashopingifhethoughtIwasrude,he’dleave.Butinstead,hewalkedintothekitchenandleanedagainstthecounternexttothestove.Iwasfocusedonstirringtheeggs.“Youmakeenoughforme?”
Ishookmyhead.“Weonlyhadtwoeggs.”
“Soundslikejustenough.I’mstarvin’.”
Hewalkedovertothetableandstartedputtingonhisworkboots.Ihadfinishedscramblingtheeggsbythetimehehadhisbootson.Ididn’tknowwhattodo.Iwashungryandtheywereouronlytwoeggs,buthewassittingatthetablelikeheexpectedmetofeedhim.Ididn’tevenknowwhothehellhewas.
Itransferredtheeggstoaplate,grabbedaforkandtriedtorushoutofthekitchentowardmybedroom.Hereachedmeinthehallway,grabbingmywristandpushingmeagainstthewall.
“Isthishowyoutreatguests?”
Hegrabbedmebythejawandkissedme.
Iwasstrugglingtogetawayfromhim.Hismouthwaspainful.Stubbledugintomyfaceandhesmelledofrottenfood.Ikeptmyteethclenchedtight,buthejustkeptsqueezingmyjawharder,tryingtoprymymouthopen.IfinallyhithimupsidehisheadashardasIcouldwiththeplateofeggs.
Hepulledbackandslappedme.
Thenheleft.
Ineversawhimagain.Ineverevenknewhisname.Mymotherwokeupafewhourslaterandsawthebrokenplateandtheuneateneggssittingatthetopofthetrashcan.Sheyelledatmeforwastingthelasttwoeggs.
Ihaven’teateneggssincethatday
ButI’veslappedplentyofmymother’sboyfriendssincethen.
IsayallthisbecausewhenIsteppedoutoftheshowerafewminutesago,allIcouldsmellwereeggs.Thesmellisstilllingering.
It’smakingmesicktomystomach.
There’saknockatmydoorassoonasIfinishdressing.Sarapeeksherheadinandsays,“Baptismaldinnerinfiveminutes.”
Ihavenoideawhatthatmeans.Aretheysuperreligiousorsomething?
“What’sabaptismaldinner?”
“MarcosandSamsonhavedinnerwithuseverySundaynight.It’sourwayofcelebratingtheendoftheinfluxofrenters.Weeattogetherandwashawaytheweekenders.”Sheopensthedoormoreandsays,“Thatdresslooksgoodonyou.Wantmetodoyourmakeup?”
“Fordinner?”
“Yeah.You’reabouttomeetSamson.”Shegrins,anditmakesmerealizehowmuchIhatebeingsetup,eventhoughthisismyfirstexperiencewithit.IstarttotellherIalreadymetSamson,butIkeepthattomyselfandhoarditalongwithalltheothersecretsI’vekeptinmylife.
“Idon’treallywantmakeup.I’llbedowninafewminutes.”
Saralooksdisappointed,butsheleaves.Atleastshetakeshintswell.
Afewsecondslater,Ihearvoicesdownstairsthatdon’tbelongtoanyofthepeoplethatliveinthishouse.
IstareatthewrinkledsundressI’vebeenwearingallday.It’swaddeduponthefloorbythebed.Ipickitupandchangebackintoit.I’mnotabouttogodownstairsandtrytoimpressanyone.Ifanything,I’dliketoachievetheopposite.
MyfatheristhefirsttonoticemewhenIreachthebottomofthestairsandmakemywayintothekitchen.
“Youlookrefreshed,”hesays.“Istheroomokay?”
Inod,tight-lipped.
SaraspinsaroundandIcanseethesurpriseinhereyesthatI’vechangedbackintomyoldsundress.Shehideshershockwell,though.Marcosisstandingnexttoher,pouringhimselfaglassoftea.Whenhemakeseyecontactwithme,hedoesadoubletake.It’sobvioushedidn’texpecttoseethegirlfromtheferryatdinnertonight.
Samsonmustnothavetoldhimaboutseeingmesobonthebalconyearlier.
SpeakingofSamson,he’stheonlyonewhodoesn’tlookatme.He’sdiggingthroughtherefrigeratorasSaraliftsahandandwavesittowardme.“Marcos,thisismystepsister,Beyah.Beyah,thisismyboyfriend,Marcos.”Shethrowsathumboverhershoulder.“That’sSamson,thirdwheelandnextdoorneighbor.”
Samsonturnsaroundandeyesmeforamoment.Heliftshischininanodashepopsopenacanofsoda.AllIcanthinkaboutashepressesthecantohislipstotakeasipishowIjustsawhismouthonsomeothergirl’sneck.
“WelcometoTexas,Beyah,”Marcossays,pretendinghedidn’tmeetmeontheferryearlier.
Iappreciatethatthetwoofthemaren’tmakingathingofit.
“Thanks,”Imutter.Iwalkintothekitchen,notsurewhattodo.Idon’tfeelcomfortableenoughtoaskforadrink,ortomakemyownplateoffood.Ijuststandstillandwatcheveryoneelsemoveaboutcomfortably.
AshungryasIamrightnow,I’mdreadingthisdinner.Forwhateverreason,peoplefeeltheneedtoalleviateawkwardnesswithquestionsnoonereallycarestoknowtheanswersto.Ihaveafeelingthat’showthisentiredinnerisgoingtogo.They’reprobablyallgoingtobebattingquestionsatmetheentiremeal,andIreallyjustwanttomakeaplateoffood,takeittomyroom,eatitinsilenceandthengotosleep.
Fortwostraightmonths.
“Ihopeyoulikebreakfast,Beyah,”Alanasays,walkingaplateofbiscuitstothetable.“Wesometimesliketoswitchthingsupandhaveitfordinner.”
Myfathersetsdownapanofscrambledeggs.There’sbaconandpancakesalreadyonthetable.Everyonestartstakingtheirseats,soIdothesame.SaragrabstheseatbetweenMarcosandhermother,whichmeansI’mleftwiththeseatnexttomyfather.Samsonisthelasttosit,andhepauseswhenherealizeshe’sseatednexttome.Hesitsreluctantly.Maybeit’sjustme,butitseemshe’stryingtosubtlyshifthisattentionawayfromme.
Everyonebeginspassingfoodaround.Iskiptheeggs,naturally,butthesmellisoverpoweringalltheotherfoods.MyfatherstartsinonthequestionsassoonasItakemyfirstbiteofapancake.
“Whathaveyoubeenuptosincegraduation?”
Iswallow,thensay,“Work,sleep,repeat.”
“Whatdoyoudo?”Saraasks.Sheasksthatinarichway.Not,“Wheredoyouwork,”but“Whatdoyoudo,”likeit’ssomekindofskill.
“I’macashieratMcDonald’s.”
Icantellshe’stakenaback.“Oh,”shesays.“Fun.”
“Ithinkit’sgreatthatyouchosetoworkwhilestillinhighschool,”Alanasays.
“Itwasn’tachoice.Ihadtoeat.”
AlanaclearsherthroatandIrealizemyhonestresponsemadeheruncomfortable.Ifthatbothersher,Iwonderhowshe’sgoingtotakethenewsthatmymotherdiedofanoverdose?
Myfathertriestoskipoverthemomentandsays,“Iguessyouchangedyourmindaboutsummercourses.Youstartinginthefallnow?”
Thatquestionconfusesme.“I’mnotenrolledinsummercourses.”
“Oh.YourmomsaidyouneededsummertuitionwhenIsenthermoneytocoverthefall.”
Mymotheraskedhimfortuition?
IearnedafullridetoPennState.Idon’tevenhavetopaytuition.
HowmuchdidhegivemymotherthatIneverevenknewabout?TherewasobviouslyacellphoneshippedtomeatsomepointthatIneverreceived.AndnowIfindoutsheaskedhimfortuitiontoaneducationsheneverevencaredenoughtoaskmeabout.
“Yeah,”Isay,tryingtocomeupwithanexcuseastowhyI’mhereinTexasandnotinthesummerclasseshepaidfor.“Isigneduptoolate.Theclasseswerefull.”
Isuddenlyhavenoappetiteatall.IcanbarelyfinishthesecondbiteofpancakeItook.
Mymotherneveraskedmeaboutcollegeatall.Yetsheaskedmyfatherfortuitionmoneythatprobablyendedupinaslotmachineatacasino,orrunningthroughtheveininherarm.Andhepaiditwithoutquestion.Ifhewouldhavejustaskedme,IwouldhavetoldhimIcouldhavegonetocommunitycollegeforfree.ButIdidn’twanttostayinthattown.IneededasfarawayfrommymotherasIcouldget.
Iguessthatwishcametrue.
Iputdownmyfork.IfeellikeI’mabouttobesick.
Sarasetsherforkdown,too.Shetakesasipofhertea,watchingme.
“Doyouknowwhatyou’regoingtomajorin?”Alanaasks.
Ishakemyheadandpickupmyfork,justsoIcanpretendtobeinterestedineating.InoticeSarapicksupherforkassoonasIdo.“I’mnotsureyet,”Isay.
Ipokeatpiecesofpancake,butdon’tactuallyputapieceinmymouth.Saradoesthesame.
Iputdownmyfork.SodoesSara.
Moreconversationpassesaroundthetable,butIignoremostofitwhenIcan.Ican’tstopfocusingonthefactthatSaraisfollowingmyeverymovewhiletryingtobediscreetaboutit.
I’mgoingtohavetobecognizantofthisallsummer.IthinkthegirlmightneedtobeinformedthatsheshouldeatwhenshefeelslikeeatingandnotbaseherfoodintakearoundhowmuchIeat.
Imakesuretoeatafewbites,eventhoughI’mnauseousandnervousandeverybiteisastruggle.
Luckily,it’saquickmeal.Twentyminutesatmost.Samsonsaidnothingtheentiretimeheate.Nooneactedlikethiswasabnormal.Hopefullyhe’salwaysthisquiet.It’llbeeasiertopaylessattentiontohim.
“BeyahneedssomestufffromWalmart,”Sarasays.“Canwegotonight?”
Idon’twanttogotonight.Iwanttosleep.
Myfatherpullsseveralone-hundred-dollarbillsoutofhiswalletandhandsthemtome.
Ichangedmymind.IwanttogotoWalmart.
“YoushouldwaituntiltomorrowandtakehersomewherebetterinHouston,”Alanasuggests.
“Walmartisfine,”Isay.“Idon’tneedmuch.”
“Getoneofthoseprepaidphoneswhileyou’rethere,”myfathersays,handingmeevenmoremoney.
Myeyesarewide.I’veneverheldthismuchmoneyinmylife.There’sprobablysixhundreddollarsinmyhandsrightnow.
“Youdriving?”SarasaystoMarcos
“Sure.”
Isuddenlydon’twanttogoagainifthatmeansMarcosandSamsonarecoming.
“I’mnotgoing,”Samsonsaysashepicksuphisplateandwalksittothesink.“I’mtired.”
Well.NowthatSamsonisn’tgoing,Iwanttogo.
“Don’tberude,”Sarasays.“You’recoming.”
“Yeah,you’recoming,”Marcosadds.
IcanseeSamsonglanceatmeoutofthecornerofhiseye.AtleastheseemsasdisinterestedinmeasIaminhim.Sarastartswalkingtowardthedoor.
“Letmegrabsomeshoes,”Imutter,andheadbackupstairs.
Apparently,thereisn’taWalmartonBolivarPeninsula,whichmeansyouhavetotaketheferrytoGalvestonIsland.Itmakesnosensetome.Youhavetotakeaferryfromthemainlandtoanislandtodoanyshopping.Thisplaceisconfusing.
Theferrytakesapproximatelytwentyminutestogetfromheretothere.AssoonasMarcosparkedthecar,everyonegotout.SaranoticedIhadn’topenedmydoor,sosheopeneditforme.“Comeon,let’sgotothetopdeck,”shesaid.
Itwasn’treallyaninvitesomuchasacommand.
We’vebeenstandinguphereforlessthanfiveminutesandSaraandMarcoshavealreadysnuckoff,leavingmealonewithSamson.It’sgettinglate,probablyaroundninethirty,whichmakesforamostlyemptyferry.We’rebothstaringoutoverthewater,pretendingthisisn’tawkwardatall.Butitis,becauseIdon’tknowwhattosay.Ihavenothingincommonwiththisguy.Hehasnothingincommonwithme.We’vealreadyhadtwoless-than-stellarinteractionssinceIarrivedafewhoursago.That’stwomorethanI’dlike.
“Igetthefeelingthey’retryingtosetusup,”Samsonsays.
Iglanceoverathim,buthe’sstaringoutatthewater.“It’snotafeeling.It’safact.”
Henods,butsaysnothing.Idon’tknowwhyhebroughtitup.Maybetocleartheair.Ormaybehe’sentertainingtheidea.
“Justsoyouknow,I’mnotinterested,”Isay.“AndnotthekindofnotinterestedwhereIhopeyoustillpursuemebecauseIlikegames.I’mlegitnotinterested.Notjustinyou,butinpeopleingeneral,really.”
Hesmirks,butstilldoesn’tlookoveratme.It’slikehe’stoogoodforeyecontact.“Idon’trememberexpressingmyinterest,”hesayscoolly.
“Youdidn’tnotexpressinterest,soI’mputtingitoutthere.Justsowe’reclear.”
Hiseyesfindminewithaslowturnofhishead.“Thanksforclearingupsomethingthatwasn’tevenconfusinginthefirstplace.”
MyGod,heisgood-looking.Evenwhenhe’sbeinganasshole.
Icanfeelmycheeksburning.Iquicklyglanceaway,notsurehowtocomebackfromthis.EveryencounterI’vehadwithhimhasbeenhumiliatingandI’mnotsureifthat’shisfaultormine
Ithinkitmightbemineforallowingmyselftogetembarrassedbyhim.Youcan’treallybeembarrassedinthepresenceofsomeonewhoseopinionyoudon’tgivetwoshitsabout.Thathastomeanthatsomewhereinsideme,Igiveashitwhathethinks.
Samsonpushesofftherailingandstandsupstraight.I’mtallforagirl.Five-ten.Butevenatmyheight,hetowersoverme.Hehastobeatleastsix-three.“Friendsitis,then,”hesays,shovinghishandsinhispockets.
Iunintentionallyletoutadrylaugh.“Peoplelikeyouaren’tfriendswithpeoplelikeme.”
Hetiltshisheadalittle.“That’sabitpresumptuous.”
“SaystheguywhoassumedIwashomeless.”
“Youatebreadofftheground.”
“Iwashungry.You’rerich,youwouldn’tunderstand.”
Hiseyesnarrowabit,thenhelooksoutattheoceanagain.Hestaressohardatit,it’slikeit’sspeakingtohim.Givinghimsilentanswerstoallhissilentquestions.
Samsoneventuallylooksawayfrombothmeandthewater.“I’mgoingbacktothecar.”
Iwatchhimdisappeardownthestairs.
Idon’tknowwhyI’msodefensivearoundhim.Afterall,ifhereallydidthinkIwashomeless,hedidn’tignorethat.Heofferedmemoney.Theremustbeasoulintheresomewhere.
MaybeI’mthesoullessoneinthissituation.SIX
TosayIwasrelievedwhenMarcosandSamsonsplitapartfromuswhenwearrivedatthestoreisanunderstatement.I’veonlybeeninTexasforafewhoursandtoomuchofthattimehasbeenspentinSamson’spresence.
“Whatelsedoyouneedbesidesclothes?”Saraasksmeaswewalkthroughthehealthandbeautysection.
“Prettymucheverything,”Isay.“Shampoo,conditioner,deodorant,toothbrush,toothpaste.AllthethingsIusedtostealoffmaidcartseverySaturday.”
Sarapausesandstaresatme.“Isthatajoke?Idon’tknowyourhumoryet.”
Ishakemyhead.“Wecouldn’taffordnecessities.”Idon’tknowwhyI’mbeingsobluntwithher.“Sometimes,whenyou’repoor,youhavetogetcreative.”IturndownthenextaisleandSaratakesamomenttocatchuptome.
“Butdidn’tBrianpaychildsupport?”
“Mymotherwasanaddict.Ineversawapennyofthatmoney.”
Saraiswalkingnexttomenow.I’mtryingnottolookatherbecauseIfeellikemytruthisstrippingawayherinnocence.Butmaybesheneedsadoseofreality.
“Didyouevertellyourfatherthat?”
“No.Hehasn’tseenmymothersinceIwasfour.Shewasn’tanaddictbackthen.”
“Youshouldhavetoldhim.Hewouldhavedonesomethingaboutit.”
Idropacanofdeodorantinthecart.“Ineverfeltitwasmydutytolethimknowwhatmylivingconditionswere.Afathershouldbemoreawareofwhat’sgoingoninhischild’slife.”
IcantellthatcommentbothersSara.SheobviouslyhasadifferentperspectiveofmyfatherthanIdo,somaybeplantingthatonelittleseedisenoughtogethertoseeoutsideherprotectivelittlebeachhousebubble.
“Let’sgolookattheclothes,”Isay,changingthesubject.She’squietaswemakeourwaythroughtheclothingsection.Igrabseveralthings,butI’mhonestlynotsurewhatwillfitme.Wemakeourwaytothedressingrooms
“You’llneedabathingsuit,too,”Sarasays.“Acouple,actually.Wespendalmosteverydayonthebeach.”
Theswimsuitsectionisnearthedressingrooms,soIgrabacoupleandheadintoastallwiththerestofmyclothes.
“Comeoutafteryouchange,Iwanttoseehoweverythingfits,”Sarasays
Isthatwhatgirlsdowhentheyshop?Poseforeachother?
Iputonthebikinifirst.Thetopisalittlebig,butIheartheboobsarethefirstplaceyougainweight,andI’msureI’llbegainingweightthissummer.Iwalkoutofthestallandstandinfrontofthemirror.Saraissittingonabenchlookingatherphone.Sheglancesupatmeandhereyeswiden.“Wow.Youcouldprobablyevengodownasize.”
Ishakemyhead.“No,Iplanongainingweightthissummer.”
“Why?I’dkilltohaveabodylikeyours.”
Ihatethatcomment.
She’sstaringatmeinapoutyway.Itmakesmethinkshe’sinternallycomparingourbodies,pointingoutthingsaboutherselfshedeemsasflaws.
“Yourthighsdon’teventouch,”shewhispers,almostwistfully.“I’vealwayswantedathighgap.”
Ishakemyheadandwalkbackintothestall.Iputonthesecondbathingsuitandpullapairofjeanshortsoverittomakesuretheyfit.WhenIwalkout,Saragroans.
“MyGod,youcouldpulloffanything.”Shestandsupandpositionsherselfnexttome.Shestaresatourreflectionsinthemirror.She’sonlyabouttwoinchesshorterthanIam,fairlytallherself.Saraturnstothesideandrestsherhandonhershirt,rightoverherstomach.“Howmuchdoyouweigh?”
“Idon’tknow.”Idoknow,buttellinghermyweightwouldonlygiveheragoalshedoesn’tneedtochaseafter.
Shesighs,soundingfrustrated.Sheplopsbackdownontothebench.“I’mstilltwentypoundsshyofmysummergoal.Ijustneedtotryharder,”shesays.“What’syoursecret?”
Mysecret?
IlaughwhileIstareatmyselfinthemirroragain,runningahandovermyslightlyconcavestomach.“I’vespentmostofmylifehungry.Noteveryonehasfoodintheirhousesallthetime.”IlookdirectlyatSaraandshe’sstaringupatmewithanunreadableexpression.
Hereyesflitterawaybeforelandingonherphonescreen.Sheclearsherthroat.“Isthattrue?”
“Yeah.”
Shechewsonhercheekforamomentandsays,“Thenwhydidyoubarelyeattonight?”
“BecauseI’vehadtheworsttwenty-fourhoursofmylifeandIwassittingatadinnertablewithfivepeopleIdon’tknow,inahouseI’veneverbeenin,inastateI’veneverbeento.Evenhungrypeoplelosetheirappetitessometimes.”
Saradoesn’tlookatme.Idon’tknowifImakeheruncomfortablewithhowbluntIamorifshe’sgrapplingwiththefactthatourlivesaresodifferent.IwanttobringupwhatInoticedatdinnerearlier—howsheonlyatewhenIate.ButIdon’t.IfeellikeI’vealreadywoundedherenoughtonightandwejustmet.
“Areyouhungry?”Iaskher.“BecauseI’mstarving.”
Shenodswithasmallsmile,andforthefirsttime,Ifeellikethere’ssomeconnectionbetweenus.“Iamsofuckinghungryrightnowit’sunreal.”
Ilaughwhenshesaysthat.“Thatmakestwoofus.”
Iwalkintothedressingroomandchangebackintomyclothes.WhenIwalkout,IgrabSara’shandandpullherup.“Comeon.”Ithrowtheclothesintothecartandturntowardthegrocerysection.
“Wherearewegoing?”
“Tothefoodsection.”
Weworkourwaytothebreadaisle.Istopthecartinfrontoftheboxedpastries.“Whichisyourfavorite?”
Sarapointstoawhitebagofmini-chocolatedonuts.“Those.”
Igrababagofftheshelfandopenit.Itakeadonutandstickitinmymouthandhandherthebag.“We’regonnaneedmilktoo,”Isaywithamouthful.
SaralooksatmelikeI’minsane,butshefollowsmetothedairysectionregardless.Iretrievetwoindividualchocolatemilksandthenpointtoaspotoverbytheeggs.ImovethecartandthenIsitdownandleanagainstthelongfloorcoolerthatholdsalltheeggs
“Sitdown,”Isaytoher.
Shelooksaroundusamoment,thensheslowlylowersherselftothefloornexttome.Ihandheroneofthechocolatemilks.
Iopenmineandtakeabigdrinkofitandthengrabanotherdonut.
“You’recrazy,”Sarasaysquietly,finallytakingadonutforherself.
Ishrug.“There’safinelinebetweenhungryandcrazy.”
Shetakesadrinkofherchocolatemilkandthenleansherheadagainstthecooler.“MyGod.Thisisheaven.”Shestretchesherlegsoutinfrontofher,andwesittogetherinsilenceforawhile,eatingdonutsandwatchingshoppersgiveusstrangelooks.
“I’msorryifanythingIsaidaboutyourweightoffendedyou,”Sarafinallysays.
“Itdidn’t.Ijustdon’tlikeseeingyoucompareyourselftome.”
“It’shardnotto.Itdoesn’thelpthatI’mspendingthesummeronthebeach.Icomparemyselftoeverygirlinabikini.”
“Youshouldn’t,”Isay.“ButIgetit.It’sweird,though,isn’tit?Whydopeoplejudgeotherpeoplebasedonhowtightlytheirskinclingstotheirbones?”Ishoveanotherdonutinmymouthtoshutmyselfup.
Saramutters,“Amen,”rightbeforeshetakesanotherswigofherchocolatemilk.
Astoreemployeewalksbyandpauseswhenheseesussittingontheflooreatingfood.“We’regonnapayforit,”Isay,wavingaflippanthandathim.Heshakeshisheadandwalksaway.
Anotherstretchofsilencepassesbetweenus,andthenSarasays,“Iwasreallynervoustomeetyou.Iwasscaredyouhatedme.”
Ilaugh.“Ididn’tevenknowyouexisteduntiltoday.”
MycommentlookslikeithurtsSara’sfeelings.“Yourfathernevertalkedaboutme?”
Ishakemyhead.“Notbecausehewastryingtohidethefactthatyouexisted.Wejust…wedon’thavearelationship.Atall.We’vebarelyspokensincehegotmarried.Iactuallyforgothewasevenmarried.”
Saralookslikeshe’sabouttosaysomething,butshe’sinterrupted.
“Youtwogood?”Marcosasks.
WebothlookuptofindSamsonandMarcoslookingbackandforthbetweenus
Saraholdsupherchocolatemilk.“Beyahtoldmetostopobsessingaboutmyweightandmademeeatjunkfood.”
Marcoslaughsandreachesdownintothebagforadonut.“Beyahisright.You’reperfect.”
Samsonisstaringatme.HeneversmileslikeMarcos.Marcosalwaysseemstobesmiling.
Sarapushesherselfoffthefloorandhelpsmeup.“Let’sgo.”SEVEN
Weloadedeverythingintothetrunkexcepttheprepaidphone.I’vebeentryingtofigureouthowtosetitup,butit’sdarkinthecarandtheinstructionsarehardtoread.Idon’tevenknowhowtopoweronthephone.
I’mstrugglingwithitwhenSamsonsays,“Wantmetohelp?”
Iglanceoverathimandhe’sholdingouthishand.Igivehimthepackageandheuseshisownphonetolightupthedirections.
He’sstillworkingonitwhenMarcosparksthecarontheferry.“Coming?”Saraasks,openingherdoor.
IpointtothephoneinSamson’shands.“Inasec.He’ssettingupmyphone.”
Saragrinsbeforesheclosesthedoor,likeSamsonsettingupmyphoneissomehowgoingtoleadtoasummerfling.Ihatethatit’sagoalofhers.Ireallyhavenointerestinsomeonewhohassuchlittleinterestinme.
Samsonhastodialanumbertofinalizethesetup,butittellshimtherewillbeatwo-minuteholdtimewhilethephoneisactivated.
Twominutesdoesn’tseemthatlong,butitfeelslikeI’menteringintoeternity.Iglanceoutmywindow,tryingtoignorethequiettensionthat’sfillingthespacebetweenus.
It’ssoincrediblyuncomfortable,Ifindmyselfhopinghe’llsaysomethingafteronlytenseconds.
Aftertwentyseconds,Istarttofeelnervous,soIblurtouttheonlythingIcanthinktosay.“Whywereyoutakingpicturesofmeontheferrytoday?”
Iglanceathimandhe’sleaninganelbowintotheareawherethecardoorandthewindowmeet.He’slightlydragginghisfingersoverhisbottomlip,buthepullsthemawaywhenheseesmestaringathim.Hemakesafistandtapsitagainstthewindow.“Becauseofhowyouwerelookingattheocean.”
Hisanswerwrapslikearibbonaroundmyspine.“HowwasIlookingatit?”
“Likeitwasthefirsttimeyou’deverseenit.”
Iadjustmyselfintheseat,suddenlyuncomfortablebyhowhiswordsdrapeovermelikesilk.
“Haveyoulookedatthemyet?”heasks.
“Lookedatwhat?”
“Thepictures.”
Ishakemyhead.
“Well.Whenyoudo,feelfreetodeletewhatyoudon’twant,butI’dreallylikethememorycardback.TherearepicturesonthereI’dliketohave.”
Inod.“Whatelsedoyoutakepicturesof?Besidesgirlsonferries?”
Hesmilesatthat.“Nature,mostly.Theocean.Sunrises.Sunsets.”
Ithinkaboutthesunsetfromearlierandhowhemighthavegottenapictureofmewithit.I’llseeifSarahasacomputerIcanborrowsoIcanlookateverythingonthememorycard.I’mcuriousnow.“Thesunsetwasreallyprettytonight.”
“Waituntilyouseethesunrisefromyourbalcony.”
“Yeah,I’mnotwakingupthatearly,”Isaywithalaugh.
Samsonlooksdownatmyphoneafterthecallnotifiesussetupiscomplete.“Youwantmetoentereveryone’snumbers?”He’sopeningupcontactsonhisphonetoSara’sname.
“Sure.”
HeentersSara’snumber.ThenMarcos’s.Thenhisown.Hedoesafewmorethingstothephone,theneventuallyhandsitovertome.“Youneedatutorial?”
Ishakemyhead.“Afriendfrombackhomehadonelikethis.Icanfigureitout.”
“Where’sbackhome?”
It’sasimplequestion,butitsetsmyskinonfire.It’saquestionyouasksomeoneyouwanttogettoknowbetter.
Iclearmythroat.“Kentucky,”Isay.“Whataboutyou?”
Hiseyeslingeronmeforaquietmoment.Thenhelooksawayandgrabsthedoorhandle,asifopeningupaconversationwithmeissomethingheimmediatelyregrets.“I’mgonnagetsomefreshair,”hesays,openingthedoor.Heclosesitandwalksawayfromthecar.
Ishouldprobablybeoffendedbyhisstrangereaction,butI’mnot.I’mrelieved.IwanthimtobejustasdisinterestedinmeasIaminhim.
OratleastasdisinterestedasI’mtryingtobeinhim.
IlookdownatmyphoneandaddinNatalie’snumber.ShewasoneofthefewfriendsIhadbackhomeandI’vebeenwantingtotalktohersincelastnight.I’msuresheheardthroughhermotherthatmymotherpassedaway,andifso,she’sprobablyworriedsicknotknowingwhereIam.It’sbeenhardforustokeepintouchsincesheleftforcollegebecauseIdon’thaveaphone.That’sacontributingfactorastowhyIdon’thavealotoffriends.It’shardtokeepintouchwithanyonewhenyou’retechnologicallyoutoftheloop.
Igetoutofthecarandwalktoanemptyspotontheferrytomakethecall.Ifacethewateranddialhernumber,waitingasitrings.
“Hello?”
IbreatheasighofreliefwhenIhearhervoice.Finally,somethingfamiliar.“Hey.”
“Beyah?Holyshit,I’vebeenworriedsick.Iheardwhathappened,I’msosorry.”Hervoiceissoloud.Itrytofigureouthowtotakethephoneoffspeaker,butthescreenisjustnumbers.Ilookaround,butnooneisnearus,soIjustmufflethephonewithmyhandtokeepthecallfromdisturbinganyoneinthevicinity.
“Beyah?Hello?”
“I’mhere,sorry.”
“Whereareyou?”
“Texas.”
“WhythehellareyouinTexas?”
“Mydadmovedhere.IfiguredI’dstaywithhimforthesummer.How’sNewYork?”
“Different,”shesays.“Inagoodway.”There’sapausebeforeshesays,“God,Istillcan’tbelieveJaneanisdead.Yousureyou’reokay?”
“Yeah.Ihadonegoodcry,butlike…Idon’tknow.MaybeI’mbroken.”
“Whatever.ShewastheworstmotherI’veevermet.”
Andthat’swhyIlikeNatalie.Shesayswhatshemeans.Notmanypeopleareasforthcomingasher.
“Whataboutyourdad?Hasn’titbeenawhilesinceyou’veseenhim?Isitawkward?”
“Yeah.ItmightevenbeworsenowthatI’manadult.Buthelivesinabeachhouse,sothat’sahugeplus.He’smarried,though.Hasanewstepdaughter.”
“Yayforthebeachhouse,butohno.Astepsister?Issheyourage?”
“Aboutayearolder.HernameisSara.”
“Shesoundsblondandpretty.”
“Sheis.”
“Doyoulikeher?”
Ithinkaboutthatforamoment.“I’mstillnotsurewhattothinkofheryet.Ifeellikeshemightbealockerroomgirl.”
“Ugh.Thosearetheworst.Anycuteguys,atleast?”
RightwhenNatalieasksthatquestion,somethingcatchesmyattentionoutofthecornerofmyeye.IturnmyheadandSamsoniswalkingtowardme.He’sstaring,likehemighthavecaughttheendofmyconversation.Iclenchmyjaw.“No.Nocuteguys.Buthey,Igottago.Savemynumber.”
“Okay,gotyou.”
Iendthecallandgripmyphoneinmyhand.IsweartoGod,heshowsupatalltheworsttimes.
Hetakesacoupleofstepscloseruntilhe’snexttomeattherailing.Henarrowshiseyesinmydirection,lookingatmecuriously.“What’salockerroomgirl?”
Ihatethatheheardthat.IreallydolikeSara.Idon’tknowwhyIsaidthattoNatalie.
Isighandthenturn,restingmybackagainsttherailing.“It’swhatIcalledthemeangirlsatmyschool.”
Samsonnods,likehe’sprocessingmyanswer.“Youknow…whenSarafoundoutyouwerecoming,shemovedtotheguestroom.Shewantedyoutohavethebetterroom.”Withthat,hepushesofftherailing,walksaroundmeandheadsbacktowardthecar.
Iturnandpressmyhandsagainstmyfaceandgroan.
Ihavenevermadeanassoutofmyselfinfrontofonepersonsomuchinmylife,andI’veonlyknownhimforhalfaday.EIGHT
It’slatebythetimewegetbackandIgetallmynewstuffputaway.Theselasttwenty-fourhourshavebeengrueling,tosaytheleast.I’mexhausted.Griefmightevenbecatchinguptome.AndeventhoughSaraandIsharedanentirebagofchocolatedonuts,I’mstillhungry.
Igotothekitchenandfindmyfathersittingatthetable,alaptopinfrontofhimandseveralbooksspreadoutoverthetable.Heglancesupwhenhehearsme.
“Hey,”hesays,straighteningupinhischair.
“Hi.”Ipointtothepantry.“Justgrabbingasnack.”Iopenthepantrydoorandgrababagofchips.WhenIcloseit,Ifullyintendtosneakbackuptomyroom,butmyfatherhasotherplans.
“Beyah,”hesaysassoonasIreachthebottomstep.“Yougotasec?”
Inodreluctantly.Iwalkovertothetableandtaketheseatacrossfromhim.Ipullmykneeupandtrytoseemcasual.Heleansbackinhischairandrubsahandacrosshisjawlikewhateverhe’sabouttosayisgoingtobealittleuncomfortable.
Didhehearaboutmymother?Idon’tknowthatthereareanypeoplethatconnectthemotherthanme,soIdon’tknowhowhe’dhavefoundout.
“I’msorryIdidn’tgotoyourgraduation.”
Oh.It’sabouthim.Istareathimforamoment,thenopenmybagofchips.Ishrug.“It’sfine.Longdriveforsomeonewithabrokenleg.”
Hepresseshislipstogetherandleansforward,restinghiselbowsonthetable.“Aboutthat,”hesays.
“Idon’tcare,Dad.Really.Wealltellliestogetoutofthingswedon’twanttodo.”
“It’snotthatIdidn’twanttobethere,”hesays.“Ijust…Ididn’tthinkyouwantedmethere.”
“Whywouldn’tIhavewantedyouthere?”
“Ijustgottheimpressionthatyou’vebeenavoidingmeforthepastcoupleofyears.AndIdon’tblameyou.Idon’tfeellikeI’vebeenaverygoodfathertoyou.”
Ilookdownintomybagofchipsandshakethemaround.“Youhaven’tbeen.”IcasuallyeatanotherchiplikeIdidn’tjustdelivertheworstinsultachildcouldhandtoaparent.
Myfather’sexpressionfallsintoafrown,andheopenshismouthtorespond,butSaraspillsoutofthestairwellandintothekitchenwithwaytoomuchenergyforthistimeofnight.
“Beyah,goputonyourbathingsuit,we’regoingtothebeach.”
Myfatherlooksrelievedbytheinterruption.Hegiveshisattentiontohiscomputer.Istandupandpopanotherchipinmymouth.“What’satthebeach?”
Saralaughs.“Thebeachisatthebeach.That’sallyouneed.”She’sbackinherbikinitopandshortsagain.
“I’mreallytired,”Isay.
Sherollshereyes.“Justforanhourandthenyoucangotobed.”
Whenwemakeitpastthedunes,Ideflate.IwashopingmorepeoplewouldbeoutheresoIcouldbeinvisible,butitseemsthecrowdthatwashereearlierdissipatedandtheonlytwopeopleremainingareSamsonandMarcos.Plusacoupleofpeopleoutinthewaterswimming
Marcosissittingbythefire,butSamsonissittingaloneinthesandseveralfeetaway,staringoutatthedarkocean.Iknowhehearsusapproaching,buthedoesn’tturnaroundtolookatus.He’seitherlostinthoughtormakingaconcertedefforttoignoreme.
I’mgoingtohavetofigureoutawaytobeateaseinhispresenceifthisishowthesummerisgoingtogo—himalwaysbeingaround.
Therearesixseatssetuparoundthefire,buttwoofthemhavetowelsdrapedoverthemandbeersonthearmrests,sotheyappeartobetaken.SarasitsnexttoMarcos,soItakeoneofthelasttwoemptychairs.
Saralooksoutatthewater,atthetwopeopleswimming.“IsthatCadenceouttherewithBeau?”
“Yep,”Marcossaysflatly.“Ithinkshe’sleavingtomorrow.”
Sararollshereyes.“Can’twait.Iwishshe’dtakeBeauwithher.”
Idon’tknowwhoBeauandCadenceare,butitdoesn’tsoundlikeSaraandMarcosarebigfans.
ItrynottostareatSamson,butit’shard.He’sabouttenfeetaway,sittingwithhisarmswrappedaroundhisknees,watchingthewavesclawatthesand.IhatethatI’mwonderingwhathe’sthinkingabout,buthehastobethinkingaboutsomething.That’swhatstaringattheoceanproduces.Thoughts.Lotsofthem.
“Let’sgoswimming,”Sarasaysasshestandsupandshimmiesoutofhershorts.Shelooksatme.“Wannacome?”
Ishakemyhead.“Ialreadyshoweredtonight.”
SaragrabsMarcos’shandandpullshimoutofthechair.Heswoopsherupinhisarmsandrunstowardthewater.Sara’ssquealbreaksSamsonoutofwhatevertrancehewasin.Hestandsupandwipessandawayfromhisshorts.Heturnstowalkbacktothefire,butInoticethepausewhenheseesI’msittingoverherealone.
IkeepmyeyesonSaraandMarcos,ifonlybecauseIdon’tknowwhatelsetolookat.Icertainlydon’twanttolookatSamsonashewalksoverhere.Istillfeelembarrassedbythepartofmyconversationheoverheardearlier.Idon’twanthimtothinkIhateSarabecauseIdon’t.Ijustdon’tknowherallthatwell.Butwhatheheardprobablysoundedworsethanwhatitwas.
Hequietlytakeshisseatandstaresatthefire,makingnoefforttospeaktome.Ilookaroundus,attheincredibleamountofspacethereisonthisbeach,andwonderhowIcanpossiblyfeellikeI’msuffocatingrightnow.
Iinhaleaslowbreath,thenreleaseitcarefullybeforeIspeak.“Ididn’tmeanwhatIsaidearlier.AboutSara.”
Samsonlooksoveratmewithastoicexpression.“Good.”
That’sallhesays.
Ishakemyheadandlookaway,butnotbeforeheseesmerollmyeyesathisresponse.Idon’tknowwhy,butevenwhenhe’sdefendinghisfriends,hecomesoffasanasshole.
“What’swrong?”heasks.
“Nothing.”Ileanbackinmychairandlookupatthesky.“Everything,”Iwhispertomyself.
Samsongrabsastickthat’ssittinginthesandbyhischair.Hestartspokingatthefire,butsaysnothingelse.Ileanmyheadtotherightandlookatthehousesthatlinethebeach.Samson’sisbyfarthenicestone.It’smoremodern.It’sstarkwhitewithdeepblacktrim,boxywithlotsofglass.ButitseemscoldcomparedtoAlanaandmyfather’shouse.
Italsoseemslonely,likehe’stheonlyonewholivesthere.
“Doyouliveinyourhousealone?”
“Idon’treallyconsiderthatmyhouse,butyes,I’mtheonlyonewhostaysthere.”
“Whereareyourparents?”
“Nothere,”hesays.
Hisclippedresponsesaren’tbecausehe’sshy.He’sdefinitelynotshy.Iwonderifhisconversationsarelikethiswitheveryoneorifit’sjustme.
“Areyouincollege?”Iask.
Heshakeshishead.“Takingagapyear.”
Ilaughundermybreath.Idon’tmeanto,butthatanswerissooutoftouchwithmyreality.
Heraisesabrow,silentlyquestioningwhyI’mlaughingathisanswer.
“Whenyou’repoorandyoutakeayearoffafterhighschool,you’rethrowingawayyourfuture,”Isay.“Butifyou’rerichandyoutakeayearoff,it’sconsideredsophisticated.Theyevengiveitafancyname.”
Hestaresatmeamomentbutsaysnothing.I’dliketodrillaholeinhisheadsohisthoughtscanpourout.Butthenagain,Imightnotlikethem.
“What’sthepurposeofagapyear,anyway?”Iask.
“You’resupposedtospendtheyearfindingyourself.”Hesaysthatlastpartwithahintofsarcasm.
“Didyou?Findyourself?”
“Iwasneverlost,”hesayspointedly.“Ididn’tspendmygapyearbackpackingthroughEurope.I’vespentitmanningrenthousesformyfather.Notverysophisticated.”
Itsoundslikehe’salittleresentfulaboutthat,butI’dgiveanythingtogetpaidtoliveonabeachinanicehouse.“Howmanyhousesdoesyourfamilyhavehere?”
“Five.”
“Youliveinfivebeachhouses?”
“Notallatonce.”
Ithinkhemighthavejustsmiledabit.Ican’ttell.Couldhavebeenashadowfromthefire.
Ourlivesaresoincrediblydifferent,yethereweare,sittingonthesamebeachinfrontofthesamefire.Attemptingtohaveaconversationthatdoesn’tprovehowmanyworldsapartweare.Butwe’resomanyworldsapart,we’renoteveninthesameuniverse.
IwishIcouldbeinsidehisheadforaday.Anyrichperson’shead.Howdotheyviewtheworld?HowdoesSamsonviewme?Whatdorichpeopleworryaboutiftheydon’thavetoworryaboutmoney?
“What’sitlikebeingrich?”Iaskhim.
“Probablynotmuchdifferentthanbeingpoor.Youjusthavemoremoney.”
Thatissolaughable,Idon’tevenlaugh.“Onlyarichpersonwouldsaythat.”
Hedropsthestickbackinthesandandleansbackinhischair.Heturnshisheadandmakeseyecontactwithme.“What’sitlikebeingpoor,then?”
Icanfeelmystomachdropwhenhethrowsmyownquestionbackatmewithaspin.Isigh,wonderingifIshouldbehonestwithhim.
Ishould.I’vetoldtoomanyliesinthepasttwenty-fourhours,karmaissuretocatchupwithme.IgivemyattentionbacktothefireinfrontofuswhenIanswerhim.
“Wedidn’treceivefoodstampsbecausemymotherwasneversoberenoughtomakeherappointments.Wealsodidn’thaveacar.Therearechildrenwhogrowupneverhavingtoworryaboutfood,therearechildrenwhosefamiliesliveoffgovernmentassistanceforvariousreasons,andthentherearechildrenlikeme.Theoneswhoslipthroughallthecracks.Theoneswholearntodowhateverittakestosurvive.Thekindwhogrowupnotgivingasecondthoughttoeatingasliceofbreadtheypulledoutofadiscardedloafonthedeckofaferry,becausethat’snormal.That’sdinner.”
Samson’sjawishardashestaresbackatme.Severalbeatsofsilencepassbetweenus.Healmostlooksguilty,butthenheglancesawayfromme,givinghisattentiontotheflames.“I’msorryIsaiditwasn’tmuchdifferent.Thatwasashallowthingtosay.”
“Youaren’tshallow,”Isayquietly.“Shallowpeopledon’tstareattheoceanasdeeplyasyoudo.”
Samson’sfocusreturnstomineassoonasIsaythat.Hiseyeshavechangedalittle—narrowed.Darkened.Herunsahanddownhisfaceandmutters,“Fuck.”
Idon’tknowwhyhesaysthat,butitsendsgoosebumpsdownmyarms.Itfeelslikeitmighthavebeenarealizationaboutmesomehow.
Ican’taskhimaboutitbecauseIspotthegirlandguywalkingoutofthewatertowardus.CadenceandBeau.
Whentheygetcloser,Irealizeshe’sthegirlSamsonwaskissinginhiskitchenearlier.She’seyeingmeasshemakesherwayover.Theclosershegets,theprettiershegets.Shedoesn’tsitinachair;shesitsrightdownonSamson’slap.Shestaresatmelikeshe’sexpectingmetohaveareactiontothefactthatshe’snowusingSamsonasherpersonalchair,butI’mgoodathidingwhatI’mfeeling.
WhyamIevenfeelinganythingatall?
“Whoareyou?”Cadenceasksme.
“Beyah.I’mSara’sstepsister.”
Icantellbythewayhereyesscrollovermethatshe’sdefinitelyalockerroomgirl.ShewrapsanarmaroundSamsonlikeshe’sstakingaclaim.Samsonjustlooksbored,orlostinthought.Beau,whowasjustinthewaterwithCadence,sitsdownnexttomeaftergrabbingabeer.
Hisgazestartsatmyfeetandslowlyslidesupmybodyuntilhe’sfinallylookingmeintheeye.“I’mBeau,”hesayswithanambitiousgrin,reachingoutahand.
Ishakeit,butwhenIdo,SarareappearswithMarcosfromtheirswim.ShegroanswhensheseesBeaugivingmeattention.“Beyahisengagedtobemarried,”Sarasays.“Don’twasteyourtime.”
Beaulooksdownatmyhand.“Idon’tseearing.”
“That’sbecausethediamondissobig,it’stooheavyforhertowearallday,”sheretorts.
Beauleansintowardme,staringatmewithasmirk.“She’slyingbecauseshehatesme.”
“Icanseethat.”
“Whereareyoufrom?”
“Kentucky.”
“Howlongareyouherefor?”
“Thesummer,probably.”
Hegrins.“Nice.Metoo.Ifyouevergetbored,Iliveover—”Heliftsahandtopointtowardwhereverhishouseis,buthestopsspeakingbecauseSaraisnowstandinginfrontofus.
Shegrabsmyhand.“Comeon,Beyah.Let’sgohome.”
I’mrelieved.Ididn’twanttobeheretobeginwith.
IstandupandBeaurollshiseyes,throwingupadefeatedhand.“You’realwaysruiningmyfun,Sara.”
SaraleansdownandgivesMarcosakissgoodbye.IglanceoverinSamson’sdirection.AllIcanseemtofocusonisthehandhehaspressedagainstCadence’sthigh.IstarttoturntowalkwithSara,butrightbeforeIdo,Samsonmakeseyecontactwithme.Hestaressohard,Ifeelitpinchingmychest.Ilookawayanddon’tlookbackasIfollowSara.
“What’supwithBeau?”Iaskaswewalkbacktowardthehouse.
“He’sinappropriateineverywayimaginable.Pleasedon’tgivehimanyattention,it’sthelastthinghedeserves.”
It’shardtogiveanyoneelseattentionwhenSamsonisinmypresence.
SaraandIwalkpastthedunesandeverythinginmewantstogiveonelastglancebacktowardhim,butIdon’t.
“Whataboutthegirl?Cadence?”
“Don’tworry,”Sarasays.“She’llbegonetomorrowandSamsonwillbefree.”
Ilaugh.“I’mnotwaitinginthatline.”
“Probablyforthebest,”Sarasayswhenwereachherhouse.“Samson’sleavingfortheAirForceAcademyattheendofthesummer.AsmuchasIwashopingIcouldsetthetwoofyouup,itwouldalsosuckifyoufellforhimrightbeforehegetsshippedaway.”
Ipauseonthestairswhenshesaysthat,butshedoesn’tnoticebecauseshe’sinfrontofme.Butthattakesmebysurprise.Hedidn’tmentionwhathewasdoingafterhisgapyearwasover.Idon’tknowwhy,butIdidn’texpectittobethemilitary.
Whenwegetinsidethehouse,allthelightsareout.“Wanttostayupandwatchamovie?”
“I’mexhausted.Maybetomorrownight?”
Shesitsdownonthesofaandgrabstheremote.Sheleansherheadbackintothecouchandlooksatmeupsidedown.“I’mgladyou’rehere,Beyah.”ShepowersontheTVandherattentionisnolongeronme,butherwordsmakemesmile.
Ibelieveherwhenshesaysshe’sgladI’mhere.Thatfeelsgood.It’snotoftenIfeellikemypresenceisappreciated.Orevennoticed.
WhenIgetuptomyroom,Icloseandlockthedoor.
Iwalkovertothebalconydoorsandopenthem,wantingtolistentothesoundoftheoceantonightwhileIsleep.ButIalsowanttoseewhatSamsonisdoing.
MarcosandBeauarestilldownatthefire.CadenceiswalkingawayfromthegroupintheoppositedirectionofSamson’shouse.
Samsoniswalkingoverthedunecrossing,headingtowardhishouse.Alone.
Whydoesthatmakemehappy?
Idon’twanthimtonoticemeuphere,soIwalkbackintomyroomandclosethebalconydoors.
BeforeIcrawlintobed,ItakeMotherTeresaoutoftheplasticsackshetraveledinandpropthepaintinguponthedresser.Itlookssooutofplaceinthisfancyroom,butthatmakesmeevenhappierthatIbroughtitwithme.Ineedapieceofhometoremindmethatthisroomandthishouseandthistownarenotmyreality.NINE
Whatthehellisthatsound?
