“You don’t have to tell me what happened.”
I make eye contact with him. “I want to, though.”
“Then tell me,” he says gently.
My eyes focus on everything but him. I look at the roof of the balcony, then at the floor, then at the ocean over Samson’s shoulder.
“His name was Dakota,” I say. “I was fifteen. A freshman. He was a senior. The guy every girl in the school wanted to date. The guy every other guy wanted to be. I had a mild crush on him like everyone else. Wasn’t anything serious. But then one night he saw me walking home after a volleyball game, so he offered me a ride. I told him no because I was embarrassed for him to see where I lived, even though everyone knew. He convinced me to get in the truck anyway.” I somehow bring my gaze back to Samson’s. His jaw is hard again, like he’s expecting this story to go the way he assumed earlier. But it doesn’t.
I don’t know why I’m telling him. Maybe I’m subconsciously hoping that after he hears this, he’ll leave me alone for the rest of the summer and I won’t have this intense and constant distraction.
Or maybe I’m hoping he’ll tell me that what I did was okay.
“He drove me home and for the next half hour, we talked. He sat in my driveway and didn’t judge me. He listened to me. We talked about music and volleyball and how he hated being the son of the police chief. And then…he kissed me. And it was perfect. For a moment, I thought maybe the things I assumed people thought of me weren’t true.”
Samson’s eyebrows draw apart. “Why just for a moment? What happened after he kissed you?”
I smile, but not because it’s a fond memory. I smile because the memory makes me feel ignorant. Like I should have expected it. “He pulled two twenties out of his wallet and handed them to me. Then he unzipped his jeans.”
Samson’s expression is vacant. To most people, they would assume that was the end of the story. They would assume I threw the money back at Dakota and got out of the truck. But I can tell by the way Samson is looking at me that he knows that’s not where the story ends.
I fold my arms across my chest. “Forty dollars was a lot of money,” I say as another tear slides down my cheek. It curves at the last minute and lands on my lip. I can taste the saltiness of it as I wipe it away. “He gave me a ride home at least once a month after that. He never spoke to me in public. But I didn’t expect him to. I wasn’t the kind of girl he could parade around town. I was the kind of girl he wouldn’t even tell his closest friends about.”
I wish Samson would say something because when he just stares at me, I keep rambling. “So to answer your question, no, he didn’t force me to do anything. And to be honest, he never even threw it in my face. He was actually a decent guy compared to—”
Samson immediately interrupts me. “You were fifteen the first time it happened, Beyah. Do not call that guy decent.”
The rest of my sentence gets stuck in my throat, so I swallow it.
“A decent guy would have offered you money with no return expectations. What he did was just…” Samson looks like he’s filled with disgust. I’m not sure if that’s aimed at Dakota or me. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “That day on the ferry when I handed you money…that’s why you thought…”
“Yeah,” I say quietly.
“You know that’s not what I was doing, right?”.
I nod. “I know that now. But even knowing that…I still feared it when you kissed me. That’s why I came outside. I was scared you would look at me like Dakota did. I’d rather not be kissed at all than risk feeling that worthless again.”
“I kissed you because I like you.”
I wonder how true that is. Are his words accurate or convenient? Has he said them before? “You like Cadence, too?” I ask him. “And all the other girls you’ve made out with?”
I’m not trying to throw it in his face. I’m genuinely curious. What do people feel when they kiss other people as often as he does?
Samson doesn’t look like he takes offense to my question, but it does look like I’ve made him uncomfortable. His posture stiffens a bit. “I’m attracted to them. But it’s different with you. A different kind of attraction.”
“Better or worse?”
He thinks on this for a moment and settles on, “Scarier.”
I release a quick laugh. I probably shouldn’t take that as a compliment, but I do, because that means he’s getting a taste of my own fear when we’re together.
“Do you think the girls you’re with enjoy being with you?” I ask. “What are they getting out of it by just having a weekend fling?”
“The same thing I get from them.”
“Which is what?”
He’s definitely uncomfortable now. He sighs and leans over the railing again. “Did you not like it when we kissed earlier?”
“I did,” I say. “But I also didn’t.”
I find a comfort in his non-judgmental presence, and it’s confusing, because if I’m comfortable around him and I’m attracted to him, why did I start to panic when he was kissing me?
“Dakota took something you’re supposed to enjoy and he made you feel ashamed of it. It’s not like that for all girls. The girls I’ve been with—they enjoy it as much as I do. If they didn’t, I wouldn’t allow it to happen.”
“I enjoyed it a little bit,” I admit. “Just not the whole time. But that’s not your fault, obviously.”
