Heart Bones

by Hoover, Colleen

  “Are you in college?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Taking a gap year.”

  I laugh under my breath. I don’t mean to, but that answer is so out of touch with my reality.

  He raises a brow, silently questioning why I’m laughing at his answer.

  “When you’re poor and you take a year off after high school, you’re throwing away your future,” I say. “But if you’re rich and you take a year off, it’s considered sophisticated. They even give it a fancy name.”

  He stares at me a moment but says nothing. I’d like to drill a hole in his head so his thoughts can pour out. But then again, I might not like them.

  “What’s the purpose of a gap year, anyway?” I ask.

  “You’re supposed to spend the year finding yourself.” He says that last part with a hint of sarcasm.

  “Did you? Find yourself?”

  “I was never lost,” he says pointedly. “I didn’t spend my gap year backpacking through Europe. I’ve spent it manning rent houses for my father. Not very sophisticated.”

  It sounds like he’s a little resentful about that, but I’d give anything to get paid to live on a beach in a nice house. “How many houses does your family have here?”

  “Five.”

  “You live in five beach houses?”

  “Not all at once.”

  I think he might have just smiled a bit. I can’t tell. Could have been a shadow from the fire.

  Our lives are so incredibly different, yet here we are, sitting on the same beach in front of the same fire. Attempting to have a conversation that doesn’t prove how many worlds apart we are. But we’re so many worlds apart, we’re not even in the same universe.

  I wish I could be inside his head for a day. Any rich person’s head. How do they view the world? How does Samson view me? What do rich people worry about if they don’t have to worry about money?

  “What’s it like being rich?” I ask him.

  “Probably not much different than being poor. You just have more money.”

  That is so laughable, I don’t even laugh. “Only a rich person would say that.”

  He drops the stick back in the sand and leans back in his chair. He turns his head and makes eye contact with me. “What’s it like being poor, then?”

  I can feel my stomach drop when he throws my own question back at me with a spin. I sigh, wondering if I should be honest with him.

  I should. I’ve told too many lies in the past twenty-four hours, karma is sure to catch up with me. I give my attention back to the fire in front of us when I answer him.

  “We didn’t receive food stamps because my mother was never sober enough to make her appointments. We also didn’t have a car. There are children who grow up never having to worry about food, there are children whose families live off government assistance for various reasons, and then there are children like me. The ones who slip through all the cracks. The ones who learn to do whatever it takes to survive. The kind who grow up not giving a second thought to eating a slice of bread they pulled out of a discarded loaf on the deck of a ferry, because that’s normal. That’s dinner.”

  Samson’s jaw is hard as he stares back at me. Several beats of silence pass between us. He almost looks guilty, but then he glances away from me, giving his attention to the flames. “I’m sorry I said it wasn’t much different. That was a shallow thing to say.”

  “You aren’t shallow,” I say quietly. “Shallow people don’t stare at the ocean as deeply as you do.”

  Samson’s focus returns to mine as soon as I say that. His eyes have changed a little—narrowed. Darkened. He runs a hand down his face and mutters, “Fuck.”

  I don’t know why he says that, but it sends goose bumps down my arms. It feels like it might have been a realization about me somehow.

  I can’t ask him about it because I spot the girl and guy walking out of the water toward us. Cadence and Beau.

  When they get closer, I realize she’s the girl Samson was kissing in his kitchen earlier. She’s eyeing me as she makes her way over. The closer she gets, the prettier she gets. She doesn’t sit in a chair; she sits right down on Samson’s lap. She stares at me like she’s expecting me to have a reaction to the fact that she’s now using Samson as her personal chair, but I’m good at hiding what I’m feeling.

  Why am I even feeling anything at all?

  “Who are you?” Cadence asks me.

  “Beyah. I’m Sara’s stepsister.”

  I can tell by the way her eyes scroll over me that she’s definitely a locker room girl. She wraps an arm around Samson like she’s staking a claim. Samson just looks bored, or lost in thought. Beau, who was just in the water with Cadence, sits down next to me after grabbing a beer.

  His gaze starts at my feet and slowly slides up my body until he’s finally looking me in the eye. “I’m Beau,” he says with an ambitious grin, reaching out a hand.

  I shake it, but when I do, Sara reappears with Marcos from their swim. She groans when she sees Beau giving me attention. “Beyah is engaged to be married,” Sara says. “Don’t waste your time.”

  Beau looks down at my hand. “I don’t see a ring.”

  “That’s because the diamond is so big, it’s too heavy for her to wear all day,” she retorts.

  Beau leans in toward me, staring at me with a smirk. “She’s lying because she hates me.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Kentucky.”

  “How long are you here for?”

  “The summer, probably.”

  He grins. “Nice. Me too. If you ever get bored, I live over—” He lifts a hand to point toward wherever his house is, but he stops speaking because Sara is now standing in front of us.

  She grabs my hand. “Come on, Beyah. Let’s go home.”

  I’m relieved. I didn’t want to be here to begin with.

  I stand up and Beau rolls his eyes, throwing up a defeated hand. “You’re always ruining my fun, Sara.”