Iputmyhandovermyear,confusedbythenoisethat’sforcingmeoutofaperfectlydeepsleep.It’scomingfromacrosstheroom.Iopenmyeyesandliftmyheadoffthepillow,andthesoundgetslouder.Iglanceoutsideandthere’sbarelyanylight.Thehorizonisgray,liketheworldisstillpreparingtowakeup.
IgroanandtossthecoversasidesoIcanlocatethesourceofallthenoise.Itsoundslikeit’scomingfromthedresser,soIshuffleovertoit.
It’smynewphone.IwipesleepfrommyeyessoIcanreadthescreen.It’sonly5:59a.m.
Analarmissetonmyphone.Itsays:Gowatchthesunrise.
That’sallthealertsays.
Icancelthealarmandtheroomfallssilentagain.Iglancebehindme,towardthebalcony.
Samson.
Itbetterbeworthit.
Igrabthecomforteroffmybedandwrapmyselfinit.IgooutontothebalconyandlookatSamson’sbalcony.It’sempty.
Isitdowninoneofthechairsandpullthecoversuptomychin.Istareoutoverthedarkhorizon.Totheeast,there’sjustthesmallestsliverofsunpeekingoutovertheocean.Tothenorth,theskiesaredarkandoccasionallyburstwithlightning.Itlookslikeastormisrollingin,threateningtosnuffoutthelight.
Isitonmybalconyandstareatthesunasitslowlyilluminatesthepeninsula.Ilistentothesoundofthewavesastheywashontothebeach.Thunderrollsinthedistancewhileseagullsbegintochirpnearby.
I’minacompletetranceforseveralminutesasthewindbeginstopickup.Asbrightasthesunrisebegan,itslowlydarkensasthestormmovescloser.Theskiesswallowupeveryhueofcolorthatwasattemptingtoburstthrough,andafterawhile,everythingisamutedgray.
That’swhentherainstarts.I’mprotectedbyaroofoverthebalcony,andthewindisn’textremerightnow,soIremainoutside,watchingaseverythingthatstartedouthopefuljustfifteenminutesagoslowlyturnstogloom.
IwonderifSamsonknewtherewouldbeastormrollinginwiththesunrisetoday.Iglanceoverathishouseandhe’sstandinginhisdoorway,leaningagainstthedoorframe,holdingacupofcoffee.Heisn’tlookingattherainortheoceanorthesky.
He’slookingatme.
SeeinghimwatchingmestirssomethinginsideofmethatIdon’twanttobestirred.Istarebackathimforamoment,wonderingifhewakesupeverymorningtowatchthesunriseorifhejustwantedtoseewhatIwoulddoaboutthealarmhesetonmyphone.
Maybeheactuallyappreciatesthesunrise.Isheoneofthefewwhodoesn’ttakethisviewforgranted?
Ithinkthere’sachanceImightbewrongabouthim.Imighthavejudgedhimalittletoosoon.Butthenagain,what’sitmatterifIamwrong?ThingsbetweenusareawkwardandIdon’tseethatchangingunlessoneofushasapersonalitytransplant.
Ibreakourstareandwalkbackinside.Icrawlbackintobed.
IthinkI’lljuststayhere.TEN
I’vespentthemajorityofthelastthreedaysinmybedroom.TheraincoupledwiththeweekI’vehadmademenotwanttofacetheworldatall.Plus,thisbedroomisbecomingmyfavoriteplacebecauseIfeelsecurehere,encasedbythesefourwalls.Ihaveanunobstructedviewoftheocean,atelevisionI’vefinallyfiguredouthowtowork,andmyownbathroom.
Ireallycouldstayinthisroomfortherestofmytimehereandbecontent.
Theissueiseveryoneelsewholivesinthishouse.
Myfatherhascheckedonmemultipletimes.ItoldhimIhadaheadacheandmythroatwassoreandithurttotalk,sohejustpopsineverynowandthenandasksifI’mfeelingokay.
Sarahasbeenbringingmethings.Food,water,medicineIdon’treallyneed.Atonepointyesterday,shecrawledintomybedandwatchedNetflixwithmeforanhourbeforeleavingtogoonadatewithMarcos.Wedidn’tspeakmuch,butIsurprisinglydidn’tmindhercompany.
Shehasagoodenergy.SometimesIfeellikeablackholearoundher.LikemaybeI’msuckingallthelifeoutofherbyjustbeinginherinnocentpresence.
I’vekepttrackofSamson’sroutinemorethanIcaretoadmit.Idon’tknowwhyI’msocuriousabouthim.Hisroutineintriguesme,though.
I’velefthisalarmonmyphonebecausethesunrisesseemtohavebecomeathingwithus.He’soutonhisownbalconyeverymorning.Wewatchtheworldwakeupalone,yettogether.EachtimeImakemywaybackintomybedroom,wemakebriefeyecontact.Hedoesn’tspeaktome,though.
He’seithernotamorningperson,orhe’dratherappreciatethesunriseinsilence.Eitherway,itfeelsintimatesomehow.Likewehavethissecretdailymeetingnooneelseknowsabout,eventhoughweneverspeakduringsaidmeeting.
Iusuallygobacktobedafterward,butSamsonalwaysleaveshishouse.Idon’tknowwherehegoesthatearlyeachmorning,buthe’sgonemostofeveryday.Andwhenhereturnsatnight,hishouseisalwaysdark.Heonlyeverturnsonthelighttowhateverroomhe’sin,andthenheturnsoutthelightassoonasheleavesthatroom.
Heseemstolivewithmilitaryprecisionalready.Thehouseisspotless,fromwhatIcantellfrommywindow.Makesmewonderwhatkindoffatherhehas.Ifhe’sgoingintothemilitary,maybehewasraisedinthemilitary.Maybethat’swhyheseemssocontrolledandkeepshishousesoclean.
IreallyneedtofindsomethingtooccupymybrainifthisiswhatIspendmytimethinkingabout.MaybeIshouldgetajob.Ican’tstayinthisroomforever.
Icouldbuyavolleyballandanetandgetsomepracticein,butthatdoesn’tsoundappealingatall.We’vealreadybeenassignedworkoutroutinesandschedulesfromthecoach,butIhaven’tevenopenedtheemail.Idon’tknowwhy,butIhaveabsolutelynodesiretolookatavolleyballuntilI’minPennsylvania.I’velivedvolleyballforthepastfiveyearsofmylife.I’mabouttoliveitforthenextfour.
Ideserveamonthortwoofnothavingtothinkaboutit.
Therainhasstoppedandthesunisouttoday.IfIcontinuetopretendI’msickforafourthdayinarow,myfathermightactuallytakemetoadoctor.Idon’treallyhaveanexcusetostayinmyroommuchlongeranditwouldbeagooddaytogooutandjobhunt.MaybeIcouldgetawaitressingjobandsaveupmytipsforwhenIleaveforcollege
I’dgiveanythingforanotherdaylikethethreethatcamebeforethisone,though.Butitdoesn’tlooklikeI’mgonnagetitbecausesomeoneisknockingatmybedroomdoor.
“It’sme,”Sarasays.“CanIcomein?”
“Sure.”I’malreadysittinguponthebed,leaningagainsttheheadboard.Saracrawlsontothebedandsitsnexttome.Shesmellslikecinnamon.
“Youfeelingbetter?”
Inodandforceasmallsmile.“Yeah,alittlebit.”
“Good.Therainfinallystopped.Youwanttohaveabeachdaylater?”
“Idon’tknow.IwasthinkingmaybeIshouldlookforasummerjob.Ineedtosaveupsomemoneyforcollege.”
Shelaughsatthat.“No.Enjoyyourlastsummerbeforeadulthoodkicksin.Takeadvantageofallthis,”shesays,wavingherhandintheair.
She’ssochipper.I’mstillstuckinyesterday’smood.There’sanobviousimbalancebetweenusrightnow.Shenoticesbecausehersmiledisappearsandshenarrowshereyesatme.
“Youokay,Beyah?”
Ismile,butittakestoomucheffortandmysmilefalterswithasigh.“Idon’tknow.Thisisalljust…it’skindofweirdforme.”
“What?”
“Beinghere.”
“Doyouwanttogobackhome?”
“No.”Idon’tevenknowwherehomeisrightnow,butIdon’tsaythat.I’minlimboandit’sastrangefeeling.Adepressingfeeling.
“Areyousad?”sheasks.
“Ithinkso.”
“IsthereanythingIcandoaboutit?”
Ishakemyhead.“No.”
Sherollsontoherside,holdingherheadupwithherhand.“Wehavetogetyououtofthisfunk.Doyouthinksomeofitisbecauseyoufeellikeastrangerinthishouse?”
Inod.Idofeeloutofplacehere.“Itprobablycontributes.”
“Thenwejustneedtofast-trackourfriendship.”Sherollsontoherback.“Let’sgettoknoweachother.Askmesomequestions.”
ThereactuallyisalotIwanttoknowabouther,soIleanmyheadagainsttheheadboardandthinkofsome.“Doyouhaveagoodrelationshipwithyourmother?”
“Yeah.Iloveher,she’smybestfriend.”
Lucky.“Whereisyourdad?”
“HelivesinDallas.Theydivorcedfiveyearsago.”
“Doyoueverseehim?”
Saranods.“Yeah.He’sagooddad.Alotlikeyours.”
Isomehowkeepastraightfaceafterthatcomment.
She’sgottwogoodparentsandastepfatherthatseemstoknowherbetterthanheknowshisowndaughter.Ihopeshedoesn’ttakethatforgranted.
Sarahasn’tbeenthroughalotofhardship.Icantellbylookingather.She’sstillfullofhope.“What’stheworstthingthat’severhappenedtoyou?”Iaskher.
“Myparents’divorcewasreallyhardforme,”shesays.
“What’sthebestthingthat’severhappenedtoyou?”
Shegrins.“Marcos.”
“Howlonghaveyoutwobeentogether?”
“Sincespringbreak.”
“That’sit?”
“Yeah,justafewmonths.ButIwouldbetmylifewe’regonnagetmarriedsomeday.”
“Don’tdothat.”
“Don’tmarryhim?”sheasks,rollingontoherstomach.
“Don’tbetyourlifeonit.You’veonlyknownhimafewmonths.”
Shegrins.“Oh,Idon’tmeananytimesoon.We’llwaituntilaftercollege.”She’sstillsmilingdreamilywhenshesays,“I’mtransferringschoolssoIcanbeclosertohim.”
“Isheincollege,too?”
“Yeah,he’safashionmajoratUofH.Minoringinbusiness.”
“He’safashionmajor?”
Shenods.“HewantstostartaclothinglinecalledHisPanic.”
“Thatexplainstheshirts.”
“Yeah,it’sprettyclever.HewasborninChiapas,soheplanstodonatesomeoftheincometohelpfightpovertythere,ifhisclothinglineevertakesoff.HealreadyhasfivethousandfollowersonInstagram.”
“Isthatgood?Idon’tknowalotaboutsocialmedia.”
“It’sbetterthannothavingfivethousandfollowers.”Shesitsuponthebedandcrossesherlegs.Shemovessomuch.IwishIhadhalfherenergy.“CanIaskyouaquestion?”
Inod.“I’veaskedyouaboutten,soit’sonlyfair.”
“Whatmakesyouhappy?”Herexpressionisfullofgenuinecuriosity.
Ihavetolookawaybeforesheseesthatexpressiononmyownface,becausehonestly…Idon’tknowwhatmakesmehappy.I’mkindofcuriousaboutittoo.I’vespentmywholelifejusttryingtosurvive;I’veneverreallythoughtaboutthethingsthatliebeyondthat
Gettingamealusedtomakemehappy.Nightswhenmymotherdidn’tbringhomestrangemenusedtomakemehappy.PaydaysatMcDonald’susedtomakemehappy.
I’mnotsurewhyherquestiontriggerssomuchinme,butIrealizeforthefirsttimesinceIgotherethatthesamethingsthatusedtomakemehappyaren’tevenissuesinmylifeanymore.
Whatdoesmakemehappy?
“Idon’tknow.”Ilookoutthewindowatthewaterandfeelasenseofcalmnesscomeoverme.“Theocean,Iguess.”
“Thenyoushouldenjoytheoceanwhileyouhaveit.Don’tgetasummerjob.Youhavetherestofyourlifetowork.Makethissummerallaboutyou.Itsoundstomelikeyoudeservetobealittleselfishforonce.”
Inodinagreement.“Idodeserveit.”
Shesmiles.“I’mgladyourealizethat.”Shepushesherselfoffthebed.“IpromisedMarcosI’dgowithhimtogethishaircutandgrabalatelunch.Youcancomewithusifyouwant.”
“No,Ineedtoshower.Imightgoforawalkonthebeachlater.”
Sarabacksoutofmyroom.“Okay.We’llbebackinacouplehours.Don’teatdinner,we’recookingoutonthebeachtonight.”
Saramentionedhowthere’salargepartofBolivarPeninsulareferredtoasZooBeach.Vehiclesareallowedonthesand,aswellasgolfcarts,soit’sconstanttrafficandaconstantparty.
TheareawhereSaralivesstillseessomeofthattraffic,butitisn’tnearlyasbusyascertainpartsofthepeninsula.ButjustacouplemilesdownfromSara’shousebeginsawholedifferentworld.Notnecessarilyabetterone.Iguessthatwoulddependonthemoodyou’rein,butmymoodrightnowcertainlyisn’tloudmusicandtoxicmasculinity
IturnaroundtowalkbackbeforeIgettoofarintothecrowdedarea.Thereareacoupleofguyssittingonthebackoftheirtruck,coaxingadogoverwithahamburger.
Thedog’sribcageisvisiblethroughhisfur.Iwatchasthedogslowlymakesitswaytowardthetwoguysinthebackofthetruck,asifheknowsthere’sapricehe’llhavetopayforthefoodhe’sabouttoget.
Iimmediatelyempathizewiththedog
“That’sit,”oneoftheguyssays,holdinghishamburgerout.“Justalittlecloser.”
Whenthedogiswithinreachofhim,theguypullshisfoodawayandtheotherguyquicklystepsoverthedogandcapturesitbetweenhisknees.They’relaughingashepullsaheadbandoverthedog’seyesandletshimloose.Thedogbeginstostumblearound,unabletosee.
Irushovertothedogashetriestoclawtheheadbandoffwithhisfoot.Iremoveitfromaroundhisheadandhelooksupatme,scared,thenscurriesoff.
“Comeon!”oneoftheguyssays.“We’rejusthavingfunwithhim.”
Ithrowtheheadbandatthem.“Stupidfucks.”Thedogisrunningawaynow.Iwalkoverandgrabthehamburgeroutoftheguy’shandandfollowafterthedog.
“Bitch,”Ihearoneofthemmutter
IwalkbackinthedirectionIcamefrom,awayfromthecrowdandtowardthedog.Thepoorthinghidesbehindabluetrashcanandhunkersdown.IwalkslowlytowardhimuntilI’mafewfeetawayandthenIgentlytosstheburgerinhisdirection.
Thedogsniffsitforasecond,andthenbeginseatingit.Icontinuewalking,angrynow.Idon’tunderstandhumanssometimes.Ihateit,becauseIfindmyselfwishingthattheentiretyofhumanitywouldsufferjustatinyamountmorethantheydo.Maybeifeveryonetastedabitofwhatthatdoghaslivedthrough,theywouldbemorehesitanttobeassholes.
I’mhalfwayhomebeforeIrealizethedoghasbeenfollowingme.HemustthinkIhavemoreburgers.
Istopandthedogstops.
Westareeachotherdown,sizingoneanotherup.
“Idon’thaveanymorefood.”
Istartwalkingagain,andthedogcontinuestofollowme.Everynowandthenhe’llgetsidetrackedbysomething,butthenhe’lllookupandfindmeandruntocatchupwithme.He’sstillonmyheelswhenIfinallyreachthehouse.
I’mpositiveI’mnotallowedtotakeadogthisfilthyinsidewithme,butIcanatleastgethimsomefood.WhenIreachthebottomsteps,Iturnandpointathim.“Stay.”
ThedogsitsrightwhereIpoint.Itsurprisesme.Atleasthelistenswell
Igrabsomeslicesofturkeyoutoftherefrigeratorandmakeabowlofwaterandtakeitdowntothedog.Isitonthebottomstepandrubhisheadwhileheeats.Idon’tknowiffeedinghimhereatthehouseisabadmove.He’llprobablyhangaroundnowthatI’vefedhim,butmaybethat’snotsuchabadthing.Icouldusethecompanyofsomethingthatdoesn’tjudgeme.
“Beyah!”
Thedog’searsperkupatthesoundofmyname.Ilookupandaround,tryingtolocatethepersonwhojustyelled,butIdon’tseeanyone.
“Uphere!”
Ilookatthehousecatty-corneredtothisoneonthesecondrowbehindavacantbeachfrontlot.There’saguystandingontheedgeofanextremelyhighroof.He’ssohighup,ittakesmeafewsecondsbeforeIrealizetheguyisSamson.
Hewavesmeover,andlikeanidiot,Ilookaroundtomakesurehe’stalkingtome,eventhoughhespecificallysaidmyname.
“Comehere!”heyells.
Samsonisshirtless.IfeelaspatheticandashungryasthisdogwhenIimmediatelystandup.
Ilookdownatthedog.“I’llberightback.Stayhere.”
AssoonasIstarttowalkacrossthestreet,thedogfollowsme.
IwalkintotheyardthatcontainsthehouseSamsonisstandingontopof.He’sdangerouslyclosetotheedgeoftheroofnow,lookingdown.“Takethestairstothefrontdoor.Thentakethefirstdoorontheleftinthehallway.Itleadstotheroofaccess.Iwanttoshowyousomething.”
Icanseethesweatglisteningonhisskinfromdownhere,soIlookatmyfeetforasecond,tryingtofigureoutwhattodo.Ihaven’tnecessarilyhadthebestinteractionswithhim.WhywouldIexposemyselftomoreofthat?
“I’mscaredofheights!”Isayloudly,lookingupathim.
Samsonlaughs.“Youaren’tscaredofanything,getuphere.”
Idon’tlikehowhesaysthatwithsuchconfidence,likeheknowsme.Buthe’sright.I’mnotscaredofmuch.Iturntothedogandpointnexttothestairs.“Stay.”ThedogwalksovertothespotIpointedatandsits.“Damn,dog.Youaresosmart.”
Iheadupthestairstothefrontdoor.ShouldIknock?Ido,butnooneanswers.
I’massumingSamsonistheonlyonehereorhewouldhavecomedowntoletmeinhimself.
Ipushthedooropenandfeelextremelyweirdbeinginanunfamiliarhouse.Iquicklyheadforthedoorontheleftandopenit.It’sastairwellthatleadsallthewayuptoasmall,enclosedcircularseatingareaatthetopofthestairs.It’sshapedlikethetopofalighthouseandissituatedinthecenterofthehouse.It’sencasedinwindowswitha360-degreeview.
It’sstunning.Idon’tknowwhyeveryhousedoesn’thaveoneofthese.I’dcomeuphereeverynightandreadabook.
OneofthewindowsopensontotheroofandSamsoniswaitingforme,holdingitopen.
“Thisisreallycool,”Isay,lookingout.IttakesmeamomenttoworkupcouragebeforeIcanstepontotheroof.I’mnotactuallyafraidofheightslikeIsaidearlier,butthishouseisonstilts,andtherearetwofloorsontopofthosestilts.
Samsontakesmyhandandhelpsmeoutandontotheroofbeforeclosingthewindow.
IinhaleashakybreathwhenIgetsituatedbecauseIdidn’trealizehowhighupwewereuntilthismoment.Idon’tdarelookdown.
Everythinglooksdifferentfromuphere.Becauseoftheheightofthisroof,alltheotherhousesseemsmallincomparison.
TherearelooseshingleslyinginapilenexttoatoolboxatSamson’sfeet.“Isthisoneofyourfiverenthouses?”
“No.JusthelpingmyfriendMarjorie.She’sgotaleak.”Theroofupherehastwolevels,onejustacoupleoffeethigherthantheother.Samsonstepsontothesecondlevelandputshishandsonhiships.“Comehere.”
OnceI’mstandingnexttohim,hepointsintheoppositedirectionoftheocean.“Youcanseethesunsetoverthebayfromuphere.”
Ilookinthedirectionhe’spointingandtheskyisablazeontheothersideofthepeninsula.Redsandpurplesandpinksandblues,allswirledtogether.
“Marjoriehasthetallesthouseintheneighborhood.Youcanseetheentirepeninsula.”
Ispininaslowcircle,admiringtheview.Thebayislitupwithsplashesofcolorssobright,itlookslikeafilter.Icanseetheentirebeachasfarasmyeyesallow.
“It’sbeautiful.”
Samsonstaresatthesunsetforamoment,thenhopsdowntothelowerpartofthesplit-levelroof.Hewalksovertothetoolbox,kneelingdownnexttoit.Heplacesashingleontheroofandbeginstackingiton.
Witnessinghowhejustmovesaboutonthisrooflikehe’sonlevelgroundmakesmeunsteadyonmyownfeet.Isitdown.
“That’sallIwanted,”hesays.“Iknowyoulikethesunrises,soIwantedyoutoseethesunsetfromuphere.”
“Today’ssunriseactuallydepressedme.”
Henods,asifheknowsexactlywhatImeanbythat.“Yeah.Sometimesthingsaresopretty,itmakeseverythingelsealittlelessimpressive.”
Iwatchhiminsilenceforawhile.Hesecuresaboutfiveshinglesinplacewhiletheskyeatsupmostofhislight.HeknowsI’mwatchinghim,butforsomereasonitdoesn’tfeelembarrassingtostareathimthistime.It’slikeheprefersmetobeherethannot.Kindofhowitfeelsinthemorningswhenwesitonourrespectivebalconiesanddon’tspeak.
Hishairiswetfromsweat,soit’sadarkerblondthannormal.There’sanecklacehangingaroundhisneckandeverynowandthenwhenhemoves,Icanseeaflashofatanlinebeneathit.Hemustnevertakeitoff.It’sapieceofwoodhangingfromathinblackbraidedcord.
“Doesyournecklacehavemeaning?”
Henods,butdoesn’texplainwhatthatmeaningis.Hejustkeepsworking.
“Areyougoingtotellmewhatitmeans?”
Heshakeshishead.
Okay,then.
Isigh.WhatamIevendoingtryingtohaveaconversationwithhim?Iforgotwhatit’slike.
“Didyougetadogtoday?”heasks
“Iwentforawalk.Hefollowedmehome.”
“Isawyoufeedhim.He’snotleavingnow.”
“Idon’tmind.”
Samsoneyesmeforamoment,thenwipessweatawayfromhisforeheadwithhisarm.“WhatareSaraandMarcosdoingtonight?”
Ishrug.“Shesaidsomethingaboutacookout.”
“Good.I’mstarving.”Hegoesbacktotackingshinglesontotheroof.
“WhoisMarjorie?”Iask.
“Sheownsthishouse.Herhusbanddiedacoupleofyearsago,soIhelpherouteverynowandthen.”
Iwonderhowmanypeopleheknowsinthisneighborhood.DidhegrowupinTexas?Wheredidhegotoschool?WhyishegoingtotheAirForce?Ihavesomanyquestions.
“Howlonghaveyouhadhouseshere?”
“Idon’thavehouseshere,”hesays.“Myfatherdoes.”
“Howlonghasyourfatherhadhouseshere?”
Samsontakesasecondtoanswer.“Idon’twanttotalkaboutmyfather’shouses.”
Ichewonmylip.Itseemslikealotofquestionsareoff-limitswithhim.Ihateitbecauseitmakesmeevenmorecurious.Idon’tcomeacrosspeoplewhohoardsecretslikeIdo.Mostpeoplewantalistener.Someonetheycanspilleverythingto.Samsondoesn’twantalistener.NeitherdoI.WhichprobablyexplainswhyconversationsbetweenusfeeldifferentthanconversationsIhavewithotherpeople.
Ourconversationsfeelsplotchy.Likeglobsofinkandlotsofwhitespace.
Samsonbeginsputtingallhistoolsbackinhistoolbox.It’sstilllightout,butitwon’tbeformuchlonger.Hestandsupandcomesbackuptothetoplevel,thensitsdownnexttomeontheroof.
Icanfeeltheheatfromhisbody,he’ssoclose.
Herestshiselbowsonhisknees.Hereallyisabeautifulperson.It’shardnottostareatpeoplelikehim.ButIthinkhischarismacomesmorefromthewayhecarrieshimselfthanhowhelooks.Hemayhaveanartisticside.
There’sdefinitelyaquietaspecttohimthatmakeshimseemintrospective.Ormaybehe’sjustguarded.
Whateveritisthatmakeshimupasawhole,IfindmyselfviewinghimasaprojectIwanttotakeon.Achallenge.Iwanttocrackhimopenandseewhat’sinsidehimthatmakeshimtheonlypersonontheplanetI’mgenuinelycuriousabout.
Samsonrunsathumbacrosshisbottomlip,sonaturallyI’malreadystaringathismouthwhenhebeginstospeak.“Therewasthisfishermanwhousedtocomearoundalot,”hesays.“HisnamewasRake.HelivedonhisboatandwouldgoupanddownthecoastfromheretoSouthPadre.Sometimeshe’danchorhisboatrightoutthereandswimuptothebeachandjoinrandompeopleattheircookouts.Idon’trememberawholelotabouthim,butIrememberheusedtowritepoemsonscrapsofpaperandgivethemtopeople.Ithinkthat’swhatfascinatedmethemostabouthim.Hewasthisfearlessfishermanwhowrotepoetry.”Hesmileswhenhesaysthat.“Irememberthinkinghewassomekindofuntouchablemythicalcreature.”Samson’ssmilefades,andhepausesforamoment.“HurricaneIkehitin2008.Itdestroyedmostoftheisland.IwashelpingwiththecleanupandIfoundRake’sboattowardtheendofthepeninsulainGilchrist.Itwasinshreds.”Hefingershisnecklace,lookingdownatit.“Itookapieceoftheboatandmadethisnecklaceoutofit.”
Hekeepshisfingersonhisnecklaceandlooksbackoutattheocean,slidingthepieceofwoodbackandforththroughthecord.
“WhathappenedtoRake?”
Samsonfacesme.“Idon’tknow.Hewasn’ttechnicallyaresidentofthearea,sohewasn’tcountedamongthemissingordead.Butheneverwouldhaveabandonedthatboat,evenduringahurricane.Idon’tknowthatpeopleactivelysearchedforhim,tobehonest.I’mnotevensureanyonenoticedhewasmissingafterthehurricane.”
“Younoticed.”
Samson’sexpressionchangeswhenIsaythat.There’sasadnessinhimandalittlebitofitseepsout.Idon’tlikeitbecauseapparentlysadnessiswhatIconnectwith.Ifeellikehe’stuggingatmysoulwiththatlook.
Samsonisn’tatallwhoIthoughthewaswhenImethim.Idon’tknowhowtoprocessthat.Admittinghe’snothinglikeIassumedhewasmakesmedisappointedinmyself.I’veneverlookedatmyselfasjudgmental,butIthinkIam.Ijudgedhim.IjudgedSara.
IlookawayfromSamsonandstandup.IstepdownontothelowerleveloftheroofandturnaroundwhenIreachthewindow.Weexchangeastarethatlastsforaboutfivesilentseconds.“Iwaswrongaboutyou.”
Samsonnods,holdingmygaze.“It’sokay.”
Hesaysthatwithsincerity,likehedoesn’tholditagainstmeatall.
Idon’tcomeacrosspeopleveryoftenthatIthinkIcanlearnsomethingfrom,buthemightactuallyhavemefiguredoutmorethanIhavehimfiguredout.Ifindthatattractive.
WhichiswhyIexittheroofandwalkdownthestairsfeelingalotheavierthanwhenIwalkedupthem.
ThedogisstillinthesamespotwhenImakeitbackoutside.He’slookingatmeexcitedly—histailwaggingwhenIreachthebottomstep.“Lookatyou,beingallobedient.”Ibenddownandpethim.Hishairisallmatted.Thepoorunlovedthingremindsmesomuchofmyself.
“Isthatyourdog?”
IfollowthevoiceuntilIseeawomanseatedatapicnictablebeneaththefirstlevelofthehouse.She’smessingwithabagofsomethingsittingonherlap.She’solder,maybeinherseventies.ShemustbeMarjorie.
“Idon’tknow,”Isay,lookingdownatthedog.“Wejustmet.”
Iwalkclosertothepicnictable.Thedogfollowsme.
“YouafriendofSamson’s?”sheasks.
“Idon’tknow,”Isay,repeatingmyself.“Wejustmet,too.”
Shelaughs.“Well.Ifyoufigurehimout,letmeknow.He’samystery,thatone.”
IguessI’mnottheonlyonewhothinksthatabouthim.
“Hewantedmetoseetheviewfromyourroof.It’sgorgeous.”NowthatI’mcloser,Icanseeshe’scrackingpecans.Ileanagainstoneofthestiltsholdingherhouseup.“HowlonghaveyouknownSamson?”Iaskher.
Sheliftsherchininthought.“Sincethebeginningoftheyear,Iguess.IhadaheartattackinFebruary.Can’tgetaroundlikeIusedto,sohecomesovereverynowandthenandIputhimtowork.Hedoesn’tcomplain.Healsodoesn’tchargeme,soI’mnotsurewhathe’sgettingoutofit.”
Ismile.Ilikethathedoesn’ttakemoneyfromher.Notthatshecan’taffordtopaysomeonetohelpher.She’ssittinginthetallesthouseinwhat’sprobablythenicestneighborhoodonthispeninsula.It’snotthemostmodern.It’sactuallykindofdated,butithascharacter.Itfeelslivedin,unlikealotoftheseotherhousesthatarerent-readyandidentical.“Ireallylikeyourhouse,”Isay,lookingaround.“Whatdoyoucallthislevel?”
“Thestiltlevel,”shesays.Shepointsaboveherhead.“Weconsiderthatthefirstfloor.”
Iglancearoundattheotherhouses.Someofthemhaveenclosedtheirstiltlevels.Somehavemadethemparkingspaces.IlikeMarjorie’s.She’sgotatikibar,apicnictableandacoupleofhammockshangingbetweensomeofthestilts.
“Somepeopleliketoturntheirstiltlevelsintoextrarooms,”shesays.“Thenewidiotsnextdoorenclosedanentireguestroomontheirstiltlevel.Nottoobright,buttheydidn’twantmyopinion.They’llfigureitoutsoonenough.Somedaystheoceanisourneighbor,butsomedaystheoceanisourroommate.”Shemotionsformetocomecloser.“Here.Takethese.”Shehandsmeagallon-sizedbagofshelledpecans.
“Youdon’thavetogivemethese,”Isay,tryingtohandthembacktoher.
Shewavesmeaway.“Keepthem.Ihavetoomany.”
IhavenoideawhatI’mgoingtodowithapoundofpecans.I’llgivethemtoAlana,Iguess.“Thankyou.”
Marjorienodsherheadatthedog.“Haveyounamedhimyet?”
“No.”
“YoushouldcallhimPepperJackCheese.”
Ilaugh.“Why?”
“Whynot?”
Ilookdownatthedog.Hedoesn’tlooklikeapieceofcheese.I’mnotsureanydoglookslikecheese.“PepperJack,”Isay,tryingthenameoutonhim.“DoyoufeellikeaPepperJack?”
“PepperJackCheese,”Marjoriecorrects.“Hedeservesthefullname.”
IlikeMarjorie.She’sodd.“Thanksforthepecans.”Ilookdownatthedog.“Let’sgohome,PepperJackCheese.”ELEVEN
Iwenttoasmallelementaryschool.That’swhereImetNatalie.Itwasonlyafewblocksfrommyhouseanditwassmallenoughthattherewasonlyoneteacherpergrade.Yourcliquewasthegradeyouwerein.Inelementaryschool,noonecaredaboutmoneybecauseweweretooyoungtoreallyknowbetter.
Juniorhighandhighschoolweredifferent.Theyweremuchlargercampuses,andbythatage,moneydefinedyourclique.Unlessyouwereexceptionallypretty.Or,inZackaryHenderson’scase,famousonYouTube.Hewasn’trich,buthissocialmediastatuslandedhimintherichcrowd.Followersareconsideredamorevaluablecurrencythancashtoalotofpeoplemyage.
Icamefromtheworstpartoftownandeveryoneknewit.Thekidsinmyneighborhoodwhowerejustaspoorasmeslowlybegantodwindle.Alotofthemfollowedinthesamesadfootstepsastheirparents,turningtodrugs.IneverfeltpartofthatcrowdbecauseIdidwhateverIcouldtobetheexactoppositeofmymotherandthepeoplelikeher.
Itdidn’tmatteratschool,though.NataliewasmyonlyfrienduntilIjoinedthevolleyballteamasafreshman.Afewofthegirlsontheteamacceptedme,especiallyafterIbecamethebestoneontheteam,butmostofthemresentedme.TheystilltreatedmelikeIwaslessthanthem.Anditwasn’tnecessarilytypicalbullying.Noname-calling,orbeingshovedaroundinthehallways.IthinkImighthavebeentoointimidatingtosomeofthemtobebullied.
Iwouldhavefoughtbackandtheyknewit.
ItwasmorethatIwasavoided.Ignored.Iwasneverincludedinanything.I’msurealotofthathadtodowiththefactthatIwasoneofthefewinmyschoolwhohadnocellphone,nolaptop,nohomephone.Nomeansofconnectingoutsideofschoolhours,andthatcanbesociallydetrimentalforanyonethesedays.Ormaybethat’sjustmywayofexcusingbeingexcludedforthebetterpartofsixyears.
It’shardnottogrowbitterwhenyouspendsomuchtimealone.It’sespeciallyhardnottogrowbitteratclasssystemsandpeoplewithmoney,becausetherichertheywere,themoreitseemedIdidn’texisttothem.
WhichiswhybeinghereonthisbeachwiththetypeofpeopleI’msureIwouldhavebeeninvisibletoinhighschoolishardforme.IwanttobelieveSarawouldhavetreatedmethesameasshedoesnowhadIknownherinhighschool.ThemoreIgettoknowher,thelessIseeherassomeonewhowouldbeintentionallyshittytoanyone.
AndSamson.Howdidhetreattheunderdogs?
Noteveryonewhohadmoneywasanassholeinmyhighschool,butenoughofthemwerethatIthinkImighthavejustlumpedthemalltogether.PartofmewondersifthingswouldhavebeendifferentifIwouldhavetriedharder.Openedupmore.WouldIhavebeenaccepted?
MaybetheonlyreasonIwasn’tacceptedisbecauseIdidn’twanttobe.Itwaseasiertostaytomyself.IhadNataliewhenIneededher,butshehadacellphoneandotherfriendsthatkeptherbusy,soweweren’tinseparable.Ican’tevensaywewerebestfriends.
IjustknowthatIneverdidthingslikethis.Ineverhungoutingroupswithpeople.WhenIwasoldenoughtogetajob,IworkedasmuchasIpossiblycould.Sobonfiresandcookoutsandspendingtimewithpeoplemyownageisforeigntome.I’mtryingtofindawaytobeateaseinthiscrowd,butit’sgoingtotaketime.I’vespentalotofyearsbecomingthepersonIam.It’shardtochangewhoyouareinaspanofafewdays.
Thereareabouteightpeoplearoundthecampfire,butnoneofthemareSamson.Hecamedownandgrabbedaburger,butthenwentbacktohishouseafterheate.TheonlytwoIknowareSaraandMarcos,butthey’resittingacrossfromme,thefireseparatingus.Idon’tthinktheyknowtheotherpeoplehereallthatwell,either.IheardMarcosaskoneoftheguyswherehe’sfrom.
Thismustbeabeachthing.Hangingoutwithrandompeopleyoubarelyknow.Strangersgatheringaroundafire,askingoneanothersuperficialquestionsuntilthey’redrunkenoughtopretendthey’veknowneachothertheirwholelives.
IthinkSaracantellI’mfoldinginonmyself.Shewalksoverandsitsdownnexttome.PepperJackCheeseislyinginthesandnexttomychair.Saralooksdownatthedogandscratcheshimonthehead.
“Where’dyoufindthisthing?”
“Hefollowedmehomeearlier.”
“Haveyounamedhimyet?”
“PepperJackCheese.”
Shelooksatme.“Seriously?”
Ishrug.
“Ikindalikeit.Weshouldgivehimabathlater.Wehaveanoutdoorshoweronthestiltlevel.”
“Youthinkyourmomwouldletmekeephim?”
“Notinthehouse,butwecouldmakehimaspotoutside.Sheprobablywon’tevennotice,honestly.They’rebarelyhere.”
I’venoticedthat.Theybothgethomelateandtendtogotobedsoonafter.Theyleaveearlyinthemorning.“Whyaretheygonesomuch?”
“TheybothworkinHouston.Trafficisterrible,sotheyeatdinnertogetherinthecityonweeknightssotheydon’thavetofightit.ButtheytakeoffFridaysduringthesummer,sotheybothhavethree-dayweekends.”
“WhydotheyevenbotherdrivinghereMondaythroughThursday?Isn’ttheirmainhouseinHouston?”
“Mymotherwouldworryaboutmetoomuch.She’snotasstrictassheusedtobebecauseI’malmosttwenty,butshestillwantstoknowI’mhomeinbedeverynight.Andshelovestheocean.Ithinkshesleepsbetterhere.”
“Doesanyoneliveinyourbeachhousewhenitisn’tsummer?”
“No,weuseitasarental.Wecomehereforholidays,oraweekendgetawayeverynowandthen.”ShestopspettingPepperJackCheeseandlooksatme.“WhereareyoustayingwhenyoustartclassesinAugust?Areyoumovingbackinwithyourmother?”
Mystomachturnsatthatquestion.TheyallstillthinkI’mgoingtosomecommunitycollegebackinKentucky.NottomentionIstillhaven’ttoldanyoneaboutmymother.
“No.I’llbe—”
MarcosappearsandpullsSaraoutofherchairbeforeIcanfinishmysentence.Heswoopsherupandshesquealsandwrapsherarmsaroundhisneckasherunsherouttowardthewater.PepperJackCheesestandsupandbarksbecauseofthecommotion.
“It’sokay,”Isay,puttingmyhandonhishead.“Liedown.”
Heresumeshispositioninthesand.IstareupatSamson’shouse,wonderingwhathe’sdoing.Doeshehaveagirlwithhim?Thatwouldexplainwhyheisn’toutheresocializing.
Idon’tlikebeingoutherealonenowthatSaraandMarcosareinthewater.Idon’tknowanyoftheseotherpeopleandthey’rereallystartingtogetrowdy.IthinkI’mtheonlyonenotdrinking.
Istandupandgoforawalktogetawayfromthegroupbeforeanyofthemdecidetoplayspinthebottleorsomethingelsejustashorrifying.PepperJackCheesefollowsme.
I’mreallystartingtolikethisdog.Hisloyaltyisnice,buthisnameiswaytoolong.ImightjustcallhimP.J.
There’sanabandonedsandcastleafewyardsawayfromthegroupthat’shalfdestroyed.P.J.runsovertoitandstartssniffingaroundit.Isitdownnexttothesandcastleandstartrebuildingoneofthewalls.
Lifeisweird.Onedayyou’restaringatyourdeadmotherandafewdayslateryou’rebuildingasandcastleonthebeachbyyourselfinthedarkwithadognamedafteracheese.
“It’llbewashedawaybythetideinanhour.”
IlookuptoseeSamsonstandingbesideme.I’mextremelyrelievedtoseehimhereandthatmakesmefeelstrange.I’mstartingtofindanoddcomfortinhispresence.
“Thenyoubetterhelpmebuildaretainingwall.”
Samsonwalksaroundthesandcastleandsitsontheothersideofit.Helooksatthedog.“Helikesyou.”
“Ifedhim.I’msureifyougavehimaburger,he’dfollowyouaround,too.”
Samsonleansforwardandbeginspilingsanduponhissideofthecastle.Thesightofitmakesmegrin.Ahotshirtlessguyplayinginthesand.
Istealglancesathimeverynowandthen,impressedbyhisfocus.
“HisnameisPepperJackCheese,”Isay,breakingastretchofsilence.
Samsonsmiles.“YoumetMarjorie?”
“How’dyouknowitwasheridea?”
“Shehastwocats.TheirnamesareCheddarCheeseandMozzarella.”
Ilaugh.“She’sinteresting.”
“Yeah,sheis.”
Thetidepushescloserandsomeofthewaterspillsintotheareawherewe’reworking.Samsonstopspattingthewallswithhishands.“Youbeeninthewateryet?”
“No.I’mkindofleeryofit.”
“Why?”
“Jellyfish.Sharks.AllthethingsIcan’tseebeneaththesurface.”
Samsonlaughs.“Wehungoutontopofathree-storyhousetoday.You’resaferintheoceanthanyouwereonthatroof.”Hestandsupandwipessandfromhisshorts.“Comeon.”
He’swalkingintothewater,notwaitingonme.IlookforMarcosandSara,butthey’reagoodwaysdown.
Theoceanismassive,soIdon’tknowwhygoingintoitwithSamsonseemsintimate.Istandupandpulloffmyshorts,thentossthemnearPepperJackCheese.
“Keepaneyeonthose,”Isay.
Iwalkintothewater.It’swarmerthanIthoughtitwouldbe.Samsonisseveralfeetaheadofme.Ikeepwalking,surprisedathowfaroutIhavetogobeforethewaterevenreachesmyknees.Samsondivesforwardintoawave,disappearingunderthewater.
Whenthewaterisfinallyuptomychest,Samsonreappears.He’stwofeetinfrontofmewhenhepopsupoutofthewater.Hebrusheshishairbackandlooksdownatme.
“See?Nothingscary.”
Helowershimselfuntilthewaterisuptohisneck.Ourkneesaccidentallytouch,butheactslikehedoesn’tnotice.Hemakesnomovetobackaway,butImovetheslightestbittomakesureitdoesn’thappenagain.Idon’tknowhimallthatwell,andI’mnotsureIwanttogivehimthatidea.Hedidjusthaveadifferentgirlonhislaptheothernight.Ihavenoplanstobeanotherlaptrophy.
“DidMarjoriegiveyoupecanstoday?”heasks.Inodanditmakeshimlaugh.“Ihavesomanyfuckingpecans,”hesays.“Ijustleavethemonotherpeople’sporchesnow.”
“Isthatwhatshedoesallday?Crackpecans?”
“Prettymuch.”
“Wheredoesshegetthem?Shedoesn’tevenhaveanytrees.”
“Ihavenoidea,”hesays.“Idon’tknowherallthatwell.Ionlymetherafewmonthsago.IwaswalkingbyherhouseandshestoppedmeandaskedifIwasgoingtothestoreanytimesoon.Iaskedwhatsheneededandshetoldmesheneededbatteries.Iaskedherwhatsizeandshesaid,‘Surpriseme.’”
Ismile,butit’snotreallybecauseofwhathesaid.It’sbecauseIlikethewayhetalks.There’ssomethingaboutthewayhisbottomlipmoveswhenhespeaksthatstealsmyfocus.
Samson’sgazereturnstomyface,buthe’snotlookingatmyeyes.Inoticehimglanceatmymouthandthenlookawayagain.Heswimsoutalittlefarther.
Thewaterisalreadyuptomyneck.I’mhavingtousemyarmstokeepmyselfinanareawhereIcantouch.
“Sarasaidyou’vebeensickthelastfewdays,”hesays.
“Ihaven’tbeenfeelingwell,butit’smoreofanemotionalillnessthanaphysicalone.”
“Youhomesick?”
Ishakemyhead.“No.Definitelynothomesick.”He’sinanuncharacteristicallytalkativemood,itseems.Itakeadvantageofthat.“Wheredoyougoeveryday?Whatdoyoudobesideshelpoutoldladiesforfree?”
“Ijusttrytobeinvisible,”hesays.
“Whatdoesthatmean?”
Samsonlooksawayfromme,overtothefullmoonbalancingrightabovetheedgeofthewater.“It’salongexplanation.Idon’treallyfeellikelongexplanationsrightnow.”
Notsurprising.Heseemstowanttostayintheshallowendwhenitcomestoconversations.
“Ican’tfigureyouout,”Isay.
Hisexpressiondoesn’tchangeatall,buthisvoicehasatingeofamusementtoitwhenhesays,“Ididn’tthinkyouwantedto.”
“That’sbecauseIthoughtIhadyoufiguredout.ButIalreadytoldyouIwaswrong.You’relayered.”
“Layered?”herepeats.“Likeanonionoracake?”
“Definitelyanonion.Yourlayersarethekindapersonhastopeelback.”
“Isthatwhatyou’retryingtodo?”
Ishrug.“Ihavenothingelsetodo.MaybeI’llspendmysummerpeelingbackallyourlayersuntilyoufinallyansweraquestion.”
“Iansweredone.Itoldyouaboutmynecklace.”
Inod.“That’strue,youdidgivemethat.”
“Doyouthinkyou’reeasytoread?”heasks.
“Idon’tknow.”
“Youaren’t.”
“Areyoutrying?”
Heholdsmystareforamoment.“Ifyouare.”
Thatresponsemakesmykneesfeellikeanchors.“Ihaveafeelingwewon’tgetfarwitheachother,”Isay.“Ilikekeepingmysecrets.Igetthefeelingyoudotoo.”
Henods.“Youwon’tgetpastmyfirstlayer,Icanpromiseyouthat.”
SomethingtellsmeIwill.“Whyareyousoprivate?Isyourfamilyfamousorsomething?”
“Orsomething,”hesays.
Hekeepsmovingclosertome.Itmakesmethinkthisattractionmightbemutual.That’shardformetowrapmymindaround.Thataguyasgood-lookingandrichashimwouldfindmeinterestinginanyway.
ItremindsmeofhowIfeltthefirsttimeDakotakissedme.WhichiswhyIbackawayfromSamson.Idon’twanthimtosayordoanythingthatmightmakemefeelthewayDakotamademefeelrightafterourfirstkiss.
Ineverwanttofeelthatagain,butIcan’thelpbutwonderifthingswouldbedifferentwithSamson.Whatwouldhesayafterwekiss?WouldhebeasheartlessasDakotawas?
We’vesomehowturnednowandmybackistowardthebeach.It’slikewe’removing,butsoslowlyitisn’tnoticeable.TherearedropsofwateronSamson’sbottomlipandIcan’tstopstaringatthem.
Ourkneesbrushagain.ThistimeIdon’tmoveaway,buttheconnectiononlylastsforasecond.Ifeelsomewhatdeflatedwhenitpasses.
Iwonderwhathefeels.ProbablynotasconfusedaboutwhathewantsasIam.
“What’syourreasonforbeingsecretive?”heasks.
Ithinkaboutthatforamoment.“IguessI’veneverhadanyoneIwantedtotellanythingto.”
There’sanunderstandinginhiseyes.Hesays,“Same,”butit’salmostawhisper.Hesinksunderthewateranddisappears.Ihearhimcomeupforairbehindmeafewsecondslater.Ispinaroundandhe’sevenclosertomenow.Ourlegsaredefinitelytouching,butneitherofuspullsaway.
I’mnotsureI’veeverfeltthis—likemybloodiszippingthroughmyveins.Myinteractionswithguyshavealwaysleftmewantingmorespacebetweentheguyandme.I’mnotusedtowishingtherewasnospacebetweenmeandanotherperson.
“Askmesomequestions,”hesays.“Iprobablywon’tanswermostofthem,butIwanttoknowwhatyouwanttoknowaboutme.”
“Probablymorethanyou’llgiveme.”
“Tryme.”
“Areyouanonlychild?”
Henods.
“Howoldareyou?”
“Twenty.”
“Wheredidyougrowup?”
Heshakeshishead,refusingtoanswerthatone.
“Thatwasn’tevenanintrusivequestion,”Isay.
“Ifyouknewtheanswer,you’drealizeitwas.”
He’sright.Thisisgoingtobeachallenge.ButIdon’tthinkherealizeshowcompetitiveIcanbe.IdidearnafullridetoPennStatethankstomycommitmenttowinning.
“Sarasaidyou’regoingintotheAirForceAcademy?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It’safamilytradition.”
“Ah,”Isay.“Amorsel.SoyourfatherwasintheAirForce?”
“Yes.Andmygrandfather.”
“Howisyourfamilysorich?Themilitarydoesn’tpaythatwell.”
“Somepeoplegointothemilitaryfortheesteem.Notthepay.”
“DoyouwanttogototheAirForceorareyoudoingitbecauseit’sexpectedofyou?”
“Iwanttogo.”
“That’sgood.”
Idon’tknowifit’shimorthecurrent,buthe’sevenclosernow.Oneofmylegsisbetweenhiskneesandmythighoccasionallybrusheshis.Imightbedoingitonpurpose,whichsurprisesme.Maybeheistoo.
“What’syourfavoriteanimal?”Iask.
“Whale.”
“Favoritefood?”
“Seafood.”
“Favoritethingtodo?”
“Swim.”
Ilaugh.“Thesearetypicalbeachratanswers.I’llnevergetanywhere.”
“Askbetterquestions,”hesayspointedly.
Anotherchallenge.WestareateachotherwithheavinesswhileIthinkofaquestionIreallywantananswerto.“Sarasaidyoudon’tdorelationships—thatyouonlydategirlswhoarehereonvacations.Whyisthat?”
Hedoesn’tanswer.Anotherquestionthat’sofflimits,Iguess.“Okay,tooprivate.I’llthinkofaneasierquestion.”
“No,I’mgoingtoanswerthatone,”hesays.“I’mjusttryingtofigureouthow.”Helowershimselfuntilthewaterislevelwithhischin.Idothesame.Ilikethatallwecanfocusonrightnowareeachother’seyes.Althoughhisaren’tverytelling.
“Idon’ttrusteasily.”
Iwasn’texpectingthatanswer.Iwasexpectinghimtosayhelikesbeingsingle,orsomethingequallystereotypical.
“Why?Didyougetyourheartbroken?”
Hepresseshislipstogetherwhilehepondersthatquestion.“Yeah,”hesaysflatly.“Crushedme.HernamewasDarya.”
Thefactthathesaidhernameoutloudcausesanunexpected,tinysliverofjealousytopokeatmefromtheinside.Iwanttoaskhimwhathappened,butIdon’treallywanttheanswer.
“What’sitlike?”Iaskhim.
“Havingmyheartbroken?”
Inod.
Hepushesafloatingpieceofseaweedawayfromus.“Haveyouneverbeeninlove?”
Ilaugh.“No.Notevenclose.I’veneverlovedanyone,norhaveIeverbeenlovedbyanyone.”
“Yesyouhave,”hesays.“Familycounts.”
Ishakemyheadagain,becauseeveniffamilycounted,myanswerwouldremainthesame.Myfatherbarelyknowsme.Mymotherwasn’tcapableoflovingme
Ilookawayfromhimandstareoutattheopenwater.“Idon’thavethatkindoffamily,”Isayquietly.“Notalotofpeoplehavemotherslikemine.Idon’tevenrememberherhuggingme.Notonce.”Icutmyeyesbacktohis.“NowthatIthinkaboutit,I’mnotevensureI’veeverbeenhugged.”
“Howisthatpossible?”
“Imean,I’vehuggedpeopleasagreeting.Aquickhellooraquickgoodbyehug.ButI’veneverbeen…Idon’tknowhowtoputit.”
“Held?”
Inod.“Yeah.That’sabetterdescription,Iguess.I’veneverbeenheldbyanyone.Idon’tknowwhatthat’slike.Itrytoavoidit,actually.Itseemslikeitwouldbeweird.”
“Iguessitdependsonwho’sholdingyou.”
Mythroatfeelsthick.Iswallowandnodinagreement,butsaynothing.
“Itsurprisesmethatyoudon’tthinkyourfatherlovesyou.Heseemslikeaniceguy.”
“Hedoesn’tknowme.ThisisthefirsttimeI’veseenhiminsinceIwassixteen.IknowmoreaboutyouthanIdoabouthim.”
“That’snotverymuch.”
“Exactly,”Isay,facinghimfull-onagain.
Samson’skneebrusheshighuponmyinnerthighsthistimeandI’mgladhecan’tseeanythingfrommychindown,becausemybodyiscoveredinchillsrightnow.
“Ididn’tthinkthereweremanypeopleintheworldlikeme,”hesays.
“Youthinkwe’realike?”Iwanttolaughatthatcomparison,butthere’snotanounceofhumorinhisexpression.
“Ibelievewehavealotmoreincommonthanyouthinkwedo,Beyah.”
“Youthinkyou’reasaloneinthisworldasIam?”
Hefoldshislipstogetherandnodshishead,andit’sthemosthonestthingI’veeverseen.Ineverwouldhavethoughtsomeonesowelloffcouldhavealifeasshittyasmine,butIcanseeitinthewayhe’slookingatme.Everythingabouthimsuddenlyseemsfamiliartome.
He’sright.Wearealike,butonlyinthesaddestways.
MyvoicecomesoutinawhisperwhenIsay,“WhenIfirstmetyouonthatferry,Icouldtellyouweredamaged.”
There’saflickerofsomethinginhiseyesashetiltshisheadtotheright.“YouthinkI’mdamaged?”
“Yes.”
Hemovesevencloserinthewater,buttherewasn’tmuchspaceleftbetweenustobeginwith.It’sdeliberate,andsomuchofmeistouchingsomuchofhimnow.“You’reright,”hesaysquietly,slippingahandaroundthebackofmyleftknee.“There’snothingleftofmebutafuckingpileofdebris.”Hepullsmetohim,wrappingbothmylegsaroundhim.That’sallhedoes,though.Hedoesn’ttrytokissme.Hejustconnectsustogetherasifthat’senoughwhileourarmskeepusbothafloat.
I’mswiftlysuccumbingtohim.Idon’tknowinwhatway.Allofthem,maybe.Becauserightnow,Ineedhimtodosomethingelse.Anythingelse.Tasteme.Touchme.Dragmeunder.
Wewatcheachotherforamomentandit’salmostlikelookingintoabrokenmirror.Heleansinslowly,butnottowardmymouth.Hepresseshislipsagainstmyshoulder,sogentleitfeelslikeagraze.
Iclosemyeyesandinhale.
I’veneverfeltanythingsosensual.Soperfect.
Oneofhishandsdisappearsunderthewaterandfindsmywaist.WhenIopenmyeyes,hisfaceisjustacoupleofinchesfrommine.
Webothlookateachother’smouthsforabriefsecond,andthenit’slikefireshootsdownmyentireleg.
“Fuck!”
Somethingjuststungme.
SomethingjuststungtheshitoutofmerightwhenIwasabouttobekissedandifthisisn’tmydamnluck.“Shit,shit,shit.”IgripSamson’sshoulders.“Somethingjuststungme.”
Heshakeshisheadasifhe’spullinghimselfoutofatrance.Hecatchesuptowhatjusthappened.“Jellyfish,”hesays.Hegrabsmyhandandpullsmetowardtheshore,butmyleghurtssobad,it’sdifficulttowalk.
“OhmyGod,ithurts.”
“Sarakeepsabottleofvinegarintheiroutdoorshower.It’llhelpthesting.”
WhenhecantellI’mstrugglingtokeepup,hebendsdownandscoopsmeup.Iwanttoenjoythefactthathe’scarryingme,butIcan’tenjoyanything
“Wherediditgetyou?”heasks.
“Myrightleg.”
Whenthewaterisjustbelowhisknees,he’sabletowalkfaster.Herushesmepastthefire,towardtheoutdoorshoweronSara’sstiltlevel.IhearSarayellafterus.“Whathappened?”
“Jellyfish!”heyellsoverhisshoulder.
Whenwereachtheshower,there’sbarelyenoughroomforbothofusinside.HesetsmedownandIspinaroundandpressmyhandsagainsttheshowerwall.“Itgotthetopofmythigh.”
Whenhestartstospraythevinegaronmyleg,itfeelsliketinyknivesstabbingmeinthefleshiestpartofmythigh.Iclosemyeyes,pressingmyforeheadagainstthewoodenshowerwall.Imoaninagony.“Oh,God.”
“Beyah,”Samsonsays,hisvoicestrainedanddeep.“Pleasedon’tmakethatnoise.”
I’mintoomuchpaintodissectthatcomment.AllIfeelispainontopofmorepainwhenthevinegarhitsmyskin.“Samson,ithurts.Pleasestop.”
“Notyet,”hesays,sprayingdownmylegtoensurehegetsallthesting.“It’llfeelbetterinasecond.”
He’saliar,Iwanttodie.“No,ithurts.Pleasestop.”
“I’malmostfinished.”
Hestopssuddenlyaftersayingthat,butnotbychoice.Samsondisappearsinaconfusingflash.IspinaroundandpeekmyheadoutjustintimetowitnessmyfatherpunchSamsonintheface.
Samsonstumblesbackandthenfallsovertheconcreteledgeofthefoundation.
“Shesaidstop,yousonofabitch!”myfatheryellsathim.
Samsonscramblestohisfeetandbacksawayfrommyfather.Heholdshishandsupindefense,butmyfathergoestohithimagain.Igrabmyfather’sarm,butitdoeslittletoeasetheimpactofthesecondhit.
“Dad,stop!”
SaraappearsandIlookatherpleadinglyforhelp.Sherunsoverandtriestograbmyfather’sotherarm,buthe’sgotSamsonbythethroatnow.
“Hewashelpingme!”Iyell.“Letgoofhim!”
ThispromptsmyfathertoreleasesomeofthepressurearoundSamson’sthroat,buthedoesn’tletgo.Samsonhasbloodrunningfromhisnose.I’msurehecouldfightback,butheisn’t.He’sjustshakinghishead,staringatmyfatherwide-eyed.“Iwasn’t—shegotstungbyajellyfish.Iwashelpingher.”
Myfatherlooksoverhisshoulder,searchingforme.Whenwelockeyes,Inodvigorously.“He’stellingyouthetruth.Hewassprayingvinegaronmyleg.”
“ButIheardyousay…”Myfathercloseshiseyeswhenherealizesittrulywasamisunderstanding.Heexhalesdeeply.“Shit.”HereleasesSamson.
There’sbloodrunningallthewaydownSamson’snecknow.
Myfatherputshishandsonhishipsandtriestocatchhisbreathforafewseconds.ThenhemotionsforSamsontofollowhim.“Comeinside,”hemutters.“IthinkIbrokeyournose.”TWELVE
Samsonisleaningagainsttheguestbathroomcounterholdingaragtohisnosetostopthebleeding.I’msittingonaheatcompressinthedrybathtub.Thebathroomdoorisslightlyajar,andeventhoughAlanaandmyfatheraredownthehall,wecanheareverywordthey’resaying.
“He’sgoingtosueus,”myfathersays.
Samsonlaughsquietly.“I’mnotgoingtosuehim,”hewhispers.
“He’snotgoingtosueus,”Alanasays.
“Youdon’tknowthat.WebarelyknowhimandIbrokehisnose,”myfathersays.
Samsonlooksatme.“It’snotbroken.Hedoesn’thitthathard.”
Ilaugh.
“I’mconfused,”IhearAlanasay.“Whydidyouhithim?”
“Theywereintheoutdoorshower.Ithoughthewas—”
“Wecanhearyou!”Iyell.Idon’twanthimtofinishthatsentence.Thisisalreadytooembarrassing.
Myfatherwalkstothebathroomandopensthedooralltheway.“Areyouonbirthcontrol?”
Oh,myGod.
Alanatriespullinghimoutofthebathroom.“Notinfrontoftheboy,Brian.”
Samsonpullstheragfromhisnoseandnarrowshiseyesatme.“Theboy?”hewhispers.
Atleasthehasagoodsenseofhumoraboutthis.
“Maybeyoushouldgo,”Isuggest.“Thisisgettingtooembarrassing.”
Samsonnods,butmyfatherisbackinthedoorway.“I’mnotsayingyouaren’tallowedtohavesex.You’realmostanadult.Ijustwantyoutobesafeaboutit.”
“Iamanadult.There’snothingalmostaboutit,”Isay.
Samsonisstandingnearmyfather,butmyfatherisblockingtheentiredoorwayashespeakstome.Hedoesn’tnoticeSamsonattemptingtosqueezebyhimtoescape.
“Thisismyonlywayout,”Samsonsaystomydad,pointingoverhisshoulder.“Pleaseletmeout.”
Myfatherrealizeshe’sblockinghimandquicklystepsaside.“Sorryaboutyournose.”
Samsonnodsandthenleaves.IwishIcouldescape,butI’mprettysuretherearetentaclesstillembeddedinmylegandithurtstomove.
Myfatherreturnshisattentionbacktome.“Alanacantakeyoutogetonthepillifyouaren’talreadyonit.”
“Wearen’t…SamsonandIaren’t…nevermind.”Ipushmyselfoutofthetubandstandup.“Thisisareallyintenseconversationandmythighfeelslikeit’smeltingoffmybody.Canwepleasedothislater?”
Theybothnod,butmyfatherfollowsafterme.“AskSara.We’reveryopenaboutthisstuffifyoueverwanttotalkaboutit.”
“I’mawareofthatnow.Thankyou,”Isay,headingupthestairstomyroom.
Wow.Sothisiswhatit’sliketohaveinvolvedparents?I’mnotsureIlikeit.
IwalkstraighttomybedroomwindowandwatchasSamsonentershishouse.Heturnsonhiskitchenlightandthenheleansoverthecounterandfoldsinonhimself,pressinghisforeheadtothegranite.He’sgrippingthebackofhisneckwithhishands.
Idon’tknowwhattothinkofthat.Isthatasignofregret?Orishejustoverwhelmedbecausehegotpunchedtwiceandrefusedtofightback?Thewayhe’sreactingrightnowfillsmewithsomanyquestions.QuestionsIknowhewon’tlikelyanswer.He’savaultandIreallywishIhadakey.
Orsomeexplosives.
IwantanexcusetogoovertheresoIcangetacloserlookathimandseewhatitisexactlythat’sbotheringhimsomuch.Ineedtoknowifit’sbecausehealmostkissedme.
WouldhetryitagainifIgavehimthechance?
Iwanttogivehimthechance.IwantthatkissalmostasmuchasIdon’t.
Idohavehismemorycard.Icouldtakeitbacktohim.Ihaven’tlookedatthepicturesyet,though.IreallywanttoseethembeforeIgiveitbacktohim.
Sarahasacomputerinherbedroom,soIfishthememorycardoutofmybackpackandgotoSara’scomputer.
Iwaitseveralminutesforalloftheimagestoload.Therearealotofthem.Thefirstonestoloadareallpicturesofnature.Allthingshesaidhetakespicturesof.Countlesssunrisesandsunsets.Picturesofthebeach.Buttheyaren’tnecessarilyprettypictures.They’resoothinglysad.Mostofthemaretakenwiththefocuszoomedinonsomethingrandom,likeapieceoftrashfloatinginthewater,orseaweedpileduponthesand.
It’sinteresting.It’slikeheputsthefocusonthesaddestpartofwhateverisinviewofhislens,butthepictureasawholeisstillbeautiful.
Thepictureshetookofmebegintoload.TherearemorethanIthoughttherewouldbe,andheapparentlystartedsnappingpicturesofmebeforeIevenmovedtothefrontoftheferry.
Mostofthepicturesareofmeonthesideoftheferry,watchingthesunsetalone.
Heputthefocusonmeineverypicture.Nothingelse.Andbasedonalltheotherpictureshetook,IsupposethatmeanshethoughtIwasthesaddestthinginhisframe.
There’sonepictureinparticularthatstrikesme.It’szoomedinandthefocusisonasmallripinthebackofmysundressthatIdidn’tevenknowwasthere.Evenwithhisfocusonsomethingassadasmydress,thepictureisstillstriking.Myfaceisoutoffocus,andifthiswereapictureofanyoneelsebutme,I’dsayitwasabeautifulpieceofart.
Instead,I’membarrassedhepaidsuchcloseattentiontomebeforeIevennoticedhewasthere.
Iscrollthrougheverypictureofmeandnoticethereisn’tasinglepictureofmeeatingthebread.Iwonderwhyhedidn’tphotographthat.
Thatsaysalotabouthim.IregretreactinghowIdidwhenhetriedtooffermemoneyontheferrythatday.Samsonmayactuallybeadecenthumanandthepicturesonthismemorycardbackthatup.
IremoveitfromthecomputerandeventhoughI’mstillinpainandkindofwanttocrawlinbedandgotosleep,Iheaddownstairs,outsideandacrosstheyard.Samsonalwaysuseshisbackdoor,soIheadinthatdirection.Iwalkupthestepsandknock.
Iwaitforawhile,butIdon’thearhisfootstepsandIcan’tseethekitchenfromthispointofview.Ihearsomethingbehindme,though.WhenIturnaround,P.J.issittingatthetopofthestairswatchingme.Ismilealittle.Ilikethathe’sstillaround.
Samsoneventuallyopensthedoor.He’schangedclothesinthetimeIwaswatchinghimfrommywindowtothepointofmeknockingonhisdoor.He’swearingoneofMarcos’sHisPanicT-shirts,whichseemtobetheonlyshirtshewears,ifhe’swearingashirtatall.Ilikethathe’ssupportiveofMarcos’svision.Theirfriendshipiskindofadorable.
Samsonisbarefoot,andIdon’tknowwhyI’mstaringathisfeet.Ilookbackathisface.
“Iwasjustbringingyourmemorycardback.”Ihandittohim.
“Thanks.”
“Ididn’tdeleteanything.”
Samson’smouthcurlsupontheleftside.“Ididn’tthinkyouwould.”
Hestepsasideandmotionsformetocomein.Isqueezebetweenhimandthedoorframeandenterhisdarkhouse.Heflipsonalight,andItrytohidemygasp,butit’sevenbiggerontheinsidethanitlooksfromtheoutside.
Everythingiswhiteandcolorless.Thewalls,thecabinets,thetrim.Thefloorisadarkwood—almostblack.Ispinaroundinacircle,admiringitforwhatitis,butalsorecognizinghowunlikeahomeitfeels.Thereisn’tanysoulatall.
“It’skindof…sterile.”AssoonasIsayit,IwishIhadn’t.Hedidn’taskformyopiniononhishouse,butit’shardnottonoticehowunlived-initfeels.
Samsonshrugslikemyopinionofhishousedoesn’tbotherhim.“It’sarenthouse.They’realllikethis.Verygeneric.”
“It’ssoclean.”
“Peoplesometimesrentatthelastminute.It’seasierformeifIkeepthehousesrent-ready.”Samsonwalkstohisrefrigeratorandopensit,wavingahandinside.Therefrigeratorismostlyempty,asidefromafewcondimentsinthedoor.“Nothinginthefridge.Nothinginthepantry.”Heclosestherefrigeratordoor.
“Wheredoyoukeepyourfood?”
Hemotionstowardaclosetnearthestairsthatleadtothetopfloor.“Wekeepthestuffwedon’twantrenterstohaveaccesstointhatcloset.There’sasmallfridgeinit.”Hepointstoabackpacknexttothedoor.“EverythingelseIownIkeepinthatbackpack.ThelessIhave,theeasieritisformetomovebetweenourproperties.”
I’veseenhimwiththebackpackacoupleoftimesbutthoughtnothingofit.It’skindofironicthatwebothcarryourlivesaroundinabackpack,despitethevastdifferenceofwealthbetweenus.
Iglanceupnearthedoor,atapictureonthewall.It’stheonlythinginthehousethathasanycharacter.Iwalkovertoit.It’saphotoofayoungboy,aboutthreeyearsold,walkingonthebeach.Awomanisbehindhim,wearingaflowywhitedress.She’ssmilingatwhoeveristakingthephoto.“Isthisyourmother?”Itremindsmeofthoseperfectsamplephotostheyplaceinframesbeforethey’repurchased.
Samsonnods.
“Sothat’syou?Asatoddler?”
Henodsagain.
Hishairissoblondinthepicture,it’salmostwhite.It’sdarkenedsincehewasachild,butI’dstillconsiderhishairblond.Idon’tknowifit’sthisblondinthewinter,though.Itseemstobethekindofhairthatchangescolorwiththeseasons.
IwonderwhatSamson’sfatherlookslike,buttherearen’tanyphotosofhim.Thisistheonlyphotointhissectionofthehouse.
IhavesomanymorequestionsasIstareatthepicture.Hismotherseemshappy.Heseemshappy.Iwonderwhathappenedtohimtomakehimsoprivateandwithdrawn?Didhismotherdie?Idoubthe’delaborateonanythingifIweretoaskhim.
Samsonflipsonmorelightsandleansagainsthiskitchencounter.Idon’tknowhowhecanappearsocasualwhenallofmymusclesaretightwithtension.“Yourlegfeelbetter?”heasks.
Icantellhedoesn’twanttotalkaboutthepictureorhismotheroranythingelsethatwouldbeanotherlayerdeep.Iwalkintothekitchenandstandacrossfromhim,leaningagainstthelargecenterisland.It’sthekitchenislandCadencewassittingonafewnightsagowhenIwatchedhimkissher.
Ipushthatthoughtoutofmyhead.“Itfeelsalittlebetter.IdoubtI’llgetinthewateragain,though.”
“You’llbefine,”hesays.“Rarelyhappens.”
“Yeah,that’swhatyousaidearlier,andthenithappened.”
Hesmiles.
Itmakesmewantourmomentback.IwanttofeelhowIfeltwhenhepulledmetohimandkissedmyshoulder.Idon’tknowhowtogetthere,though.It’ssobrightinhere.Theatmosphereisdifferentthanitwaswhenwewereinthewater.
IthinkmaybeIdon’tlikehishouse.
“How’syourface?”Iaskhim.
Herunsahandacrosshisjaw.“Myjawhurtsworsethanmynose.”Helowershishandandgripsthecounterathissides.“Thatwasniceofyourdad.”
“Youthinkhimattackingyouwasnice?”
“No.Ithoughtthewayheprotectedyouwasnice.”
Ihadn’treallythoughtaboutthat.Myfatherdidn’teventhinktwicewhenheheardmeaskingsomeonetostop.ButI’mnotsureit’sspecificallybecauseitwasme.Hewouldhaveprotectedanyoneinthatsituation,I’msure.
“Wheredoyougowhenthishousegetsrentedout?”Iask,steeringtheconversationawayfrommyfather.
“Weonlykeepfourrentedoutatatime,soIalwayshavesomewheretostay.Thisoneisthemostexpensive,soitgetsrentedtheleast.I’mhereseventy-fivepercentofthetime.”
Iglancearoundme,tryingtofindsomethingelselikethepicturethatwouldgivemeahintintohispast.There’snothing.“It’skindofironic,”Isay.“Youhavefivehouses,butnoneofthemareactuallyyourhome.Yourrefrigeratorisempty.Youliveoutofabackpack.Wesurprisinglydoliveverysimilarlives.”
Hedoesn’trespondtothat.Hejustwatchesme.HedoesthatalotandIlikeit.Idon’tevencarewhathe’sthinkingwhenhestares.Ijustlikethathefindsmeintriguingenoughtostareat,evenifhisthoughtsaren’tentirelypositive.Itmeansheseesme.I’mnotusedtobeingseen.
“What’syourlastname?”Iaskhim.
Helooksamused.“Youaskalotofquestions.”
“ItoldyouIwasgoingto.”
“Ithinkit’smyturnnow.”
“ButI’vebarelygottenanywhere.You’reterribleatansweringme.”
Hedoesn’tdisagree,buthealsodoesn’tanswermyquestion.Hiseyescrinkleatthecornersashethinksofhisownquestion.“Whatareyouplanningondoingwithyourlife,Beyah?”
“That’sabroadone.Yousoundlikeaschoolcounselor.”
HereleasesasmalllaughandIfeelitinmystomach.“Whatareyoudoingafterthesummerisover?”heclarifies.
Imulloverthatquestion.ShouldIbehonestwithhim?MaybeifI’mhonestwithhim,he’llbemoreopenwithme.“I’lltellyou,butyoucan’ttellanyone.”
“It’sasecret?”
Inod.“Yeah.”
“Iwon’ttellanyone.”
Itrusthim.Idon’tknowwhybecauseIdon’ttrustanyone.I’meitherafoolordeeplyattractedtohimandneitherisreallyokaywithme.“IhaveafullridetoPennState.ImoveintomydormAugustthird.”
Hiseyebrowliftsslightly.“Yougotascholarship?”
“Yeah.”
“Whatfor?”
“Volleyball.”
Hiseyesdothisthingwheretheyrollslowlydownmybody.Notinaseductiveway,butinacuriousway.“Icanseethat.”Whenhiseyesmeetmineagain,hesays,“Whatpartofthatisasecret?”
“Allofit.Ihaven’ttoldanyone.Notevenmyfather.”
“Yourownfatherdoesn’tknowyoureceivedascholarship?”
“Nope.”
“Whyhaven’tyoutoldhim?”
“Becauseitwouldmakehimfeellikehedidsomethingright.AndIhadtoworkforthescholarshipbecausehedideverythingwrong.”
Henods,likehecanempathizewiththat.IlookawayforamomentbecausemyentirebodyheatsupwhenIstareathimtoomuch.I’mafraidit’sobvious.
“Isvolleyballyourpassion?”
Hisquestionmakesmepause.Noonehaseveraskedmethatbefore.“No.Idon’tenjoyitallthatmuchtobehonest.”
“Whynot?”
“IworkedhardatitbecauseIknewitwasmyonlywayoutofthetownIgrewupin.Butnooneevercametowatchmeplay,sotheactualsportstartedfeelingdepressingtome.Allmyotherteammateshadparentsateverygamecheeringthemon.I’veneverhadanyone,andIthinkthatpreventedmefromlovingitasmuchasIcouldhave.”Isigh,spillingmoreofmythoughtsoutloud.“SometimesIwonderifI’mdoingtherightthingbysubjectingmyselftofourmoreyearsofit.BeingonateamwithpeoplewhoselivesaresodifferentfrommyownsometimesmakesmefeelevenlonelierthanifIweren’tapartofateam.”
“Youaren’texcitedtogo?”
Ishrug.“I’mproudofmyselfforgettingthescholarship.AndIwasexcitedtogetoutofKentucky.ButnowthatI’mhereandI’vegottenthefirstbreakfromvolleyballI’vehadinyears,Idon’tthinkImissit.I’mstartingtowonderifIshouldjuststayhereandgetajob.MaybeI’lltakeagapyear.”Isaythatlastpartwithahintofsarcasm,butit’sstartingtosoundveryappealing.I’vespentthelastseveralyearsworkingmyassofftogetoutofKentucky.NowthatI’mout,IfeellikeIneedtotakeabreather.Reassessmylife.
“You’rethinkingaboutgivingupascholarshiptoagreatschooljustbecausethesportthatgotyoutheresometimesmakesyoulonely?”
“Itfeelsmorecomplicatedthanyoumakeitsound,”Isay.
“YouwanttoknowwhatIthink?”
“What?”
“Ithinkyoushouldwearearplugsatthegamesandjustpretendpeopleareouttherecheeringyouon.”
Ilaugh.“Ithoughtyouweregoingtosaysomethingprofound.”
“Ithoughtthatwasprofound,”hesays,grinning.Inoticewhenhesmilesthathisjawisbeginningtobruise.Buthissmilefadesandhetiltshisheadalittle.“Whywereyoucryingonyourbalconythenightyougothere?”
Istiffenathisquestion.It’sajarringjumpfromtalkingaboutvolleyball.Idon’tknowhowtoanswerthat.Especiallyinaroomthisbright.Maybeifitdidn’tfeellikeaninterrogationroom,I’dbemoreatease.“Canyouturnoffsomeoftheselights?”Iaskhim.
Helooksconfusedbymyrequest.
“It’stoobrightinhere.It’smakingmeuncomfortable.”
Samsonwalksovertothelightswitchesandturnsallofthemoffexceptforone.Thelightsthattrimthecabinetsstayon,soit’ssignificantlydarkerandIrelaxalmostimmediately.Icanseewhyhekeepsitdarkinthishouse.Theassaultinglightsandallthewhitepaintmakeitfeellikeapsychiatricward.
Hereturnstohisspotagainstthecounter.“Isthatbetter?”
Inod.
“Whywereyoucrying?”
Iblowoutarushofair,thenjustspititoutbeforeIchangemymindanddecidetolietohim.“MymotherdiedthenightbeforeIcamehere.”
Samsondoesn’treacttothatatall.I’vecometorealizethatmaybehislackofreactionishowhereacts.
“That’salsoasecret,”Isay.“Ihaven’teventoldmyfatheryet.”
Hisexpressionissolemn.“How’dshedie?”
“Overdose.IfoundherwhenIgothomefromwork.”
“I’msorry,”hesayswithsincerity.“Areyouokay?”
Iliftashoulderinuncertainty,andwhenIdo,itfeelslikesomeofthosefeelingsthatforcedmeintotearsonthebalconyattempttoseepbackin.Iwasn’tpreparedtotalkaboutthis.Idon’twanttotalkaboutit,honestly.It’snotreallyfairthatIdon’tknowhowtonotanswerhisquestions,buthedoesn’topenupaboutanything.
Ifeellikeawaterfallaroundhim,justspillingmyselfandmysecretsoutalloverthefloor.
Samson’sexpressionturnsempatheticwhenheseesmyeyesrimwithtears.
Hepushesoffthecounterandbeginstowalktowardme,butIstandupstraightandimmediatelyshakemyhead.Ipressahandagainsthischest,stoppinghimfromtouchingme.
“Don’t.Don’thugme.It’lljustfeelpatronizingnowthatyouknowI’veneverbeenhuggedlikethat.”
Samsonshakeshisheadgentlyashestaresdownatme.“Iwasn’tgoingtohugyou,Beyah,”hewhispers.Hisfaceissoclosetomine,hisbreathgrazesmycheekwhenhespeaks.IfeellikeI’mabouttoslidetothefloor,soIgriptheedgeofthecounterbehindme.
Hedipshisheaduntilhislipscatchmine.Hismouthissoft,likeanapology,andIacceptit.
HistonguecoaxesmymouthopenandIwelcomehimbyfistingbothofmyhandsinhishair,pullinghimevencloser.Ourchestsmeetandourtonguesslideagainsteachother,wetandwarmandsoft.
Iwantthiskiss,evenifit’sonlyhappeningbecausehe’sdrawntosadthings.
Hetugsmeawayfromthecounterandintohim,andtheninoneswiftmove,heliftsmeandI’msittingonhisislandandhe’sstandingbetweenmylegs.Hislefthandslidesdownmyleguntilhisfingersarebrushingmyouterthigh.
I’mfullofthingsI’mnotusuallyfilledwith.Warmthandelectricityandlight.
Itscaresme.
Hiskissscaresme.
I’mnotimpenetrableagainsthismouth.I’mvulnerable,andIfeelmyguardlowering.I’dgivehimallmysecretsrightnowandthatisn’tme.HiskissispotentenoughtoturnmeintoagirlIdon’trecognize.IloveitandIloatheit.
AsmuchasItrytoremainfocusedonwhat’shappeningbetweenus,it’shardfortheimageofwhathappenedbetweenhimandCadencenottoflashthroughmyhead.Idon’twanttobejustanothergirlhekissesonhiskitchenisland.
I’mnotsureIcanhandlebeingathrowawaytoSamsonlikeIwaswithDakota.I’drathernotbekissedatallthanallowthattohappenagain,onlytolookoutmybedroomwindowtomorrownightandseesomeoneelseinthissamespot,feelingthesamethingshe’smakingmefeelrightnow.
ThesamethingsDakotamademefeelrightbeforehepulledawayandruinedthenextfewyearsofmylifewithonegesture.
God,whatifSamsonpullsawayandlooksatmelikeDakotalookedatmethatfirstnightinhistruck?
Thethoughtmakesmenauseous.
Ineedair.Freshair.Notairfromhislungsorthissterilehouse.
Iendthekissabruptly,withoutwarning.IpushagainstSamsonandslideofftheisland,leavinghimconfused.IavoidhiseyesasIwalkstraightforhisdoor.Igooutsideandgripthebalconyrailing,gaspingforair.
I’vebeenthroughenoughinmylifethatIdon’twantaguytochangethethingsIlikeaboutmyselfthemost.I’vealwaysbeenproudofmyimpenetrableresolve,buthesomehowinfiltratesmelikeI’mfullofholes.Dakotaneverreachedthisfarinsideofme.
IhearSamsonwalkoutside.Idon’tturnaroundtofacehim.Ijustinhaleanotherdeepbreathandthenclosemyeyes.Icanfeelhimnexttome,though.Quiet,brooding,sexy,secretive—allmyfavoriteingredientsinaguy,apparently.WhydidIstopthekiss,then?
IthinkmaybeDakotaruinedme.
WhenIopenmyeyes,Samson’sbackisagainsttherailing.He’sstaringdownathisfeet.
Oureyesmeetandit’slikeIcanseemyownfearslookingbackatme.Wedon’tbreakourgaze.I’veneverstaredatsomeonewithoutspeakingasmuchasI’velookedathim.Wedoalotoflookingandnotmuchtalking,buttheybothfeelequallyproductive.Orunproductive.Idon’tevenknowwhattothinkofwhat’sbeendevelopingbetweenus.Somemoments,itfeelslikesomethinghugeandimportant,andothertimesitfeelslikelessthannothing.
“Thatwasareallybadmomenttochoosetokissyou,”hesays.“I’msorry.”
Ithinkalotofpeoplemightagreewithhim,thatkissingagirlrightafter—orbecause—shetellsyouhermotherdiedmightbepoortiming.
MaybeI’mfuckedup,butIthoughtitwasperfecttiming.Untilitwasn’t
“That’snotwhyIcameoutside.”
“Whatisit,then?”
IblowoutaquietrushofairwhileIworkouthowtoanswerthat.Idon’twanttobringuphowIfearthatdeepdown,he’snobetterthanDakota.Idon’twanttobringupCadence,orthefactthathe’sonlywithgirlswhoareherefortheweekend.Hedoesn’towemeanything.I’mtheonewhoshowedupathisfrontdoorwantingthistohappen.
Ishakemyhead.“Idon’twanttoanswerthat.”
Heturnsarounduntilwe’rebothleaningovertherailing.Hepicksatapieceofchippedpaint,pullingatituntilitrevealsaninchofbarewood.Heflicksthechippedpaintovertherailingandwewatchasitflutterstotheground.
“MymotherdiedwhenIwasfive,”hesays.“Wewereswimmingabouthalfamilefromherewhenshegotcaughtinaripcurrent.Bythetimetheypulledheroutofthewater,itwastoolate.”
Heglancesatme,probablytogaugemyreaction.Buthe’snottheonlyonewhocanhidehisemotionswell.
Igetthefeelinghehasn’ttoldalotofpeoplethat.Asecretforasecret.Maybethat’showthiswillgo.Maybethat’showSamson’slayersarepeeledback—bypeelingmyownlayersbackfirst.
“Ihatethatforyou,”Iwhisper.Ikeepmyarmsfoldedovertherailing,butIleanslightlytowardhim.Ipressmymouthagainsthisshoulder.Ikisshimthere,justlikehedidmeinthewater.
WhenIpullaway,heliftsahandtothesideofmyface.Histhumbbrushesmycheekbone,butthenhedipshisheadtotrytokissmeagainandIimmediatelypullawayfromhim.
IwincebecauseI’membarrassedbymyownindecisiveness.
Hepushesofftherailingandrunsahandthroughhishair,andthenlooksatmeforguidance.IknowI’mthrowingallkindsofmixedsignalshisway,butit’sareflectionofwhat’sgoingoninsideofme.Ifeelstirredupandconfused,likemycurrentfeelingsandpastexperienceswerejustthrowntogetherinablenderandturnedonhigh.
“I’msorry,”Isay,frustratedwithmyself.“Ihaven’thadthebestexperiencewithguyssoIjustfeel…”
“Hesitant?”hesuggests.
Inod.“Yeah.Andconfused.”
Hebeginspickingatthesamespotonthewood.“What’sbeenyourexperiencewithguys?”
Ilaughhalf-heartedly.“Guysisovershootingit.Therewasonlyone.”
“Ithoughtyousaidyou’veneverhadyourheartbroken.”
“Ihaven’t.Itwasn’tthatkindofexperience.”
Samsongivesmeasidelongglance,waitingformetoelaborate.There’snowayI’melaboratingonthat.
“Didheforceyoutodosomethingyoudidn’twanttodo?”Samson’sjawishardwhenheasksthat,likehe’salreadyangryonmybehalf.
“No,”Isayquickly,wantinghimtogetthatthoughtoutofhishead.ButthenIthinkbackonmylifeinKentuckyandthetimesIspentwithDakota,andnowthatI’mnolongerinthatsituation,Ilookatitdifferently.
Dakotaneverforcedmetodoanything.Buthecertainlywasn’tmakingiteasyforme.Wewereinnowayequalswhenitcametowhogottakenadvantageof.
Thinkingaboutitisstirringupdarkthoughts.Darkfeelings.Tearsbegintostingmyeyes,andwhenIsuckinabreathtofightthemback,Samsonnotices.Heturnsandpresseshisbackagainsttherailingsohecanseemyfacebetter.
“Whathappenedtoyou,Beyah?”
Ilaugh,becauseit’sabsurdI’meventhinkingaboutthisrightnow.I’mgoodatnotthinkingaboutmostofthetime.Ifeelatearskatedownmycheek.Iquicklywipeitaway.“Thisisn’tfair,”Iwhisper.
“What?”
“WhydoIendupwantingtoanswereverysinglequestionyouaskme?”
“Youdon’thavetotellmewhathappened.”
Imakeeyecontactwithhim.“Iwantto,though.”
“Thentellme,”hesaysgently.
Myeyesfocusoneverythingbuthim.Ilookattheroofofthebalcony,thenatthefloor,thenattheoceanoverSamson’sshoulder.
“HisnamewasDakota,”Isay.“Iwasfifteen.Afreshman.Hewasasenior.Theguyeverygirlintheschoolwantedtodate.Theguyeveryotherguywantedtobe.Ihadamildcrushonhimlikeeveryoneelse.Wasn’tanythingserious.Butthenonenighthesawmewalkinghomeafteravolleyballgame,soheofferedmearide.ItoldhimnobecauseIwasembarrassedforhimtoseewhereIlived,eventhougheveryoneknew.Heconvincedmetogetinthetruckanyway.”IsomehowbringmygazebacktoSamson’s.Hisjawishardagain,likehe’sexpectingthisstorytogothewayheassumedearlier.Butitdoesn’t.
Idon’tknowwhyI’mtellinghim.MaybeI’msubconsciouslyhopingthatafterhehearsthis,he’llleavemealonefortherestofthesummerandIwon’thavethisintenseandconstantdistraction.
OrmaybeI’mhopinghe’lltellmethatwhatIdidwasokay.
“Hedrovemehomeandforthenexthalfhour,wetalked.Hesatinmydrivewayanddidn’tjudgeme.Helistenedtome.Wetalkedaboutmusicandvolleyballandhowhehatedbeingthesonofthepolicechief.Andthen…hekissedme.Anditwasperfect.Foramoment,IthoughtmaybethethingsIassumedpeoplethoughtofmeweren’ttrue.”
Samson’seyebrowsdrawapart.“Whyjustforamoment?Whathappenedafterhekissedyou?”
Ismile,butnotbecauseit’safondmemory.Ismilebecausethememorymakesmefeelignorant.LikeIshouldhaveexpectedit.“Hepulledtwotwentiesoutofhiswalletandhandedthemtome.Thenheunzippedhisjeans.”
Samson’sexpressionisvacant.Tomostpeople,theywouldassumethatwastheendofthestory.TheywouldassumeIthrewthemoneybackatDakotaandgotoutofthetruck.ButIcantellbythewaySamsonislookingatmethatheknowsthat’snotwherethestoryends
Ifoldmyarmsacrossmychest.“Fortydollarswasalotofmoney,”Isayasanothertearslidesdownmycheek.Itcurvesatthelastminuteandlandsonmylip.IcantastethesaltinessofitasIwipeitaway.“Hegavemearidehomeatleastonceamonthafterthat.Heneverspoketomeinpublic.ButIdidn’texpecthimto.Iwasn’tthekindofgirlhecouldparadearoundtown.Iwasthekindofgirlhewouldn’teventellhisclosestfriendsabout.”
IwishSamsonwouldsaysomethingbecausewhenhejuststaresatme,Ikeeprambling.“Sotoansweryourquestion,no,hedidn’tforcemetodoanything.Andtobehonest,henevereventhrewitinmyface.Hewasactuallyadecentguycomparedto—”
Samsonimmediatelyinterruptsme.“Youwerefifteenthefirsttimeithappened,Beyah.Donotcallthatguydecent.”
Therestofmysentencegetsstuckinmythroat,soIswallowit.
“Adecentguywouldhaveofferedyoumoneywithnoreturnexpectations.Whathedidwasjust…”Samsonlookslikehe’sfilledwithdisgust.I’mnotsureifthat’saimedatDakotaorme.Herunsafrustratedhandthroughhishair.“ThatdayontheferrywhenIhandedyoumoney…that’swhyyouthought…”
“Yeah,”Isayquietly.
“Youknowthat’snotwhatIwasdoing,right?”
Inod.“Iknowthatnow.Butevenknowingthat…Istillfeareditwhenyoukissedme.That’swhyIcameoutside.IwasscaredyouwouldlookatmelikeDakotadid.I’drathernotbekissedatallthanriskfeelingthatworthlessagain.”
“IkissedyoubecauseIlikeyou.”
Iwonderhowtruethatis.Arehiswordsaccurateorconvenient?Hashesaidthembefore?“YoulikeCadence,too?”Iaskhim.“Andalltheothergirlsyou’vemadeoutwith?”
I’mnottryingtothrowitinhisface.I’mgenuinelycurious.Whatdopeoplefeelwhentheykissotherpeopleasoftenashedoes?
Samsondoesn’tlooklikehetakesoffensetomyquestion,butitdoeslooklikeI’vemadehimuncomfortable.Hisposturestiffensabit.“I’mattractedtothem.Butit’sdifferentwithyou.Adifferentkindofattraction.”
“Betterorworse?”
Hethinksonthisforamomentandsettleson,“Scarier.”
Ireleaseaquicklaugh.Iprobablyshouldn’ttakethatasacompliment,butIdo,becausethatmeanshe’sgettingatasteofmyownfearwhenwe’retogether.
“Doyouthinkthegirlsyou’rewithenjoybeingwithyou?”Iask.“Whataretheygettingoutofitbyjusthavingaweekendfling?”
“ThesamethingIgetfromthem.”
“Whichiswhat?”
He’sdefinitelyuncomfortablenow.Hesighsandleansovertherailingagain.“Didyounotlikeitwhenwekissedearlier?”
“Idid,”Isay.“ButIalsodidn’t.”
Ifindacomfortinhisnon-judgmentalpresence,andit’sconfusing,becauseifI’mcomfortablearoundhimandI’mattractedtohim,whydidIstarttopanicwhenhewaskissingme?
“Dakotatooksomethingyou’resupposedtoenjoyandhemadeyoufeelashamedofit.It’snotlikethatforallgirls.ThegirlsI’vebeenwith—theyenjoyitasmuchasIdo.Iftheydidn’t,Iwouldn’tallowittohappen.”
“Ienjoyeditalittlebit,”Iadmit.“Justnotthewholetime.Butthat’snotyourfault,obviously.”
“Itisn’tyours,either,”hesays.“AndIwon’tkissyouagain.Notunlessyouaskmeto.”
Idon’tsayanything.Idon’tunderstandwhythatfeelslikebothapunishmentandachivalrousgift.
Hesmilesgently.“Won’tkissyou,won’thugyou,won’tmakeyougetbackintheocean.”
“MyGod,I’mjustaballoffun,”Isay,rollingmyeyes.
“Youprobablyare.Hell,Imightbe,too.Wejusthavetoomuchpiledontopofustoknowwhatwe’relikewhenwe’renotunderpressure.”
Inodincompleteagreement.“SaraandMarcosarefun.Butmeandyou?We’rejust…depressing.”
Samsonlaughs.“Notdepressing.We’redeep.There’sadifference.”
“Ifyousayso.”
Idon’tknowhowwepossiblyendedthisnightandthisconversationwithbothofussmiling.ButI’mafraidifIdon’twalkawaynow,oneofuswillsaysomethingtoruinthismoment.Ibackastepawayfromhim.“Seeyoutomorrow?”
Hissmilefalters.“Yeah.Goodnight,Beyah.”
“Goodnight.”
Islipawayfromhim,towardthestairs.PepperJackCheesestandsupandfollowsmedown.Whenwereachthestiltlevelofmyhouse,Ispinaroundandlookupathim.Samsonhasn’tgonebackinsideyet.He’sleaningoverthebalcony,watchingme.Iwalkbackwardacoupleoffeet,untilI’munderthehouseandcan’tseehimanymore.
Whenhe’soutofmylineofsight,Istopwalkingandleanagainstapillar.Iclosemyeyesandrunmyhandsdownmyface.There’snowayIcanbearoundhimallsummerandnotwanttobeconsumedbyhim.ButIalsodon’twanttobeconsumedbysomeoneI’mjustgoingtohavetosaygoodbyetoeventually
Imightfeelinvinciblesometimes,butI’mnotWonderWoman.
AlanaisawakeandinthekitchenwhenIwalkbackintothehouse.She’satthecounter,leaningoverabowloficecream.Shetakesaspoonoutofhermouthandsmilesatme.“Feelingbetter?”
“Yeah.Thankyou.”
“WhataboutSamson?Isheokay?”
Inod.“He’sfine.HesaidDaddoesn’thitallthathard.”
Alanalaughs.“I’msurprisedyourfatherhithim.Ididn’tknowhehaditinhim.”Shepointsathericecream.“Youwantabowl?”
Icecreamactuallysoundslikeheavenrightnow.Ineedsomethingtocoolmedown.“I’dlovesome.”
AlanapullsabowloutofthecabinetandItakeaseatatthebar.Shetakesicecreamoutofthefreezerandbeginsscoopingitintothebowl.“I’msorryifweembarrassedyouearlier.”
“It’sokay.”
Alanapushesthebowloficecreamacrossthecounter.Itakeabiteandit’ssogood,Iwanttogroan.ButIstayquietandeatitlikeicecreamhasalwaysbeensomethingIhadaccessto.Inreality,weneverhaditatourhouse.Ilearnednottokeepmuchfrozenstuffbecausewhenthepowergetscutduetolackofpayment,cleaningoutafreezerofmeltedandrottenfoodisneverfun.
“CanIaskyousomething?”Alanasays.
Inodbutkeepthespooninmymouth.I’mnervousforwhateveritisshe’sgoingtoaskme.Ijusthopeshedoesn’taskmeaboutmymother.AlanaseemsniceandI’mnotsureIcanlietoher,butIcertainlydon’twanttotellherthetruthrightnow.
“AreyouCatholic?”
That’snotwhatIwasexpectinghertoask.“No.Why?”
Sheflicksahandtowardtheceiling.“SawthepictureofMotherTeresainyourroom.”
“Oh.No.It’sjust…it’smorelikeasouvenir.”
Shenods,andthensays,“Soyouaren’treligiouslyopposedtobirthcontrol?”
Thereitis.Ilookawayfromher,downtomyicecream.“No.ButI’mnotcurrentlytakingit.I’mnot…youknow.”
“Sexuallyactive?”Shesaysitsocasually.
“Yeah.Notanymore,anyway.”
“Well,”shesays.“That’sgoodtohear.Butifyouthinkyoumightfindyourselfinasituationthissummerwherethatmightchange,itwouldn’thurttobeprepared.Icanmakeyouanappointment.”
Itakeanotherbiteofmyicecreamtostallmyresponse.Shecanprobablyseetheflushinmycheeks.
“It’snothingtobeembarrassedabout,Beyah.”
“Iknow,”Isay.“I’mjustnotusedtotalkingaboutthingslikethiswithpeople.”
Alanacasuallydropsherspooninheremptybowlandwalksittothesink.“Yourmothernevertalkstoyouaboutthisstuff?”
Istabatmyicecream.“No.”
Sheturnsaroundandlooksatmequietlyforamoment.“What’sshelike?”
“Mymother?”
Alananods.“Yeah.YourfatherneverknewherthatwellandI’vebeencurious.Sheseemstohavedoneagoodjobwithyou.”
Ilaugh.
IwishIwouldn’thavelaughedbecauseIcantellmyreactionjustfilledAlanawithadozenmorequestions.Itakeabiteofmyicecreamandshrug.“She’snothinglikeyou.”
Imeantthatasacompliment,butAlanaseemsconfusedbymyanswer.Ihopeshedidn’ttakeitasaninsult,butIdon’treallywanttogetintoitevendeeperorI’llenduptellingherthetruth.Iwanttosavethenewsaboutmymotherformyfather.IfeellikeIshouldtellhimbeforeItellAlana.
IdefinitelyshouldhavetoldhimbeforeItoldSamson.ButIcan’tseemtocontrolmysecretsaroundSamsonforsomereason.
Ipushthehalf-eatenbowloficecreamawayfromme.“Idowanttogetonthepill.NotthatSamsonandIare…”Ilookupattheceilingandblowoutabreath.“YouknowwhatImean.I’dliketobesafe,justincase.”God,thisishardtotalkabout.Especiallywithawomanwhoisessentiallyastrangertome.
Alanasmiles.“I’llsetupanappointmenttomorrow.Nobiggie.”