  Sara leans down and gives Marcos a kiss goodbye. I glance over in Samson’s direction. All I can seem to focus on is the hand he has pressed against Cadence’s thigh. I start to turn to walk with Sara, but right before I do, Samson makes eye contact with me. He stares so hard, I feel it pinching my chest. I look away and don’t look back as I follow Sara.

  “What’s up with Beau?” I ask as we walk back toward the house.

  “He’s inappropriate in every way imaginable. Please don’t give him any attention, it’s the last thing he deserves.”

  It’s hard to give anyone else attention when Samson is in my presence.

  Sara and I walk past the dunes and everything in me wants to give one last glance back toward him, but I don’t.

  “What about the girl? Cadence?”

  “Don’t worry,” Sara says. “She’ll be gone tomorrow and Samson will be free.”

  I laugh. “I’m not waiting in that line.”

  “Probably for the best,” Sara says when we reach her house. “Samson’s leaving for the Air Force Academy at the end of the summer. As much as I was hoping I could set the two of you up, it would also suck if you fell for him right before he gets shipped away.”

  I pause on the stairs when she says that, but she doesn’t notice because she’s in front of me. But that takes me by surprise. He didn’t mention what he was doing after his gap year was over. I don’t know why, but I didn’t expect it to be the military.

  When we get inside the house, all the lights are out. “Want to stay up and watch a movie?”

  “I’m exhausted. Maybe tomorrow night?”

  She sits down on the sofa and grabs the remote. She leans her head back into the couch and looks at me upside down. “I’m glad you’re here, Beyah.” She powers on the TV and her attention is no longer on me, but her words make me smile.

  I believe her when she says she’s glad I’m here. That feels good. It’s not often I feel like my presence is appreciated. Or ev
en noticed.

  When I get up to my room, I close and lock the door.

  I walk over to the balcony doors and open them, wanting to listen to the sound of the ocean tonight while I sleep. But I also want to see what Samson is doing.

  Marcos and Beau are still down at the fire. Cadence is walking away from the group in the opposite direction of Samson’s house.

  Samson is walking over the dune crossing, heading toward his house. Alone.

  Why does that make me happy?

  I don’t want him to notice me up here, so I walk back into my room and close the balcony doors.

  Before I crawl into bed, I take Mother Teresa out of the plastic sack she traveled in and prop the painting up on the dresser. It looks so out of place in this fancy room, but that makes me even happier that I brought it with me. I need a piece of home to remind me that this room and this house and this town are not my reality.

  NINE

  What the hell is that sound?

  I put my hand over my ear, confused by the noise that’s forcing me out of a perfectly deep sleep. It’s coming from across the room. I open my eyes and lift my head off the pillow, and the sound gets louder. I glance outside and there’s barely any light. The horizon is gray, like the world is still preparing to wake up.

  I groan and toss the covers aside so I can locate the source of all the noise. It sounds like it’s coming from the dresser, so I shuffle over to it.

  It’s my new phone. I wipe sleep from my eyes so I can read the screen. It’s only 5:59 a.m.

  An alarm is set on my phone. It says: Go watch the sunrise.

  That’s all the alert says.

  I cancel the alarm and the room falls silent again. I glance behind me, toward the balcony.

  Samson.

  It better be worth it.

  I grab the comforter off my bed and wrap myself in it. I go out onto the balcony and look at Samson’s balcony. It’s empty.

  I sit down in one of the chairs and pull the covers up to my chin. I stare out over the dark horizon. To the east, there’s just the smallest sliver of sun peeking out over the ocean. To the north, the skies are dark and occasionally burst with lightning. It looks like a storm is rolling in, threatening to snuff out the light.

  I sit on my balcony and stare at the sun as it slowly illuminates the peninsula. I listen to the sound of the waves as they wash onto the beach. Thunder rolls in the distance while seagulls begin to chirp nearby.

  I’m in a complete trance for several minutes as the wind begins to pick up. As bright as the sunrise began, it slowly darkens as the storm moves closer. The skies swallow up every hue of color that was attempting to burst through, and after a while, everything is a muted gray.

  That’s when the rain starts. I’m protected by a roof over the balcony, and the wind isn’t extreme right now, so I remain outside, watching as everything that started out hopeful just fifteen minutes ago slowly turns to gloom.

  I wonder if Samson knew there would be a storm rolling in with the sunrise today. I glance over at his house and he’s standing in his doorway, leaning against the doorframe, holding a cup of coffee. He isn’t looking at the rain or the ocean or the sky.

  He’s looking at me.

  Seeing him watching me stirs something inside of me that I don’t want to be stirred. I stare back at him for a moment, wondering if he wakes up every morning to watch the sunrise or if he just wanted to see what I would do about the alarm he set on my phone.

  Maybe he actually appreciates the sunrise. Is he one of the few who doesn’t take this view for granted?

  I think there’s a chance I might be wrong about him. I might have judged him a little too soon. But then again, what’s it matter if I am wrong? Things between us are awkward and I don’t see that changing unless one of us has a personality transplant.

  I break our stare and walk back inside. I crawl back into bed.

  I think I’ll just stay here.