“Thankyou.”
Alanaturnsaroundtowashmybowl.Iusethemomenttoescapetoprivacyupstairs.I’mabouttowalkintomybedroomwhenIhearSarasay,“Holdup,Beyah.Ineedadetailedreport.”
Ipauseandlookintoherbedroom.Herdoorisopen,andsheandMarcosaresittingonherbed.ShelooksatMarcosandwaveshimaway.“Youcangohomenow.”
Helookslikeheisn’tusedtobeingdismissed.“Okay,then.”Hestandsup,butleansoverandkissesSara.“Loveyou,eventhoughyou’rekickingmeout.”
Shesmiles.“Loveyoutoo,butIhaveasisternow,soyouhavetoshareme.”ShepatsthemattresswhereMarcoswassittingandlooksatme.“Comehere.”
Marcossalutesmeashe’swalkingoutofSara’sbedroom.
“Closethedoor,”SarasaystoMarcos.
Iwalktoherbedandsitonit.Shepausesthetelevisionandthenrepositionsherselfonthebedsothatshe’sfacingme.
“How’ditgo?”
Ileanagainsttheheadboard.“Yourmothertrappedmeinthekitchenwithicecreamandthentalkedtomeaboutmysexlife.”
Sararollshereyes.“Neverfallfortheicecreamtrick.Sheusesitonmeallthetime.ButI’mnotreferringtothatandyouknowit.IsawyouwalkingovertoSamson’shouseearlier.”
IdebatetellingSarathatwekissed,butthatseemslikesomethingIshouldkeepprivatefornow.AtleastuntilIfigureoutifIwantittohappenagain.
“Nothinghappened.”
Shedeflates,fallingontoherback.“Ugh.Iwantedjuicydetails.”
“Therearenone.Sorry.”
“Didyoueventrytoflirtwithhim?”sheasks,sittingbackup.“Itdoesn’ttakemuchforSamsontoputhismouthonagirl.Ifithasboobsandit’sbreathing,it’sgoodenoughforhim.”
Mystomachcatapultstothefloorwiththatcomment.“Isthatsupposedtomakemewanthimmore?Becauseitdoesn’t.”
“I’mexaggerating,”shesays.“He’shotandhe’srich,sogirlsjusttendtothrowthemselvesathimandsometimeshecatchesthem.Whatguywouldn’t?”
“Idon’tthrowmyselfatpeople.Iavoidpeople.”
“Butyouwenttohishouse.”
Iraiseaneyebrow,butsaynothing.
Sarasmiles,likethat’senoughforhertoworkwith.“Maybeweshouldgoonadoubledatetomorrownight.”
Idon’twanttoencourageher,butI’malsonotsureI’mopposedtothatidea.
“Itakeyoursilenceasayes,”shesays.
Ilaugh.ThenIgroanandcovermyfacewithmyhands.“Ugh.Thisisallsoconfusing.”IdropmyarmsandslidedownuntilI’mstaringupatherceiling.“IfeellikeI’mgivingittoomuchthought.I’mtryingtothinkofallthereasonswhyitisn’tagoodidea.”
“Nameafew,”Sarasuggests.
“I’mnotgoodatrelationships.”
“NeitherisSamson.”
“I’mleavinginAugust.”
“SoisSamson.”
“Whatifithurtswhenweendthings?”
“Itprobablywill.”
“ThenwhywouldIwanttosubjectmyselftothat?”
“Becausemostofthetime,thefunyouhavethatleadstothepainisworththepain.”
“Iwouldn’tknow.I’veneverhadfun.”
“Yeah,Icantell,”shesays.“Nooffense.”
“Nonetaken.”
IturnmyheadandlookatSara.She’sonherside,herheadheldupbyherhand.“I’veneverhadfeelingsforanyonebefore.Ifthathappens,howbadisitgoingtohurtwhensummerisover?”
Sarashakesherhead.“Stopit.You’rethinkingtoofarahead.Summersareforthinkingabouttodayandtodayonly.Nottomorrow.Notyesterday.Today.Sowhatdoyouwantrightnow?”
“Rightnow?”Iask.
“Yes.Whatdoyouwantrightnow?”
“Anotherbowloficecream.”
Sarasitsupandgrins.“Dammit,Ilovehavingasister.”
AndIlovethatSaradidn’tevenflinchwhenImentionedicecream.MaybeI’mnotasbadforherasIthought.Imightnotbeasbubblyandashappyassheis,butknowingshe’sstartingtoenjoyfoodanddoesn’tseemasworriedaboutherweightasshedidwhenIarrivedmakesmethinkImightactuallyhavesomethingtoofferinthisfriendship.
Thisisanewfeeling—theideathatmaybeI’mworthhavingaround.THIRTEEN
Thealarmonmyphonegoesoffbeforethesunisevenup.
Ishouldprobablycancelthedamnthing,butthere’ssomethingexcitingaboutwatchingthesunriseandgettingapossibleglimpseofSamsonwhileithappens.
IcrawloutofbedwearingtheT-shirtIsleptinlastnight.IpullonapairofshortsjustincaseSamsonisawakeandonhisbalconyoutside.
I’vebeenawakefortensecondsandI’vealreadythoughtofhimtwice.Denyinghimlastnightdoesn’tseemtobeworkingoutforme.
Iunlockmybalconydoorandslideitopen.
ThenIscream.
“Shh,”Samsonsays,laughing.“It’sjustme.”
He’ssittingonthewickeroutdoorcouchwithhislegsproppedupinfrontofhimontherailing.Ipressmyhandtomychestandblowoutacalmingbreath.
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”
“Waitingforyou,”hesayscasually.
“Howdidyouevengetoverhere?”
“Ijumped.”Heholdsuphisarm,showingmehiselbow.It’ssmearedwithblood.“Itwasfartherthanitlookedfrommyrailing,butImadeit.”
“Areyouinsane?”
Heshrugs.“Iwouldn’thavefallenveryfarifIdidn’tmakeit.Iwouldhavejustlandedonthebalconyroofbelowus.”
That’strue.Hewouldn’thavefallentothegroundbecauseofthewaythishousesits,butstill.There’saboutthreefeetwithnothingbelowhimwhenhe’sintheairbetweenhouses.
Isitdownnexttohim.Theseatismeantfortwo,butit’sstillsmall,sooursidestouch.Ithinkthatwashisgoal,though,orhewouldhavechosenanyofthesinglechairsonthebalcony
Ileanmyheadagainstthebackofthechair.IendupsomehowleaningevenmoreintohimthanIhadintended,andmyheadisnowrestingagainsthisupperarm,butitdoesn’tfeelunnatural.
We’rebothstaringoutoverthewateratthesmallsliverofsunpeekingupattheworld.
Wespendthenextseveralminutesinsilence,watchingthesunrisetogether.Ihavetosay,itfeelsbetterwatchingitwithSamsononmybalconythanwhenhe’sonhisown.
Samsonrestshischinontopofmyhead.It’satinymove,buteventhatslightandsilentdisplayofaffectionfeelslikeanexplosionsomehow.Idon’tknowhoweverythinginsideofmecanfeelsoloudwhilethispartoftheworldisstillasleep.
Thesunisthreequartersofthewayvisiblenow.Thebottomhalfstilllookslikeit’sdippedinthesea.
“Ineedtoleave;I’mhelpingaguyrepairadunecrossingontheisland.Wewanttogetitdonebeforeitgetstoohot.Whatareyourplans?”
“I’llprobablygobacktobedandsleepuntilnoon.IthinkSarawantstogotothebeachafterthat.”
Hemoveshisarmfromthebackofthechair.Myeyescrawluphisbodyashestands.Beforeheleaves,helooksdownatmeandsays,“DidyoutellSarawekissed?”
“No.Isitsomethingwe’retryingtohidefromthem?”
“No,”hesays.“Iwasjustcuriousifyoutoldher.Didn’tknowifMarcoswasgoingtobringituptoday.Iwantedourstoriestoalign.”
“Ididn’ttellher.”
Henodsandheadstowardtherailing,butthenturnsbackagain.“Idon’tcareifyoutellher.That’snotwhyIasked.”
“Stopworryingaboutmyfeelings,Samson.”
Hepushesthehairbackfromhisforehead.“Ican’thelpit.”Hewalksbackward,slowly.
“Whatareyoudoing?Areyouabouttojumpagain?”
“It’snotthatfar.I’llmakeit.”
Irollmyeyes.“Everyoneisstillasleep.Justgodownstairsandusethefrontdoorbeforeyoubreakyourarm.”
Helooksatthebloodcoveringhiselbow.“Yeah,maybeIshould.”
Istandupandwalkintomybedroomwithhim.We’reheadingforthedoorwhenhepausesandlooksatthepictureofMotherTeresaonmydresser.
“AreyouCatholic?”heasks.
“No.Justoddlysentimental.”
“Iwouldn’thavetakenyouforsentimental.”
“That’swhyIprefaceditwithoddly.”
Helaughsandfollowsmeoutthedoor.Whenwemakeittothebottomofthestairs,webothpause.
Myfatherisstandinginthekitcheninfrontofacoffeepot.HedragshiseyestothestairwellandseesmestandingherewithSamson.Isuddenlyfeellikeachildwhohasbeencaughtinalie.I’veneverreallyhadtodealwithparentalpunishmentbefore.Mymotherdidn’tpayenoughattentiontometocare,soIdon’tknowwhat’sabouttohappen.I’malittlenervous,consideringmyfatherdoesnotlookpleased.Helookspastme,atSamson.
“Yeah,thisisn’tokay,”myfathersays.
Samsonstepsinfrontofmeandholdsuphishandsindefense.“Ididn’tstaythenight.Pleasedon’tpunchmeagain.”
Myfatherlooksatmeforanexplanation.
“Hejustgotherefifteenminutesago.Wewatchedthesunriseonthebalconytogether.”
MyfatherfocuseshisattentiononSamsonnow.“I’vebeeninthiskitchenforalotlongerthanfifteenminutes.Ifyoujustgotherefifteenminutesago,howdidyougetin?”
Samsonscratchesthebackofhisneck.“Iuh…jumped?”Heliftshisarmtoshowmyfatherhisbloodyelbow.“Barelymadeit.”
Myfatherstaresathimforamoment,thenheshakeshishead.“You’reanidiot,”hemutters.Hefillshiscoffeecupandthensays,“Eitherofyouwantsomecoffee?”
Huh.Hegotoverthatfast.
“I’mgood,”Samsonsays,easinghiswaytowardthedoor.Helooksatme.“Seeyoulater?”
InodandSamsonliftsabrow,sendingmealook.I’msmilingandstaringatthedoorforseveralsecondsafterheleaves.Myfatherclearshisthroatanditsucksmebackintothemoment.Ilookathim,hopingthat’stheendofthisconversation.“I’lltakesomecoffee,”Isay,tryingtodiverthisattentiontosomethingelse.
Myfathergrabsamugoutofthecabinetandpoursmeacup.“Youtakeitblack?”
“No.Asmuchcreamandsugarasyoucanfitinthere.”Isitinoneofthechairsatthekitchenbarwhilemyfathermixesmycoffee.
Heslidesittowardmeandsays,“Idon’tknowhowIfeelaboutwhatjusthappened.”
IstareatmycoffeeasIsipfromit,justsoIdon’thavetostareatmyfather.WhenIsetthemugbackonthecounter,Icupmyhandsaroundit.“I’mnotlyingtoyou.Hedidn’tspendthenight.”
“Yet,”myfathersays.“Iwasateenageronce.Hisbedroombalconyandyoursarefeetapart.Todaymighthavejustbeenasunrise,butyou’rehereforanentiresummer.AlanaandIdon’tallowSaratohaveboysspendthenight.It’sonlyfairifthesamerulesapplytoyou.”
Inod.“Okay.”
Myfatherislookingatmelikehe’snotsureifI’magreeingtoappeasehimorifI’mactuallyagreeing.Tobehonest,Idon’tevenknow.
Heleansagainstthecounterandtakesasipofhiscoffee.“Doyoualwayswakeupthisearly?”heasks.
“No.Samsonwantedmetowatchthesunrise,sohesetanalarmonmyphone.”
MyfatherwavestowardthedoorSamsonwalkedoutofearlier.“Soishe…areyoutwodating?”
“No.I’mmovingtoPennsylvaniainAugust,Idon’twantaboyfriend.”
Myfathernarrowshiseyesatme.“Pennsylvania?”
Shit.
Thatslippedout.
Iimmediatelylookdownatmycoffee.Mythroatfeelsthickwithnerves.Iblowoutaslowbreath.“Yeah,”Isay.Ileaveitatthat.Maybehewon’tpry.
“WhyareyoumovingtoPennsylvania?Whendidyoudecidethis?What’sinPennsylvania?”
Igripmymugeventighter.“Iwasgoingtotellyou.Ijust…Iwaswaitingfortherightmoment.”I’mlying.Ihadnointentionsoftellinghim,butI’minitnow.“IgotavolleyballscholarshiptoPennState.”
Myfatherstaresatmeblankly.Nosurprise,noexcitement,noanger.Justablank,unreadablestarebeforehesays,“Areyouserious?”
Inod.“Yeah.Fullride.ImoveinonAugustthird.”
Still,hisexpressionisblank.“Whendidyoufindout?”
Iswallowandtakeaslowsipofmycoffee,tryingtodecideifIshouldtellhimthetruth.Itmightjustmakehimangry.“Junioryear,”Isayquietly
Hechokesonair.
Helooksverysurprised.Oroffended.Ican’ttell.
Hequietlypushesoffthecounterandwalkstothewindows.Hestaresoutattheoceanwithhisbacktome.Afteraboutthirtysecondsofsilence,heturnsandfacesmeagain.“Whydidn’tyoutellme?”
“Idon’tknow.”
“Beyah,thisishuge.”He’swalkingtowardmenow.“Youshouldhavetoldme.”Beforehereachesme,hepauses.Icanseeconfusionseepingin.“Ifyougotafullridelastyear,whydidyourmothertellmeyouneededtuitionforcommunitycollege?”
Iblowoutasteadybreath,grippingthebackofmyneck.Ipressmyelbowsagainstthecounterandgivemyselfamomenttofigureouthowtorespondtothat.
“Beyah?”heasks.
Ishakemyhead,needinghimtobequietforasecond.Isqueezemyforehead.“Sheliedtoyou,”Isay.Istandupandwalkmycuptothesink.“Ididn’tevenknowsheaskedyoufortuitionmoney.Shedidn’tknowaboutthescholarship,either,butIcanguaranteewhateveryousentherfortuitionwasnevermeantformetobeginwith.”
Ipourmycoffeeintothesinkandrinsethecupout.WhenIturnaroundandfacehim,helooksdejected.Confused.Hismouthopenslikehe’sabouttosaysomething,butthenheclosesitandshakeshishead.
I’msureit’salottoprocessforhim.Wedon’ttalkaboutmymother.ThisisprobablythefirsttimeI’veeverspokennegativelyabouthertohim.AndwhileIwouldlovetotellhimjusthowmuchofamothersheneverwas,it’ssixthirtyinthemorningandIcan’thavethisconversationrightnow.
“I’mgoingbacktobed,”Isay,headingtowardthestairs.
“Beyah,wait.”
Ipauseonthesecondstepandslowlyturntofacehim.He’sstandingwithhishandsonhiships,lookingatmeintently.“I’mproudofyou.”
Inod,butassoonasIturnaroundandwalkbackupthestairs,Ifeeltheballofangertighteninginsideofme.
Idon’twanthimtobeproudofme.
It’spreciselywhyIdidn’ttellhim.
Andeventhoughitseemslikehe’stryingtomakeaneffortwithmenow,Ican’thelpbutfeelfullofresentmentthatIwentmostofmylifewithouthiminit.
Iwillnotallowhiswordstomakemefeelgood,norwillIallowthemtoexcusehissecond-rateparenting.
Ofcourseyou’reproudofme,Brian.ButyoushouldonlybeproudofmebecauseImiraculouslysurvivedchildhoodallonmyown.FOURTEEN
Icouldn’tgobacktosleepafterSamsonleftthismorning,nomatterhowhardItried.Maybeitwastheconversationwithmyfatherthatmadesleepdifficult.
SarasetuploungersandanumbrellaonthebeachafterlunchandImusthavefinallyfallenasleepinmyloungeratsomepoint,becauseIjustwokeup.There’sdroolonmyarm.
I’monmystomach,facingawayfromSara’sloungechairwhenIopenmyeyes.IwipemyarmandpushmyselfupenoughsothatIcanrolloverontomyback.
WhenIgetsituated,IlookoveratSara,butit’snotSaraI’mlookingat.
It’sSamson.
He’sasleepinherloungechair.
Isitupandlookoutatthewater.SaraandMarcosareonpaddleboardsagoodwaysoutintheocean.
Igrabmyphoneandlookatthetime.It’sfouro’clock.Isleptforanhourandahalf.
IliebackdownandglanceoveratSamsonwhilehesleeps.He’sonhisstomach,hisheadrestingonhisarms.He’sgotaballcaponturnedbackwardandhe’swearingapairofsunglasses.Noshirt,butthat’snotabadthing.
Irollontomysideandrestmyheadonmyarm,andIstareathimforawhile.Iknowverylittleaboutthepiecesthatmakehimupasawhole,butIfeellikeIknowwhatkindofpersonallthosepieceshavemadehim.
Maybeyoudon’thavetoknowaperson’shistorytorealizewhotheyareinthepresent.AndwhoI’vestartedtorealizeheisontheinsidemakeshimevenmoreattractiveontheoutside.AttractiveenoughthatIthinkabouthimalmosteverywakingsecond.
Ifindmyselffocusingmyattentiononhismouth.Idon’tknowwhyIfreakedoutwhilehewaskissingmelastnight.MaybebecauseI’mstilltryingtowrapmyheadaroundthefactthatthispastweekhasbeenreal.
It’salotatonceanditseemedtoallculminateandscreamatmeduringourkisslastnight.Itmakesmewonderifhekissedmeagaintonight,wouldIreactthesameway?OrwouldIallowmyselftoactuallyseeitthroughandenjoytheentirekisslikeIenjoyedthefirstfewsecondsofit?
Istareathislips,convincingmyselfthatit’sworthasecondtry.Andathirdandmaybeafourth.MaybeifIkisshimenough,it’lleventuallyonlyfeelperfect.
“Yourealizemyeyesareopen,right?”
Shit.
Ithoughthewasasleep.Icovermyfacewithmyhand.There’snohidingmyembarrassment.
“Don’tworry,”hesays,hisvoicehoarse,likeit’sscratchingitswayuphisthroat.“I’vebeenstaringatyouthewholetimeyou’vebeensleeping.”Hereachesoutandtouchesmyelbowwithhisfinger.“How’dyougetthisscar?”
Iturnontomysideandfacehimagain.“Duringavolleyballgame.”Hisloungechairisonlyaboutafootfrommine,butitseemslikeamileawaywhenhestopstouchingmyarm.
“Howgoodwasyourteam?”
“Wewonourstatechampionshiptwice,”Isay.“Didyouplayanysportsinhighschool?”
“No.Ididn’tgotoatypicalschool.”
“Whatkindofschooldidyougoto?”
Samsonshakeshishead,indicatinghe’snotgoingtoanswerthat.
Irollmyeyes.“Whydoyoudothat?WhydoyouaskmequestionsandthenIaskyouthesamethingandyourefusetoanswer?”
“I’vetoldyoumorethanI’vetoldanyone.Ever,”hesays.“Don’tbegreedy.”
“Thenstopaskingmequestionsyouaren’twillingtoansweryourself.”
Hegrins.“Stopansweringmyquestions.”
“Youthinkmeknowingwhereyouwenttohighschoolissomehowmorepersonalthanyouhavingyourtongueinmymouth?OrmetellingyouaboutDakota?Oryoutellingmeaboutyourmother?”Ipullmyarmsupbehindmyheadandclosemyeyes.“Yourlogicisquitestupid,Samson.”
There’sreallynopointintryingtohaveaconversationwithhimifallhe’sgoingtodoisdancearoundeverytopiclikehe’ssomekindofballerina
“IwenttoboardingschoolinNewYork,”hefinallysays.“AndIhatedeverysecondofit.”
Ismile,feelinglikeIwonthisbattlesomehow,butinsideI’mkindofsaddenedbythatanswer.Boardingschooldoesn’tsoundfun.Nowonderhedidn’twanttotalkaboutit.“Thankyou.”
“You’rewelcome.”
Iswivelmyheadandlookathim.He’sremovedhissunglassesandthereflectionofthesunmakeshiseyeslookalmostclear.Itdoesn’tseemlikesomeonewitheyesastransparentashiscouldbeasclosedoffasheis.
Westareateachother,muchlikewealwaysdo,butit’sdifferentthistime.Nowweknowwhateachothertasteslike.Heknowsmydarkestsecret,yethe’sstilllookingatmelikeI’mthemostinterestingthingonthispeninsula.
Hedropshisgazeandlooksdownbetweenourchairs.Hedragsafingerinthesand.“Howdoyouspellyourname?”
“B-e-y-a-h.”
Iwatchashewritesmynameinthesand.Whenhefinishes,hedragsafingeracrossitandstrikesitout,thenwipeshiswholehandacrossituntilmynamedisappears.
Idon’tknowhowIcouldpossiblyfeelthatbeneathmyskin,butIdid.
Samsonglancestowardthewater.“SaraandMarcosarecomingback.”Heputshisshadesonandthenhopsup.
Ikeepmyhandsbehindmyhead,pretendingtoberelaxed,despitefeelinglikeI’vejustbeenelectrocuted.SamsonwalkstoSara,whoisstrugglingwithherboard.Hetakesoveranddragsittherestofthewayoutofthewaterforher.
SarapullsatherponytailwhenshereachesmeandtakesaseatontheloungechairSamsonwasjustlyingon.Shesqueezeswateroutofherhair.
“Youhaveagoodnap?”Saraasks.
“Yeah.Ican’tbelieveIfellasleep.”
“Yousnore,”shesays,laughing.“DidyouaskSamsonifhewantstodoubledatetonight?”
“No.Itdidn’tcomeup.”
MarcosandSamsonarewalkingthepaddleboardstowardus.“Samson,we’reallgoingonadoubledate,”Sarasaystohim.“Bereadyatsix.”
Samsondoesn’tmissabeatinhisresponse.“Who’smydate?”
“Beyah.Idiot.”
Samsonlooksatmelikehe’sconsideringit.“Isthislikeafrienddate?”
“It’sfood,”Marcossays.“Don’tletSaraputalabelonit.”
“Wedoingseafood?”Samsonaskshim.
“Wouldyouevenallowustoeatanythingelse?”
Samsonlooksbackatme.“Youlikeshrimp,Beyah?”
“Idon’tknow.Idon’tthinkI’veeverhadit.”
Samsontiltshishead.“Ican’ttellifyou’rebeingsarcastic.”
“I’mfromKentucky.Wedon’thavealotofaffordableseafoodrestaurants.”
“You’veneverevenbeentoaRedLobster?”Marcosasksme.
“Y’allforgetthingslikeRedLobsterarefancytoalotofpeople.”
“I’llorderforyou,then,”Samsonsays.
“Howverychauvinisticofyou,”Itease.
Sarapullsonherbathingsuitcover-upandstands.“Comeon,let’sgogetready.”
“Now?Wearen’tleavingforanothertwohours.”
“Yeah,butwehavealottodotogetyouready.”
“Likewhat?”
“I’mgivingyouamakeover.”
Ishakemyhead.“No.Please,no.”
Shenods.“Yes.I’mdoingyourhair,yournails,yourmakeup.”Shegrabsmyhandandpullsmeoutofthelounger.Shepointsatallthestuffwebroughttothebeachearlier.“Youtwostrappingmentakecareofthis,willya?”
Wegethalfwaytothehouseandshesays,“He’sintoyou.Icantell.Hedoesn’tlookatgirlslikehelooksatyou.”
Idon’trespondtoherbecauseIgetatextinthemiddleofhercomment.Irarelygettexts.Notmanypeoplehavemyphonenumber.
IlookatmyphoneasSarastartswalkingupthestairs.ThetextisfromSamson.
Lookatusgoingonaspontaneousdate.MaybeweAREfun.
“Youcoming?”Saraasks.
Iwipethegrinoffmyfaceandfollowherinside.FIFTEEN
They’reallstaringatme,waitingformetotakeabite.Evenourwaiter.
Talkaboutpressure.
“Dipitincocktailsaucefirst,”Marcossuggests.
Samsonpushesthecocktailsauceawayfromme.“Areyoucrazy?That’llmakeherpuke.”Hepushestartarsaucetowardme.“Here,usethis.”
Sararollshereyesasshestacksupthreeofthemenus.SheandMarcosjustordered,butSamsonandIhaven’tyetbecausehewantedtomakesureIlikedshrimpfirst.ThewaiterwasamusedI’dneverhadshrimp,sohebroughtmeapiecetotryandnowhe’sstickingaroundtowatchmyreaction.
It’sgrilledshrimpwithoutashelloratail.I’mnotahugefanoffish,soI’mnotexpectingmuch,butthepressureisrealasIdipitintothetartarsauce.
“Y’allareactinglikeherreactionisgoingtobelifeordeath,”Sarasays.“I’mgettinghangry.”
“It’llonlybelifeordeathifshe’sallergictoshellfish,”thewaitersays.
Ipausebeforetakingthebite.“Whatexactlyfallsunderthedefinitionofshellfish?”Samsonsays,“Lobster.Shrimp.Thingsinshells.”
“Crab.Crawfish.Turtles,”Marcossays.“Turtlesaren’tafish,”Sarasays,rollinghereyes.“Itwasajoke,”Marcossays.
“Haveyoueverhadlobsterorcrab?”Samsonasksme.
“I’vehadcrab.”
“Youshouldbefine,then.”
“ForPete’ssake,justeatitbeforeIdo,”Sarasays.“I’mstarving.”
Ibitedownontheshrimp,onlyeatinghalfofit.Everyoneiswatchingmechew,evenSara.It’sgotadecentflavor.It’snotthegreatestthingI’veeverhad,butit’sgood.“Notbad.”Ipoptherestofitinmymouth.
Samsonsmilesandhandsthemenutothewaiter.“We’llbothhavetheshrimpplatter.”
Thewaiterwritesitdownandwalksaway.Sarascruncheshernoseup.“Hereallydidjustorderforyou.Ican’ttellifthat’scuteordisgusting.”
“Itriedorderingforyouonceandyouelbowedmeintheside,”Marcossays.
Saranods.“Yeah,you’reright.It’sdisgusting.”Shetakesasipofherdrink.“Ifeellikedoingsomethingtouristythisweekend.”
“Likewhat?”Marcosasks.
“Thewaterpark?Oraducktour?”ShelooksatmeandSamson.“Youtwowanttocome?”
“I’mfreeafterluncheveryday.ExceptFriday.I’mfinishingMarjorie’sroof.”
Wellthatkindofmeltsmyheartalittle.
“Shawn?”
Allfourofuslookinthedirectionofthevoice.Aguyisapproachingourtable,lookingatSamson.Theguyistallandskinnywitharmscoveredintattoos.I’mstaringatoneonhisforearmofalighthousewhenIfeelSamsonstiffen.
“Holyshit,”theguysays.“Itisyou.Howareyou,man?”
“Hey,”Samsonsays.Hedoesn’tsoundveryexcitedtoseethisguy.Also.whydidtheguycallhimShawn?
Samsontapsmyleg,wantingoutofthebooth.Istanduptolethimoutandhegivestheguyahug.Itakemyseatandthethreeofusaren’tevenhidingthefactthatwe’reeavesdroppingontheirconversation.
“Dude,”theguysaystoSamson.“Whendidyougetout?”
Getout?
Samsonlooksoveratourtable.There’sadiscomforttohimnow.Heputshishandontheguy’sbackandwalkshimawayfromthetablesowecan’thearwhatthey’resaying.
IlookatSaraandMarcostoseewhattheirreactionsare.Marcosistakingadrink,butSara’sheadistiltedincuriosityasshestaresatSamson.Shefallsbackagainsttheboothandsays,“Thatwasweird.WhydidthatguycallhimShawn?”
Marcosshrugs.
“MaybeSamsonishismiddlename,”Isay,moretomyselfthantoSaraorMarcos.IwonderwhyIdidn’tdemandhetellmehisfullnamelastnightwhenIasked.Thisisweird,knowingIdidn’tevenknowtheguy’sfirstname.ButIguesshedoesn’tknowthatmylastnameisGrim.Ormaybehedoes,sinceIhavethesamelastnameasmyfather.
“Whydidthatguyaskhimwhenhegotout?”Sarasays.“Gotoutofwhere?Jail?Prison?”
Marcosshrugsagain.“Couldhavebeenreferringtorehab.”
“Hewasinrehab?”Saraasks.
“Ihavenoidea,I’veknowntheguyaslongasyouhave,”hesays.
Samsonreappearsatourtablemomentslater,sansfriend.Istandupandheslidesbackintothebooth.Hesaysnothing.Offersnoexplanation.Thatdoesn’tmatterbecauseSarawon’tletthisslide.Icantellbythewayshe’sstaringathim.
“WhydidthatguycallyouShawn?”
Samsonstaresatheramoment,thenreleasesaquietlaugh.“What?”
Shewavesherhandtowardthedirectiontheguywent.“HecalledyouShawn!Andthenheaskedyouwhenyougotout.Wherehaveyoubeen?Jail?”
Forsomereason,Samsonlooksatme.IsaynothingbecauseI’mwaitingforthesameanswersSaraiswaitingfor.
HelooksbackatSaraandsays,“That’smyname.ShawnSamson.”HewavesahandatMarcos.“HecalledmeSamsonwhenwemet,anditjuststuckwithyouguys.EveryoneelsecallsmeShawn.”
Marcosbringshisstrawtohismouth.“SoundsvaguelyfamiliarnowthatIthinkaboutit.”
Shawn?HisnameisShawn?
I’msousedtocallinghimSamson,I’mnotsureIcancallhimShawn.
“Okay,”Sarasays.“Butwhere’dyougetoutof?Jail?Wereyouinjail?”
SamsonsighsandIcantellhedoesn’twanttotalkaboutit.
“Leavehimalone,”Marcossays,alsorecognizingSamson’sdiscomfort.
Sarawavesadefensivehandtowardme.“I’mtryingtosetmystepsisterupwithhim,Ithinkwedeservetoknowifhe’ssomekindofcriminal.”
“It’sfine,”Samsonsays.“Hewastalkingaboutgettingoutofthecity.WewenttoboardingschooltogetherandheknewhowmuchIhatedNewYork.”
Icanseetheslowrollofhisthroatafterhesaysthat,asifhe’sswallowingalie.Whatarethechanceshe’drunintoaguyfromNewYorkonapeninsulainTexas?
Veryslim,butisitreallySara’sbusiness?Isitmine?Noneofusoweeachotherourpast.
Idon’tknowwhyIfeelprotectiveofhimrightnow,butIknowhehatestalkingabouthimself.Maybethat’ssomethingSaradoesn’tknowabouthim.
I’llgetthetruthoutofhimlater.Butrightnow,Ijustwanttheawkwardnesstodisappear,soIsay,“I’veneverbeentoNewYork.TexasisonlythethirdstateI’veeverbeento.”
“Seriously?”Sarasays.
Inod.“Yep.OnlyeverleftKentuckywhenI’dflytoWashingtontoseemyfather.IhadnoideaTexaswasthishot.I’mnotsureIlikeit.”
Marcoslaughs.
ThewaitershowsupwiththeappetizersSaraordered.HetakesmyglasstogetmearefillandSamsonreachesforapieceofcalamari,poppingitintohismouth.“Youevertastedcalamari,Beyah?”
Itakeapiecefromhim.“Nope.”
Marcosrollshishead.“It’slikeyouwereraisedonadifferentplanet.”
Saradoesn’twaitformetostarteatingthistime.Shemakesherselfaplateofappetizersandbeginseating.Thissmallmomentmaynotseemlikeabigdealtoanyoneatthetable,butI’mrelievedtoknowSaraisn’tputtingasmuchpressureonherselfasshewasthenightIshowedup.
SarastartsaskingmequestionsaboutwhatelseI’venevertried,andtheconversationmovesfrombeingonlyaboutSamsontobeingunrelatedtoSamson.
Afterafewminutes,Samsonreachesunderthetableandgrabsmyhand.Hegivesitasqueezebeforereleasingit.WhenIlookathim,he’ssayingasilentthankyou
Ibarelyknowtheguy,butIcansomehowcommunicatebetterwithhimbynotusingwordsthanI’veeverbeenabletocommunicateverballywithanyoneelse.
Hegivesmeonelookandit’sproofthatIdon’tneedtoknowmore.Notrightnow,anyway.
I’llpeelhislayersbackonhistime.SIXTEEN
Thereweren’ttwoseatsnexttoeachotherwhenwemadeittoournightlybonfire,soSamsonissittingacrossfromme.
Sadly,Beauisintheonenexttome
I’venoticedSamsoneyeingBeaueverytimehespeakstome.I’mtryingtomakeitveryclearthatI’mnotinterested,butBeauisn’ttakingthehint.Guyslikehimneverdo.They’reusedtogettingwhattheywant,sotheycan’trecognizewhenwhattheywantdoesn’twantthem.It’sanunfathomablethoughttoBeau,I’msure.
“Oh,God,”Saramutters.
Iglanceatherandshepointsahandatthedunecrossingaboutfiftyfeetfromoursite.
Cadenceiswalkingoverthedune.
“Ithoughtsheleft,”Isay.
“Ithoughtso,too,”Sarasays.
IwatchwithaknotinmystomachasCadenceapproachesus.Samson’sbackistohersohedoesn’tknowshe’swalkingup.
Whenshereacheshim,shewrapsherhandsaroundSamson’sheadandcovershiseyes.Hepullsherhandsawayandleanshisheadback,lookingupather.
Beforehecanevenreact,shesays,“Surprise!”Thensheleansdownandkisseshimonthemouth.“Wecamebackforanotherweek.”
Thebloodinmybodyfeelslikeitjustturnedtolava.
Samson’seyesimmediatelyfindminewhenshepullsaway.I’mnotdisplayingthejealousyonmyface,butitsureisrunningthroughmybody.
SamsonstandsupandturnstoCadence.Ican’thearwhathesaystoher,butheglancesatmeforasplitsecondbeforeheputshishandonCadence’slowerbackandpointsatthewater.TheystartwalkinginthatdirectionandallIcandoislookdownatmylap.
Ihopehe’swalkingawayfromallofussohecanletherdowngently.Orungently,Idon’tcare.
Notthatheowesmeanything.I’mtheonewhostoppedthekisslastnight.
“Youokay?”Saraasks,noticingthechangeinmydemeanor.
Iblowoutasteadybreath.“Whataretheydoing?”
“Who?CadenceandSamson?”
Inod.
“Walking,”shesays.Shenarrowshereyesatmeinsuspicion.“What’supwiththetwoofyou?”
Ishakemyhead.“Nothingisup.”
Saraleansbackinherchair.“Iknowyou’reprivateaboutalotofthings,Beyah.Icandealwiththat,butifSamsonkissesyouthissummer,willyoupleasejustgivemeasign?Youdon’tevenhavetosayitoutloud.Justhigh-fivemeorsomething.”
Iassureherwithanod,thenglanceoveratSamsonandCadence.They’restandingatleasttwofeetapart.Herarmsarefoldedtightlyoverherchest.Shelooksangry.
Itrainmygazebackonthefire,butafewsecondslater,there’sacollectivegasp.
“Holyshit,”Marcossays,laughing.Ilookathim,buthe’slookingatSamson,whoisnowwalkingbacktothefire.He’salone,rubbinghischeek.
“Sheslappedhim,”Sarawhispers.WhenSamsonreacheshisseat,shesays,“Whatdidyousaytoher?”
“Nothingshewantedtohear.”
“Didyoujustturnherdown?”Beauasks.“Whythefuckwouldyoudothat?She’shot.”
SamsonlooksatBeauwithadeadpanexpression.HewavesinthedirectionCadencejuststompedawayin.“She’sfairgame,Beau.Shootyourshot.”
Beaushakeshishead.“Nah,I’monlyinterestedinthisshotrighthere,”hesays,indicatingahandtowardme
“Notgonnahappen,Beau,”Isay.
Beaugrinsatme,andIhavenoideahowmyflat-outrefusalofhimmakeshimthinkImeananythingotherthanthewordsI’mspeakingtohim.Hestandsupandgrabsmyhand.Hetriestopullmeup,butIdon’tbudge.
“Comeswimmingwithme,”hesays.
Ishakemyhead.“I’vetoldyounotwicealready.”
Hetriestopickmeup,butIkickhiminthekneejustasSamsonjumpsoutofhisseatandstalksovertous.Hestandsbetweenus,facingBeau.“Shesaidno.”
BeaulooksatSamson,andthenaroundhim,atme.Heflicksafingerbetweenus.“Oh.Igetit.Youtwoareathingnow.”
“Ithasnothingtodowithme,”Samsonsays.“I’velistenedtoheraskyoutoleaveheraloneseveraltimes.Takeafuckinghint.”
Samsonisangry.Idon’tknowifit’sstemmingfromjealousyorthesimplefactthatBeauisanasshole.
Iexpectthattobetheendofit,butBeauapparentlydoesn’tlikebeingyelledat.HeswingsatSamson,hittinghimintheface.ThenBeauputsupbothfistslikehe’sreadyforafight,butSamsonbringsahanduptohisjawandstareshardatBeau.“Areyoufuckingserious?”
“Yeah,I’mfuckingserious,”Beauresponds,stillinhisfightingstance
Marcosisstandingnow,readytodefendSamson,butSamsondoesn’tlooklikehecarestoentertainBeau.
“Gohome,Beau,”Marcossays,steppingbetweenBeauandSamson.
BeaulooksatMarcos.“HowdoyousayassholeinMexican?”
TheonlythingIhatemorethanadoucheisaracistdouche.“It’sSpanish,notMexican,”Isay.“AndIthinkBeauisthecorrecttranslationforasshole.”
SamsonletsoutasmalllaughwhenIsaythat.ItpissesBeauoff.
“Fuckyou,youlittlerichprick.Allofyoucangotohell.”Beau’sfaceisredwithrage.
“We’reinhelleverytimeyoushowup,”Sarasaysflatly.
BeaupointsatSara.“Fuckyou.”Hepointsatme.“Andfuckyou.”
Iguessthat’swhereSamsondrawstheline.Hedoesn’thitBeau,buthemovestowardhimfastenoughtomakeBeaujumpback.ThenBeauspinsaroundandgrabshisstufffromhischairandleaves.
It’sabeautifulsight.
Samsonfallsintothechair,grippinghisjaw.“I’vebeenslappedbyagirlandpunchedbytwoguyssinceyoushowedup.”
“Thenstoptakingmyside.”
Samsonlooksatmewithasmallgrin,almostasifhe’ssaying,“That’snotgonnahappen.”
“You’rebleeding.”Igrabanearbytowelandwipehisjaw.He’sgotasmallgashacrosshisjawbone.Beaumusthavebeenwearingaring.“Youshouldputabandageonthat.”
Samson’seyeschangeashestaresbackatme.“Ihavesomeatthehouse.”Hepushesoutofhischairandwalksaroundthefire,headinghome.
Hedoesn’teveninvitemeorwaitonme,butIcouldtellfromhisexpressionhewantsmetofollowhim.Ipressapalmagainstmyneck,feelingtheheatrisingtomyskin.Istandup.IglanceatSarabeforeIwalkaway.
“Remember,”shewhispers.“Asignal.Ahighfive.”
IlaughandthenfollowSamsontohishouse.He’sseveralyardsaheadofme,butheleaveshisdooropenwhenhegoesinside,soheknowsI’mfollowinghim.
WhenIreachthetopofthestairs,Iblowoutacalmingbreath.Idon’tknowwhyI’mnervous.Wekissedlastnight.Thehardestpartisover.
IclosethedoorwhenIwalkinside.Samsonisatthesink,wettingapapertowel.Iwalkintothekitchenandnoticehedidn’tturnanyofthelightson.Theonlylightsinthehousearecomingfromtheappliancesandthemoonshiningthroughthewindows.
Ileanagainstthecountertogetalookathiscut.HetiltshisheadsothatIcaninspectit.“Isitstillbleeding?”heasks.
“Alittle.”Ipullbackandwatchhimashepressesthewetnapkinagainsthisjawagain.
“Idon’thaveanybandages,”hesays.“Iwaslying.”
Inod.“Iknow.Youdon’thaveshitinthishouse.”
Hismouthtwitcheslikehewantstosmile,butthere’ssomethingheavyweighinghissmiledown.Whateverthatheavinessisweighsmedown.
Hepullsthenapkinawayandtossesitonthecounter,thenhegripstheedgesofthecounterlikehe’shavingtoholdhimselfback.
He’snotgoingtomakethefirstmovethistime,nomatterhowmuchheseemslikehewantsto.AndasnervousasIam,Iwanttoexperienceawholekisswithhim,frombeginningtoend.
Samson’sstareislikeamagneticpull,coaxingmetowardhim.Istepcloser,mymovementstimid.NomatterhownervousIseem,hedoesn’tpushit.Hejustwaits.Myheartispoundinginmychestwhenit’scleartobothofusthatI’mabouttokisshim.
Itfeelsdifferentthanlastnight.Itfeelsmoresignificantsincewe’vebothspentthelastdaythinkingaboutitandhaveobviouslycometotheconclusionthatwebothwantittohappenagain.
WemaintaineyecontactasIliftontomytoesandlightlypressmylipstohis.Heinhaleswhilemymouthisstillagainsthis,asifhe’ssummoninguppatiencethatnolongerexistsinsideofhim.
Ipullbackafraction,needingtoseehisreaction.Hispointedgazeandpartedlipsareapromisinghintforwhatevermighthappennext.Idon’tfeellikeI’llenduprunningoutofthiskitchenagainnowthatI’vespentthelasttwenty-fourhoursregrettingthatmove.
Samsonlowershisforeheadtomine.Isqueezemyeyesshutwhenhewrapsahandaroundthebackofmyhead.HekeepshisforeheadpressedagainstmineandIimaginehiseyesareclosed,too.It’slikehewantstobeclosetome,butheknowshecan’thugmeandhedoesn’tknowifheshouldkissme.
Itiltmyheadbackoninstinct,wantinghislipsagainstmineagain.Heacceptsthesilentinvitationbykissingthecornerofmymouth,thenthecenterofit.Hereleasesashakybreath,likehe’ssavoringwhat’scoming.
Hishandthat’swrappedinmyhairanglesmyheadbackevenmore,andthenhekissesmewithconfidence.
It’sslowanddeep,likehemightnotsurviveifhedoesn’tswallowalittlebitofmysoulinthiskiss.Hetasteslikesaltwaterandmybloodfeelslikethesea,ragingandcrashingthroughmyveins.
Iwanttoliveinthisfeeling.Sleepinit.Wakeupinit.
Idon’twantthekisstoendyet,butwhenhestartstoslowitdown,Ilikehowhedoesit.Gradual,careful,difficult,likehe’scomingtoahaltaboutasslowasatraincould.
Whenwe’renolongerkissing,hereleasesme,butIdon’tmoveaway.I’mstillpressedagainsthim,buthe’sgrippingthecounteragainoneithersideofhimselfratherthangrippingme.Iappreciatethatheisn’twrappingmeinhisarmsrightnow.
KissingI’veprovedIcanhandletonight.BeingheldissomethingI’mnotquitereadyfor,andhealreadyknowshowIfeelaboutit.
Ipressmyforeheadagainsthisshoulderandclosemyeyes.
Icanhearhisbreaths,laboredanddeepasherestshisheadlightlyagainstmine.
WestaylikethisforawhileandIdon’tknowwhattofeelorwhattothink.Idon’tknowifit’snormaltofeelathousandpoundsheavierafteryoukisssomeone.
IfeellikeI’mdoingthisallwrong,butatthesametime,itfeelslikemaybeSamsonandIaretheonlypeoplewhoaredoingthisrightinthewholeworld.
“Beyah,”hewhispers.Hismouthisrightovermyear,sowhenhesaysmyname,goosebumpsrundownmyneckandarms.Ikeepmyforeheadpressedagainsthimandmyeyesclosed.
“What?”
There’sapausethatfeelswaylongerthanitactuallyis.“I’mleavinginAugust.”
Idon’tknowwhattosaytothat.Itwasonlyfourwords,buthedrewaverydeeplineinthesandwiththosefourwords.AlineIknewwouldeventuallycome.
“Metoo,”Isay.
Iliftmyheadandmyeyesaredrawntohisnecklace.Itouchit,runningmyfingeracrossthewood.He’slookingdownatmelikemaybehewantstokissmeagain.Iwouldtakeathousandmoreofthosetonight.Ididn’tfeelanythingnegativethistime.Itwasallgood,yetchilling.It’sasifhekissedmebackward,fromtheinsideout—thesamewayIthinkhelooksatmesometimes.Likeheseestheinsideofmebeforehenoticeswhat’soutside.
Hetiltsmychinupwithafingerandpresseshislipstomineagain,thistimewithhiseyesopen,soakingmein.Hepullsback,butnotveryfar.Allhiswordsseemtoseepintomymouthwhenhespeaks.“Ifwedothis,itstaysintheshallowend.”
Inod,butthenIshakemyhead.Idon’tknowifI’magreeingordisagreeing.“Whatdoyoumeanbyshallowend?”
Hisstarematchesthetightnessinmychest.Heslideshistongueoverhistopliplikehe’sthinkingofhowtoelaborateonhisthoughtswithouthurtingmyfeelings.“Ijustmean…ifthisbecomesathing.Asummerthing.That’sallIwantittobe.Idon’twanttoleavehereinAugustinarelationship.”
“Idon’twantthat,either.We’llbeontwodifferentsidesofthecountry.”
Heslidesthebacksofhisfingersdownmyarm.Whenheslidesthembackupagain,hedoesn’tstopatmyshoulder.Hisfingersglideupmycollarboneuntilhe’stouchingmycheek.
“Peoplesometimesstilldrownintheshallowend,”hewhispers.
That’sadarkthought.OneIthinkheprobablymeanttokeeptohimself.ButhereIam,pullingbackthoselayerswhetherhelikesitornot.
Somanylayers.
Idon’tknowhowkissinghimfeltlikeIbypassedeverylayerandburrowedrightintohiscore,butitdid.It’slikeIseetherealhim,despitealltheunknownthatstillsurroundshim.
“Whowasthatguyatdinner?”Iask.
Heswallowshard,glancingaway,anditmakesmewanttorunasoothinghanddownhisthroat.“Idon’twanttolietoyou,Beyah.ButIalsocan’tbehonestwithyou.”
Ihavenoideawhatthatmeans,butthethingaboutSamsonis,hedoesn’tseemtobethetypetowantattentionormanufacturedrama.Sobysayingsomethinglikethis,itmakesmethinkit’sevenworsethanhowhe’spresentingit.
“What’stheworstthingyou’veeverdone?”Iaskhim.
Hebringshiseyesbacktominewithanotherpredictableshakeofhishead.
“It’sthatbad?”
“It’sbad.”
“WorsethanwhatIdidwithDakota?”
Samsonpresseshislipsintoathin,irritatedline,andthendipshishead,lookingatmewithintensity.“Therearetwodifferentkindsofwrong.Thewrongthatstemsfromweaknessandthewrongthatstemsfromstrength.Youmadethatchoicebecauseyouwerestrongandneededtosurvive.Youdidn’tmakethatchoicebecauseyouwereweak.”
IgraspontoeverywordofthatbecauseIwanttomakeitmytruth.
“Willyoujustansweronequestionforme?”Iask.Hedoesn’tsayyesbuthedoesn’tsayno.Hejustwaitsformyquestion.“Wasitanassaultofanykind?”
“No.Nothinglikethat.”
I’mrelievedbythat.Hecantell.Hebrushesmyhairovermyshoulderswithbothhandsandthenpresseshismouthagainstmyforehead.Hekissesmethere,thenleanshisheadagainstmine.“I’lltellyouthedaybeforeyouleaveforcollege.”
“Ifyou’reeventuallygoingtotellme,whycan’tyoujusttellmerightnow?”
“BecauseIwanttospendtherestofthesummerwithyou.AndifItellyou,Idon’tthinkyou’llwantthat.”
I’mnotsurewhathecouldpossiblytellmethatwouldmakemenotwanttospeaktohim,butIknowifIdwellonit,I’mjustgoingtostressoverit.
I’llwait.
Attherateourconversationshavebeengoing,I’llgetitoutofhimbeforeAugust.
Butfornow,Ijustnodbecauseit’snothinghewantstotellmetonight.Andifthere’sonethingIcandorightnow,it’sshowhimthesamepatienceheshowedmelastnight.
Hekissesmeagain.It’saquickkiss.Agoodnightkiss.
Idon’tsayanythingasIpullawayfromhimandwalktowardthedoorbecauseallmywordsfeeltoobigformyvoice.It’shardjustwalkingouthisdoorrightnow.Ican’timaginewhatAugustthirdwillfeellike.
P.J.iswaitingoutsidethedoorwhenIcloseit.Hefollowsmeloyallydownthestairsandtothehouse.WhenIreachthetopofthestairstothehouse,hewalkstohisdogbedandliesdown
Thankfully,nooneisinthelivingroomwhenIenterthehouse.Ilockthedoorandsneakupthestairs.BeforeIopenmydoor,IglanceatSara’sbedroomdoor.
IthinkIwanttotellherwekissed.It’saweirdfeeling,wantingtoopenuptoanothergirl.InevereventoldNatalieaboutthethingbetweenDakotaandme.Iwastooashamedtotellher.
IknocksoftlyonSara’sdoor,notwantingtowakeupanyoneelseinthehouse.Saradoesn’tsayanything.She’sprobablystillatthebeach.
Ipushherdooropentocheckandseeifshe’sinherbed,butassoonasIpeekmyheadinside,Ipullthedoorshut.
Marcoswasontopofher.Hewasclothed,butstill.Iwasn’texpectingthat.
Iwalktomyroom,butthenrememberwhatSarasaidatthebeachaboutjustgivingherasilentsign.
Iwalkbackintoherroom.SheandMarcosstopkissingandlookatme.Ireachthebedandholdupahandtogetahighfivefromher.
Shelaughsandhigh-fivesme.“Hellyes!”shewhispersasIleaveherroom.SEVENTEEN
Thelastfewdayshavebeentheleaststressfuldaysofmylife.It’slikespendingtimewithSamsonreleasessomekindofhormonefrommybrainthat’sbeenmissingfornineteenyears.Ifeelhappier.Idon’tfeellikeI’monthevergeofbreakingallthetime.
I’msureit’smorethanjustSamson.It’sacombinationofallthethingsI’veneverhadbefore.Decentshelterthatisn’trottingfromtheinsidebytermites.Threemealsaday.Aconstantfriendwholivesrightacrossthehall.Theocean.Thesunrise.
It’salmosttoomuchgoodhappeningatonce.I’moverdosingongoodthings,whichonlymeansI’lleventuallyhavetogothroughthewithdrawalwhensummerends.ButlikeSarasaid,summersareforfocusingontodayandtodayonly.I’llworryaboutthepainfulpartofsummeronAugustthird.
Samsondecidedaladderwouldbesaferandeasiertoreachmybalconyinthemorningsthanjumpingprovedtobe.I’msittinginmyusualseatonmybalconyeatinggrapesIjusttookfromtherefrigeratorwhenIhearhimraisingtheladder.Myfavoritepartofourmorningroutineiswhenhereachesthetopoftheladderandsmilesatme.Althoughlastnightmighthavebeenbetterthanourmorningstogether.Hetalkedmeintogettingbackintheoceanandwekissedwithoutthatkissbeinginterruptedbyasearingpain.
Kissisputtingitmildly.
Wemadeout.Asmuchasapersoncanmakeoutintheoceanwithoutputtinghandsinsidebathingsuitsandswimtrunks.Butthat’stheonlyphysicaltimewe’vereallygottenoutsideofmorningstheselastfewdays.I’mkindofuncomfortablewithpublicdisplaysofaffectioninfrontofotherpeople,andwe’realwayswithSaraandMarcos.
Samsonreachesthetopoftheladderandwebothsmileateachother.“Morning.”
“Hey.”Ipopanothergrapeintomymouth.Afterheclimbsovertherailing,hebendsdownandgivesmeaquickkiss,thensitsnexttome.
Itakeagrapeoutofthebagandbringittohislips.Hebarelypartsthemwithagrin,forcingmetoshovemyfingerintohismouthashetakesthegrape.Hecircleshislipsaroundmyfingerforasecond,thenpullsawayslowly.Hestartstochewthegrape.“Thankyou.”
NowIwanttofeedhimgrapesallday.
HewrapsanarmoverthebackofthechairandIleanagainsthim,butnotcloseenoughthathewouldtakeitasasigntopullmetohim.Wewatchthesunriseinsilence,andIthinkabouttheturnmylifehastakensinceIarrived.
IthoughtIknewwhoIwas,butIhadnoideapeoplecanbecomedifferentversionsofthemselvesindifferentsettings.Inthissetting,whereeverythingfeelsgoodandperfect,I’mactuallyatpeacewithmylife.Idon’tfallasleepbittereverynight.Idon’tevenactivelyhatemyfatherlikeIusedto.AndI’mnotsomuchadisbelieverinloveanymore.I’mnotaskepticherebecauseI’mabletolookatlifethroughadifferentlens.
ItmakesmewonderwhatversionofmyselfI’llbewhenIgettocollege.WillIbehappythere?WillImissSamson?WillIcontinuetothriveorwillIwiltbackintomyoldself?
Ifeellikeaflowerbeingtakenoutoftheshadowsandputintothesun.I’mbloomingforthefirsttimesinceIbrokethroughtheearth’ssoil.
“Whataretoday’splans?”Samsonasks.
Ishrug.“Ithinkit’sclearbynowthatIhaveabsolutelynoplansuntilAugustthird.”
“Good.Wanttorentagolfcartandtakeatourofthebeachthisafternoon?Iknowareallysecludedspot.”
“Sure.Soundsfun.”Especiallysincehesaidthewordsecluded.Thatsoundslikeaninvitetofinallybeabletospendsomealonetimewithhim.
ThesunisupnowandthisisusuallywhenSamsonleavessoIcangobacktosleep,butinsteadofstandingup,heslidesmeontohislapsothatI’mstraddlinghim.Heleanshisheadbackagainstthechair,restinghishandsonmyhips.“Weshouldstartwatchingthesunriseinthisposition.”
“Itwouldblockyourview,”Isay.
Hebringsahanduptomyface,andhisfingertipsagainstmyjawfeelliketinylittlefiresagainstmyskin.“You’reprettierthantheview,Beyah.”Heslipshishandbehindmyheadandbringsmetohismouth.
Bothofhisarmswraparoundmeandhepullsmecloser,butIshiftalittlesothathe’llberemindednottodothat.Idon’tlikeitwhenbothofhisarmsgoaroundmewhilewekissbecauseitmakesmethinkofbeingheld,andbeingheldissomethingmorepersonaltomethankissing,orevensex.
IlikekissingSamson.Ilikespendingtimewithhim.ButIdon’tliketheideaofsharingsomethingsointimatewithsomeonewhodoesn’twanttosharemorethanafewweeksofthemselveswithme.
HishandsfalltomyhipslikeI’vetrainedthemtodooverthelastfewdays.Hekissesmyjaw,thenthesideofmyhead.“Ihavetogo,”hesays.“Ihavealottodotoday.”
Everydayhe’salwaysdoingsomethingdifferent.Helpingsomeonerepairaroof,rebuildingadune.Mostofitseemslikebusywork.Idon’tknowthatheactuallytakesmoneyfortheworkhedoes.
Islideoffhimandwatchasheheadsbacktowardtheladder.
Hedoesn’tmakeeyecontactwithmeashedescendstheladderanddisappears.Ileanmyheadagainstthebackofthechairandpopagrapeintomymouth
I’msurehewantsmorethanI’mgivinghimphysically,butIcan’tgivehimmoreifheinsistsonstayingintheshallowend.Hugsandbeingheldmightseemlikeshallow-endstufftohim,buttome,thosethingsareburiedsomewhereintheMarianaTrench.
I’dratherhavecasualsexwithhimthanlethimhugme.
That’sprobablyproofthatIhavesomedeepshitthatneedsunpackingbyatherapist.Butwhatever.
Oceantherapyhasworkedwondersformesofarandit’sfree.
Secludedwasanunderstatement.
Hebroughtussofardownthebeach,thehousesaren’tclusteredinneighborhoodsanymore.They’resparseandscattered.Therearenopeople.Justthedunesbehindusandtheoceaninfrontofus.IfIweregoingtochooseaplacetobuildahouse,thiswouldbeit.
“Whyaren’tthereverymanyhouseshere?Doesthelandfloodtooeasily?”
“Thereusedtobealotofhouseshere.HurricaneIkeleveledeverything.”Samsontakesadrinkofwater.Hebroughtsandwiches,water,andablanket.He’sconsideringthisourfirstofficialdatesincehangingoutwithSaraandMarcosdoesn’treallycount.Heevenpulleduptomystairsearlierinthegolfcarttopickmeup.
“Doyouthinkit’lleverbethesameasbeforethehurricane?”
Heshrugs.“Maybenotlikeitwasbefore.Thewholepeninsulabecamegentrifiedintherebuild,butit’sthrivingmorethanIthoughtitwould.It’sstillaworkinprogress,though.It’lltakemorethanjustafewyearstoevencomeclosetowhatitwaslikebefore.”Hepointstoaspotbehindus.“That’swhereIfoundRake’sboat.Thereareprobablystillpiecesofitburiedbehindthedune.Theyhaven’tdonemuchworkinthisareasincethehurricane.”
IfeedapieceofmybreadtoP.J.Herodeinthebackofthegolfcartallthewayhere.“Youthinkthisdogbelongedtooneofthepeoplewhosehousesweredestroyed?”
“Ithinkyou’retheonlypersonthatdoghaseverbelongedto.”
Ismilewhenhesaysthat,eventhoughIknowI’mnotthefirstpersonP.J.haseverloved.Heknowscommands,sosomeonespenttimetraininghiminthepast.
I’vealwayswantedadog,butIneverhadenoughfoodtofeedone.I’dtakeinstrays,buttheyeventuallyleftmeforotherfamilieswhofedthemmoreoften.
“WhatareyougoingtodowithhiminAugust?”Samsonasks,leaningacrossmetoscratchP.J.onthehead.
“Idon’tknow.I’mtryingnottothinkaboutit.”
Samson’seyesmeetmineinthatmoment,andthere’saflashofcontemplationthatpassesbetweenus.
WhatwillIdowiththedog?
Whatwillwedoaboutus?
What’sgoodbyegoingtofeellike?
Samsonstretchesoutinthesand.I’msittingcross-legged,sohelayshisheadinmylapandstaresupatmethoughtfully.Irunahandthroughhishair,tryingnottothinkaboutanythingbeyondorbeforethismoment.
“Whatdootherpeoplethinkofyou?”Samsonasks.
“That’sanoddquestion.”
Samsonlooksatmeexpectantly,likehedoesn’tcarethatit’sanoddquestion.Ilaugh,lookingoutatthewaterwhileIthink.
“I’mnotmeek,sosometimesmyattitudecanbemisconstruedasbeingbitchy.ButIwaslumpedinwithmymotherbackhome.Whenyou’rejudgedbasedonthepersonwhoraisedyou,youcan’tbeneutralaboutwhoyouare.Youeitherletitconsumeyouandyoubecomewhoothersthinkyouare,oryoufightitwitheverythinginyou.”Ilookdownathim.“Whatdoyouthinkpeoplethinkofyou?”
“Idon’tthinkpeoplethinkofmeatall.”
Ishakemyheadindisagreement.“Ido.AnddoyouknowwhatIthink?”
“Whatdoyouthink?”
“IthinkIwanttogetbackintheoceanwithyou.”
Samsongrins.“We’reprettyfarfromthevinegar.”
“ThenmakeitworthitincaseIgetstungagain.”
Samsonhopstohisfeetandthenpullsmeup.Islipoffmyshortsasheremoveshisshirt.Heholdsmyhandasweworkourwaythroughthewavesandawayfromtheshore.Whenthewaterisuptomychest,westopwalkingandwefaceeachother,loweringourselvesuntilthewaterisuptobothofournecks.
Weclosethegapbetweenusuntilwe’rekissing.
Everytimewekiss,it’sasifweleavemoreofourselvesinsidetheother.IwishIknewmoreaboutrelationshipsandloveandallthethingsIusedtothinkIwastoogoodfor,ormaybenotgoodenoughfor.Iwanttoknowhowtomakethisfeelinglast.IwanttoknowifaguylikeSamsoncouldeverfallinlovewithagirllikeme.
Awavecrashesoverus,forcingusapart.Thewatercompletelysoaksmyhair.I’mwipingitoutofmyeyes,laughing,whenSamsonmakeshiswaybacktome.Hewrapsmylegsaroundhiswaistbutkeepshishandsonmyhips.
There’saflickerofhappinessinhiseye.
It’sthefirsttimeI’veseenit.
I’vebeenherealmosttwoweeksandthisisthefirsttimehe’slookedcompletelyatease.Itmakesmefeelgoodthatheseemstofindthatwithme,butI’msadit’snotsomethinghefeelsallthetime.
“Whatkindofthingsmakeyouhappy,Samson?”
“Richpeoplearenevercontent,”hesaysinstantaneously.That’ssadhedidn’tevenhavetothinkaboutit.
“Sothesayingistrue?Moneydoesn’tbuyhappiness?”
“Whenyou’repoor,youhavethingstoreachfor.Goalsthatexciteyou.Maybeit’sadreamhouseoravacationorevenamealatarestaurantonaFridaynight.Butthemoremoneyyouhave,theharderitistofindthingstobeexcitedabout.Youalreadyhaveyourdreamhouse.Youcangoanywhereintheworldanytimeyouwantto.Youcouldhireaprivatecheftomakeyoueveryfoodyouevercrave.Peoplewhoaren’trichthinkallthosethingsarefulfilling,buttheyaren’t.Youcanfillyourlifewithnicethings,butnicethingsdon’tfilltheholesinyoursoul.”
“Whatfillstheholesinasoul?”
Samson’seyesscrollovermyfaceforafewseconds.“Piecesofsomeoneelse’ssoul.”
Heliftsmeslightlysothatlessofmyskinisbeneaththewater.Hedragshismouthacrossmyjaw,andwhenhislipsfindmine,I’mhungryforthem.Starving.
Ifeelhimharden,eventhoughwe’reinthewater.Yetstill,allwedoiskiss.Thiskisslastsforseveralminutes.It’sbothnotenoughandmorethanenough.
“Beyah,”hewhispersagainstmymouth.“Icouldstayhereforever,butweshouldprobablyheadbackbeforeitgetsdark.”
Inod,butthenIkisshimagainbecauseIdon’treallycareifitgetsdark.Samsonlaughs,buthequicklyshutsupandreturnsthekisswithevenmoreurgency.
IwishthereweremorepartsofhimIcouldreach.Ican’tstoprunningmyhandsoverhischestandhisshouldersandhisback.Theyendupinhishairashismouthmakesitswaydownmychest.Ifeelhiswarmbreathagainstmyskin,rightbetweenmybreasts.HeliftsahandtothebackofmyneckandIfeelhimtouchtheknotonmybathingsuittop.
Thenhelooksmeintheeye,silentlyaskingforpermission.Inod,andheslowlypullsatthestringuntilit’suntied.
Thestrapstomybathingsuitfalldown,andSamsonleansforward,kissingthetopofmybreast.Heslowlybeginstoworkhismouthdownuntilhetakesmynippleinhismouth.
Isuckinashakybreath.Thesensationofhistongueagainstmyskinsendschillsdownmybody.Iclosemyeyesandpressmycheekagainstthetopofhishead,neverwantinghimtostop.
Buthedoes,thankstothesoundofanengineinthedistance.
Heimmediatelypullsawaywhenwebothhearit.There’satruckdownthebeachheadedinthisdirection.
Samsonliftsthestrapsofmybikiniandretiesthemaroundmyneck.Igroan,andmaybeevenpout.Wemakeourwaybacktotheshore,eventhoughthetruckturnedaroundandheadedbackintheotherdirectionbeforeitreachedus.
We’rebothquietaswepackupourthingsintothegolfcart.Thesunisbeginningtosetontheothersideofthepeninsula,castingaredandpurpleglowacrossthesky.ThewindfromtheoceanhaspickedupandIlookoveratSamsonforamoment.He’sfacingthebreeze,hiseyesclosed.There’sacalmnessabouthimrightnow,andthatcalmnessspreadstome.
Hismoodsarecontagious.I’mgladheseemstoonlyhaveoneortwo.I’veneverfeltasstableasIhavesinceIstartedspendingallmyhourswithhim
“Haveyoueverclosedyoureyesandjustlistenedtotheocean?”heasks.Heopenshiseyesandturnstofaceme
“No.”
Hefacesthewateragainandcloseshiseyes.“Tryit.”
Iclosemyeyesandblowoutabreath.Samson’shandfindsmineandwejuststandtheretogether,insilence,facingthewater.
Ilistenforwhathe’shearing.
Seagulls.
Waves.
Peace.
Hope.
Idon’tknowhowlongwestandherebecauseIbecomeconsumedbythemeditation.Idon’tknowthatI’veeverstoodinonespotwithmyeyesclosedandjustletgoofmythoughts.
Iletthemgo.Allofthem.
Eventually,it’sliketheworldgrowscompletelysilent.
I’mpulledoutofthatsilencewhenIfeelSamsonkissthebackofmyhead.Iopenmyeyesandinhaleadeepbreath.
Andthat’stheendofthat.Dinner,amake-outsession,andastressreliever.Whatadate.
“Where’syourdog?”heasksaswestarttoclimbintothegolfcart.
Ilookaround,butdon’tseePepperJackCheeseanywhere.Icallforhim,buthedoesn’tcomerunning.Myheartpicksupalittleandthatdoesn’tgounnoticed.
Samsoncallsforhim.
Istarttogetworriedbecausewe’realongwayfromourhouses,andifwedon’tfindhim,hemaynotbeabletomakehiswayback.
“Maybehe’sbehindthedunes,”Samsonsuggests.Webothmakeourwayovertothehighrowsofsand.Samsongrabsmyhandsandhelpsmeupthedune.Whenwereachthetopandlookontheothersideofit,I’mimmediatelyrelievedtoseeP.J.
“Oh,thankGod,”Isay,scalingdowntheothersideofthedune.
“What’shedoing?”Samsonasks,walkingbehindme.P.J.isabouttenfeetaway,diggingfuriouslyintheground
“Maybehefoundsomecrabs.”
Whenwereachhim,Ifreeze.Whateverhefound,it’snotacrab.Itlookslike…“Samson?”Iwhisper.“Whatisthat?”
Samsondropstohiskneesandstartswipingdustoffwhatlookslikebonesintheshapeofahand.
IpullP.J.away,buthefightstogetoutofmygrip.Samsonisnowdigging,movingsandaway,revealingmoreandmoreofwhatisobviouslyahumanarm.
“Oh,myGod,”Iwhisper.Icovermymouthwithmyhand.P.J.slipsoutofmygripandgetsawayfromme.HerushesbacktoSamson’sside,butSamsonpusheshimaway.“Sit,”hecommandsthedog.
P.J.sits,butwhimpers.
IlowermyselftomykneesnexttoSamsonandwatchashecontinuestouncovermoreofthebones.
“Maybeyoushouldn’ttouchit,”Isuggest.
Samsonsaysnothing.Hejustkeepsdigginguntilhereachestheshoulderjointoftheskeleton.There’sstillashirtattachedtoit.It’sared-checkeredshirt,fadedandtorn.Samsontouchesapieceofitanditfallsapartinhishands.
“Doyouthinkit’sanentirebody?”
Samsonstilldoesn’tanswerme.Hejustfallsbackontohishaunchesandstaresattheground.
“I’llgogetmyphoneandcallthepolice.”Istarttogetup,butSamsongrabsmywrist.Ilookathimandhiseyesarepleading.
“Don’t.”
“What?”Ishakemyhead.“Wehavetoreportthis.”
“Don’t,Beyah,”hesaysagain.I’veneverseenhisexpressionsounyielding.“ThisistheguyIwastellingyouabout.Rake.Irecognizehisshirt.”Helooksbackdownatwhathe’sjustuncovered.“Thepolicewilljustthrowhiminanunmarkedgrave.”
“Westillhavetoreportthis.It’sabody.Amissingperson.”
Heshakeshisheadagain.“Hewasn’tamissingperson.LikeItoldyou,nooneevennoticedhewasgone.”IcanalreadytellbySamson’sdemeanorthatI’mnotchanginghismind.“Hewouldwanttobeintheocean.It’stheonlyplacehebelongs.”
We’rebothquietforawhileaswethink.
Forwhateverreason,Idon’tfeellikethisismydecision.ButIsureashelldon’twanttobehereasecondlonger.
Samsonstandsupanddisappearsbackoverthedune.Ihavenointentionofbeingleftalonewithhumanremains,soIfollowafterhim.
Samsonwalkstowardthewater,andwhenhe’safewfeetawayfromit,hejuststops.Heclaspshishandsbehindhishead.Istopwalkingbecauseitlookslikeheneedsaminutetoprocessthis.
Hestaresatthewaterforwhatseemslikeaneternity.Ijustpacebehindhim,tornbetweendoingwhatIknowisrightorleavingthisdecisioncompletelyuptoSamson.He’stheonewhoknewtheguy.Ididn’t.
Afterawhile,Ifinallybreakthesilence.“Samson?”
Hedoesn’tfaceme.Hisvoiceisresolutewhenhesays,“Ineedyoutotakethegolfcartbacktothehouse.”
“Withoutyou?”
Henods,stillfacingtheotherdirection.“I’llmeetupwithyoulatertonight.”
“I’mnotleavingyououthere.It’stoofartowalkinthedark.”
Heturnsnow,andwhenhedoes,helookslikeacompletelydifferentpersonthanhedidtenminutesago.Hisfeaturesarehardened,andthere’ssomethingnewlybrokeninsideofhim.
Hewalkstowardmeandtakesmyfaceinhishands.Hiseyesarered,likehe’sonthevergeofbreakingdown.“Please,”hesays.“Go.Ineedtodothisalone.”
There’sanacheinhisvoice.ApainI’munfamiliarwith.
AnagonyIexpectedtofeelafterfindingmymotherdead,butinsteadIwasleftemptyandnumb.
Ihavenoideawhyheneedsthis,butIcanseehisneedformetoleavethisuptohimisgreaterthanmyneedtodisagreewithhim.Ijustnod,andmyvoicereleasesinawhisperwhenIsay,“Okay.”
Forthefirsttimeinmylife,Iactuallyfeelanoverwhelmingneedtohugsomeone,butIdon’t.Idon’twantourfirsthugtobeattachedtosuchanawkwardmoment.Iclimbintothegolfcart.
“TakeP.J.withyou,”hesays.Iwaitwhilehewalksbackoverthedunetogethim.WhenhereturnswithP.J.,heputshiminthepassengerseatofthegolfcart.Samsongripsthetopofthegolfcartandhistoneisflatwhenhesays,“I’llbeokay,Beyah.I’llseeyoulatertonight.”Hepushesawayfromthegolfcartandwalksbacktowardthedune.
Idrivehome,leavingSamsonwithsomethingIknowhe’llneverexplaintome,andlikelywon’tspeakofagain.EIGHTEEN
I’mworriedaboutSamson,obviously.ButthelongerIsithereandwaitforhim,Iwonderifthatworryshouldbemixedinwithanger.
Itwasn’tfairofhimtoaskmetoleavethatsituation,butthelookinhiseyemadeitseemlikethrowingRake’sremainsintotheoceanwaswaymoreimportanttohimthanreportingitwastome.
I’veseensomedisturbingshitinmylife.Afewbonesbeingmovedfromaduneandintotheoceanissurprisinglynotthatjarringtome.Idon’tknowwhatthatsaysaboutme.OrSamson,forthatmatter.
EventhoughI’mnotangryathim,Iamconcerned.Mystomachisinknots.It’sbeenalmostfourhourssinceIgothome.Itriedtopassthetimebyshowering,eatingdinnerandhavingmindlessconversationwithmyfatherandAlana.ButmymindisstillbackwithSamsonontheothersideofthatdune.
I’msittingoutbythebonfirenow,staringatSamson’sdarkhouse.Waiting.
“WhereisSamson?”Saraasks.
Greatquestion.“Helpingsomeone.He’llbebacksoon.”Itakeadrinkofwater,washingtheliesoutofmymouth.PartofmewantstotellSarathetruth,butIknowbetter.HowwouldIevencomeoutandsay,Hey,Sara,therearehumanremainsdownthebeachandSamsonisdiggingthemupandthrowingallthebonesintotheocean.
Yeah,shewouldn’tbeabletohandlesomethingofthatmagnitude.
“So?Whatwasthekisslike?”Saraasks.
Ilookatherandshe’sstaringatmewithhopeinhereyes.
Igetthefeelingshe’dprobablypreferastepsisterwhowillgossipwithheratnightwhiletheybrusheachother’shair.I’msadshedidn’tgetthat.Instead,shegotme.No-funBeyah.
“Thekisswasactuallykindofdepressing.”
“What?Why?”
“I’mnotsayingitwasbad.He’sagreatkisser.He’sjust…he’ssoseriousallthetime.SoamI.It’sdifficulttoshareafun,sexykisswhenthere’snothingfunabouteitherofus.”Isighandrestmyheadagainstthechair.“SometimesIwishIcouldbemorelikeyou.”
Saralaughs.“Ifyouweremorelikeme,Samsonwouldn’tlookatyouthewayhedoes.”
Thatmakesmesmile.Maybeshe’sright.Somepeoplejustfittogether.Iwouldn’tfitwithMarcosandshewouldn’tfitwithSamson.
Ijustwishourfallandwinterfitaswellasoursummer.
SaraholdsbothhandsupintheairwhenthesongontheBluetoothchangestoanewsongI’veneverheard.“Ilovethissong!”Shejumpsupandstartsdancing.Marcosgetsupanddanceswithher.It’snotaslowsong,sothey’restompingandspinningaroundliketheirlivesweighnothing.
IwatchthemdanceuntilthesongisoverandSarafallsbackintoherchair,outofbreath.Shereachesdownforabottleofliquorstuckinthesand.“Here,”shesays,handingittome.“Alcoholmakeseveryonefun.”
Ibringittomymouthandpretendtotakeadrink.I’dratherbeboringthanbecomemymother,soIhavenodesiretoactuallyswallowit.ButIpretendtoforSara’ssake.I’vealreadybeenenoughofadownertonight,Idon’twanttodenythealcoholandmakeherfeelguiltyfordrinking.Ihandthebottlebacktoher,justassomethingbehindhercatchesmyeye.
Finally.It’sbeenfourhours.
Samsonwillhavetowalkpastustogettohishouse.He’scoveredinsand.Helookstired.Heevenlooksalittlebitguiltywhenwemakeeyecontact.Helooksawayquickly,butthenspinsashewalkspastus.Heliftshiseyesagainwhilehewalksbackward.Henudgeshisheadtowardhishouseandthenspinsaroundanddisappearsintothedarkness
“You’rebeingsummoned,”Sarasays.
Iremainseatedforamoment,notwantingtoappeartooeagertofollowhim.“I’mnotadog.”
“Areyoutwofighting?”
“No.”
“Thengo.IlikeitwhenMarcossummonsme.Italwaysmeansgoodthings.”ShelooksatMarcosandsays,“Hey,Marcos.Summonme.”
Marcosnodshisheadonce,andSarajumpsoutofherchairandwalksovertohim,fallingdramaticallyintohislap.Thechairfallsoverandspillsthemoutontothesand.Marcosisstillholdinghisbeerupintheair.Hedidn’tevenspillasingledrop.
IleavethemaloneandstartwalkingtowardSamson’shouse.IcanheartheoutdoorshowerrunningwhenIgetclose.Iwalkontotheconcretefoundationofthestiltlevelofhishouse.Ihaven’tspentanytimedownhere,butit’snice.Asidefromtheshower,there’sabarandacoupleoftables.Idon’tknowwhyweneverspendtimehereinsteadofatthebeacheverynight.Samsonhasthekindofhousethatwouldbegoodforparties,buthedoesn’tseemlikethetypewhowouldwanttohostone.
Idon’tseeSamson’sshortsasIapproachtheshower,whichmeanshe’sstilldressed.Thereisn’tadoortotheshower.Thewallsaremadeofwoodandthere’sanopeningandaleftturnIhavetomakebeforeIseehim.
Hisbackistome.Hispalmsarepressedagainstthewoodandtheshowersprayisfallingoverthebackofhisneck.Hisheadishangingbetweenhisshoulders.
“I’msorry,”hesaysquietly.Heturnsandpushesthewethairoffhisforehead.
“Forwhat?”
“Forputtingyouinthisposition.ForexpectingyoutokeepsecretswhenIdon’ttellyouanyofmine.”
“Youneveraskedmenottotellanyone.Youjustaskedmenottocallthepolice.”
Hewipeshishandoverhisfaceandleansbackintothestreamofwater.“Didyoutellanyone?”
“No.”
“Areyougoingto?”
“Notifyoudon’twantmeto.”
“I’dratheritstaybetweenus,”hesays.
Isilentlyagree.It’snotthathardformetokeepsecrets.I’maproatit.
IkindoflikethatSamsonisaclosedbook.Youcan’treallydislikeabookyouhaven’treadyet.ButIthinkI’mabletobepatientwithhimbecausehetoldmehe’deventuallytellmeallhistruths.Otherwise,Imightnotfindhimworththeeffort.
“Ifeellikethere’smoretothestorywithRake,”Isay.“WillyouexplainitwithalltheotheranswersyouowemeonAugustsecond?”
Henods.“Yeah.I’lltellyouthen.”
“I’mgoingtostartkeepingalistofallthequestionsIwantanswersto.”
Hisliptwitches,likeIamusehim.“AndI’llanswerthemallonAugustsecond.”
Itakeasteptowardhim.“Youpromise?”
“Iswear.”
Iliftoneofhishands.He’sgotdirtbeneathallhisfingernails.“Didyoudigupallofit?”
“Yes.”
“Andyou’resureitwasRake?”
“Positive.”
Helooksandsoundsexhausted.Maybeevensad.IreallydothinkRakewasabiggerpartofhislifethanhe’slettingon.Iglanceathisnecklace,thenlookbackathisface.He’sstaringdownatme,thesmallstreamsofwaterslidingdownhisface.
Myclothesarestartingtogetwetfromthespray,soItakeoffmyshirtandtossitoverthewalloftheshower.IleaveonmyshortsandbikinitopandhelpSamsoncleanhisfingernails.HestandspatientlyasIgetallthedirtoutfrombeneatheachnailandthenwashhishandswithsoap.
WhenI’mfinished,SamsonpullsonmyhandandtugsmeuntilI’mstandingunderthewaterwithhim.Hekissesme,andImovewithhimashebackshimselfagainstthewall,pullingmeoutofthestreamofwater.
It’salazykiss.Hishandsarerestingonmyhipswhileheleansagainstthewalloftheshowerandletsmedirectthemoment.
Ileanagainsthim,pressingmybreastsagainsthisbarechest,wrappingmylefthandaroundthebackofhisneck.Ishouldn’thavetoldSaraitwasadepressingkiss.That’ssuchaterribledescriptionofwhatthisis.
Durableisabetterword.
Allofourkissesfeelimportant,likethey’llstaywithmeforever.Theyaren’tsmalldisplaysofaffectionthathappeninpassing.There’ssomethingbiggerbehindthemthanattraction.Rightnowthatbiggerthingissadness,andIwanttotakethatawayfromhim,evenifit’sjustforafewminutes.
Idragmyrighthanddownhischestuntilmyfingersmeettheelasticbandofhisshorts.Idipmyhandinside,andrightwhenIdo,Samsoninhalessharply.WestopkissingwhileItouchhimforthefirsttime.Hiseyesarefocusedhardonmine,likehe’ssilentlysayingIdon’thavetodothis,butalsobeggingmenottostop.
Iwrapmyhandfirmlyaroundhimandhisheadfallsbackwithasigh.“Beyah,”hewhispers.
Ikisshisneckandslowlybegintomovemyhandupanddownthelengthofhim.There’smoretohimthantherewastoDakota.Itdoesn’tsurpriseme.There’smoretoSamsoninalmosteveryaspectcomparedtoanyoneelseIknow.
Iusemylefthandtolowerhisshortsenoughsothathe’snotconfinedinsidethem.Westandinthispositionforacoupleofminutes,atleast.Metouchinghim.Samsonbreathingheavieranddeeper,grippingmyhipstighterwitheverystroke.Iwatchhisfacethewholetime,unabletolookaway.Sometimeshelooksatmeandothertimeshesqueezeshiseyesshutlikeit’salltoomuch.
Whenhebeginstoclenchallthemusclesinhisbody,hesuddenlybringsahanduptomyhairandpullsgently,tiltingmyheadbacksothathismouthcanfitagainstmine.Hetakestwoquicksteps,pushingmeagainsttheoppositeshowerwallwhilehekissesmewithmorestrengththaneveryotherkissthatcamebeforethisone.
Myhandisstillgrippinghim,andit’slikehecan’tevenbreatheandkissmeatthesametimebecausehebreaksapartandpressesthesideofhisheadtothesideofmine.Hismouthisovermyearwhenhebreathesoutaguttural,“Fuck.”
Chillsrolldownmybodyashebeginstoshudderbeneathmytouch.IcontinuetostrokehimuntilIfeelthestickywarmthofhimonthepalmofmyhand,andheeventuallysighs,buryinghisfaceagainstmyneck.
Hetakesamomenttocatchhisbreath,andthenhereachesfortheshowerhead.Hepullsitbetweenus,washinghimselfandmyhand,andthenheletsitfalltothefloorbeforekissingmeagain.
He’sbreathinglikehejustranamarathon.Atthispoint,Imightbebreathinglikethat,too.
Whenhefinallypullsawayandlooksdownatme,someoftheweighthasliftedfrombehindhiseyes.That’sallIwanted.Forhimtofeelbetteraboutwhateverhappenedtohimouttheretonight.
Ikisshimtenderlyonthecornerofhismouth,preparingtosaygoodnight,butherunshisfingersthroughmywethairandwhispers,“Whenareyougoingtoletmeholdyou?”
Hiseyesarepleading,likeheneedsahugmorethanheneededwhatIjustgavehim.
I’dprobablylethimhugmerightnowifIwasn’tsoafraiditwouldmakemecry.It’slikehecanseethewarinmyeyes,sohejustnodsandkissesthesideofmyhead.
“Goodnight,”Iwhisper.
“Goodnight,Beyah.”HeturnsofftheshowerandIgrabmyshirt,pullitbackonandwalkawayfromhishouse.NINETEEN
AllfiveofSamson’shouseswererentedfortheJuly4thweekend,sohe’sstayingwithMarcos.
It’sbeenaweeksincehefoundRake.Wehaven’ttalkedaboutit.There’slessthanamonthleftuntilAugustsecond,andI’llgetallmyanswersthen.I’mnotlookingforwardtoit.Augustsecondtomejustmeanstheeveofthedaywe’llbesayinggoodbyetoeachother.
I’mjusttryingtofocusontoday.
Andtoday,thebeachesaresocrazy,wedon’tevenwanttobeoutthere.We’reonMarcos’sbalcony.It’safewrowsbackfromthebeach,whichiswhywe’rehere.ThereissomuchmusicandnoiseandmoredrunkpeoplethanyoucouldfindinanybarinTexas,sononeofushavetheurgetohangoutclosertothosecrowds.
WeatedinnerwithMarcos’sfamilytonight.He’sgottwolittlesistersandtherewassomuchactivityandconversationandfood.SamsonlookedlikehewasrightathomewithMarcos’sfamily,anditmademewonderwhathe’slikewhenhe’saroundhisownfamily.
DotheyhavefamilymealstogetherlikemyfatherandAlanaliketodo?Wouldtheyacceptmeiftheyevermetme?Somethingtellsmetheywouldn’torhewouldn’tbesosecretiveaboutthem.
Ifeltacceptedtonight,though.Acceptedandwellfed.Mygoaltogainweightthissummerhasbeencrushed.I’mnotsureIcanevenfitintotheonepairofjeansIboughtwhenIgothere.I’vewornmostlyshortsandmybathingsuitthiswholesummer.
Thesunjustset,butthefireworksstartedbeforethat.They’repickingupnowthatit’sfinallydark,andthey’recomingfromalloverthepeninsula
“TheGalvestonfireworkswillstartinafewminutes,”Sarasays.“Iwishwecouldseethemfromhere.”
“Marjorie’sroofwouldhaveagoodview,”Samsonsays.
“Youthinkshe’dletususeit?”Iask.
Samsonshrugs.“Dependsonifshe’sawakeornot.”
Marcosstandsup.“Noonecansleepthroughthisnoise.”
WeallmakeourwaytoMarjorie’s,alongwithP.J.,whowaswaitingbeneathMarcos’shouse.
Marjorieissittingonherporchwhenwereachherstreet,watchingallthecommotiononthebeach.Sheseesusapproachingandsays,“Ifiguredyou’dbeheresoonerthanthis.”Shewavesahandtowardherfrontdoor.“Bemyguest.”
“Thanks,Marjorie,”Samsonsays.
Oncewe’reinside,hewaitsforSaraandMarcostoclimbthestairsfirst,thenme.Whenwereachtheroofentrance,Saraisonherhandsandkneesasshecrawlsouttheopening.Marcostriestohelpher,butsheshakesherhead.“It’stoohigh.Ican’tmove.”
Samsonlaughs.“Trytogettothecenteroftheroof.You’llonlyseetheskyinsteadoftheground.”
Saracrawlstothecenteroftheroof.WeallfollowandIsitdownnexttoher.Samsonsitsnexttome.
“Howdoyouwalkarounduphere?”Saraaskshim.
“Idon’tlookdown,”Samsonsays.
Saracoversherfaceforaminuteasshetriestolessenthedizziness.“IhadnoideaIwasafraidofheights.”
Marcoswrapsanarmaroundher.“Comehere,babe.”ShemovesclosertoMarcos,andseeinghimholdherlikethatmakesmeveryawarethatSamsonandIaren’teventouching.Iglanceathim,buthe’slookingatfireworksthatarebeingshotfromsomewheredownthebeach.
“IsMarjorielonely?”Iaskhim.
Helooksatmeandsmiles.“No.Shehasason.He’salawyerinHouston.Hecomestovisitheracoupletimesamonth.”
Thatmakesmefeelgood.
Samsonseesthereliefonmyface,andthenheleanstowardmeandgivesmeaquickpeck.“You’resweet,”hewhispers.Thenhegrabsmyhand,threadinghisfingersthroughmine,andwewatchthefireworksinsilence.
Themoretimethatpasses,themorethereare.Wecanseethemallaroundus,inthebay,comingfromGalveston.Somehow,thereareevenfireworksbeingshotfromwayoutintheocean.
MarcoslooksatSaraandsays,“Thiswouldhavebeenagreatmarriageproposalmomentwithallthesefreefireworksinthebackground.Toobadwejustmetoverspringbreak.”
“Bringmebackherenextyear,”shesays.“I’llpretendIforgotthisconversation.”
Theymakemelaugh.
Afterafewmoreminutes,SaratellsMarcossheneedsdownbecauseshe’sfeelingnauseous.Theyleave,butSamsonandIstayonMarjorie’sroof.
IfindmyselfwatchinghimmorethanI’mwatchingthefireworks.Helooksenamoredwitheverything.
“I’veneverseenDaryalookthisbeautiful,”Samsonwhispers.
Wait.What?Daryaisthenameofthegirlhesaidbrokehisheart.
“Lookhowthefireworksreflectoffofher,”hesays,pointingoutattheocean.Ilookatwherehe’spointing,thenbackathim,confused.
“AreyoucallingtheoceanDarya?”
“Yeah,”hesays,matter-of-fact.“Daryameansthesea.It’swhatRakeusedtocallher.”
“YoutoldmeDaryawastheex-girlfriendwhobrokeyourheart.”
Samsonlaughs.“ItoldyouDaryabrokemyheart,butIneversaidIwastalkingaboutagirl.”
Itrytothinkbackonthatconversation.Thiswholetime,hewastalkingaboutthewater?“Howdoesanoceanbreakaheart?”
“I’lltellyouon—”
“Augustsecond,”Ifinishwitharollofmyeyes.Iadjustmyselfandreachintomypocketformyphone.“I’mtakingnotes.Youowemealotofexplanations.”
Samsonlaughs.“CanIseethelist?”
IhandhimmyphoneafterIaddthelastone.Hestartsreadingoffthelist.
“Whydon’tyouliketalkingaboutyourfather’srentalhouses?Whowastheguythatinterruptedourdinner?What’stheworstthingyou’veeverdone?Whydon’tyouliketalkingaboutyourfamily?What’sthewholestorybehindRake?Howmanygirlshaveyouhadsexwith?”Hepausesandlooksatmeforabeat,thengoesbacktothelist.“What’syourfullname?Howdidtheoceanbreakyourheart?”
Hestaresatmyphoneforamoment,thenhandsitbacktome.
“Ten,”hesays.“ButIreallyonlyremembernine.Mymemoryofoneofthegirlsisfuzzy.”
Ten.That’salotincomparisontome,butnotmuchcomparedtowhatIassumedhispastwaslike.Hecouldhavesaidfifty,andIdon’tknowthatI’dbesurprised.“Tenisn’tverymany.”
“Comparedtoyouroneitis,”hesaysteasingly.
“Ijustthoughtthereweremore.ThewaySaratalkedaboutyou,itseemedlikeyousleptwithadifferentgirleveryweek.”
“Irarelysleptwiththem.IhavenoideahowmanyI’vemadeoutwith,though.Pleasedon’taskmethatquestiononAugustsecondbecauseIwon’tbeabletoanswerit.”
Ahugeblastoffireworksbeginsshootingoffstraightinfrontofus.Samson’sattentiongetspulledawayfromme,butIcontinuetostareathim.
“SometimesIwonderifIevenwantalltheanswerstomyquestions.Ithinkthemysterythatsurroundsyoumightbeoneofmyfavoritethingsaboutyou.Whilesimultaneouslybeingoneofmyleastfavoritethingsaboutyou.”
Samsondoesn’tlookatmewhenhesays,“Youwanttoknowwhatmyfavoritethingaboutyouis?”
“What?”
“You’retheonlypersonI’veevermetwhowouldprobablylikememoreifIwerepoor.”
That’sthehonesttruth.“You’reright.Yourmoneyisdefinitelymyleastfavoritethingaboutyou.”
Samsonpressesakisstomyshoulder.Thenhelooksbackoutoverthewater.“I’mgladyoushowedupthissummer,Beyah.”
“Metoo,”Iwhisper.TWENTY
Idon’tlikebirthcontrol.I’vebeenonitalmostaweeknowandIfeellikeit’smessingwithmyemotions.I’mstartingtofeelthingsevenmorethanIdidaftershowinguphere.TherearemomentsIseverelymissmymother.MomentsIconvincemyselfI’mfallinginlovewithSamson.MomentsIfeelexcitedtohaveaconversationwithmyfather.
Idon’tknowwhoI’mbecoming,butI’mnotsureIlikeit.Idoubtitreallyhasanythingtodowiththebirthcontrol,butitfeelsgoodtohavesomethingtoblame.
Samsonhasbeengonemostoftheday.SaraandIspenttimewithouthimandMarcosonthebeach.It’spasttimefordinnerandwe’rehungry,sowestartpackingupjustasthreeguysbegintosetupavolleyballnetonthebeachbetweenourhouseandSamson’s.WhenSaraandIdropourchairsinthestoragecompartmentonthestiltlevel,Ilookbackatthem.
There’saweirdpinchinmychest,likevolleyballissomethingImiss.
Ineverthoughtthatwouldhappen.
“I’mgoingtoaskifIcanplaywiththem,”Isay.“Youwanttoplay?”
Sarashakesherhead.“Iwanttoshower.Ihavesandinmycrack.”Sheheadsforthestairs.“Havefun,though.Kicksomeass.”
WhenIreachtheguys,they’rejustabouttostartagameofone-on-one.
Oneofthemissittingontheinvisiblesidelinewhiletheothertwoareinpositiontostarttheirgame.“Hey,”Isay,interruptingthem.Allthreeofthemturnandlookatme.NowthatI’mcloser,I’malittlebitintimidated.ImightmakeafoolofmyselfnowthatI’veseenthesizeoftheseguys.“Needonemore?”
Thethreeofthemlookateachother.There’sasmirkonthetallestone’sfacewhenhesays,“Yousureaboutthat?”
Thesmirkannoysme.“Yeah.I’llevenmakeitfairandteamupwiththeworstoneoutofthethreeofyou.”
Theylaugh.Thentwoofthempointtotheguystillsittingdown.“He’stheworstoutofthethreeofus.”
Theguyinthesandconcurs,“It’strue.Isuck.”
“Great.Let’splay.”P.J.isstandingnexttome,soIwalkhimovertoaspotwherehe’llbeoutofthewayandtellhimtosit.
Theguysintroducethemselvestomebeforewestart.TheoneonmyteamisnamedJoe.ThetallestoneisTopherandtheotheroneisWalker.WalkerservestheballrighttomeandIeasilybumpitoverthenet.
WalkersetstheballforTopherandheattemptstospikeitrightatme.Beforeheknowsit,I’mupatthenetsuccessfullyblockingit.
“Impressive,”TophermuttersafterIgetmyfirstpoint.
IgetthreehitsinbeforeJoeeventouchesthevolleyball.
Ihaven’tworkedoutinawhile,soInoticemyselfgettingwindedquickerthanInormallywould.I’llblamethatonthebirthcontrol,too.Andthesand.I’veneverplayedonsandbefore.
TheyscoretwomorepointsbeforeJoeandIfinallyside-out.I’mabouttoservetheballwhenIseeSamsonstandingonhisbalcony.
He’sstaringdownatme,watchingus.Iwave,buthedoesn’twaveback.
Ishejealous?
Hepushesoffthebalconyandwalksbackinsidehishouse.
Whatthehell?
Itactuallypissesmeoff.SamsonknowsIplayvolleyball.IshouldbeabletoplayaninnocentgameofvolleyballwithouthimassumingI’mflirtingwithanyofthesethreeguys.
MyangerfuelsmyserveandIhittheballharderthanImeanto.Luckily,it’sin,landingrightontheline.
ThisiswhatIwasworriedabout.ThemoretimeIspendwithSamson,piecesofhimmightcometolightthatIdon’tnecessarilylike.JealousyisdefinitelysomethingIdon’tlike.
WefinishashortrallybeforeIstealaglanceathisbalcony.Hestillhasn’tcomebackout.
Iputallmyangerandenergyintothegame.Ilungeforthevolleyballandfalltomyknees.IfallthreemoretimesbeforeJoeeventouchestheballagain.I’mgoingtobethecolorofaneggplantbytheendofthisgame.
Wescoreapointonthemandtieitupfourtofour.Joewalksoverandhigh-fivesme.“ThismightbethefirstgameIeverwin,”hesays.
Ilaughathim,butmysmilefadeswhenIseeSamsonwalkingdownhisstairs.Ifhecomesoverhereandmakesascene,I’mgoingtobesoangry.
Heis.He’scomingthisway.
Andhe’scarryinga…chair.
“Headsup,”Joeyells.Ilookupandseetheballflyingatme,justbarelyoutofreach.IgoforthedigandreceiveamouthfulofsandwhenIhittheground,unintentionallyshankingtheball.
“Getup,Beyah!”IhearSamsonyell.
Ijumptomyfeetandlookinhisdirection.He’swalkingovertous,holdinghischair.HedropsitinthesandnexttoP.J.aboutfivefeetfromthenetandtakesaseatinit,slidinghissunglassesfromhiseyestohishead.Thenhecupshishandsaroundhismouth.“Go,Beyah!”heyells.
Whatishedoing?
TheballgoestoJoethistimeandhefinallysetstheballperfectlyatthenetforme.Littledotheyknow,Iwasthebestoutsidehitteronmyteam.
IspikeitdirectlybetweenTopherandWalker.Whenithitsthesandandwegetapoint,Samsonjumpsoutofthechair.
“Yes!”heyells.“Moreofthat,Beyah!”
Mymouthfallsopenwhenithitsme.SamsonrememberedwhatItoldhim—thatnoonehasevercometoanyofmygames.
Hecameoutheretocheerforme.
“Whothehellisthatdude?”Joesays,staringatSamson.
Samsonclimbsupintothechairandstartschanting.“Beyah!Beyah!”
ItmightpossiblybethecheesiestthingI’veeverseen.Oneguy,aloneinaninvisibleaudience,yellingatthetopofhislungsforagirlheknowshasneverbeenyelledfor.
It’sthemosttouchingthinganyonehaseverdoneforme.
TopherservestheballandI’mshockedI’mabletohititbackthroughthecloudoftearsinmyeyes.