  TEN

  I’ve spent the majority of the last three days in my bedroom. The rain coupled with the week I’ve had made me not want to face the world at all. Plus, this bedroom is becoming my favorite place because I feel secure here, encased by these four walls. I have an unobstructed view of the ocean, a television I’ve finally figured out how to work, and my own bathroom.

  I really could stay in this room for the rest of my time here and be content.

  The issue is everyone else who lives in this house.

  My father has checked on me multiple times. I told him I had a headache and my throat was sore and it hurt to talk, so he just pops in every now and then and asks if I’m feeling okay.

  Sara has been bringing me things. Food, water, medicine I don’t really need. At one point yesterday, she crawled into my bed and watched Netflix with me for an hour before leaving to go on a date with Marcos. We didn’t speak much, but I surprisingly didn’t mind her company.

  She has a good energy. Sometimes I feel like a black hole around her. Like maybe I’m sucking all the life out of her by just being in her innocent presence.

  I’ve kept track of Samson’s routine more than I care to admit. I don’t know why I’m so curious about him. His routine intrigues me, though.

  I’ve left his alarm on my phone because the sunrises seem to have become a thing with us. He’s out on his own balcony every morning. We watch the world wake up alone, yet together. Each time I make my way back into my bedroom, we make brief eye contact. He doesn’t speak to me, though.

  He’s either not a morning person, or he’d rather appreciate the sunrise in silence. Either way, it feels intimate somehow. Like we have this secret daily meeting no one else knows about, even though we never speak during said meeting.

  I usually go back to bed afterward, but Samson always leaves his house. I don’t know where he goes that early each morning, but he’s gone most of every day. And when he returns at night, his house is always dark. He only ever turns on the light to whatever room he’s in, and then he turns out the light as soon as he leaves that room.

  He seems to live with military precision already. The house is spotless, from what I can tell from my window. Makes me wonder what kind of father he has. If he’s going into the military, maybe he was raised in the military. Maybe that’s why he seems so controlled and keeps his house so clean.

  I really need to find something to occupy my brain if this is what I spend my time thinking about. Maybe I should get a job. I can’t stay in this room forever.

  I could buy a volleyball and a net and get some practice in, but that doesn’t sound appealing at all. We’ve already been assigned workout routines and schedules from the coach, but I haven’t even opened the email. I don’t know why, but I have absolutely no desire to look at a volleyball until I’m in Pennsylvania. I’ve lived volleyball for the past five years of my life. I’m about to live it for the next four.

  I deserve a month or two of not having to think about it.

  The rain has stopped and the sun is out today. If I continue to pretend I’m sick for a fourth day in a row, my father might actually take me to a doctor. I don’t really have an excuse to stay in my room much longer and it would be a good day to go out and job hunt. Maybe I could get a waitressing job and save up my tips for when I leave for college.

  I’d give anything for another day like the three that came before this one, though. But it doesn’t look like I’m gonna get it because someone is knocking at my bedroom door.

  “It’s me,” Sara says. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.” I’m already sitting up on the bed, leaning against the headboard. Sara crawls onto the bed and sits next to me. She smells like cinnamon.

  “You feeling better?”

  I nod and force a small smile. “Yeah, a little bit.”

  “Good. The rain finally stopped. You want to have a beach day later?”

  “I don’t know. I was thinking maybe I should look for a summer job. I need to save up some money for college.”

  S
he laughs at that. “No. Enjoy your last summer before adulthood kicks in. Take advantage of all this,” she says, waving her hand in the air.

  She’s so chipper. I’m still stuck in yesterday’s mood. There’s an obvious imbalance between us right now. She notices because her smile disappears and she narrows her eyes at me.

  “You okay, Beyah?”

  I smile, but it takes too much effort and my smile falters with a sigh. “I don’t know. This is all just… it’s kind of weird for me.”

  “What?”

  “Being here.”

  “Do you want to go back home?”

  “No.” I don’t even know where home is right now, but I don’t say that. I’m in limbo and it’s a strange feeling. A depressing feeling.

  “Are you sad?” she asks.

  “I think so.”

  “Is there anything I can do about it?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  She rolls onto her side, holding her head up with her hand. “We have to get you out of this funk. Do you think some of it is because you feel like a stranger in this house?”

  I nod. I do feel out of place here. “It probably contributes.”

  “Then we just need to fast-track our friendship.” She rolls onto her back. “Let’s get to know each other. Ask me some questions.”

  There actually is a lot I want to know about her, so I lean my head against the headboard and think of some. “Do you have a good relationship with your mother?”

  “Yeah. I love her, she’s my best friend.”

  Lucky. “Where is your dad?”

  “He lives in Dallas. They divorced five years ago.”

  “Do you ever see him?”

  Sara nods. “Yeah. He’s a good dad. A lot like yours.”

  I somehow keep a straight face after that comment.

  She’s got two good parents and a stepfather that seems to know her better than he knows his own daughter. I hope she doesn’t take that for granted.

  Sara hasn’t been through a lot of hardship. I can tell by looking at her. She’s still full of hope. “What’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you?” I ask her.