Fuckingemotions.I’mblamingthismomentonthebirthcontrol,too.
Foralongstretchoftime,Samsondoesn’tshutup.Ithinkhe’sannoyingthethreeguysI’mplayingwith,butI’mnotsureI’veeversmiledthismuchinmylife.IsmilethroughallthefallsandallthepointsandallthetimesIgetthebreathknockedoutofme.IsmilebecauseI’veneverenjoyedagameofvolleyballthismuch.Ismile,becauseSamsonhasmademerealizejusthowmuchImissit.I’mbuyingavolleyballtoday.Ineedtostartpracticingagain.
NotthatI’masterribleasJoe.He’sdoinghisbest,butI’msingle-handedlykeepingusinthisgame.Atonepoint,he’ssooutofbreath,hejuststepsasideandleavesmetodoalltheworkforagoodthirtyseconds.
I’msomehowmiraculouslyonepointaheadwhenthegamealmostreachesthefinalpoint.IfIcangetonemore,Iwin.
InoticeSamsonisquietasIlifttheballtoserveit.He’sstaringintentlyatme,likehe’sreallyintothis.AllhedoesisgivemethesmallestofsmilesandacheesythumbsupandIsuckinabreath,servetheballandprayithitsthesandontheothersideofthenet.
It’sshort.BothTopherandWalkerdiveforit,butIknowneitherwillbeabletoreachit.ACE!Whentheballfallstothesandwithathud,Samsonjumpsoutofhischair.“Youdidit!”
Istandhereinshock.
Ididit.Iwouldsaywedidit,butJoereallywasn’talotofhelp.Ihigh-fivehimandthenreceivethehandshakestheothertwoofferme.
“You’rereallygood,”Tophersays.“Wanttogoanotherround?”
IglanceoveratSamsonandshakemyhead.Iworktocatchmybreathandsay,“Nottonight.ButI’maroundifyouguyscomebacktomorrow.”
IwavegoodbyetothemandthenrunovertoSamson.Hemeetsmewiththebiggestsmileonhisface.Ithrowmyarmsaroundhisneckandhepicksmeupandswingsmearound.Whenmyfeetarebackonthesand,hedoesn’treleasehisholdonme.
“You’reafuckinglegend,”hesays.Hewipesdirtfrommyface.“Afilthylegend.”
IlaughandSamsonpullsmetohim.Hepresseshischeektothetopofmyheadandsqueezesme.
Irealizeatthesametimehedoeswhat’shappeningbetweenus.Icanfeelhiswholebodytakeapause,likehe’snotsureifheshouldreleasemeorholdmetighter.
Myfaceispressedagainsthisshirt
IpullmyarmsfromaroundSamson’sneckandslipthemaroundhiswaist.Iclosemyeyes,absorbedintheclosenessofhim.
Ifeelhisowngriptightenaroundme,andheletsoutasighasherunsahanddownmyback.HeadjustshimselfjustalittlesothatIsomehowfitagainsthimevenbetter.
Andthenwejuststandthiswaywhiletheworldmovesaroundus.Himholdingme.Meallowingit.
Mewantingit.
Ihadnoideahowgooditwouldfeel.Anyofthis.AllthemomentsIspendwithhimarechargedandexcitingandIfeelthemrightinthecenterofmychest.It’slikehewakesupapartofmethat’sbeenasleepfornineteenyears.IappreciatesomanythingsIdidn’tthinkIwouldeverbeabletoappreciate.
Ilikebeingkissedbysomeonewhoactuallyrespectsme.Ilovethathe’ssoproudofme,hepickedmeupandswungmearound.Hewentoutofhiswaytoscreamlikeanidiotonthesidelinesofasillybeachvolleyballgamejusttomakemefeelgood.
Atsomepointduringthishug,Istartedcrying.It’snotanoticeablecry,butIcanfeelthewetnessslidingdownmycheeks.
Ihonestlydon’tfeellikewe’recloseenough,eventhoughwecan’tpossiblygetanycloser.Iwanttomeltintohim.Becomeapieceofhim.IwanttoseeifImaketheinsideofhischestfeelasaliveashemakesmine.
It’sasifhecantellIdon’twanthimtoletgo.Heliftsmeuntilmylegsgoaroundhiswaist,andthenhewalksmestraighttohishouse,awayfromthebeach,awayfromtheguys.
Whenwereachhisstiltlevel,helowersmetomyfeet.Ireluctantlypullbacktolookupathim,butwiththesunsettingandbeingunderthefirstfloorofhishouse,Ican’tseehimaswellasIwishIcould.There’sverylittlelightleft,whichiscastingashadowoverhiseyes.Hetakesbothofhisthumbsandbringsthemtomycheeks,wipingthemdry.Thenhekissesme.
Wetastelikeamixtureoftearsandgrainsofsand.
Ipullaway.“Ineedtorinseoff.Ihavesandeverywhere.”
“Usetheoutdoorshower,”hesays,motioningtowardit.
Idon’tletgoofhishandaswewalktowardtheshower.MywholebodyissoreandI’mstillalittleoutofbreath.Samsontakesoffhisshirtanddropsittothegroundbeforewalkingintotheshower.HeturnsonthewaterandstepsoutofthewaysothatIcanstandbeneaththestream.Iopenmymouthtorinsesomeofthesandoutofit.ThenIdrinksomeofit.
Itaketheshowerheadofftheholderandwashthesandfrommyself.Samsonleansagainstthewallandwatchesmethewholetime.
Ilikehowhewatchesme.Eventhoughit’sdark,especiallyinthisshower,helookslikehe’ssoakingupeveryinchofme.
WhenI’mfinishedrinsingoff,Ireplacetheshowerhead.IseeSamsonmoveoutofthecornerofmyeye.ThenIfeelhimbehindme.Hesnakesanarmaroundme,pressinghispalmflatagainstmystomach.
Ileanmyheadbackagainsthisshoulderandtiltmyfacetowardhim.Samsonbringshismouthdownonmine.
Weremaininthispositionwhilewekiss—mybackagainsthischest,himwrappedaroundmefrombehind.Hishandslidesupmystomachanddisappearsbeneathmybikinitop.
Hecupsmybreast,andIsuckinmoreofhisairinagasp.Thenhisotherhandbeginstrailingdownmystomach.Whenhereachestheedgeofmybikini,hedipshisthumbinside,pullingawayfrommymouth.Helooksinmyeyesandgetshisanswer.
Idonotwanthimtostop.
MylipsarepartedasIanticipatewhateveritishe’sabouttodo.
Hewatchesmyfaceashishanddisappearsbetweenmylegs.Iarchmybackandmoan,andthatmoveputsevenmorepressurebehindhistouch.
I’veimaginedwhatthiswouldfeellikesincethenighthefirstkissedme.Hisactualtouchputsmyimaginationtoshame.
Itdoesn’ttakelongformyentirebodytoreact.It’sembarrassinglyquickbeforeI’mtremblingbeneathhisfingers.Ireachforhislegsbehindmeandgriphisthighs.Hefallsagainstthewall,pullingmewithhim,neverstoppingtherhythmofhishand.Luckily,whenitgetstobetoomuch,hecoversmymouthwithhisandmufflesallmynoises.
Whenit’sover,he’sstillkissingme.HepullshishandfrombetweenmylegsandhespinsmeuntilI’magainsthischest.
I’mcompletelyoutofbreathasIfallagainsthim,myarmslimpandmylegssore.Isighheavily.
“Iwanttogetatattoo,”Samsonsays.
Ilaughagainsthischest.“That’swhatyou’rethinkingaboutrightnow?”
“Thatwasmysecondthought,”hesays.“Ididn’tsaythefirstoneoutloud.”
“Whatwasthefirstone?”Ilookupathim.
“Ithinkit’sobvious.”
Ishakemyhead.“It’snot.I’mafraidyou’regoingtohavetosayitoutloud.”
Hedipshisheadandbringshislipstomyear.“Ican’tfuckingwaitforourfirsttime,”hewhispers.Thenheturnsoffthewaterandwalksoutoftheshowerlikethatthoughtwasneverwhisperedaloud.“Youwantone?”heasks.
I’mkindofinshock,Ithink,soItakeafewsecondstorespondtohim.“Wantwhat?”
“Atattoo.”
IneverthoughtI’dwantoneuntilthismoment.“Yeah.IthinkIdo.”
Samsonpeekshisheadbackintotheshowerandsmiles.“Lookatus,decidingtogetspontaneoustattoos.Wearedefinitelyfunpeople,Beyah.”TWENTY-ONE
“Ihaveanidea,”Marcossayswithamouthfuloffood.“MyfriendJackson.”
TonightisBaptismalDinnernight.Breakfastagain.Wehaven’tbeentalkingaboutanythingspecific,sononeofusknowswhatMarcosisreferringto.He’smetwithblankstares,sohepointsacrossthetabletowardSamson.“Jacksonhasdarkblondhair.Blueeyes.Yourfacestructuresaredifferent,butit’satattooshop,IdoubttheyreallylookatyourI.D.toohard.”
Oh.That.Samsoncan’tfindhiswalletandit’sbeenthreedayssincehesuggestedgettingatattoo.
Youcan’tgetatattoowithoutidentification,andeventhoughhe’stornhishouseupsidedownforthebetterpartofthreedayslookingforit,hehasn’thadanyluck.Hethinksthelastrentersmighthavefounditandtakenit.Hesaidit’salwaysinhisbackpack,butwebothlookedinthebackpackanditwasn’tthere.Everythingelseheownswasthough.Idon’tknowhowhecarriesitaroundsocasually;thethingweighsfiftypounds.
SamsonchewsonMarcos’ssuggestion,thenshrugs.“Worthashot.”
“Tattooshop?”myfatherasks.“Who’sgettingtattoos?”
SaraimmediatelypointsatmeandSamson.“Thosetwo.Notme.”
“ThankGod,”Alanamutters.
NotthatI’mmuchmorethanherhusband’sdaughter,butthatcommentstings.Itdoesn’tbotherherifIgetone,butshe’sobviouslyrelievedherdaughterisn’tgettingone.
Myfatherlooksatmeandsays,“Whatareyougetting?”
Ipointtotheinsideofmywrist.“Somethingrighthere.Idon’tknowwhatyet.”
“Andwhenareyougoing?”
“Tonight,”Marcossays,holdinguphisphone.“Jacksonjustsaidwecouldswingbyandborrowhisdriver’slicense.”
“Nice,”Samsonsays.
“Doyouknowwhatyou’regetting,Samson?”
“Notyet,”hesays,shovelingaforkfullofeggsintohismouth.
Myfathershakeshishead.“Bothofyouaregettingsomethinginkedontoyourbodiesfortherestofyourlivesinamatterofhours,andneitherofyouknowwhatyou’regetting?”
“Wehavetotaketheferrytogetthere,”Samsonsays.“That’splentyoftimetothinkaboutit.”Samsonscootshischairbackandstandsup.He’sgotasliceofbaconinhishandashewalkshisplatetothekitchen.“Weshouldprobablygetgoing.Ferrylinemightbelongwithitbeingtheendoftheweekend.”
“Beyah,”myfathersays,hisvoicepleading.“Maybeyoushouldthinkaboutthisforafewweeks.”
Whataparentalthingtosay.IthinkIlikeit.“Trustme,Dad.I’llhavemuchbiggerregretsinlifethanatattoo.”
HisexpressionfalterswhenIsaythat.Imeantitasajoke,buthelooksgenuinelyconcernedaboutmydecision-makingabilitiesnow.
Thetattooshopisempty,andIthinkthatworkedtoouradvantage.WhentheguytookSamson’sfakedriver’slicense,helookedatSamson,thenbackatthedriver’slicense.Heshookhishead,butsaidnothing.Hejustdisappearedbehindadoortomakecopiesofourpaperwork.
WhenMarcusreturnedtothecarearlierwithJackson’sdriver’slicense,Icouldn’tstoplaughing.He’sagoodfiftypoundslighterthanSamsonandatleastfiveinchesshorter.MarcostoldSamsonifthetattooshopdoesn’tbelieveit’shim,heshouldjustsayhe’sbeenlifting.
Theydidn’tevenquestionit.I’dbeoffendedifIwereSamson.
“Theymustbedesperateforbusiness,”Iwhisper.“Hedidn’tevenquestionyou.”
Samsonslidesaphotoalbuminfrontofmefullofideasfortattoos.Hegrabsoneforhimselfandwestartflippingthroughthepages.
“Iwantsomethingdelicate,”Isay,scrollingthroughpicturesofheartsandflowers,butnothingtugsatme.
“Iwanttheoppositeofdelicate,”Samsonsays.
Whatistheoppositeofdelicate?IfliptowardthebackofthebookandcomeacrosstattoosthatseemliketheywouldbemoreupSamson’salleythanmine,butnoneofthemseemlikesomethinghewouldlike.WhenIgettothelastpage,Iclosethebookandtrytofocus.
Delicatetomemeansdainty,soft,fragile.So,theoppositewouldbewhat?Strength?Durability?Maybeeventhreatening?
Iknowimmediatelyafterthatthoughtwhatheshouldget.Iopenmyphoneandsearchforpicturesofhurricanes.IscrollthroughseveralbeforeIfindoneIthinkhewouldlove.
“IfoundoneIthinkyoushouldget.”
Samsondoesn’tevenlookupfromhisbookwhenhesays,“Okay.”Hecontinuesscrollingwhileheflipshisleftarmoverandsays,“Iwantitrighthere.”Hepointsataspotontheupperinsideofhisforearm.“Goshowittotheguysohecanstartgettingitready.”
“Youdon’twanttoseeitfirst?”
Samson’seyesslideovertomine.“DoyouthinkI’llloveit?”
Inod.“Ido.”
“Thenit’sthetattooIwant.”He’ssomatter-of-factaboutit,likethere’snoquestionatallthatthistattooismoreaboutmethananythingelse.Ican’thelpbutkisshim.
Therearetwotattooartistsworkingtonight,andeventhoughwe’rebothgettingatattoo,Istillhaven’tfoundwhatIwant.Samsonisinthechair,thetattoogunpressedtohisarm.Hisheadistiltedawayfromitsothathedoesn’tseeitbeforeit’sfinished.
He’sscrollingthroughhisphone,tryingtohelpmefindsomething.
“Whataboutasunrise?”heasks.
That’snotabadidea,soIlookthroughafew.Iultimatelydecideagainstit.“Thatseemslikeitwouldtakealotofinkandwouldlookbetterifitwerebigger.Iwanttostartsmall.”
I’veflippedthrougheverybooktheyhave.I’mstartingtothinkmyfatherwasright.MaybeIhavetogivethismorethought.
“Ihaveanidea,”Samsonsays.“Weshouldlookupmeaningsandseewhatkindofsymbolstheycorrelateto.”
“Okay.”
“Whatdoyouwantittosymbolize?”heasks.
“Maybesomethingthatmeansluck.Icouldusesomebetterluckinmylife.”
HestartsscrollingthroughhisphonewhileIgotochecktheprogressofhistattoo.EventhoughIchoseahurricaneforhim,it’snotwithtypicalblackink.Ichoseatattoothatresembleswhatitwouldlooklikeonaradarscreen,withreds,yellows,bluesandgreens.It’snotnecessarilyawatercolortattoo,butthecolorsallswirledtogetheragainstfadedblackedgessortofmakeitlookthatway.
It’sturningoutevenbetterthanIhoped.
“Foundyours,”Samsonsays.HegoestohandmehisphonesoIcanseewhathepickedoutforme,butIdon’ttakeit.
“Itrustyou,”Isay.It’sonlyfair.
“Youshouldn’t.”
Hisexpressionafterhesaysthatsendsaswirlofuneasethroughme.He’sright.Ishouldn’ttrustsomeoneIhardlyknowanythingabout.IwasjustagreeingtolethimdowhatI’mdoing—choosinghistattooblindly.ButIfeellikebetweenthetwoofus,I’moddlythemoretrustworthyone.Igrabhisphonetolookatit.“Whatisit?”
“Apinwheel.”
Ilookatthephoto.It’sdelicate.Colorful.Andhedoesn’tevenknowI’vechosenahurricaneforhim,sowewouldbothhavetattoosthatresembleapatternofrotation.
“Itsayspinwheelsaresupposedtoturnaroundbadluck.”
“It’sperfect,”Iwhisper.
SaraandMarcoshavebeenoutsidesincewefilledoutthepaperworkforthetattoos,whichwasagoodtwoandahalfhoursago,buttheyhaven’tcomeinsidetocomplainaboutthewait.I’msurethey’vefoundsomethingtokeepthemselvesoccupied.
Mytattooisfinished.It’sperfect.Helinedtheoutsidewithathinlineofblackinkandthenfilleditwithcolor,butthecolorsbleedoutsideofthelineslikedrippingpaint.Igotitonmyleftwrist.IshowedSamsonandthentookapicturebeforeIlettheguycoveritupwithabandage.
Samson’stattooartistwipeshisdownonefinaltime.Samsonhasn’tpeekedonce.“Alldone,”theguysays.
Samsonsitsupinthechairwithoutlookingdownatthetattoo.Hestandsupandwalkstothebathroom,thensummonsmetofollowhimwithanod.
Hewantstolookatitwithnooneelsearound.Idon’tblamehim.Hemighthateitandthatwouldn’tjustmakemefeelbad,itwouldmakethetattooartistfeelbad.
Iwalkintothebathroomwithhimandclosethedoorbehindme.It’sasmallbathroom,sowe’restandingreallyclosetogether.“Areyounervous?”
Hesays,“Iwasn’t.Butnowthatit’sdone,Iam.”
Ismile,andthenIstartanxiouslybouncingonmytoes.“Lookatit,I’mdying.”
Samsonlooksdownathistattooforthefirsttime.It’saboutthesizeofafist,rightbeneaththeinsidecreaseofhiselbow.I’mstaringathisface,waitingforhisreaction.
Hehasnoreaction.
Hejuststaresatit.
“It’sHurricaneIke,”Iexplain,runningmyfingeracrossit.“IusedaradarphotoofwhenitwasrightoverBolivarPeninsula,andhadhimturnitintoatattoo.”
TheonlythingIgetfromSamsonisasigh.AndIcan’teventellifit’sagoodsigh.
Ifeelanxiousnow.Iwassoconvincedhewouldlikeit;Ididn’tthinkaboutwhatitmightmeanifhedidn’t.
Samsonslowlyliftshiseyes.There’snogiveinhisexpressionthatwouldhintatwhathe’sthinking.
Butthenhegrabsmyfaceandkissesmesosuddenandsohard,Ifallagainstthebathroomdoor.Ithinkthismeanshelikesit.HelowershishandstomythighsandslidesmeupthedooruntilI’mwrappedaroundhim,likehe’stryingtotieusinapermanentknot.
He’skissingmewithafreshlydug-upfeelinghe’sneverkissedmewithbefore.I’mnotsureanyotherresponsetoseeinghistattoowouldhavebeenanappropriateonenowthatI’vebeenmetwiththisresponse.
Hemovesagainstmeinawaythatmakesmemoan,butassoonasIdo,hepullshismouthfromminelikethatmoanwasabigredstopsign.Hedropshisforeheadtomineandhiswordsarefullofemotionwhenhesays,“I’dtakeyourighthereifyoudidn’tdeservebetter.”
I’dlethim.TWENTY-TWO
“No.”Myfather’sresponseisabsolute.
“Please?”
“No.”
“I’mnineteen.”
“She’sonthepill,”Alanasays.
Isetmyforkdownandpressahandtomyforehead.Idon’tknowwhyIevenaskedhimifIcouldstaythenightwithSamson.Ishouldhavejustsnuckoutandcomehomebeforehewokeup.ButI’mtryingnottobreakanyofhisrules.
Sarafinishedeatingbeforethisdiscussionstarted,butshelookslikeshe’senjoyingit.She’sseatedatthetablewithherkneepulleduptoherchest,watchingthisconversationlikewe’replayingitoutonatelevision.Allsheneedsisabagofpopcorn.
“Doesyourmotherletyouspendthenightwithguys?”myfatherasks.
Ilaughhalf-heartedlyatthat.“Mymotherdidn’tcarewhereIspentthenight.Iwantyoutocare.Iwouldjustalsoappreciateitifyoutrustedme.”
Myfatherrunsahanddownhisfacelikehedoesn’tknowwhattodo.HelookstoAlanaforanswers.“WouldyouallowSaratospendthenightwithMarcos?”
“SaraandMarcosspendthenighttogetherallthetime,”Alanasays.
IglanceatSarajustassheperksupinherchair.“Wedonot.”
Alanarollsherhead.“I’mnotignorant,Sara.”
There’salookofcompletesurpriseonSara’sface.“Oh.Ithoughtyouwere.”
Ilaughatthat,butnooneelsedoes.
Withthatnews,myfathersomehowseemsevenmoretorn.
“Listen,Dad,”Isayasgentlyaspossible.“Iwasn’treallyaskingyouforpermission.IwasmoreorlesstellingyouI’mstayingatSamson’shousetonightasacourtesybecausethisisyourhouseandI’mtryingtoberespectful.Butitwouldmakethisaloteasierifyouwouldjustsayokay.”
Myfathergroans,fallingbackintohischair.“I’msogladIpunchedthatdamnkidwhenIhadthechance,”hemutters.Thenhewavestowardthefrontdoor.“Fine.Whatever.Just…don’tmakeahabitofthis.AndbehomebeforeIwakeupsoIcanpretendtonightneverhappened.”
“Thankyou,”Isay,pushingbackfromthetable.Saraimmediatelyfollowsmeoutofthekitchenandupthestairs.Whenwegettomyroom,shefallsontothebed.
“Ican’tbelievemymotherknowsMarcossleepsoversometimes.Ithoughtwewerereallysneakyaboutit.”
“Youmightbesneaky,butyoucertainlyaren’tquiet.”
Shelaughs.“Ican’tletMarcosfindoutsheknows.Helikestheforbiddenaspectofitall.”
ItextSamsontolethimknowI’mdefinitelystayingover,andthenIopenmyclosetdoorandstareintoit.“WhatthehelldoIwear?”
“Idon’tthinkitmatters.Thegoalistoendupinnothingbytheendofthenight,right?”
Icanfeelmyskinbegintotinglewithnervousness.I’vehadsexplentyoftimes,butneverinabed.Neverfullynaked.AnddefinitelyneverwithsomeoneIcareabout.
Samsontextsmebackafireworksemoji.Irollmyeyesandslipmyphonebackintomypocket.
“Haveyouguysnothadsexyet?”Saraasks.
Idecidenottochangeclothes.IjustthrowafreshT-shirtandacleanpairofunderwearintomybackpack.“Notyet.”
“Whynot?”
“Therehasn’tbeenalotofopportunityforthat,”Isay.“We’realwayswithyouandMarcos.Andwhenwe’realone,wejust…we’vedoneotherthings.Justnotthat.”
“MarcosandIhavesexallthetime.Weevenhadsexwhiley’allweregettingtattooslastweek.”
Ilookatherandwince.“Inthebackseat?”
“Yep.Twice.”
Gross.SamsonandIhadtoridehomeinthatbackseat.
“Areyougoingtogivemeallthedetailstomorrow?OramIjustgettinganotherlamehighfive?”
Sara’sbeenpatientwithmeconsideringhowlittleIshareaboutcertainaspectsofmylife,andhowbluntIaminotherareas.“I’lltellyoueverything,”Isay,rightbeforewalkingoutofmybedroom.“Promise.”
“Iwanteverydetail!Takenotesifyouhaveto!”
Luckily,myfatherandAlanaarenolongerinthekitchen,soIslipoutofthehousewithouthavingtocontinuetodiscussthefactthatI’mhavingsexwithmyneighbortonight.Iamdefinitelynotusedtohavingafamilywhodiscusseseverysinglethingoutintheopenliketheydo.
Samsoniswaitingatthebottomofthestairs.
“Desperatemuch?”Itease.
Hekissesmeandtakesmybackpack.“Eager.”
WebeginwalkingtowardSamson’shouse.P.J.isfollowingus,butSamsondoesn’thaveadogbedforhim.“P.J.,gohome.”Ipointtothestairs.P.J.pausesforamoment.Irepeatmyself,andthenhefinallyturnsandgoesbackupourstairs.
Samsonslipshishandthroughmineandholdsituntilwe’reinhishouse.Helocksthefrontdoorbehindhim,setsthecodeonthealarmandthenkicksoffhisshoes.
Ilookaround,wonderingwherethisisgoingtohappen.Howit’sgoingtohappen.Itfeelsalittleweirdknowingwhat’scoming.Ipreferspontaneityoverplanswhenitcomestosex.DakotatreatedmelikeIwasonastrict,rotatingschedule.
“Youthirsty?”Samsonasks.
Ishakemyhead.“I’mfine.”
Hetossesmybackpackagainstthewallnexttohisbackpack.Hegrabsmyhandandtwistsmywristsothathecanseemytattoo.It’sbeenaweeksincewegotthemandbothofourshealedwell.Itkindofmakesmewantanotherone,butIfeellikeIneedtowaituntilIhaveareason.GettingonewithSamsonfeltimportant.I’llwaitforanotherimportantlifemomentbeforegettingasecondone.
“Itturnedoutreallygood,”hesays,runninghisfingeroverit.
“Youneveractuallysaidifyoulikedyours.”
“ItoldyouIloveditthenightIgotit.Ijustdidn’tsayitwithwords.”Heslideshisfingersthroughmineandleadsmeupasetofstairs.Whenheopensthedoortohisroom,heletsmewalkinfirst.
Thebalconydoorsareopenandthere’sabreezeblowingthesheercurtainsintotheroom.Thebedisperfectlymade,andIstillcan’tgetoverhowcleanhekeepseverything.Samsonflipsonalampbythebed.
“It’spretty,”Isay,walkingtowardthebalcony.Istepoutsideandglanceoveratmybedroom.Iaccidentallyleftthelighton,soIhaveaclearviewofmybed.“Youcanseestraightintomyroom.”
Samsonisnexttomenow.“Yeah,Iknow.Youdon’tleavethatlightonnearlyenough.”
Ilookathimandhe’sgrinning.Ishovehimplayfullyintheshoulderandwalkbackintothebedroom.Imakemywayovertothebedandsitontheedgeofthemattress.
Iremovemyshoesandthenliedownonhisbedandwatchhim.Hewalksslowlyaroundthebed,staringatmefromeveryangle.
“IfeellikeI’mbeingcircledlikeI’mprey,”Isay.
“Well,Idon’twanttobethesharkinthisscenario.”Samsonplopsdownnexttomeonthebed,holdinghisheadupwithhishand.“There.NowI’mplankton.”
“Better,”Isay,smiling.
Hebrushesastrandofhairovermyearwithathoughtfulexpressiononhisface.“Areyounervous?”
“No.Ifeelcomfortablewithyou.”
Thatsentencecausesconcerntobrieflyfalloverhisfeatures—almostasifhefindsituncomfortablethatIfeelcomfortablewithhim.Butthelookdisappearsassoonasitappeared.
“Isawthatthought,”Isayquietly.
“Whatthought?”
“Thenegativethoughtyoujusthad.”Ibringafingertothespotbetweenhiseyebrows.“Itwasrighthere.”
He’squietashedigestsmywords.“Forsomeonewhodoesn’tknowalotaboutme,yousureknowalotaboutme.”
“Allthestuffyou’vekeptsecretfrommeisn’treallystuffthatcounts.”
“Howdoyouknowifyoudon’tknowwhatsecretsI’mkeepingfromyou?”heasks.
“Idon’thavetoknowanythingaboutyourpasttoknowyou’reagoodperson.Icantellbyyouractions.Icantellbythewayyoutreatme.Whywoulditmatterwhatkindoffamilyyouhave,orhowrichyouare,orwhatthepeopleinyourpastmeanttoyoubeforeIshowedup?”Thatnegativethoughtisback,soItakemyfingerandsmoothoutthewrinklesinhisforehead.“Stop,”Iwhisper.“You’retoohardonyourself.”
Samsonfallsontohisbackandbringshishandstohischest.Hestaresattheceilingforamoment,soIscootclosertohimandliftmyheadup,restingitonmyhand.Itouchhisnecklace,thenwalkmyfingersuphisneckandbegintracinghislips.
Hetiltshisfacetowardmine.“Maybeweshouldn’tdothis?”
Hiswordsaremoreofaquestion,soIimmediatelyshakemyhead.“Iwantto.”
“It’snotfairtoyou.”
“Why?BecauseIdon’tknoweverythingaboutyou?”
Henods.“I’mworriedyouwouldn’tbesayingyesrightnowifyouknewthewholetruthaboutme.”
Ipressmylipstohis,butonlybriefly.“You’rebeingdramatic.”
“I’mactuallynot,”hesays.“I’vejustlivedadramaticlifeandyoumightnotlikeit.”
“Samething.We’rebothdramaticbecausewehavedramaticparentsanddramaticpasts.Wecouldbehavingdramaticsexrightnowifyou’dstopfeelingsoguilty.”
Hesmiles.Isitupandtakeoffmyshirt.TheworryinhiseyesdisappearsasheslidesmeontohimsothatI’mstraddlinghim.Healreadyfeelsready,buthebringsahandupandtracesafingerslowlyoverthelaceedgesofmybralikehe’sinnohurryatall.
“I’veonlyeverhadsexinDakota’struck,”Isay.“Thiswillbemyfirsttimeinabed.”
Samsondragshisfingerdownmystomach,stoppingatthebuttononmyshorts.“ThiswillbemyfirsttimewithagirlIhavefeelingsfor.”
Itrytostayasstoicashimwhenhemakesthatdeclaration,buthiswordsmovethroughmesohard,Ifrown.
Hebringshishanduptomymouth,slidinghisfingersacrossit.“Whydidthatmakeyousad?”
Idebateshakingmyheadtoavoidansweringthatquestion,butifthere’sonethingI’velearnedthissummer,it’sthatsecretsaren’treallyasvaluableasIusedtothinktheywere.Igowithhonesty.“Whenyousaythingslikethat,itmakesmedreadwhenwehavetosaygoodbye.Iwasn’texpectingtoendthesummerwithabrokenheart.”
Samsontiltshishead,lookingatmewithcompletecandor.“Don’tworry.Heartsdon’thavebones.Theycan’tactuallybreak.”
Samsonrollsmeontomybackandtakesoffhisshirt,andthat’senoughtoappeasemeforabouttwoseconds,butthenmythoughtsarerightbacktowheretheywerebeforehegothalfnaked.
Helowershimselfontopofme,butbeforewekissagain,Isay,“Ifthere’snothinginsideaheartthatcanbreak,whydoesitfeellikemineisgoingtosnapinhalfwhenit’stimeformetomovenextmonth?Doesyourheartnotfeellikethat?”
Samson’seyesscrollovermyfaceforamoment.“Yeah,”hewhispers.“Itdoes.Maybewebothgrewheartbones.”
Assoonashesaysthat,Igripthebackofhisneckandpullhimtomymouth.Iwanttocatchasmanyofthosewordsaspossibleandtraptheminsideofme.Hissentencelingersinpieces,likehiswordsarefloatingaroundus,betweenus,andabsorbingintomeaswekiss.
Hemightberight.Maybewedidgrowheartbones.Butwhatiftheonlywayofknowingyougrewaheartboneisbyfeelingtheagonycausedbythebreak?
Itrynottothinkaboutourimpendinggoodbye,butit’shardtoexperiencesomethingthatfeelsthisperfectwithoutbeingacutelyawareit’sabouttobetakenaway.
Samsonsitsuponhisknees.Hefingersthebuttononmyshortsuntilitpopsopen.Hekeepshiseyesonmineashepullsdownthezipperandbeginstoslidemyshortsoffme.Iliftmyhipsandthenmylegstohelphimgetridofthem.Hethrowsthemasideandthentakesamomenttosoakupthesightofme.Ilikeseeingmyselfthroughhisexpressions.HemakesmefeelprettierthanIprobablyam.
Hepullsthecoversoverusandliesdownnexttomewhileheremoveshisownshorts.It’snotuncomfortableinanyway,soIhaveabsolutelynohesitationwhenIremovemybraandpanties.There’salevelofeasewithhim,likewe’vedonethiswitheachotheradozentimes,butI’mfilledwiththeanticipationofsomeonewhohasneverexperiencedthisatall.
Whenwe’recompletelynakedunderthecovers,wefaceeachother,bothofusonoursides.Samsonbringsahandtomycheekandrestsittheresoftly.“Youstillseemsad.”
“Iam.”
Herunshishanddownmyneckandovermyshoulder.Hiseyesfollowhishand,soheisn’tlookingdirectlyatmewhenhesays,“Me,too.”
“Thenwhydowehavetosaygoodbye?IcangotocollegeandyoucangototheAirForceAcademy,butwecanstayintouchandvisiteachotherand—”
“Wecan’t,Beyah.”Hiseyesarebackonminewhenhesaysthat,butthentheyflickerawayandfixateonsomethingelse.“I’mnotgoingtotheAirForce.IwasnevergoingtotheAirForce.”
Hiswordsandtheexpressiononhisfacemakemyheartfeellikeit’salreadystartingtofracture.IwanttoaskhimwhathemeansbutI’mtooscaredtoknowthetruth,sothequestionneverforms.
Samsonsighsheavilyandleanstowardme.Hisgriponmyarmtightensashepresseshislipstomyshoulder.IsqueezemyeyesshutwhenIfeelhisbreathagainstmyskin.Iwantsomuchfromhimrightnow.Iwanthishonesty,butIalsowanthissilenceandhistouchandhiskiss.SomethingtellsmeIcan’thaveallofit.It’seitherthismomentorthetruth.
Hetuckshisfaceinthecrookofmyneck.“Pleasedon’taskmewhatImeanbythat,becauseifyoudo,I’llbehonestwithyou.Ican’tlietoyouanymore.ButIwantthisnightwithyoumorethanI’veeverwantedanythinginmylife.”
Hiswordsrollovermelikeawave,crashingagainstmewithsomuchforce,Iwince.Irunmyhandthroughhishairandtiltmyfaceuntilwe’relookingateachother.“Willyoubehonestwithmewhenwewakeuptomorrow?”
Samsonnods.Hedoesn’tevensayyesoutloud,butIbelievehim.
Ibelievehimbecausehelookslikehe’sscaredhemightloseme.Andhemight.Buthehasmetonightandthat’sallIreallycareabout.
Ikisshimtolethimknowthetruthcanwaituntiltomorrow.Rightnow,IjustwanttofeelwhatI’vealwaysdeservedtofeelduringsex—likemybodyisrespected,andmytouchhasmorethanjustamonetaryvalue.
Samsonpullsawaylongenoughtograbacondomoutofthebedsidetabledrawer.Heputsitonbeneaththecoversandthenrollsbackontopofme.He’spatientashekissesme,waitingforjusttherightmomenttopushhimselfinsideofme.
Whenitfinallyhappens,he’sstaringdownatme,watchingtheexpressiononmyface.Igasp,holdinginallmybreathsuntilwe’reasconnectedaswecanpossiblybe.Hesighsshakily.Then,ashebeginstopulloutofmeasslowlyasheenteredme,herestshismouthagainstmine.
Imoanwhenhepushesintomeagain,amazedathownewSamsonmakesthisfeelforme.Thereisn’tevenapieceofmethatdoesn’twanttobehererightnow,andthatmakesallthedifferenceintheworld.
Samsonrestshisheadagainstmine.“Doesthisfeelokay?”
Ishakemyhead.“It’ssomuchbetterthanokay.”
Ifeelhislaughagainstmyneck.“Iagree.”Hisvoicesoundsstrained,likehemightbeholdingbackbecausehe’sscaredI’llbreak.
Ipressmymouthtohisear,draggingmyfingersthroughhishair.“Youdon’thavetobecarefulwithme.”Iwrapmylegsaroundhimandkisshisneckuntilhisskinbreaksoutinchillsagainstmytongue.
Mywordsmakehimgroan,andthenit’slikehesuddenlycomestolife.Hismouthfindsmineandhekissesmelikehe’shungryandtouchesmelikehishandsarestarving.
Itsomehowgetsbetterwitheverypassingminute.Wefindarhythmwithourbodies,atempowithourkiss,andacadenceinourcollectivemoans.ItbecomeseverythingI’veneverexperiencedduringsex.
Itbecomeslove.
Whatevertomorrowbringswithhistruth,Ialreadyknowitwon’tchangewhatIfeelforhim,eventhoughhe’sconvinceditwill.I’mnotsureheknowshowmuchhemeanstome.KnowingI’mfinallygoingtolearnthefulltruthabouthimdoesn’tfeelthreatening.
Samsonmakesmewonderifthere’sadifferencebetweenaliarandapersonwhotellsliestoprotectsomeonefromthetruth.
Samsondoesn’tfeellikealiartome.Hefeelsprotective,notdishonest.
Andinthismoment,Samsonisbeingmorehonestthanhe’severbeen,andhe’snotutteringasingleword.
I’veneverfeltmoreappreciatedthanIfeelrightnow.Notonlyappreciated,butsavored.Respected.Wanted.
Maybeevenloved.TWENTY-THREE
“I’msosorry.”
Samson’swordsfeellikeconcretemovingthroughme.Ihaven’tevenopenedmyeyesyet,buthisvoicesoundedmoreregretfulthananysoundI’veeverheard.
Wasitadream?
Anightmare?
Ireachtohispillowandopenmyeyes,butfindnothing.Ifellasleepwrappedaroundhim,butnowhe’sgoneandmyarmsareempty.WhenIrolloverandlooktowardhisbedroomdoor,Iseehim.Hishandsarebehindhisback.There’sapoliceofficergrippinghisarm,shovinghimoutofthebedroom.
Isitupimmediately.“Samson?”
Itisn’tuntilIsayhisnamethatIseeanotherofficerontheothersideofthebed,herhandonherhip,touchinghergun.Ipullthecoversupovermychest.Shecanseethefearinmyeyes,sosheraisesahand.“Youcangetdressed,butmoveslowly.”
MypulseisracingasItrytomakesenseofwhat’shappening.Theofficerreachestothefloorandtossesmemyshirt.MyhandsareshakingasItrytoputitonunderthecovers.“What’sgoingon?”
“Ineedyoutocomedownstairswithme,”theofficersays.
OhmyGod,whatishappening?HowcanthenightgofromusmakinglovetoSamsonbeinghandcuffed?Thishastobesomekindofmistake.Oracrueljoke.Itcan’tbereal.
“Wedidn’tdoanythingwrong.”Igetoutofthebedandlookformyshorts.Ican’tevenrememberwheretheyare,butIdon’thavetimetolookforthem.IneedtostopthemfromtakingSamson.
Irushtothedoorandtheofficersays,“Stop!”
Ipauseandlookbackather.
“Youneedtofinishgettingdressed.Thereareotherpeopledownstairs.”
Otherpeople?
Maybetherewasabreak-in.Maybethey’reconfusingSamsonforsomeoneelse.OrmaybesomeonefoundoutwhathedidwithRake’sremains.
Isthatwhatthisisabout?
Thatthoughtmakesmepanic,becauseIwasthere.IsawwhathedidandIfailedtoreportit,whichmakesmejustasguiltyasSamson.
TheofficerexitsthebedroomwhileI’mpullingonmyshorts.ShewaitsandthenwalksbehindmewhileIheadforthestairs.WhenIemergeintothelivingroom,therearetwomorepoliceofficersstandinginSamson’slivingroom
“Whatishappening?”Iwhispertomyself.Ilookoutsideandthesunhasn’tevenrisenyet,whichmeansit’sstillthemiddleofthenight.SamsonandIfellasleepaftermidnight.
Iglanceattheclockonthewall.Itreads2:30inthemorning.
“Haveaseat,”thefemaleofficersays.
“AmIbeingarrested?”
“No.Wejusthavesomequestions.”
I’mscarednow.Idon’tknowwheretheytookSamson.“Iwantmyfather.Weliveinthehousenextdoor.Cansomeonepleasetellhimwhat’sgoingon?”
Shenodsatoneoftheofficersandheexitsthehouse.
“WhereisSamson?”Iask.
“Isthatthenamehegaveyou?”Theofficerpullsoutanotepadandwritessomethingdown.
“Yes.ShawnSamson.Thisishishouseandyoujusttookhimoutofhisownbedinthemiddleofthenight.”
Thefrontdooropensandadifferentofficerwalksin,followedbyamanholdingachild.Themanisfollowedbyawoman.Itmustbehiswife,becausesheclingstohimassoonastheygetinside.
Whyaretheresomanypeoplehere?
Thewomanlooksfamiliar,butIcan’tplaceher.Shelookslikeshe’sbeencrying.Themaniseyeingmesuspiciouslyashehandshischildovertohiswife.
“Howlonghaveyoubeenstayinghere?”theofficerasks.
Ishakemyhead.“Idon’t.Ilivenextdoor.”
“Howareyouandtheyoungmanacquainted?”
Ifeeldizzyandscared,andIwishmyfatherwouldhurryup.Idon’tlikethesequestions.IwanttoknowwhereSamsonis.DoIneedalawyer?DoesSamson?
“Howdidyougetin?”Thisquestioncomesfromthemanwhowasholdingthechild.
“Getin?”
“Ourhouse,”hesays.
Hishouse?
Ilookathiswife.Ilookatthechild.Iimmediatelylookatthepictureframebythedoor.Thatpictureisofher.Andthelittleboyinthepictureisinherarms.
“Thisisyourhouse?”Iasktheman.
“Yes.”
“Youownit?”
“Yes.”
“IsSamsonyourson?”
Themanshakeshishead.“Wedon’tknowhim.”
Ilookbackatthepicture.TheoneSamsonsaidwasofhimandhismother.Didhelieaboutthat,too?
I’mshakingmyheadincompleteandutterconfusionwhenmyfatherrushesthroughthedoor.“Beyah?”Heglidesacrosstheroom,butcomestoahaltwhenoneoftheofficersputsahandonhisshoulderandstepsbetweenus.
“Canyouwaitoutsidethedoor,please?”
“Whathappened?”myfatherasks.“Whyaretheybeingarrested?”
“Yourdaughterisn’tbeingarrested.Wedon’tbelieveshehadapartinthis.”
“Apartinwhat?”Iask.
Thefemaleofficerinhalesaslowbreathlikeshedoesn’twanttosaywhatshe’sabouttosay.“Thishousebelongstothisfamily,”shesays,motioninginthedirectionoftheman,woman,andchild.“Yourfrienddidn’thavepermissiontobehere.He’sbeingchargedwithbreakingandentering.”
“Sonofabitch,”myfathersaysthroughclenchedteeth.
Icanfeelthetearsburningbehindmyeyes.“Thatcan’tberight,”Iwhisper.ThisisSamson’sfather’shouse.Heevensetthealarmlastnight.Youcan’tbreakintoahousewhenyouknowthealarmcode.“Thishastobesomekindofmistake.”
“It’snotamistake,”theofficersays.Sheputshernotepadinherbackpocket.“Doyoumindcomingwithustothestation?We’llneedtofileareportandwehavealotofquestions.”
Inodandstandup.Theymighthavequestionsforme,butIcertainlydon’thaveanswers.
Myfatherstepsforward,wavingahandinmydirection.“Shehadnoideathiswasn’thishouse.I’mtheonewhoallowedhertostayherelastnight.”
“It’sjustaformality.You’rewelcometomeetusatthestation,andifeverythingchecksout,she’llbefreetoleavewithyou.”
Myfathernods.“Don’tworry,Beyah.I’llberightbehindyou.”
Don’tworry?
I’mfuckingterrified.
BeforeIexitthehouse,IgrabbothSamson’sandmybackpacksthatarestillsittingbythedoorandhandthemtomyfather.“Canyouputmystuffinthehouse?”Idon’ttellhimoneofthebackpacksbelongstoSamson.
Hegrabsbothofthemandlooksmefirmlyintheeye.“Don’tansweranyquestionsuntilIgetthere.”TWENTY-FOUR
Theroomissosmall,Ifeellikethereisn’tenoughairforthefourofus.
Myfatherissittingnexttomeatthistinytable,soI’mleaningtotherighttotrytopreservemyownspacebubble.Myelbowsarediggingintothetableandmyheadisinmyhands.
I’mworried.
Myfatherisjustangry.
“Doyouknowhowlonghe’sbeenstayingatthathouse?”
Ilearnedthefemaleofficer’snameisOfficerFerrell.Idon’tknowtheman’sname.Hehasn’tsaidmuch.He’sjusttakingnotesandIdon’treallyfeellikelookingupatanyone.
“No.”
“BeyahjustmovedhereinJune.ButSamsonhasbeeninthathousesinceatleastspringbreak.That’swhenImethim,anyway.”
“Youdon’tknowtheowners?”theofficerasksmyfather.
“No.I’veseenpeoplethere,butIjustassumedtheywererenters.WeliveinHoustonmostoftheyear,soIdon’tknowmanyoftheneighborsinourareayet.”
“DoyouknowhowSamsonbypassedthealarm?”Thisquestionisdirectedatme.
“Heknowsthecode.Isawhimenteritlastnight.”
“Doyouknowhowhegotthecode?”
“No.”
“Doyouknowofanyotherhouseshe’sstayedin?”
“No.”
“Doyouknowwherehestayswhentheownersoccupythehouse?”
“No.”Idon’tknowhowmanydifferentwaysIcansayno,butIhaven’tknownanswerstohardlyanyoftheirquestions.
Idon’tknowwhereSamsonisfrom.Idon’tknowthenameofhisfather.Idon’tknowhisbirthday,wherehewasborn,wherehegrewup,whetherhismotherisactuallyaliveordead.Themorequestionstheyaskme,themoreembarrassedIbecome.
HowcanIknownothingabouthim,yetfeellikeIknowhimsowell?
MaybeIdon’tknowhimatall.
Thatthoughtforcesmetolaymyheadonmyarms.I’mtiredandIwantanswers,butIknowIwon’tgetanyuntilIgettospeaktoSamson.TheonlyanswerIreallywanttoknowiswhetherornotheactuallygrewaheartbone.Ifhedid,ishisbreakingrightnow?
Becausemineis.
“Shereallydoesn’tknowanythingelse,”myfathersays.“It’slate.Canyouguysjustcalliftherearemorequestions?”
“Sure.Letmecheckonsomethingrealquickbeforeyouleave.We’llberightback.”
Ihearbothofficersleavetheroom,soIfinallyliftmyheadandthenleanbackinthechair.
“Youokay?”myfatherasks.
Inod.IfIsayI’mnotokay,he’llwantopendialogue.I’drathernotspeak.
Thedoorisopen,whichgivesmeagoodviewoftheactivityoutsidethisroom.There’samanwhoisobviouslystrungoutonsomethingbeingdetainedinaroomacrossthehall.Thewholetimewe’vebeeninthisroom,wecouldhearhimmakingunintelligiblenoisesfornoreason.Everytimehewoulddoit,Iwouldflinch.
Ishouldbeusedtothatbehaviorbecauseitwassocommoninmyhouse.Mymothermumbledtoherselfallthetime.Especiallyinthepastyear.She’dtalktopeoplewhoweren’teventhere.
Ialmostforgotwhatit’sliketolivewithanaddict.Itmakesmesadseeingthatmanhere.Jailisn’tgoingtohelphimwithhisaddiction,justlikeitneverhelpedmymother.Ifanything,itmadeitworse.Beinglockedupandreleasedoverandoverisacyclethatgetsstrongerwitheveryarrest.
Mymotherwasarrestedseveraltimes.I’mnotexactlysurewhatshewasarrestedfor,butitwasalwaysdrugrelated.Possession.Intenttopurchase.Irememberaneighborcomingtogetmeinthemiddleofthenightandtakingmetoherhousetosleepafewtimes.
MymotherneededmorehelpthanIwascapableofgivingher.Itriedonmorethanoneoccasion,butIwasinovermyhead.Lookingbacknow,IwishI’ddonemore.MaybeIshouldhavereachedouttomyfather.
Idon’tthinkshewouldhavebeenabadpersonifshewasn’tsick.Andthat’swhataddictionis,right?It’sanillness.OneI’msusceptibletobutdeterminednevertocatch.
Iwonderwhatshecouldhavebeenlikehadshenotbeenaddictedtodrugs.Wasshelikemeinanywaywhatsoever?
Iglanceoveratmyfather.“Whatwasmymotherlikewhenyoumether?”
Helooksjarredbythatquestion.Heshakeshishead.“Idon’treallyremember.I’msorry.”
Idon’tknowwhyIexpectedhimtoremember.Itwasaone-nightstandwhenhewasn’tmucholderthanme.Theywerebothprobablydrunk.Isometimeswanttoaskhimhowtheymet,butI’mnotsureIwanttoknow.I’msureitwasatabarandthereisn’taromanticmomenthewouldbeabletorecall.
Iwonderhowmyfatherturnedoutsomewhatnormalwhilemymotherturnedouttobetheworstversionofherselfshecouldbe.Isitstrictlybecauseshewasanaddict?Wasitanimbalanceofnaturevs.nurture?
“Doyouthinkhumansaretheonlyspeciesthatgetaddictedtothings?”Iaskmyfather.
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Likedrugsandalcohol.Doyouthinkanimalshaveanyvices?”
Myfather’seyesscrollovermyfacelikehecan’tunderstandthequestionscomingfrommymouth.“IthinkIreadsomewherethatlabratscangetaddictedtomorphine,”hesays.
“That’snotwhatImean.Iwanttoknowifthereareaddictivethingsinananimal’snaturalenvironment.Orarehumanstheonlyspecieswhosabotagethemselvesandeveryonearoundthemwiththeiraddictions?”
Myfatherscratcheshisforehead.“Isyourmotheranaddict,Beyah?”heasks.“Isthatwhatyou’retellingme?”
Ican’tbelieveI’vegonethislongandstillhaven’ttoldhimshe’sdead.Ican’tbelievehehasn’tfigureditoutyet.“She’snotanaddictanymore.”
Hiseyesarenarrowedinconcern.“Ididn’tevenknowsheusedtobe.”Hestaresatme,unwaveringinhisworry.“Areyouokay?”
Irollmyeyesathisquestion.“We’resittinginapolicestationinthemiddleofthenight.No,I’mnotokay.”
Heblinkstwice.“Yeah,Iknow.Butyourquestions.Theyjust…don’treallymakesense.”
Ichuckle.Itsoundsjustlikemyfather’schuckle.It’smynewleastfavoritethingaboutmyself.
Istandupandstretchmylegs.Iwalktothedoorandlookoutofit,hopingtocatchaglimpseofSamsonsomewhere,buthe’snowhere.
It’sasifthere’sagapsittingbetweenthemomentIsatdowninthepolicecarandthemomentI’llgettospeaktoSamsonagain.AhugeemotionalgapwhereIfeelnothingandcareaboutnothingelsebutthatpotentialconversation.
Irefusetoopenmyselfuptowhateverishappening,whichisprobablywhymythoughtsareallovertheplacewhileIwait.IfIopenmyselfuptothismomentrightnow,ImightconvincemyselfthatSamsonisacompletestrangertome.Butlastnight,thatfeltsofarfromthetruth.
Forthesecondtimethissummer,Ifindmyselfamazedathowmuchlifecanchangefromonedaytothenext.
OfficerFerrellreturns,grippingamugofcoffeewithbothhands.Ibackoutofthedoorwayandleanagainstthedoor.Myfatherstandsup.
“Wehaveallyourinformation.Thetwoofyouarefreetogo.”
“WhataboutSamson?”Iask.
“Hewon’tbereleasedtonight.Probablywon’tbereleasedforawhile,unlessthere’ssomeonetomakehisbail.”
Herwordskicktheirwaydownmychest.Howlongisawhile?Ipressahandtomystomach.“CanIseehim?”
“He’sstillbeingprocessedandwillhavetoseethejudgeinafewhours.He’llbeallowedvisitorsstartingatninetomorrow.”
“Wewon’tbevisitinghim,”myfathersays.
“Yes,wewill,”Icounter.
“Beyah,youprobablydon’tevenknowtheguy’srealname.”
“HisnameisShawnSamson,”Isaydefensively.ButthenIwinceandlookattheofficer,wonderingifthat’ssomethingelsehewasn’thonestabout.“Isn’tthathisname?”
“HisfullnameisShawnSamsonBennett,actually,”theofficercorrects.
Myfatherwavesahandattheofficerwhilelookingatme.“See?”HishandsareonhishipswhenhefacesOfficerFerrell.“DoIneedtobeworried?Whatexactlyishebeingchargedwithandhowlongwillhebeinjail?”
“Twocountsofbreakingandentering.Onecountofparoleviolation.Onecountofarson.”
Thatlastonemakesmechokeonair.“Arson?”
“Afirepartiallydestroyedaresidencelatelastyear.Hewasstayinginthehousewithoutpermissionwhenthefirebrokeout.Theyhavehimonsecurityfootageandputawarrantoutforhisarrest.Hestoppedcheckinginwithhisparoleofficerafterthat,whichleadsustohiscurrentoutstandingwarrants,alongwiththenewcharges.”
“Whywasheonparoleinthefirstplace?”myfatherasks.
“Autotheft.Heservedsixmonths.”
Myfatherbeginspacing.“So,thisisapatternwithhim?”
“Dad,I’msurehe’sjustaproductofafaultysystem.”Myfatherstopspacingandstaresatmelikehedoesn’tunderstandhowsucharidiculousstatementcancomefrommymouth.Ilookattheofficer.“Whatabouthisparents?”
“Bothdeceased.HeclaimshisfatherwentmissingafterHurricaneIkeandhe’sbeenonhisownsincethen.”
Hisfatherwentmissing?
Rakewashisfather?Thatexplainssomuchabouthisbehaviorwhenwefoundhisremainsonthebeach.Iwanttogobacktothatmomentwhenhelookedlikehewasinsomuchpain.IwanttogobackandhughimlikeIshouldhave.
Istarttodothemath.IfSamsonhasbeenhonestabouthisage,thatmeanshewasonlythirteenwhenHurricaneIkehit.
He’sbeenalonesincehewasthirteen?NowonderIcouldtellhewasdamaged.
“Stopfeelingsorryforhim,Beyah.Icanseeitalloveryourface,”myfathersays.
“Hewasakidwhenhisfatherdied.Wehavenoideawhatkindoflifehelivedafterthat.I’msurehedidthethingshedidbecausehehadto.”
“Isthatexcusestillvalidforatwenty-year-old?Hecouldhavegottenajobliketherestofus.”
“Whatwashesupposedtodoafterbeingreleasedfromjailthefirsttimeifhewasonhisown?Heprobablyneverhadanykindofidentificationifhedidn’thaveparentstohelphimwiththat.Hehadnofamily,nomoney.Peopleslipthroughthecracks,Dad.Ithappens.”Ithappenedtomeandyouneverevennoticed.
MyfathermightthinkSamson’sbehaviorisapatternhechose,butitsoundstomelikeitwasalifehemighthavehadnowayoutof.Iknowallaboutmakingbadchoicesoutofnecessity.
“Canwegetarestrainingorderagainsthim?Idon’twanthimanywherenearmypropertyormydaughter.”
Ican’tbelievehimrightnow.Hehasn’tevenspokentoSamsonorheardhissideandhefeelsthreatenedbyhim?“He’sharmless,Dad.”
MyfatherlooksatmelikeI’mtheunreasonableone.
“It’scertainlywithinyourrightstoprotectyourproperty,butyourdaughterisanadultandwouldhavetofileherownrestrainingordertoprotectherself,”OfficerFerrellsays.
“Protectmefromwhat?He’sagoodperson.”It’sliketheyaren’thearingme.
“Hewaspretendingtobeagoodperson,Beyah.Youdon’tevenknowhim.”
“IknowhimbetterthanIknowyou,”Imutter.
Myfatherpresseshislipstogether,butsaysnothinginresponse.
WhateverbadthingsSamsondidinhispast,hedidn’tmakethosechoicesbecausehewantedto.I’mconvincedofthat.Samsonwasneverthreatening.He’sbeenthemostcomforting,non-threateningpartofTexasforme.
Myfatherhasalreadymadeuphismindabouthim,though.“Ineedabathroom,”Isay.Ineedabreatherbeforegettinginthecarwithmyfather.
Theofficerpointsdownthehallway.IrushintothebathroomandwaituntilthedoorclosesbeforesuckinginasmuchairasIcanfitintomylungs.IslowlyreleaseitasIwalktothemirror.
Istareatmyreflection.BeforeSamson,whenIwouldlookinthemirror,Iwouldseeagirlwhomatteredtonoone.ButeverytimeI’velookedinthemirrorsincemeetinghim,I’veseenagirlwhomatterstosomeoneelse.
IwonderwhatSamsonseeswhenhelooksinthemirror?
Doeshehaveanyideahowmuchhematterstome?
IwishIwouldhavetoldhimlastnightwhenIhadthechance.TWENTY-FIVE
It’sseveninthemorningwhenmyfatherandIpullintothedriveway.PepperJackCheeseiswagginghistail,waitingbythepassengerdoorwhenIopenit
Ijustwanttobewithmydogrightnow.
I’mtiredofansweringquestions,andP.J.willbethefirstlivingthingI’veencounteredinthelastfewhoursthathasn’tthrownquestionsatme.
MyfatherwalksupthestairsandIchoosetoremainonthestiltlevelofthehouse.IsitatthepicnictableandscratchP.J.’sheadasIstareoutatthewater.IgetmaybethreeminutesofpeacebeforeIhearquickfootstepsdescendingthestairs.
Sara.
“OhmyGod,Beyah.”Sherushestothepicnictableandsitsacrossfromme.Shereachesacrossthetableandsqueezesmyhand,forcingasadsmile.“Areyouokay?”
Ishakemyhead.“Iwon’tbeokayuntilIspeaktoSamson.”
“I’vebeensoworried.Yourfatherleftinsuchahurry,andthenhetextedmymotherandsaidSamsongotarrested.Whathappened?”
“It’snothishouse.”
“Hebrokein?”
“Somethinglikethat.”
Sararunsahanddownherface.“I’msosorry.Ifeelterrible.I’mtheonewhopushedyouonhim.”Sheleansforwardandgripsmywrist,lookingatmewithsincerity.“Notallguysarelikehim,Beyah.Ipromise.”
She’sgotthatright,butit’sareliefthatSamsonisn’tlikeotherguys.HecouldbelikeDakota.OrGaryShelby.I’dmuchratherfallforaguywhohasashadypastandtreatsmeaswellasSamsondoesthanfallforaguywhotreatsmelikeshitwhilelookinggoodtotherestoftheworld.
“I’mnotmadathim,Sara.”
Shelaughs,butit’sanervouslaugh.Kindofhowsheusedtodowhenwefirstmet—whenshecouldn’ttellifIwaskiddingornot.
“IknowitlookslikeSamsonisthisterribleperson.Butyoudon’tknowhimlikeIdo.Hewasn’tproudofhispast.Andhewasplanningtotellmeeverythingeventually,hejustdidn’twantthetruthtoruintherestofoursummer.”
Sarafoldsherarmsoverthepicnictableandleansforward.“Beyah.Iknowyou’reupsetandyoucareabouthim.Butheliedtoyou.Heliedtoallofus.MarcosandIhaveknownhimsinceMarch.Everythinghe’severtoldusisalie.”
“Likewhat?”
Shewavesherhandtothehousenextdoor.“Thatheownsthathouse,forone.”
“Butwhatelse?”
Herlipsfoldintoathinline.Sheshiftsinherseatwhileshethinks.“Idon’tknow.Ican’tthinkofanythingspecificrightnow.”
“Exactly.Heliedaboutwherehelivedandwentalongwiththerich-boynarrativeyouguyslabeledhimwith.Buthedideverythinghecouldnottotalkabouthimselfsohewouldn’tbelyingtoyouguys.”
Shesnapsherfingers.“Thatguyatdinner!TheonewhocalledhimShawn.HeliedaboutgoingtoboardingschoolinNewYorkwithhim.”
“Heliedbecauseweforcedanansweroutofhim.”
“IwouldrespecthimalotmorethanIdonowifhewouldhavejusttoldusthetruthinthatmoment.”
“That’snottrue.He’dhavebeenjudgedbackthen,justlikehe’sbeingjudgednow.”EverythingissoblackandwhitewithpeoplelikeSara.Therealworlddoesn’toperateunderasimplesystemofrightandwrong.Peoplewhohaveneverhadtotradeapieceoftheirsoulsjusttohavefoodorsheltercan’tunderstandthescoresofbaddecisionsdesperatepeopleareforcedtomake.“Idon’twanttotalkaboutthisanymore,Sara.”
Shesighslikeshe’snotfinishedtryingtoconvincemetogetoverhim.
It’sgoingtotakealotmorethanashadypastformetogetoveraguywhodidn’tbataneyeatmyownshadypast.
SaraisobviouslyinagreementwithmyfatherwhenitcomestoSamson.I’msureeveryoneis.“I’dreallyliketobealonerightnow.”
“Okay,”Sarasays.“ButI’mhereifyouwanttotalk.”
Saraleavesmetomythoughtsandheadsbackupthestairs.Whenshe’sbackinsidethehouse,IscratchbehindP.J.’sear.“Iguessit’sjustmeandyouonteamSamson.”
P.J.’searsperkupassoonasmyphonebeginstovibrate.Iimmediatelyjumpupandpullitoutofmypocket.MyheartisstuckinmythroatwhenitsaysthecallerI.D.isunavailable.Iansweritrightaway.
“Samson?”
“You’rereceivingacallfromaninmateinGalvestonCountyJail,”therecordingsays.“Pleasepressonetoacceptortwoto—”Ipressoneandputmyphonetomyear.
“Samson?”Myvoiceisfullofpanic.Isqueezemyforeheadandsitbackdown.
“Beyah?”
Hesoundssofaraway,butIcanfinallyfeelhimagain.Isighwithrelief.“Areyouokay?”
“Yeah.”Hisvoiceisn’tfilledwithfearlikemineis.Heactuallysoundscalm,likehe’sbeenexpectingthismoment.“Ican’ttalklong.Ijust…”
“Howlongcanyoutalk?”
“Twominutes.ButIwasjusttoldIcanhavevisitorstomorrowatnine.”
“Iknow.I’llbethere.ButwhatcanIdotoday?IsthereanyoneIcancallforyou?”
There’sapauseonhisend.I’mnotsureheheardthequestion,butthenhesighsandsays,“No.There’snoone.”
God,Ihatethat.P.J.andIreallyareallhehasrightnow.“Idon’tthinkmyfatherisgoingtobailyouout.He’sprettyupset.”
“It’snothisresponsibility,”Samsonsays.“Pleasedon’taskhimtodothat.”
“I’llfiguresomethingout,though.”
“I’llbehereforawhile,Beyah.Ireallyfuckedup.”
“WhichiswhyI’mgoingtohelpfindyoualawyer.”
“I’llbeentitledtoapublicdefender,”hesays.“I’vebeenthroughthisbefore.”
“Yeah,butthey’reoverworkedasitis.Itwouldn’thurttotryandfindalawyerwhohasmoretimetoprepareandfightforyourcase.”
“Ican’taffordalawyer.Incaseyouhaven’tfigureditoutyet,I’mnotactuallyrich.”
“Good.Youknowyourmoneywasmyleastfavoritethingaboutyou.”
Samsonisquiet,eventhoughitfeelslikehehassomuchtosay.
“I’mgoingtospendtherestoftodayapplyingforjobs.I’llstartsavinguptohelpyouhireanotherlawyer.Youaren’taloneinthis,Samson.”
“Mymistakesaren’tyourresponsibility,either.There’snothingyoucando.Besides,thecourtdatewon’tbeforseveralweeks.You’llbeinPennsylvaniabythen.”
“I’mnotgoingtoPennsylvania.”He’sinsaneifhethinksI’mgoingtoabandonhim.DoeshereallythinkI’mgoingtoleavehimtositinjailwhileImoveacrossthecountryasifIdidn’tgrowaheartboneoverthesummer?“WhataboutMarjorie’sson?Whatkindoflawyerishe?”
Hedoesn’trespondtomyquestion.
“Samson?”Ipullmyphonebackandthecallhasbeendropped.“Shit.”
Ipressmyphonetomyforehead.Heprobablywon’tgettocallmeback.I’llhavetowaitandtalktohiminpersontomorrow.IhavesomanymorequestionsIalreadyneedtoaddtothelist
ButIalsohaveworktodo,soIwalkacrossthestreet,straighttoMarjorie’shouse.Ibeatonherdooruntilsheopensit.
Iforgotit’sstillsuperearly.She’sinhernightgown,tyingherrobetogetherwhensheopensthedoor.Shelooksatmefromheadtotoe.“Whatintheworldhasgotyousoworkedup?”
“It’sSamson.He’sinjail.”
Aflashofworryfloodshereyes,andthenshestepsasidetoletmein.“Whatfor?”
“Thehousehe’sbeenstayingindoesn’tbelongtohim.Hewasarrestedthismorningbecausetheownersshowedupinthemiddleofthenight.”
“Samson?Areyousure?”
Inod.“Iwasthere.He’sgoingtoneedalawyer,Marjorie.Onewhocanspendmoretimeonhiscasethanapublicdefendercan.”
“Yes,that’sagoodidea.”
“Yourson.Whatkindoflawyerishe?”
“He’sadefense…no.No,Ican’taskKevintodothat.”
“Whynot?I’mgettingajob.Icanpayhim.”
Marjorielookstorn.Ican’tsaythatIblameher.SheadmittedtomethefirsttimeshemetmethatshebarelyknewSamson.I’vegotmoreatstakeherethanshedoes,butshecan’tignoreallthathe’sdoneforher.OneofMarjorie’scatsclimbsupontothekitchencounternexttoher.Shepicksitupandbringsittoherchest.
“HowmuchdidSamsonchargeyouforalltheworkhe’sdonehere?”
Ittakesheraminutetocatchuptomyquestion.Herposturesinksalittle.“Nothing.Hewouldn’ttakeanymoneyfromme.”
“Exactly.He’snotabadpersonandyouknowit,Marjorie.”Ihandhermycellphone.“Please.Callyourson.YouoweSamsonthisfavor.”
Shesetsthecatonthefloorandthenwavesaflippanthandatmyphone.“Idon’tknowhowtousethosethings.”Shewalkstothekitchenandpicksupalandlinetelephone,thenbeginsdialingherson’snumber.
KevinagreedtogetintouchwithSamson,butonlybecauseheknowshowmuchSamsonhashelpedoutMarjorieoverthelastfewmonths.Hedidn’tagreetotakehimonprobono,ortakeonhiscaseatall,butI’monestepcloserthanIwasbeforeIwalkedintoMarjorie’shouse.
NowthatI’mwalkingout,she’sstuckmewithtwopoundsofpecans.“I’mgettingalmondsnextweek,”shesays
Ismile.“Thankyou,Marjorie.”
WhenI’mbackinsideourhouse,Idropthenutsonthetableandgrabbothbackpacksmyfatherbroughtoverthismorning.I’mwalkingupstairswhenhecomesouttothehallway.“Beyah?”
Ikeepwalking.“I’llbeinmyroomtherestoftheday.I’drathernotbedisturbed;I’mgoingtobed.”
“Beyah,wait,”Ihearhimsay.
WhenImakeittothetopofthestairs,IhearAlanasay,“Sheaskedtobealone,Brian.Ithinkshemeansit.”
Alanaisright.Idomeanit.Idon’tfeellikelecturesfrommyfatheraboutwhataterriblehumanSamsonis.I’mtoosadforthat.Andtootired.
Imaybegottwohoursofsleeplastnightatthemost,andevenwiththeadrenalinethat’sbeenpumpingthroughmyveinssinceIwokeup,myeyesarebeginningtogrowheavierbythesecond.
Idropourbackpacksbythebedandfallontothemattress.Ilieonit,staringouttheglassbalconydoors.It’ssobrightoutthere.Sowarm.Sohappy.
Istandupandsnatchthecurtainsshut,thencrawlbackintobed.Ijustwanttodaytoendalreadyandit’snotevenlunchtimeyet.
Itoss,turn,andstareattheceilingforoveranhour.Ijustcan’tstopthinkingaboutwhat’sgoingtohappen.Howlongwillhebeinjail?Ordoesthismeanhe’llactuallybesentencedtotimeinprison?Ifhetrulydoeshavethatmanychargesagainsthim,whatkindoftimeishelookingat?Sixmonths?Tenyears?
I’mnotgoingtobeabletofallasleepwithoutsomekindofassistance.Mymindisracingtoomuch.Iopenmydoorandwaituntilitsoundslikethekitchenisclear.Iwalkbackdownstairsandgotothepantry.Iknowthere’sasectioninherewheretheykeeptheirmedicine.Ithumbthroughthebottles,butfindnothingthatmighthelpmesleep.
Maybetheykeepitintheirbathroom.MyfatherandAlanashouldbeontheirwaytoworkbynow,soIgototheirbathroomandopentheirmedicinecabinet.There’snothinginherebuttoothpasteandsparetoothbrushes.Somesortofointment.Acontainerofcottonswabs
Islamthedoortothemedicinecabinetshut,butstartlewhenIseeAlanastandingbehindmeinthemirror’sreflection.“Sorry.Ithoughtyouwereatwork.”
“Itookthedayoff,”shesays.“Whatareyoulookingfor?”
Iturnandlookatherdesperately.“IjustneedNyQuilorsomething.Ineedtosleep.Ihaven’tsleptyetandmymindisracing.”Iwavemyhandsatmyface,tryingtopushbackthetearsthathavebeenmiraculouslykeptatbaysincelastnight.
“Icanmakeyousometea.”
Tea?Shewantstomakemetea?
She’sadentist,surelyshehasaprescriptionforsomehorse-strengthtranquilizerssomewhereinthishouse.
“Idon’twanttea,Alana.Ineedsomethingthatworks.Idon’twanttobeawakerightnow.”Ibringmyhandsupandcovermyface.“Ithurtssomuchtothink,”Iwhisper.“Idon’tevenwanttodreamabouthim.Ijustwanttosleepandnotdreamorthinkorfeel.”
Itallstartstohitmeinthecenterofmychest.
EverythingSamsonsaidonthephoneslamsintomesohard,Ihavetoleanagainstthesinkforsupport.Hisvoiceechoesinmyhead.“I’llbehereforawhile,Beyah.”
HowlongdoIhavetogobeforeI’mhappyagain?
Idon’twanttogobacktowhoIwasbeforeImethim.Ihadnothinginsideofmethenbutbitternessandanger.Nofeeling,nojoy,nocomfort.“Whatifhe’sgoneforsolong,hedoesn’twanttobepartofmylifewhenhegetsout?”
Ididn’tmeantosaythatoutloud.OrmaybeIdid.
MytearsstartfallingandAlanaimmediatelyresponds.Shedoesn’tsayanythingtomakemefeelbadforfeelingsad.Shejustwrapsherarmsaroundmeandtucksmyheadagainsthershoulder.
It’sacomfortthat’scompletelyunfamiliar,butoneIdesperatelyneedrightnow.Thecomfortofamother.Isobagainstherforseveralminutes.It’severythingIdidn’tknowIneededinthismoment.Justasmallmorselofsympathyfromsomeone
“Iwishyoucouldhavebeenmymother,”Isaythroughmytears.
Ifeelhersigh.“Oh,sweetie,”shewhisperssympathetically.Shepullsbackandlooksatmegently.“I’llgiveyouoneAmbien,butit’stheonlyoneyou’reevergettingfromme.”
Inod.“IpromiseI’llneveraskagain.”TWENTY-SIX
Isleptwaytoohard.Itfeelslikemybrainiscompressedtotherightsideofmyhead.
Isitupinbedandlookoutside.It’salmostdarknow.Ilookatthetimeonmyphoneandseethatit’safterseven.Mystomachisgrowlingsoloud,itmaybewhatwokemeup.
Ilefttheringeronmyphonesettohigh,butitnevermadeanoiseandIhavenomissedcalls.
FourteenmorehoursuntilIgettoseehim.
IreachtothefloorandpickupSamson’sbackpack.Idumpthecontentsofitontomybedandbeginsiftingthrougheverything.
Literallyeverythingheownsisonmybedrightnow.
TherearetwopairsofshortsandtwoofMarcos’sbrandedT-shirts.Hewaswearingtheothersetwhenhewasarrested,sodoesthatmeanheonlyhasthreechangesofclothes?Inoticedheworethesameshirtsalot,butIassumedhewasdoingittosupportMarcos.Heprobablywashedthemregularlyinhopesnoonewouldnotice.
Therearetoiletriesinabag.Toothpaste,deodorant,atoothbrush,nailclippers.Butnowallet.
Didheactuallylosehiswalletbeforewewenttogettattoos,ordidheneverevenhaveone?Ifhe’sbeenonhisownsincehisfatherdied,howwouldhehaveevengottenadriver’slicense?
Ihavesomanyquestions.There’snowayourvisittomorrowwillbelongenoughforhimtoanswerthemall.
Inthebottomofhisbackpack,IfindaplasticZiplocbag.Thebagisfilledwithwhatlooklikefoldeduppiecesofpaper.They’reallalittlefadedwithayellowtinttothem,sothey’reobviouslyold.
Iopenthebagandpulloutoneofthepiecesofpaperandunfoldit.
LittleBoy
Bittenbyfrenzylikeme
Exhaustioninhiseyes
He’sgrowingangryatthesea
Moretiredthanheshouldbe
Sotiredofbeingfree
-RakeBennett
11-13-07
SamsonmentionedthatRakeusedtowritepoetry.Istareatthispoemandtrytomakesenseofit.
IsitaboutSamson?Areallthesenotesfromhisfather?It’sdatedwhenSamsonwouldhavebeenabouttwelveyearsold.Ayearbeforethehurricanehit.
Sotiredofbeingfree.
Whatdoesthatlinemean?DidhisfatherthinkSamsonwastiredoflivinglifeontheoceanwithhim?
Ipullouttherestofthepiecesofpaper,needingtoreadeverysingleoneofthem.They’realldatedfrombeforeHurricaneIke,allwrittenbyhisfather.
Shelives
Whenyouwereborn,sowasyourmother.
Aslongasyoulive,
shetoowillbealive.
-RakeBennett
08-30-06
Gone
Imetyourmotherwhileshewasstandingonthebeach,
herfeetburiedinthesand.
Iregretnotfallingtomykneestoscoopupsomeofthegranules
intothepalmsofmyhands.
Iwonderifanyofwhatwetouchhaseverbeensteppedonbyherfeet.
Orhaseverygrainofsandsheevercameacross
alreadywashedbackouttosea?
-RakeBennett
07-16-07
DearShawn,
Everychildeventuallycravesanewplacetobe.
Idecidedyourfirsthometobeaboat,butnowIwonder,
Isthisboatthehomeyou’llflee?
Ifso,
thatgravemistakeisallonme.
BecausewhenamansaysI’mgoinghome,
heshouldbeheadingforthesea.
-RakeBennett
01-03-08
Thereareatleasttwentypoemsandlettersinthebag.OnlyafewarewrittendirectlyforSamson,butbasedonallthesheetsofpaperasawhole,IgettheimpressionwhatSamsontoldmeabouthisfatherwastrue.Rakelivedonthewater,butthepartSamsonleftoutwasthathelivedonthewaterwithRake,too.TWENTY-SEVEN
“BeyahGrim?”
Ipracticallyjumpoutofmychair.Myfatherstandsuptoo,butIdon’twantmyfathergoinginwithmetoseeSamson.“Youdon’thavetocome.”
“I’mnotallowingyouintherebyyourself.”Hisstatementisfinal,likethereisn’tanyroomfornegotiation
“Dad,please.”Idon’tknowthatSamsonwillfeellikebeinghonestwithmeifmyfatherissittingacrossfromhim.“Please.”
Henodstightly.“I’llwaitinthecar.”
“Thankyou.”
Ifollowtheguardasheleadsmetoalarge,openroom.Thereareseveraltablesandalmostallofthemarefullofpeoplevisitingwithotherinmates.
It’sdepressing.ButnotasdepressingasIthoughtitwouldbe.IassumedI’dbeononesideofawindowmadeofglass,unabletotouchhim.
MyeyesimmediatelyseekoutandfindSamsonsittingaloneatatableontheothersideoftheroom.He’swearingadarkbluejumpsuit.Seeinghiminsomethingotherthanhisusualbeachshortsmakesthisallfeelmorereal.
Whenhefinallylooksupandseesme,heimmediatelystands.Idon’tknowwhyIexpectedhishandstobecuffed,butI’mrelievedtoseetheyaren’t.Irushtohimandfallrightintohisarms.Hepullsmeagainsthimwithtightenedarms.
“I’msorry,”hesays.
“Iknow.”
Heholdsmeforamoment,butIdon’twanttogethimintrouble,soweseparate,andIsitacrossfromhim.Thetableissmall,sowearen’tthatfarapart,buthefeelsaworldaway.
Hetakesoneofmyhandsandholdsitinbothofhis,restingourhandsonthetable.“Ioweyousomanyanswers.Wheredoyouwantmetostart?”
“Anywhere.”
Hetakesamomenttofigureoutwhereheshouldbegin.Ibringmyotherhandtohisuntilallfourofourhandsareinapileonthetable.“EverythingItoldyouaboutmymotherwastrue.HernamewasIsabel.Iwasonlyfivewhenithappened,buteventhoughIdidn’tremembermuchofmylifebeforeherdeath,Iknewitchangeddrasticallyaftershewasgone.Rakeismyfather;Ididomitthat.Aftermymotherdied,heseemedlostwhenhewasn’tonthewater.It’slikehecouldn’timaginebeinganywhereshewasn’t,sohepulledmeoutofschool,andwelivedonhisboatforseveralyears.Andthatwasmylife,untilDaryatookhimfromme.”
“Sothat’swhatyoumeantwhenyousaidDaryabrokeyourheart?”
Henods.
“Wherewereyouwhenthehurricanehit?”
Samson’sjawhardens,likethat’snotamemoryhewantstorelive.Hestaresatourhandsashespeaks.“Myfatherdroppedmeoffatachurch.It’swherealotoftheresidentstookshelter,butherefusedtostaywithme.Hewantedtomakesurehisboatwassecuredsinceitwasourentirelife.Hetoldmehe’dbebackbeforedark,butIneversawhimagainafterthatnight.”Hebringshiseyesbacktomine.“Iwantedtostayonthepeninsula,buttherewasnothingleftafterthehurricane.Itwashardforathirteen-year-oldtohidethere,orevensurviveatthatpoint,soIhadtoleave.IknewifItoldsomeonemyfatherwasmissing,I’dgetthrownintoagrouphome,soIjustspentthenextfewyearstryingtobeinvisible.IendedupworkingwithafriendinGalvestondoingoddjobslikemowingyards.Hewastheguyyoumetattherestaurant.Wewereyounganddidsomestupidshit.Iteventuallycaughtupwithus.”
“Whataboutthearsoncharge?”
“Technicallynotmyfault.Theownerhadsomeshittyelectricalworkdone,buthadInotbrokenintothathousethatnightandturnedonthepower,itneverwouldhavecaughtonfire.So,onpaper,itwasmyfault.”Samsonthreadshisfingersthroughmine.“OnceIknewIhadanotherwarrantoutformyarrest,Ichosetocomebackhereonelasttimebeforeturningmyselfin.Idon’tknowifIwaslookingforclosureorhopingtofindmyfather,butIendedupfindingboth.ButIalsofoundyouandneverwantedtoleave.”Samsonbrusheshisthumbacrossthetopofmylefthand.“IknewI’dbeinjailforawhile,soIwastryingtostretchoutmytimewithyoubeforeyouleft.”Hesighs.“Whatelsedoyouwanttoknow?”
“Howdidyouknowthealarmcodeforthathouse?”
“Theowneruseshishousenumberashiscode.Easiestpasswordtoguess.”
It’shardtojudgehimwhenthatjudgmentwouldbeextremelyhypocriticalofme.Ifanything,Iadmirehissurvivalskills.
“WhatabouttheAirForceAcademy?Wasanyofthattrue?”
Helooksdown,unabletomeetmygaze.Heshakeshishead.“IwantedtogototheAirForce.Thatwasmyplan,untilIfuckeditallup.ButtherewerethingsIliedabout,likeitbeingafamilytradition.I’vesaidalotofthingsthatweren’ttrue.ButIhadtobackupmyreasoningforbeinginthathousewithliesIneverwantedtotellyou.That’swhyIwouldn’tansweryourquestions.Ididn’tlikebeingdishonestwithyou.Oranyone.Ijust…”
“Youdidn’thaveachoice,”Isay,finishinghisthought.Igetit.I’vebeentheremywholelife.“You’retheonewhosaidwrongdecisionscomefromeitherstrengthorweakness.Youweren’tlyingbecauseyouwereweak,Samson.”
Hetakesinaslowbreath,likehedreadswhat’scomingnext.Hisentiredemeanorchangeswhenhelooksmeintheeye.Theweightofthisroombeginstocloseinonmewiththatlook.“Yesterdayonthephoneyoumentionedyouweren’tgoingtoPennsylvania.”
It’sastatement,butheintendsforittobefollowedbyananswer.“Ican’tleaveyou.”
Heshakeshishead,pullinghishandsfrommine.Herunsthemoverhisfacelikehe’sfrustratedwithme,thenhegrabsbothmyhandseventighter.“You’regoingtocollege,Beyah.Mymessisn’tyourstocleanup.”
“Yourmess?Samson,whatyoudidisn’tthatbad.Youwereakidwhopracticallyraisedhimselfonthestreets.Howwereyousupposedtogetbackonyourfeetafteryouwerereleasedfromjailthefirsttime?I’msureifyoutellthemwhythefirestartedandwhyyoubrokeparole,they’dunderstand.”
“Thecourtdoesn’tcarewhyIbrokethelaw;theyjustcarethatIbrokeit.”
“Well,theyshouldcare.”
“Itdoesn’tmatterhowflawedthesystemis,Beyah.Thetwoofusaren’tgoingtochangeitovernight.I’mlookingatseveralyears,andthere’snothingeitherofuscandoaboutit,sothere’snoreasonforyoutostayinTexas.”
“You’reenoughofareason.HowwillIvisityouifI’minPennsylvania?”
“Idon’twantyoutovisitme.Iwantyoutogotocollege.”
“Icangotocollegehere.”
Helaughs,butthere’snosmileattachedtohislaugh.It’sanexasperatedlaugh.“Whyareyoubeingsostubborn?Thiswasourplanallsummer—togoourseparatewayswhenyouleaveforschool.”
Hiswordsarediggingintome,twistingmyinsides.MyvoicecomesoutinawhisperwhenIsay,“Ithoughtthingschanged.Yousaidwegrewheartbones.”
Samson’sentirebodyfeelsthatcomment.Hesinksalittle,likeI’mhurtinghim.Idon’twanttohurthim,buthe’sworthmorethanthis.Hewasn’tathrowawaytome.
“Ican’tbethatfarawayfromyou,”Isayquietly.“Phonecallsandlettersaren’tgoingtobeenough.”
“Idon’twantphonecallsorletters,either.Iwantyoutogoliveyourlifeandnotbeweigheddownbymine.”Hecanseetheshockonmyface,buthedoesn’tgivemetimetoarguewithhim.“Beyah.Wehavebeenaloneonislandsourwholelives.It’swhyweconnected,becausewerecognizedthatlonelinessineachother.Butthisisyourchancetogetoffyourisland,andIrefusetoholdyoubackforhowevermanyyearsI’llbegone.”
Icanfeelthetears.Ilookdownjustasonefallsonthetable.“Youcan’tcutmeoff.Ican’tdothiswithoutyou.”
“You’vealreadydoneitwithoutme,”hesays,hisvoicedetermined.HereachesacrossthetableandliftsmyfacesothatI’mforcedtolookathim.HelooksasbrokenasIfeel.“Ihadnothingtodowithyouraccomplishments.Ihadnothingtodowithwhoyouturnedouttobe.Pleasedon’tmakemebethereasonyougiveitallup.”
Themorecommittedheistotheideathathedoesn’twantmetostayintouchwithhim,theangrierIget.
“Thisisn’tfairtome.Youexpectmetojustwalkawayandnothaveanycontactwithyouatall?Whywouldyouletmefallforyouinthefirstplacewhenyouknewthiswasgoingtobetheendresult?”
Heexhalessharply.“WeagreedthiswouldendinAugust,Beyah.Weagreedtokeepitintheshallowend.”
Irollmyeyes.“You’retheonewhosaidpeoplestilldrownintheshallowend.”IleanforwarduntilIhavehisfocusagain.“I’mdrowning,Samson.Andyou’retheoneholdingmeunderwater.”Iwipemyeyesangrily.
Samsontakesmyhandsagain,butthistime,it’sdifferent.There’sanacheinhisvoicewhenhesays,“I’msosorry.”It’sallhesays,butIcantellthisishisgoodbye.
Hestandsuplikethisdiscussionisover,buthe’slookingatmelikehewantsmetostandup,too.Ifoldmyarmstightlyovermychest.“I’mnothuggingyougoodbye.Youdon’tdeservetoholdmeanymore.”
Samsonnodsalittle.“Ineverdeservedtoholdyouinthefirstplace.”Heturnstoleave,andIinstantlybecometerrifiedit’sthelasttimeI’llseehim.Samsondoesn’tsaythingswiththatlookinhiseyeunlesshemeansthem.He’snotgoingtoallowmetoseehimagain.Thisisit.Thisiswhereweend.
Ijumpupwhenhebeginstowalkaway.“Samson,wait!”
HeturnsaroundjustintimetocatchmewhenIthrowmyarmsaroundhim.Iburymyfaceagainsthisneck.Whenhefoldsmeintohisarms,Istarttocry
Somanythingsarerunningthroughmeatonce.Imisshimsomuchalready,butI’malsoangrierthanI’veeverbeen.Iknewthiswascoming—thegoodbye.ButIdidn’tknowitwouldbeunderthesecircumstances.Ifeelpowerless.IwantedourgoodbyetobeachoiceIhadapartin,butI’mnotgettingachoiceatall.
Hekissesthesideofmyhead.“Takethescholarship,Beyah.Andhavefun.Please.”Hisvoicecracksonplease.Hereleasesmeandwalkstoaguardstandingnexttoadoor.Ifeelheavywithouthim,likeI’velostanentiresupportsystemandcannolongerholdmyselfuponmyown.
Samsonisledoutoftheroom,andheneverevenlooksbackatmetoseethedestructionheleftbehind.
I’msobbingbythetimeImakeitoutsidetomyfather’scar.Islamthedoor,angryandheartbroken.Ican’tevenbegintoabsorbwhatjusthappenedinthere.Iwasn’texpectingit.Iwasexpectingtheexactoppositeofthat.Ithoughtweweregoingtoworkthisoutasateam,butinstead,heleftmecompletelyfuckingalone,justlikeeveryotherpersoninmylife.
“Whathappened?”
Ishakemyhead.Ican’tevensayitoutloud.“Justdrive.”
Myfathergripshissteeringwheeluntilhisknucklesarewhite.Hestartsthecarandputsitinreverse.“IshouldhavebeattheshitoutofhimthenightIpulledhimoffyouintheshower.”
Idon’teventrytoexplainthathewasn’tprotectingmefromSamsonthatnight.Samsonwashelpingme,butatthispoint,anotherexplanationwouldbefutile.Ijustgowithablanketstatement.“He’snotabadperson,Dad.”
Myfatherputsthecarbackinpark.Hefacesme,hisexpressionunyielding.“Idon’tknowwhereIwentwrongasafather,butIdidnotraiseadaughterwhowoulddefendaguywholiedtohertheentiresummer.Youthinkhecaresaboutyou?Hedoesn’tcareaboutanyonebuthimself.”
Isheserious?
Didheactuallyhavetheaudacitytosayheraisedme?
Iglareathim,myhandonthedoorhandle.“Youdidn’traiseadaughteratall.Ifanyoneislyinginthisscenario,it’syou.”Iopenmydoorandgetoutofhiscar.There’snowayIwanttobestuckwithhimallthewaybacktoBolivarPeninsula.
“Getbackinthecar,Beyah.”
“No.I’mcallingSaratocomepickmeup.”Isitdownonthecurbnexttothecar.MyfathergetsoutofthecarwhileIpulloutmyphone.Hekicksatthegravelandmotionstowardthecar
“Getin.I’lltakeyouhome.”
IwipetearsfrommyeyesafterIdialSara’snumber.“I’mnotgettinginyourcar.Youcanleavenow.”
Myfatherdoesn’tleave.Saraagreestocomepickmeup,butmyfathersitspatientlyinhiscaruntilshearrives.TWENTY-EIGHT
It’sbeenanagonizingweekwithnonewsfromSamson.Nothingatall.I’vetriedtovisithimtwice,butherefusestoseemenow.
Ihaveabsolutelynowayofcommunicatingwithhim.AllIhavetoclingtoarethememoriesofthetimewespenttogether,andI’mworriedthosewillstarttofadeifIdon’tatleastgettohearhisvoice.
AmIreallyjustexpectedtomoveon?Forgetabouthim?Gotocollegelikehedidn’tforcemetobecomeacompletelydifferent,betterversionofmyselfthissummer?
IstoppedtalkingaboutSamsontoanyoneinthishouse.Idon’tevenwanthisnamebroughtupbecauseitjustleadstoarguments.I’vebarelyleftmyroomallweek.IoccupymydayswithmindlessTVshowsandvisitstoMarjorie’shouse.She’stheonlyoneI’llspeaktoabouthim.She’stheonlyoneonmyside.
I’vebeenalternatingbetweenthetwoshirtsthatwereinSamson’sbackpackallweek,buttheynolongersmelllikehim.Theysmelllikemenow,whichiswhyI’msnuggleduptohisbackpack,watchingamarathonofaBritishbakingshow.
Idon’tknowwhattodowithhisthings.Idoubthecarestokeeptoiletries,andtherewasn’tanythingofvalueinhisbackpackotherthanthepoemshisfatherwrotetohim.ButIdon’twanttogivethemtoMarjorietogettohimbecauseIfeellikethey’remylastconnectiontohim.
TheymightonedaybetheonlyexcuseIhavetogethimtospeaktome.
I’mgoingtohavetomoveonatsomepoint.Iknowthis,butaslongasI’mstillhereandhe’sstillinjail,Ican’tfocusonanythingelse.
Ireadjustthebackpackinmyarmstouseitasapartialpillow,butsomethinghardpokesatmytemple.IopenituptoseeifImissedanitem,butIseenothing.ImovemyhandaroundinsidethebackpackandfindazipperIdidn’tcatchbefore.
Iimmediatelysitupandunzipit.Ipulloutasmall,hard-boundnotebook.It’sonlyaboutfourinchesinlength.Iflipitopenandit’sfullofnamesandaddresses,andwhatlooklikegrocerylists.
Iflipthroughseveralpages,unabletomakesenseofanyofit.ButthenIgettoapagewithMarjorie’snameandaddressonit.
MarjorieNaples
Dateofstay:02-04-15to02-08-15.
Ate$15worthoffood.
Repairedroof.Replacedtwopiecesofsidingonnorthsideofhousedamagedbywind.
ThereareseveralmorenamesandaddressesthatfollowMarjorie’s,butIneedtoknowthesignificanceofthedates.Ipickupmyphoneandcallher.
“Hello?”
“Hey,it’sBeyah.Quickquestion.ArethedatesFebruaryfourthtoFebruaryeighththisyearofanysignificancetoyou?”
Marjoriechewsonthatthoughtforamoment.“I’malmostpositivethosearethedaysIwasinthehospitalaftermyheartattack.Why?”
“JustsomethingIfoundinSamson’sbackpack.I’llbringitoverlatersoyoucangiveittoKevin.”
Itellhergoodbyeandendthecall,thenIstartskimmingthroughalltheotherthingshe’swrittendown.ThemostcommonaddressistheonenextdoorforDavidSilver.Thereareseveraldateslisted.MostofthembetweenMarchandlastweek.BeneathDavid’snameisalistofrepairs.
Tightenedseverallooseslatsonbedroombalconyrailing.Replacedabrokenfuseinthebreakerbox.Sealedleakinpipeinoutdoorshower.
Thelistsgoon.Thereareoddjobshe’sdoneforpeople,andhowmuchhegotpaidforeachjob,whichexplainshowhesometimeshadmoneyforthingslikedinnerandtattoos.Therearealsolistsofpeoplehe’sdoneworkforthathedidn’ttakepayfrom.
Everydayforthepastsevenmonthsisaccountedfor.Everyitemoffoodheatefromsomeone’srefrigeratorwithouttheirpermission.Everyrepairhemadetosomeone’shouse.He’sbeenkeepingtrackofallofit.
Butwhy?Didhefeellikerepairingthesepropertiesforfreewasbalancingoutthefactthathewasstayinginthemwithoutpermission?
Couldthispossiblybetheproofthecourtneedstoknowhedoesn’tdeserveallthechargesbeingbroughtagainsthim?
IrushdownstairsandfindmyfatherandAlanaonthelivingroomsofa.SaraandMarcosaretogetherontheloveseat.They’reallwatchingWheelofFortune,butmyfathermutesitwhenheseesI’vecomedownstairsforthefirsttimetoday.
Ihandthenotebooktomyfather.“ThisbelongstoSamson.”Hetakesthenotebookfrommeandbeginsflippingthroughit.“It’sadetailedlistofeveryplacehe’sstayedandhowherepaidthem.”
Myfatherstandsup,stillflippingthroughthenotebook.
“Thiscouldhelphim.”Myvoiceisfullofhopeforthefirsttimesincehewasarrested.“Ifwecanprovehewastryingtodotherightthing,itcouldhelphisdefense.”
Myfathersighsbeforeheevenmakesitafewpagesintothebook.Heclosesitandhandsitbacktome.“It’sadetailedlistofeverythinghe’sdonewrong.It’llhurthim,nothelphim.”
“Youdon’tknowthat.”
“Beyah,he’sonlybeingchargedontwocountsofbreakingandentering.Ifyoutakethattothepoliceandshowthemhowmanymorehouseshebrokeinto,they’regoingtouseittoaddtohischarges,nottakeawayfromthem.”Helooksfrustratedashetakesastepclosertome.“Pleaseletthisgo.You’retooyoungtoletaguyyoubarelyknowconsumeyourlifelikethis.Hemessedupandhehastopaytheconsequencesforthat.”
Alanaisstandingnow.Shegripsmyfather’sarminsupportandsays,“Yourfatherisright,Beyah.There’snothingyoucandobutmoveforward.”
SaraandMarcosarestillseatedontheloveseat,lookingatmeinawaythatmakesmefeelpathetic.
AllofthemthinkI’mpathetic.
NoneofthemcarewhathappenstoSamson.Andnoneofthembelieveinwhatwehad.Foronceinmylife,Ihadsomeonewhoactuallycaredaboutme,andallfourofthemthinkI’mincapableofknowingwhattrueloveis.
Iknowwhatloveis,becauseIspentmywholelifeknowingwhatitisn’t
“Mymotherdied.”ItfeelslikealltheairintheroomissuckedoutafterIsaythat.
Alana’shandgoesoverhermouth.
Myfathershakeshisheadindisbelief.“What?When?”
“ThenightIcalledyouandaskedifIcouldcomehere.Sheoverdosedbecauseshe’sbeenanaddictforaslongasIcanremember.Ihavehadnooneinmycorner.Notyou.Notmymother.Noone.Ihavebeenallalonemywholegoddamnlife.Samsonisthefirstpersonwhoevershowedupandcheeredforme.”
Myfatherwalksovertome,hisfacecontortedintobothconfusionandsympathy.“Whywouldyounottellmesomethinglikethis?”Herunsahanddownhisfaceandmutters,“Christ,Beyah.”
Hetriestopullmeinforahug,butIbackaway.
Iturnaroundtoheadtowardthestairs,butmyfathercallsafterme.“Wait.Weneedtodiscussthis.”
Nowthatmyragehassurfaced,IfeellikeI’mdrowninginit.IneedtogetitalloutwhileIhavethechance.Ispinaroundandfacemyfatheragain.
“Discusswhat?EverythingelseIkeptfromyou?DoyouwanttoknowabouthowIliedwhenImetyouattheairport?Theairlinedidn’tlosemyluggage.Ineverhadanythingatall,becauseeverypennyyoueversentJanean,shekeptforherself.IhadtostartfuckingaguyformoneywhenIwasfifteenjustsoIwouldhavefoodtoeat.Sofuckyou,Brian.Youaren’tmyfather.Youneverhavebeen,andyouneverwillbe!”
Idon’tbothertowaitforanyoftheirreactions.Istompupthestairsandslammybedroomdoor.
Myfatheropensitaboutthirtysecondslater.
“Pleaseleave,”Isay,myvoicecompletelydevoidofemotionnow.
“Weneedtotalkaboutthis.”
“Iwanttobealone.”
“Beyah,”hesayspleadingly,steppingintotheroom.Istomptothebedroomdoor,refusingtoletthelookonhisfacegettome.
“You’vespentnineteenyearsbeinganuninvolvedfather.Iamnotinthemoodforyoutofinallygetinvolvedtonight.Please,justleavemealone.”
Somanythingspassthroughmyfather’seyesinthismoment.Sadness.Regret.Empathy.ButIdon’tallowanyofhisfeelingstoaffectmyown.Istareathimstoicallyuntilhefinallynodsandbacksoutofmybedroom.
Iclosethedoor.
IfallontothebedandpullSamson’snotebooktomychest.
Tothem,thisnotebookmaybealistofeveryoneonthispeninsulahe’swronged,buttome,it’sfurtherproofthathisintentionsweregood.Hetriedtodotherightthingwithnonexistentmeans.
Iflipthroughthenotebookagain,readingeverypage,touchingthewordswiththetipofmyfinger,tracinghissloppyhandwriting.Ireadtheaddressofeveryplacehe’severstayed.Halfofthenotebookisfilledwithpagesofhishandwriting.It’schoppyandhardtoreadinplaces,likehe’dwritethesethingsinahurryandthenclosethenotebookbeforehegotcaught.
Ifliptowardtheendofthenotebookandpauseonapagethat’sdifferentfromtherest.It’sdifferentbecausemynameisatthetopofthepage.
Ipullthenotebookflattomychestandclosemyeyes.Whateverhewrotewasshort,butthatwasmyname.
Ibreatheinandoutveryslowlyseveraltimesuntilmyheartratereturnstonormal.ThenIpullthenotebookawayfrommychestandreadhiswords.
Beyah,
Myfatheroncetoldmeloveisalotlikewater.
Itcanbecalm.Raging.Threatening.Soothing.
Waterwillbemanythings,buteveninallitsforms,itwillalwaysbewater.
Youaremywater.
IthinkImightbeyours,too.
Ifyou’rereadingthis,itmeansI’veevaporated.
Butitdoesn’tmeanyoushouldevaporate,too.
Gofloodthewholegoddamnworld,Beyah.
It’sthelastthinghewroteinthenotebook.It’slikehewasafraidhe’dbearrestedbeforehecouldtellmegoodbye.
Ireadthenoteseveraltimeswithtearsfallingontothepage.ThisisSamson.Idon’tcarewhatanyoneelsebelieves.ThisiswhoI’mgoingtoholdontountilthedayhe’sreleased
ThisisalsothereasonIrefusetoleave.Heneedsmyhelp.I’mallhehas.There’snowayIcanjustwalkawayfromhimrightnow.Thethoughtofleavingthistownbeforeknowinghisfateisaselfishmove.Hethinkshe’sdoingmeafavor,buthehasnoideawhathisdecisionisdoingtome.Ifheknew,he’dbegmetostay.
There’salighttaponmydoor.“Beyah,canIcomein?”Sarapeeksherheadin,butI’mnotinthemoodtoargue.I’mnotevensureIhavethestrengthtosaythatoutloud.IjustclutchthenotebookwithhiswordstomychestandIrolloverandfacethewall.
Saracrawlsintothebedwithmeandwrapsherarmaroundmefrombehind.
Shesaysnothing.ShejustquietlyslipsintoherroleasabigsisterandstayswithmeuntilIfallasleep.TWENTY-NINE
Thesunriseistheonlypeacefulthinginmylifeatthispoint.
I’vebeenoutherewaitingonitsincefiveo’clockthismorning.Icouldn’tsleep.HowamIexpectedtosleepafterthelastweekI’vehad?
EverytimeIclosemyeyes,IseeSamsonwalkingawayfrommewithoutlookingback.Iwanttorememberallthetimeshelookedatmewithhopeandenthusiasmandintensity.ButallIseeisthatlastmomentwhereheleftmecryingandalone.
I’mafraidthat’showI’mgoingtorememberhim,andthat’snothowIwantourgoodbyetobe.I’mconfidentIcanchangehismind.I’mconfidentIcanhelphim.
Ihaveajobinterviewattheonlydonutshoponthepeninsulatoday.I’mgoingtosaveupeverypennyIcantohelphim.Iknowhedoesn’twantthat,butit’stheleastIcandoforeverythinghebroughtintomylifethissummer.
It’scertainlygoingtoremainapointofcontentionbetweenmyfatherandmewhileIstayinthishousewithhim.HethinksI’mbeingridiculousfornotmovingtoPennsylvania.Ithinkhe’sbeingridiculousforexpectingmetowalkawayfromsomeonewhohasabsolutelynooneelse.NotmanypeopleknowlonelinesslikeSamsonandIdo.
Ialsodon’tknowhowmyfatherexpectsmetojuststartoveragaininanewstateforthesecondtimethissummer.Idon’thavetheenergytostartoveragain.Ifeelcompletelydrained.
Idon’thavetheenergytomoveacrossthecountry,andIespeciallydon’thavetheenergytoplayvolleyballinordertoqualifyformyscholarship.
I’mnotevensureI’llhavetheenergytogetupandmakedonutseverydayifIgetthejob,butknowingeverycentwillgotohelpSamsonwilllikelymakeitworthit.
Myattentionispulledtomybedroomdoor,justasthesunbeginstopeekoverthehorizon.Myfatherpokeshisheadoutofmybedroomandmywholebodysighsduetohispresence.
Itwastoolatetoarguewithhimlastnightandit’stooearlytoarguewithhimthismorning.
Helooksrelievedtoseemesittingouthere.HeprobablythoughtIranawayinthemiddleofthenightwhenhesawIwasn’tinmybedjustnow.
I’vewantedtorunawaysomanytimes,butwherewouldIgo?IfeellikeInolongerbelonganywhere.SamsonwasthefirstplaceIfeltIbelongedandthatwasrippedfromme.
Myfathersitsdownnexttome.Idon’teaseintohiscomfortlikeIeasedintoSamson’s.I’mstiffandunyielding.
Hewatchesthesunrisewithme,buthispresenceruinsit.It’shardtofindthebeautyinitwhenIhavesomuchangerdirectedatthemansittingnexttome.
“Rememberthefirsttimewewenttothebeach?”heasks.
Ishakemyhead.“I’veneverbeentothebeachbeforethissummer.”
“Yes,youhave.Youwereyoung,though.Maybeyoudon’trememberit,butItookyoutoSantaMonicawhenyouwereaboutfourorfive.”
Ifinallymakeeyecontactwithhim.“I’vebeentoCalifornia?”
“Yeah.Youdon’tremember?”
“No.”
Hisexpressionisregretfulforamoment,butthenheremoveshisarmfromthebackofthechairandstandsup.“I’llberightback.Ihavepicturesheresomewhere.IgrabbedthealbumfromourhouseinHoustonwhenIfoundoutyouwerecoming.”
Hehaspicturesofmychildhood?Supposedlyonabeach?
I’llbelieveitwhenIseeit.
Afewminuteslater,myfathercomesbackwithaphotoalbum.Hetakeshisseatinthechairagainandopensitup,slidingitovertome.
IflipthroughthephotosandfeellikeI’mlookingatsomeoneelse’slife.TherearesomanypicturesofmethatIdon’tevenrememberbeingtaken.DaysIhaveabsolutelynorecollectionof.
Igettoasectionofpicturesofmerunninginthesand,andIcan’tconnectthemtoamemory.Iprobablydidn’tevenrealizethemeaningbehindaroadtripatthatage.
“Whenwasthis?”Iask,pointingtoapicturewithmesittingatatableinfrontofabirthdaycake,butthere’sasmallChristmastreeinthebackground.MybirthdayismonthsafterChristmas,andInormallyonlyvisitedmyfatherinthesummer.“Idon’trememberhavingChristmaswithyou.”
“Technically,youdidn’t.Sinceyouonlycameinthesummer,I’drollalltheholidaysintoonebigcelebration.”
Ivaguelyrememberthatnowthathementionsit.Ihavefadedmemoriesofbeingpainfullyfullwhileopeningpresents.Butthatwassolongago,andthosememoriesdidn’tcarrywithmethroughtheyears.Neitherdidthetraditions,apparently.
“Whydidyoustop?”Iaskhim.
“Idon’tknow,honestly.Youstartedtogrowup,andeveryyearwhenyouwouldcomevisit,youseemedlessinterestedinthesillythings.OrmaybeIjustassumedyouwere.Youweresuchaquietchild;itwashardtogetanythingoutofyou.”
Iblamemymotherforthat.
Iflipthroughthealbumandpauseonapictureofmesittinginmyfather’slap.We’rebothsmilingatthecamera.Hehashisarmaroundme,andI’msnuggledagainsthim.
Alltheseyears,Ididn’tthinkhewaseveraffectionatewithme.Thereweresomanyyearsofhimnotbeingaffectionatewithme,thosearethethingsIrememberthemost.
Irunmyfingeroverthepicture,saddenedbywhateverhappenedbetweenustochangeourrelationship.
“Whendidyoustoptreatingmelikeyourdaughter?”
Myfathersighs,andhissighisfullofsomanythings.“Iwastwenty-onewhenyouwereborn.IneverknewwhatIwasdoingwithyou.Itwaseasiertofakewhenyouwerelittle,butasyougrewup,Ijust…Ifeltguilty.Thatguiltstartedworkingitswayintoourtimetogether.Ifeltlikeyourvisitswithmewereaninconvenienceforyou.”
Ishakemyhead.“ItwastheonlythingIeverlookedforwardto.”
“IwishI’dknownthat,”hesaysquietly.
I’mstartingtowishI’dtoldhim.
Ifthere’sonethingIlearnedfromSamsonthissummer,it’sthatholdingeverythinginaccomplishesnothing.Itjustcausesthetruthtohurtevenworseintheend.
“Ihadnoideawhatkindofmothershewas,Beyah.SaratoldmesomethingslastnightthatyoutoldherandIjust…”Hisvoicesoundsshaky,likehe’sworkingtoholdbacktears.“Ididsomanythingswrong.Ihavenoexcuse.Youhaveeveryrighttoberesentfulbecauseyou’reright.Ishouldhavefoughthardertogettoknowyou.Ishouldhavefoughthardertospendmoretimewithyou.”
Myfathertakesthephotoalbumfrommeandsetsitonthechairnexttohim.Hefacesmewithanexpressionfullofunease.“Ifeellikewhatyou’redoing—allowingthisguy’sfatetodictateyourownfuture—it’smyfault,becauseIneversetanexampleforyou.Butdespitethat,youturnedouttobetheamazingpersonthatyouare,andthatisnotbecauseofme.It’sbecauseofyou.You’reafighter,sonaturallyyouwanttostayandfightforSamson.Maybeit’sbecauseyouseesomuchofyourselfinhim.Butwhatifhe’snotwhoyouthinkheis,andyoumakethewrongdecision?”
“Butwhatifhe’sexactlywhoIthinkheis?”
Myfathertakesmyrighthandandholdsitbetweenbothofhis.Helookssosincere,staringatmewithsuchrawhonesty.“IfSamsonisthepersonyouthinkheis,whatdoyouthinkhewouldwantforyou?Doyouthinkhewouldwantyoutogiveupeverythingyou’veworkedfor?”Ilookawayfrommyfather,towardthesunrise.I’mholdingallmyfeelingsinmythroat.
“Iloveyou,Beyah.Enoughtoadmitthatyou’vebeenletdownbytoomanypeopleinyourlife.Mebeingoneofthem.Theonlypersonwhohaseverbeencompletelyloyaltoyouisyou.You’redoingyourselfadisservicebynotputtingyourselffirstrightnow.”
Ileanforwardandholdmyheadinmyhands.Isqueezemyeyesshut.Iknowthat’swhatSamsonwants—formetoputmyselfbeforehim.Ijustdon’twanthimtowantthatforme.
Myfatherrubshishandovermyback,andthefeelingissosoothing,Ileanintohim,wrappingmyarmsaroundhim.Hehugsmeback,runningagentlehandovermyhead.
“Iknowithurts,”hewhispers.“IwishIcouldtakethatpainawayfromyou.”
Itdoeshurt.It’sfuckingbrutal.Itisn’tfair.IfinallyhavesomethinggoodinmylifeandnowI’mbeingforcedtoleaveitbehind.
They’reright,though.Everyoneisrightbutme.Ineedtoputmyselffirst.It’swhatI’vealwaysdoneandit’sworkedformesofar.
IthinkabouttheletterSamsonwrotetome,andthatlastlinethatgotcaughtupinmyheart.Gofloodthewholegoddamnworld,Beyah
Iinhaleagulpofthesaltymorningair,knowingIwon’tgetverymanymoreofthembeforeIleaveforPennsylvania.“WillyoutakecareofPepperJackCheesewhileI’mgone?”
Myfathersighswithrelief.“OfcourseIwill.”Hepressesasoftkissintomyhair.“Iloveyou,Beyah.”
There’ssomuchtruthinhiswords,andforthefirsttime,Iallowmyselftobelievehim.
ThisisthemomentIreleaseitall.Everysinglethingfrommychildhoodthat’smademyheartsoheavy.
Ireleasemyangertowardmyfather.
Ievenreleasemyangertowardmymother.
TheonlythingI’mgoingtoholdontofromthispointforwardarethegoodthings.
ImaynotbeendingthesummerwithSamsonbymyside,butI’mendingitwithsomethingIdidn’thavewhenIshoweduphere.
Afamily.THIRTY
MyroommateisagirlfromLosAngeles.HernameisCierrawithaC.
Wegetalongokay,butI’mtryingtostayfocusedonschoolandvolleyball,soIhaven’thungoutwithheroutsideofourdormroom.Otherthanwhenwe’rebothinheredoinghomeworkorsleeping,Idon’tseehermuch.It’sweirdhowIlivedacrossthehallfromSaraforasummerandsawhermorethanIseethepersonlivinginthesameroomwithmenow.
ImissSara,eventhoughwetexteveryday.SodomyfatherandI.
NoneofusdiscussSamson,though.NotsincethatmorningIdecidedtocometoPennsylvania.IneedeveryonetobelievethatI’vemovedon,butI’mnotsurehowto.Ithinkabouthimallthetime.I’llseesomethingorhearsomethingandfeelanintenseneedtotellhimaboutit.ButIcan’tbecausehe’smadesuretocutoffanyformofcommunicationIcouldhavewithhim.
Iwrotehimoneletteranditwasreturnedtome.Icriedthatentireafternoon,butdecidednottowritehimafterthat.
Hiscourthearingwasthismorning.Basedonallthecharges,he’slookingatseveralyearsofpotentialprisontime.I’vebeenwaitingbymyphonealldayforaphonecallfromKevin.
That’sallI’vebeendoing.Staringatmyphone.Waiting.IfinallygettiredofitanddialKevin’snumber.Iknowhesaidhe’dcallmeafterSamson’ssentencing,butmaybehegotheldup.IlookbehindmetomakesureCierraisstillintheshowerandthensitupstraightonmybedwhenKevinanswers.
“Iwasabouttocallyou.”
“Whathappened?”
Kevinsighs,andIfeelalltheweightofSamson’ssentenceinthatsigh.“Goodnewsandbadnews.Wewereabletogetthebreakingandenteringchargesdowngradedtotrespassing.Buttheywouldn’tbudgeonthearsonchargebecauseofthesecurityfootage.”
Myarmiswrappedtightlyaroundmystomach.“Howlong,Kevin?”
“Sixyears.Buthe’lllikelygetoutinfour.”
Ipressmyhandtomyforeheadanddropmyheadbetweenmyshoulders.“Whysolong?That’ssolong.”
“Itcouldhavebeenmuchworse.Hewasfacingtenyearsforthearsonalone.Hadhenotalreadyviolatedparoleinthepast,heprobablywouldhavebeenslappedonthewrist.Butthisisn’thisfirstoffense,Beyah.”
“Butdidyouexplaintothejudgewhyheviolatedparole?Hehadnomoney.Howcantheyexpectpeopletopayparolefeeswhentheyhavenomoney?”
“Iknowit’snotthenewsyouwanted,butit’sbetterthanitcouldhavebeen.”
I’msoupset.Ihonestlydidn’tthinkhewouldbesentencedtothatmuchtime.“Rapistsgetlesstimethanhedid.Whatiswrongwithourjudicialsystem?”
“Everything.You’reincollege.Maybeyoushouldbecomealawyeranddosomethingaboutit.”
MaybeIwill.Ihaven’tdeclaredamajoryetandnothingpissesmeoffmorethanthinkingofallthepeoplewhofellthroughthecracks.“Whatprisonaretheysendinghimto?”
“Huntsville,Texas.”
“Doyouhaveamailingaddressforhim?”
IcanhearKevin’shesitationoverthephone.“Hedoesn’twantvisitors.Ormail.Mynameistheonlyoneonhislistbesidesmymother’s.”
Ifiguredasmuch.Samsonisgoingtobestubbornaboutthisuntilthedayhe’sout.“I’mcallingyoueverymonthuntilhe’sreleased.Butpleasecallmefirstifthereareanychanges,orifhegetsoutearlyonparole.Anythingatall.Evenifhe’smovedtoadifferentlocation.”
“CanIgiveyouapieceofadvice,Beyah?”
Irollmyeyes,waitingforanotherlecturefromsomeoneelsewhodoesn’tknowSamsonatall.
“Ifyouweremydaughter,I’dtellyoutomoveon.You’reputtingtoomucheffortintothisguy,andnooneknowshimwellenoughtoknowifhe’sworththatkindofenergy.”
“WhatifSamsonwasyourson?”Iaskhim.“Wouldyouwanteveryonetojustgiveuponhim?”
Kevinsighsheavilybeforesaying,“Pointtaken.GuessI’lltalktoyounextmonth.”
Heendsthecall.Isetmyphonedownonthedresser,completelydisappointed.Helpless.
“Youhaveaboyfriendinjail?”
IspinaroundatthesoundofCierra’svoice.Myfirstinstinctistolietoherbecausethat’swhatI’vealwaysdone.Hidemytruthfromeveryonearoundme.Idon’tthinkthat’swhoIwanttobeanymore,though.
“No,he’snotmyboyfriend.JustsomeoneIcareabout.”
Cierrafacesthemirrorandholdsashirtuptoherchest.“Good.Becausethere’sapartytonightandIwantyoutocome.Therewillbesomanyguysthere.”Shetossestheshirtasideandholdsupanotherone.“Andgirlstoo,ifthat’swhatyouprefer.”
IstareatCierraasshewatchesherselfinthemirror.There’santicipationinhereyesandverylittledamage.She’swhoIwishIcouldberightnow.Someoneexcitedforthefunpartsofcollegelifeandnotatallweigheddownbythethingsshemighthavehadtoovercometogethere.
Ithasn’tfeltfairofmetohavefunwhenSamsonisstuckbehindbars,soallI’vedonesinceIarrivedoncampusisstudyandplayvolleyballandresearchwaystobreakpeopleoutofprison.
NoamountofmopingisgoingtochangeSamson’sfate.Andeventhoughhe’scutoffcommunicationwithme,Iknowexactlywhyhe’sdoneit.HeknowsI’llbetoofocusedandworriedabouthimifIstayinconstantcontactwithhim.Ican’tbeangryathimforthat.
AndwhenIcan’tstayangryathim,howamIsupposedtoforgethim?
NoonewillchangeSamson’smind,though.Iknowthatforafact,becauseiftheroleswerereversed,I’dwanttheexactsamethingshewantsforme.
Iunderstandhisintentionsineverypartofme.HowwouldhereactifhefoundoutIspentmyentiretimeincollegeasdepressedandaloneasIwasinhighschool?
HewouldbesodisappointedifIwastedtheseyears.
Icaneitherchoosetosticktoalonelyroadofhopethatmayneverbemet,orIcanfigureoutwhoIamwhileI’minthissetting.
WhatversionofmyselfcanIbewhileI’mhere?
Irunmyindexfingersundermyeyes.I’memotionalforalotofreasons,butmostlybecauseIfeellikeIhavetotrulyreleasemyselfofSamsoninthismomentorhe’llweighmedownforthenextseveralyearsofmylife.Idon’twantthat.Andneitherdoeshe.
“Whoa,”Cierrasays,spinningaroundtolookatme.“Ididn’tmeantoupsetyou.Youdon’thavetogo.”
Ismileather.“No,Iwantto.Iwanttogotoapartywithyou.IthinkImightbeafunperson.”
Cierrapushesherbottomlipoutlikemywordsjustmadehersad.“Ofcourseyou’refun,Beyah.Here.”Shetossesmetheshirtshewasholding.“Thiscolorwilllookbetteronyou.”
Istandupandholdtheshirtuptomyself.Ilookatmyreflectioninthemirror.Icanfeelthesadnessinsideofme,butIdon’tseeitonmyface.I’vealwaysbeengoodathidingwhatI’mfeeling.
“Wantmetodoyourmakeup?”sheasks.
Inod.“Yeah.I’dlikethat.”
Cierrawalksbacktothebathroom.Iglancenexttothebathroomdoor,atthepictureofMotherTeresaIhungonthewallthedayIarrived.
Iwonderwhatversionofherselfmymothercouldhavebeenifitweren’tforheraddictions?IwishIcouldhaveknownthatversion.
Forhersake,that’stheversionofherI’mgoingtochoosetomiss.Thepersonsheneverhadthechancetobe.
IkissmyfingersandthenpressthemagainstthepictureasIwalkpastitandintothebathroom.
Cierraissortinghermakeup.IpromisedmyselfwhenIfirstmetherthatIwasn’tgoingtoprejudgeherbylabelingheralockerroomgirllikeIalmostdidwithSara.NomatterwhoCierrawasinhighschool,orwhoIwas,we’reallmadeupofmorethanourpastbehaviors,goodorbad.
Inolongerwanttobetheversionofmyselfwhojudgedpeoplebeforeacceptingthem.IwasprojectingallthebehaviorsIresented.
Cierralooksatmyreflectioninthemirrorandsmileslikeshe’sjustasexcitedasSarawouldbetoglammeup.
Ismilebackatherandpretendtobeexcited,too.
IfIhavetopretendmywaythroughthisentireyear,it’swhatI’mgoingtodo.I’mgoingtosmilesomuchthatmyfakesmileeventuallybecomesrealTHIRTY-ONEFall2019
Todayhasthemakingsofbeingaperfectday.It’sOctoberandthesunisout,butit’scoolenoughthatI’vebeensittingonthehoodofmycarforthelasttwohoursandhaven’tevenbrokenasweat.
Butdespitethepotentialfortheday,thingscouldstillendinseveredisappointment.Ihavenoidea.
HowwillSamsonreactwhenhewalksthroughthosedoors?
Whowillhebe?
Whohashebecome?
There’sasayingfromMayaAngelouthatremindsmeofoursituation.Whensomeoneshowsyouwhotheyare,believethemthefirsttime
I’veclungtothatsayingsotightly,itfeelscarvedintomybones.IalwaysgobacktoitwhenIstarttohavedoubtsbecauseIwanttobelievethesummerIspentwithSamsonwastherealSamson.Iwanttobelievethathe’shopingI’mwaitingforhimasmuchasI’mhopinghewantsmehere.
Butevenifheisn’t,Ithinkenoughtimehaspassedthatmyheartbonehashealed.There’sstillacrackinit.Isometimesfeelitaching.Mostlywhenit’slateatnightandI’munabletosleep.
It’sbeenwelloverfouryearssincethelasttimeIsawhim,andmythoughtsofhimcontinuetoseparatefurtherapartbystretchesofthoughtsthatdon’tinvolveSamson.ButIdon’tknowifthat’sbecauseI’mtryingtoprotectmyselffromwhatcouldpotentiallyhappentodayorifit’sbecauseSamsonreallywasjustonesummerflinginalifefilledwithotherseasons.
That’stheworstoutcomeIcanimagine—thatallthemomentswesharedthatleftsuchalastingimpactonme,weren’tprofoundforhimatall.
I’vethoughtaboutsavingmyselfthepotentialembarrassment.Hemightseemeoutherewaitingonhimandbarelyrememberme.Orworse—hecouldfeelsorryforthegirlwhohungonafterallthistime.
Eitherofthoseoptionsareworththerisk,becausetheideaofhimwalkingoutthosedoorstonoonesoundslikethesaddestoutcomeofall.I’dratherbehereandhimnotwantmeherethannotbeherewhenhehopesIam.
KevincalledlastweekandsaidSamsonwasapprovedforearlyrelease.Iknewthat’swhathewasgoingtotellmebeforeIevenansweredhisphonecallbecauseKevinnevercallsme.I’mtheonewhocallshimtocheckifthereareupdates.Icallhimsomuch,I’mprobablymoreannoyingtohimthanatelemarketer.
I’msittingcross-leggedonthehood,eatinganappleIjustpulledoutofmybag.I’vebeenheregoingonfourhoursnow.
There’samaninthecarnexttomewhoisalsowaitingonsomeonetobereleased.Hegetsouttostretchhislegsandthenleansagainsthiscar.“Whoareyouherefor?”heasks.
Idon’tknowhowtoanswerthat,soIshrug.“Anoldfriendwhomaynotevenwantmehere.”
Hekicksatarock.“I’mhereformybrother.Thirdtimepickinghimup.Hopefullythiswillbehislastgo.”
“Hopefully,”Isay.ButIdoubtit.I’velearnedenoughabouttheprisonsystemduringmytimeincollegethatIhaveverylittlefaithinthesystem’sabilitytoproperlyrehabilitateoffenders.
It’swhyI’minlawschoolnow.I’mconvincedSamsonwouldn’tbeinthepositionhe’sinifhewouldhavehadbetteraccesstoresourceswhenhewasreleasedthefirsttime.EvenifIdon’tendupwithSamsonbytheendofthis,I’veendedupwithanewpassionbecauseofit.
“Whattimedotheyusuallyopenthedoors?”Iasktheman.
Theguylooksathiswatch.“Ifigureditwouldbebeforelunch.They’rerunningbehindtoday.”
Ireachintomybagthat’ssittingonthehoodnexttome.“Youhungry?Ihavechips.”
Heholdsuphishands,soItossthemathim.“Thanks,”hesays,openingthebag.Hepopsoneintohismouth.“Goodluckwithyourfriend.”
Ismile.“Goodlucktoyourbrother.”
Itakeanotherbiteofmyappleandleanbackontomywindshield.Iliftmyarmandrunmyfingersovermypinwheeltattoo.
IhatedthistattooafterSamsonwasarrested.Itwassupposedtobringmegoodluck,butinsteaditfeltlikemyworldbecameworsethanbeforeImovedtoTexas.Ittookatleastayearformetofullyappreciatethistattoo.
AsidefromeverythingthathappenedwithSamsonbeingarrested,everyotheraspectofmylifeimprovedaftergettingthistattoo.Ibecameclosertomyfatherandhisnewfamily.Saraisnotonlymysisternow,butmyabsolutebestfriendintheworld.
Igotacceptedtolawschool.IneverwouldhavethoughtwhenIpickedupavolleyballforthefirsttimeasakidthatitwouldleadtomebecomingalawyer.Me.Thelonelygirlwhooncehadtodounthinkablethingstofeedherselfisgoingtobeadamnlawyer.
Ithinkmaybethistattooreallydidturnmyluckaroundintheend.NotinthewayIexpectedittointhatmoment,butnowthatI’matthispointinmylife,Icanseeallthegoodthingsthatcamefromthatsummer.Samsonbeingoneofthosegoodthings,nomatterwhoheistoday.I’matapointinmylifewheretheoutcomeofmyfuturewon’tbedeterminedbytheoutcomeofanypotentialrelationship.
DoIwanthimtobewhoI’vealwaysbelievedhimtobe?Absolutely.
WillIcrumbleifheisn’t?Notatall.
Iamstillmadeofsteel.Comeatme,world.Youcan’tdamagetheimpermeable.
“Thedoorisopening,”themaninthecarnexttomesays.
Iimmediatelysitupanddropmyappleintomybagnexttome.
Ipressmypalmagainstmychestandexhaleassomeonebeginstoexitthebuilding.Itisn’tSamson.
Iwouldslideoffthecarandstandup,butI’mscaredmylegsaretooweaktoholdme.I’mabouttwentyfeetawayfromtheentrance,butthere’sachancehewon’tseemeifhe’snotexpectingsomeonetobewaitingforhim.
Themanwhojustwalkedoutlookstobeinhisfifties.Hescanstheparkinglotuntilhefindsthecarnexttomine.Henodshisheadandhisbrotherdoesn’tevengetoutofhiscar.Themanwalksoverandclimbsintothepassengerseatandtheytakeofflikethisisanairportandthesetripsarenormal.
I’mstillsittingcross-leggedonthehoodwhenIfinallyseehim.
Samsonemergesfromthebuildingandshieldshiseyesfromthesunlightwhilehelooksdownthesidewalktowardthebus.
Myheartisbeatingsofast.WayfasterthanIthoughtitwould.It’slikeallthefeelingsIeverhadasanineteen-year-oldgirlarewakingupallatthesametime.
Helooksalmostthesame.Moremanthanboynow,andhishairisalittledarker,butotherthanthat,helooksexactlylikehelooksinmymemories.Hepusheshishairawayfromhisfaceandbeginswalkingtowardthebuslotwithoutglancingintotheparkinglot.
Idon’tknowifIshouldcallhisnameorrunuptohim.He’swalkingawayfromme,towardthebuslot.Ipressmypalmsagainstthehood,preparedtoslideoffofit,whenhestopswalking.
HestandsstillforamomentwithhisbacktomewhileIholdmybreathinanticipation.It’sasifhewantstolook,buthe’sscaredhewon’tfindanyone.
Eventually,hebeginstoturnaround,asifhecansensemypresence.Hiseyesconnectwithmine,andhestaresatmeforsolong.He’sjustasunreadablenowashewasbackthen,butIdon’thavetoknowwhathe’sthinkingtofeeltheemotionsbeingreleasedbetweenus.
Hebringshishandsuptothebackofhisneckandspinsaroundlikehecan’tlookatmeforanothersecond.Iseetherollofhisshouldersasheslowlyexhales.
Hefacesmeagain,thistimewithaverytouchingexpression.“Didyougotocollege,Beyah?”Heyellsitacrosstheparkinglot,likeit’sthemostimportantquestionintheworld.Moreimportantthananyotherthoughtthatmightbegoingthroughhishead.
Assoonasheasksmethat,alone,fattearrollsdownmycheek.Inod.
WhenIdo,it’slikeallthetensioninhissoulreleasesinthatmoment.I’mstillsittingonthehoodofmycar,butevenfromhereIcanseethefurrowofhisbrow.Iwanttowalkovertohimandsmoothitoutandtellhimit’sfinallyokay.
Hestaresattheconcretelikehedoesn’tknowwhattodo.Butthenhefiguresitout,becausehebeginswalkingtowardmewithurgency.Herunsthelasttenfeet,andIgaspwhenhemeetsthecarbecausehedoesn’tstopthere.HecrawlsontothehoodandimmediatelyontomeuntilI’mforcedtoleanbackagainstmywindshield.Thenhismouthisonmineandhe’sapologizingtomewithasilentfiercenessIfeeltomycore.
Iwrapmyarmsaroundhisneck,andit’sasifasinglesecondneverevenpassed.Wekissonthehoodofmycarforseveralseconds,untilSamsoncan’tseemtostanditanymore.Hepullsawayandhopsoffthecar,thengrabsmywaistandpullsmetotheedge,loweringmyfeettothepavement.Hewrapshisarmsaroundmeandhugsmetighterthanthefirsthugheevergaveme.
Thenextfewminutesareacombinationoftears(mostlymine)andkissingeachotherandstaringateachotherindisbelief.Ihadsomanyquestionscomingintothis,butnowIcan’tthinkofasingleone.
Whenwestopkissinglongenoughforhimtospeak,hesays,“IprobablyshouldhaveaskedifyouwereseeingsomeonebeforeIdidthat.”
Ismilewithastrongshakeofmyhead.“I’mverysingle.”
Hekissesmeagain,slowly,andthenstaresatmymouthlikeit’sthethinghe’smissedthemost.“I’msorry.”
“Iforgiveyou.”
Anditreallyisassimpleasthat.
Hiseyebrowsdrawapartwithrelief.Hepullsmetightlyagainsthimandreleasesaheavysighintomyhair.“Ican’tbelieveyou’rereallyhere.”Hepicksmeupandspinsmearoundoncebeforesettingmebackdownonmyfeet.Herestsourforeheadstogetherandsmiles.“Whatnow?”
Ilaugh.“Ihavenoidea.Therestofmydaywascontingentupontheoutcomeofthismoment.”
“Sowasmine.”Hegrabsmyhandsandpullsthemuptohismouth,kissingmyknuckles.Thenhetucksmyfistsagainsthischestandsays,“IneedtoseeDarya.”
Hiswordsremindmeofalineinoneofhisfather’spoems.I’vereadthemsomanytimes,Ihavethemmemorized,soIsayitoutloud.“BecausewhenamansaysI’mgoinghome,heshouldbeheadingforthesea.”
IstarttopullawayfromhimsoIcanopenmycardoor,butSamsongripsmyhandandpullsmerightback.“Myfatherwrotethat.Youhavemybackpack?”
It’snotuntilthismomentIrealizeSamsonprobablyassumedhisbackpackwasgoneforever.“Yeah.Itookitthenighttheyarrestedyou.”
“Youkeptmyfather’spoemsforme?”
Inod.“OfcourseIdid.”
There’sapainedlookinhiseyes,asifhe’stryingtoholdbacktears.Thenheclosesthedistancebetweenusandslideshisfingersintomyhair,cradlingmyheadinhishands.“Thankyouforbelievinginme,Beyah.”
“Youbelievedinmefirst,Samson.It’stheleastIcoulddo.”THIRTY-TWO
Whenwefinallygottothebeach,hedidn’tevenpausetoappreciateit.Hegotoutofthecar,tookoffhisshirtandwalkedstraightintoher.I’vebeensittinginthesandwatchinghimswimforawhile.He’stheonlyoneoutinthewaterrightnowandI’mtheonlyoneonthebeach.It’semptybecauseit’sOctoberandSamsonisinsaneforbeinginthewaterwhenit’sthiscold.
ButIgetit.Heneedsit.Yearsoftherapy,rolledupintoaswim.
Heeventuallycomesbacktome,droppingtothesandnexttome.He’ssoakingwetandbreathinghard,buthelookscontent.Hesaidverylittleonthedrivehere,butIalsohaven’taskedverymuch.He’sbeendeprivedofeverythinghelovedforsolong,Iwanttogivehimtimetosoakitallinbeforebombardinghimwithquestionsaboutthelastfewyears.
Heglancesbehindus.“DoesnooneliveinMarjorie’shouse?”
“No.”
Heasksbecauseit’sobviousthehousehasn’tbeentakencareofsinceit’sbeenempty.Thereareshinglesmissingfromtheroof.Grassgrownuparoundthefoundation.
MarjoriepassedawayinMarch,soKevinwillprobablyputitupforsalesoon.IhatedthatSamsonwasn’tabletoattendherfuneral.Iknowshemeantalottohim.Sheevenvisitedhimafewtimesbeforeshedied.
Samsonrepositionshimselfsothathe’slyinginthesand,hisheadinmylap.Hestaresupatmewithalookofpeacefulcontent.Idragmyfingersthroughhiswethairandsmiledownathim
“Where’sPepperJackCheese?”heasks.
Inodmyheadatourhouse.“He’sanindoordognow.HeandDadbonded.”
“Whataboutyouandyourdad?”
Ismile.“Webonded,too.He’sbeengreat.”
Samsonbringsmyhandtohismouthandkissesit.Thenhegripsitwithbothhandsandpressesmypalmagainsthischest,holdingmyhandthere.
EverythingfellrightbackintoplacewithhimalmostassoonasIlaideyesonhimtoday.It’slikeasingleminuteneverevenpassed.Ihavenoideawhattomorrowholds,buteverythingIneedistiedupinthismoment.
“Youlookdifferent,”hesays.“Better.Happier.”
“Iam.”Icanfeelhisheartpoundingagainstmypalm.“I’mnotgonnalie,Iwassomadatyouinthebeginning,butyouwereright.Itwasforthebest.Ineverwouldhaveleftotherwise.”
“Itwasawful,”hesayswithacontradictinggrin.“Completetorture.Ican’ttellyouhowmanytimesIalmostcavedandaskedKevinforyouraddress.”
Ilaugh.“Gladtoknowyouthoughtofme.”
“Everyminute,”hesaysconfidently.Hereachesahandupandtouchesmycheek.Ileanintohispalm.“CanIaskyouapersonalquestion?”
Inod.
“Didyoudateotherguys?”
Iblinktwice.Iwasexpectinghimtoaskmethat,butmaybenotthissoon.
Heliftsupontohisarmuntilhe’sface-to-facewithme.Hereachesaroundmeandpressesacomfortinghandtothebackofmyneck.“I’monlyaskingbecauseI’mhopingyouranswerisyes.”
“You’rehopingIdatedotherpeople?”
Heshrugs.“NotsayingIwouldn’tbejealous.I’mjusthopingyouactuallyhadfunincollegeanddidn’ttreatyourdormroomlikeaprisoncell.”
“Idated,”Isay.“Ievenhadaboyfriendforawhileduringjunioryear.”
“Washenice?”
Inod.“Hewas.Buthewasn’tyou.”Ileanforwardandkisshimbriefly.“Imadefriends.Iwentout.Imadegoodgrades.AndIevenlovedmyvolleyballteam.Wewereprettydamngood.”
Samsongrinsandthenresumeshispositionbylayinghisheadonmythighs.“Good.Idon’tregretmydecision,then.”
“Good.”
“How’sSara?AresheandMarcosstilltogether?”
“Yeah,theygotmarriedlastyear.She’sfourmonthspregnant.”
“Goodforthem.Iwashopingthatwouldworkout.Whatabouthisclothingline?Diditevertakeoff?”
Ipointatahousedownthebeach.SamsonliftsupontohiselbowssohecanseewhereI’mpointing.“That’stheirhouse.Theyjustfinishedconstructiononitsixmonthsago.”
“Thatyellowone?”
“Yep.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah,theclothinglineisdoingwell.HehasalotoffollowersonTikTok,sothatgavehismerchahugeboost.”
Samsonshakeshishead.“TikTok?”
Ilaugh.“I’llshowyoulaterwhenyougetanewphone.”
“Oh,howthetableshaveturned,”Samsonsays.Hemovesuntilhe’ssittingnexttomeagain.Hewipessandfromhimself.“Canwegoseethem?”
“SaraandMarcos?Rightnow?”
“Notthissecond,”hesays.“Iwantmoretimetocatchupwithyou.I’dalsoliketoseeyourfather.Iowehimanapologyorten.”
“Yeah,that’snotgonnabeeasy.”
“Iknow.ButI’mpersistent.”Samsonwrapsanarmaroundmeandpullsmetohim.Hekissesthetopofmyhead.
“WhatamIsupposedtocallyou?ShawnorSamson?”
“Samson,”hesaysimmediately.“I’veneverfeltmoremyselfthanwhenIwaswithyouthatsummer.That’sexactlywhoIwanttobe.Forever.”
Iwrapmyarmsaroundmykneesandburymymouthintomyelbowtohidemysmile.
“Wheredoyoulivenow?”Samsonasksme.
Inodmyheadatmyfather’sbeachhouse.“StayingwithmyfatherandAlanathisweek,butIhaveanapartmentinHouston.I’minlawschool.”
“Noway.”
Ilaugh.“Iam.JuststartedmyfirstsemesterinAugust.”
Samsonshakeshisheadwithamixtureofprideanddisbeliefonhisface.“Ididn’tknowthat’swhatyouwantedtodo.”
“Ididn’tknoweitheruntilyouwerearrested.Kevinhasbeenreallyhelpful.I’mactuallyabouttostartaninternshipathisoffice.”
Samsonsmilessoftly.“I’mproudofyou.”
“Thankyou.”
“Itooksomecollegeclassesinprison,”hesays.“I’mgoingtotrytogetintoschoolsomewhere,ifanyonewilltakeme.”
Hiseyesdriftawayafterhesaysthat,likehe’sworriedforallthechallengeshe’sabouttoface.
“Whatwasprisonlike?”
Hesighs.“Real,realshitty.Igiveitaoneoutoften.Donotrecommend.”
Ilaugh.“What’sthenextstep?Whereareyougoingtostay?”
Samsonshrugs.“Kevinhasallthatinfo.Sayshesetsomethingtemporaryupforme.IwassupposedtocallhimassoonasIwasreleased,actually.”
Mymouthdropsopen.“Samson!It’sbeenfourhours.Youhaven’tcalledhim?”
“Idon’thaveaphone.IwasgoingtoaskifIcoulduseyours,butI’vebeenalittlesidetracked.”
Irollmyeyesandtakeoutmycellphone.“Ifyouviolateparoleoversomethingthisstupid,I’mdrivingyoutojailmyself.”
SamsonbrushessandfromhishandsandtakesthephoneafterIdialKevin’snumber.Kevinanswersafterthesecondring.
“Ihaven’theardfromhimyet,”Kevinsays,assumingit’smecalling.“IpromisedIwouldcallyouassoonasIdid.”
Samsonsmilesatmeashespeaksintomyphone.“It’sme,Kevin.I’mout.”
There’sapauseonKevin’sendbeforehesays,“ThisisBeyah’snumber.You’rewithher?”
“Yep.”
“Whereareyou?”
“We’reatthebeach.”
“CanBeyahhearme?”Kevinasks.
“Yes,”Isay,leaningtowardthephone.
“Iguessyouwererightabouthim.”
“Surewas,”Isaywithasmile.
“Itoldyouyou’regonnamakeonehellofalawyerwiththatkindofcommitment,”Kevinsays.“Listen,Samson.Youlistening?”
“Yep.”
“I’mgoingtoemailyoutheinformationforyourparoleofficertoday.Youhavesevendaystocheckinwithhim.You’llfindyourkeyundertherocktotherightofthetrashcan.”
Samsonglancesatmeandraisesabrow.“Whatkey?”
“Thekeytomymother’shouse.”
SamsonlooksoverhisshoulderatMarjorie’shome.“Idon’tknowwhatyoumean.”
“Yeah,Iknow.Mymothermademepromisenottotellyouuntilafteryouwerereleased,whichiswhyIinstructedyoutocallmeassoonasyougotout.Youfollowinstructionsterribly.Thedeedisatmyoffice,Icanbringitbysometimethisweek.ItriedtodowhatIcouldwiththehouse,butlifehasbeenbusy.Itneedsalotofwork.”
ThelookofdisbeliefonSamson’sfaceissomethingIwishIcouldtakeapicture.I’msurethesamelookissplashedacrossmyownface.
“Isthisajoke?”Samsonasks.
“No.Youmadesomestupidmistakesbutyoualsodidalotofgoodforalotofpeopleinthatcommunity.Mymotherbeingoneofthem.Shethoughtyoudeservedtobeabletocallthatplaceyourhomebecausesheknewhowmuchyoulovedit.”
Samsonreleasesatremblingbreathandthendropsthephoneinthesand.HepushesoffthegroundandwalksawayfromhisconversationwithKevin.Hepausesnearthewaterandgripsthebackofhisneck.
Ipickupthephoneandwipethesandoffofit.“Canwecallyoubacklater,Kevin?”
“Iseverythingokay?”
IwatchSamsonashestrugglestoabsorbeverythingKevinjusttoldhim.“Yeah.Ithinkhejustneedsawhiletoprocessthis.”
Afterendingthecall,IwalkovertoSamson.Istandinfrontofhimandliftmyhands,wipingthetearsawayfromhischeekslikehe’sdoneformesomanytimes.
Heshakeshishead.“Idon’tdeservethathouse,Beyah.”
Itakehisfaceinmyhandsandtiltituntilhisfocusisonmine.“You’vebeenpunishedenough.Acceptallthegoodthingslifeisthrowingatyoutoday.”
Heblowsoutaquickbreathandpullsmeintightly.Idon’tlethimhugmeforlongbecauseI’mtooexcitedtofindthatkey.Igrabhishandandpullhimawayfromthebeach.
“Comeon,Iwanttoseeyourhouse.”
WefindthekeyexactlywhereKevinsaiditwouldbe.WhenSamsongoestoinsertitintothelockonthedoor,hishandsareshaking.Hehastopauseforamomentandpresshispalmsintothedoorframe.“Thiscan’tbereal,”hewhispers.
It’sdarkwhenwewalkinside,butIcanseethelayerofdustonthefloorsbeforeheflipsonalight.There’samusty,saltysmelltotheplace.ButknowingSamson,thosearethingshe’llhavefixedbytomorrow.
Hetoucheseverythingaswewalkthroughthehouse.Thecabinets,thewalls,thedoorknobs,allofMarjorie’sfurniturethat’sstillhere.Hegoesintoeveryroomandsighsinallofthemlikehecan’tbelievethisishislife.
Ican’tbelieveiteither.
Samsonfinallyopensthedoortothestairwellthatleadstotheroofaccess.Ifollowhimupthestairsandontotheroofwherehetakesaseat.Hespreadshislegsandpatstheareaofspacebetweenthem,wantingmetositwithhim.
IlowermyselftotheroofandthenleanbackagainstSamson’sshoulder.Hewrapshisarmsaroundme,andasbeautifulastheviewisfromhere,IsqueezemyeyesshutbecauseI’vemissedthefeelingsIhaveforhimsomuch.MorethanIevenknew.
I’vegonesolongtryingnottofeelthem,IwasstartingtoworryInolongerfeltanything.Butthefeelingswerenevergone.Theyneverleft.Ijustforcedeverythingtosleepsoitwouldn’thurtasmuch.
Everynowandthen,Samsonshakeshisheadintotaldisbelief.I’veknownhimtobeaquietpersonsinceImethim,buthe’sneverbeenthisspeechlessaroundme.Ilovehisreaction.Ilovegettingtowitnesshislifechangeforthebetterrightbeforemyeyes.
Lookatus.Twolonelykidswhoslippedthroughallthecracks,butthenclimbedrightbackuptothetopoftheworld.
Samsontouchesmyface,urgingmetotiltmyheadbacksothatIcanseehim.He’slookingatmeinthewayIsawhimlookatmesomanytimesthatsummer—likeI’mthemostinterestingthingonthispeninsula.
Hekissesme,thenlowershisheadandpresseshislipstomyshoulder.Herestshismouthagainstmyskinforawhile,asifhe’smakingupforalltheyearshecouldn’tkissmethere.“Iloveyou.”
Thosethreewordsareasimplewhisperagainstmyskin,buttheyprovideenoughpressurethatIfeelmyheartbonehealcompletely.
Ileanmyheadbackagainsthisshoulderandlookoutatthewater.“Iloveyoutoo,Samson.”
TheEndAcknowledgments
Thankyoutomylittlesister,MurphyRae,fordesigningthecovertothisbookyearsago.Ilookedatitallthetime,waitingfortheopportunitytowritethestorythatwouldgracetheinsideofthiscover.YouaresogoodatwhatyoudoandIloveyou!
Ifcouldn’tbemoreappreciativeofmyearlyreaders.VannoyFite,EricaRussikoff,GloriaGreen,TasaraVega,KarenLawson,MariaBlalock,TalonSmith,AshleighTaylor,SusanRossman,KellieGarcia,StephanieCohen,EricaRamirez,LaurenLevine,KatiePickettDelRe,RacenaMcConnell,GloriaLandavazo,MandeeMigliaccio,andJennBenando.
AHUGEthankyoutoAnjanetteandEmileeGuerroroforyourknowledgeablevolleyballfeedback.
Thisbookwentthroughaseriesofeditors,allatdifferentstages.Ifyoufinderrorsinthisbook,itisnoone’sfaultbutmyown.Ikeptwriting,longaftertheyfinishedediting.AhugethankyoutoMurphyRae,LindseyFaber,EllieMcLove,andVirginiaTesiCareyforgettingthisbookintoshape.AndthankyoutoAlyssaGarciaforthewonderfulformatting.
ThankyoutoSocialButterflyandJennWatsonforalwayswantingthebestforyourauthorsandthebooksyourepresent.
ToArieleStewartandKristinDwyer,youtwoladiesareamazingandI’msoluckytohaveyouinmycorner,evenwhenyouaren’trequiredtobethere.
ThankyoutoeveryoneatDystel,GoderichandBourretforyourendlesssupport,encouragementandoverallhardworkoneverysingleoneofmybooks.
ThankyoutoMontlakePublishingforgivingmethefreedomtoenjoybeingbothanindieauthorandpartofyourrosterofpublishedauthors.Thereisnothingbetterthanhavingateamofpeoplesurroundingme,encouragingmetowritewhateverIfeellikewriting.
Amassivethankyoutothereadersforsupportingmycareer,myhobby,mydream.
TherearenumerouspeopleinmylifeIdon’tknowwhatIwoulddowithout.Somanycontributorsandvolunteerstoourcharities,numerouspeoplewhoassistwithmyFacebookgroups,allthebloggerswhosupportmybooks,alltheunicornswhoshowuptohelpwithBookBonanaza,alltheCoHortswhomakemesmiledaily.IfInamedeveryonebyname,theseacknowledgmentswouldbelongerthanthebook,becausetherearethousandsofyouimpactingmylifein