“It isn’t yours, either,” he says. “And I won’t kiss you again. Not unless you ask me to.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t understand why that feels like both a punishment and a chivalrous gift.
He smiles gently. “Won’t kiss you, won’t hug you, won’t make you get back in the ocean.”
“My God, I’m just a ball of fun,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“You probably are. Hell, I might be, too. We just have too much piled on top of us to know what we’re like when we’re not under pressure.”
I nod in complete agreement. “Sara and Marcos are fun. But me and you? We’re just…depressing.”
Samson laughs. “Not depressing. We’re deep. There’s a difference.”
“If you say so.”
I don’t know how we possibly ended this night and this conversation with both of us smiling. But I’m afraid if I don’t walk away now, one of us will say something to ruin this moment. I back a step away from him. “See you tomorrow?”
His smile falters. “Yeah. Good night, Beyah.”
“Good night.”
I slip away from him, toward the stairs. Pepper Jack Cheese stands up and follows me down. When we reach the stilt level of my house, I spin around and look up at him. Samson hasn’t gone back inside yet. He’s leaning over the balcony, watching me. I walk backward a couple of feet, until I’m under the house and can’t see him anymore.
When he’s out of my line of sight, I stop walking and lean against a pillar. I close my eyes and run my hands down my face. There’s no way I can be around him all summer and not want to be consumed by him. But I also don’t want to be consumed by someone I’m just going to have to say goodbye to eventually.
I might feel invincible sometimes, but I’m not Wonder Woman.
Alana is awake and in the kitchen when I walk back into the house. She’s at the counter, leaning over a bowl of ice cream. She takes a spoon out of her mouth and smiles at me. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah. Thank you.”
“What about Samson? Is he okay?”
I nod. “He’s fine. He said Dad doesn’t hit all that hard.”
Alana laughs. “I’m surprised your father hit him. I didn’t know he had it in him.” She points at her ice cream. “You want a bowl?”
Ice cream actually sounds like heaven right now. I need something to cool me down. “I’d love some.”
Alana pulls a bowl out of the cabinet and I take a seat at the bar. She takes ice cream out of the freezer and begins scooping it into the bowl. “I’m sorry if we embarrassed yo
u earlier.”
“It’s okay.”
Alana pushes the bowl of ice cream across the counter. I take a bite and it’s so good, I want to groan. But I stay quiet and eat it like ice cream has always been something I had access to. In reality, we never had it at our house. I learned not to keep much frozen stuff because when the power gets cut due to lack of payment, cleaning out a freezer of melted and rotten food is never fun.
“Can I ask you something?” Alana says.
I nod but keep the spoon in my mouth. I’m nervous for whatever it is she’s going to ask me. I just hope she doesn’t ask me about my mother. Alana seems nice and I’m not sure I can lie to her, but I certainly don’t want to tell her the truth right now.
“Are you Catholic?”
That’s not what I was expecting her to ask. “No. Why?”
She flicks a hand toward the ceiling. “Saw the picture of Mother Teresa in your room.”
“Oh. No. It’s just…it’s more like a souvenir.”
She nods, and then says, “So you aren’t religiously opposed to birth control?”
There it is. I look away from her, down to my ice cream. “No. But I’m not currently taking it. I’m not…you know.”
“Sexually active?” She says it so casually.
“Yeah. Not anymore, anyway.”
“Well,” she says. “That’s good to hear. But if you think you might find yourself in a situation this summer where that might change, it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared. I can make you an appointment.”
I take another bite of my ice cream to stall my response. She can probably see the flush in my cheeks.
“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Beyah.”
“I know,” I say. “I’m just not used to talking about things like this with people.”
Alana casually drops her spoon in her empty bowl and walks it to the sink. “Your mother never talks to you about this stuff?”
I stab at my ice cream. “No.”
She turns around and looks at me quietly for a moment. “What’s she like?”
“My mother?”
Alana nods. “Yeah. Your father never knew her that well and I’ve been curious. She seems to have done a good job with you.”
I laugh.
I wish I wouldn’t have laughed because I can tell my reaction just filled Alana with a dozen more questions. I take a bite of my ice cream and shrug. “She’s nothing like you.”
I meant that as a compliment, but Alana seems confused by my answer. I hope she didn’t take it as an insult, but I don’t really want to get into it even deeper or I’ll end up telling her the truth. I want to save the news about my mother for my father. I feel like I should tell him before I tell Alana.
I definitely should have told him before I told Samson. But I can’t seem to control my secrets around Samson for some reason.
I push the half-eaten bowl of ice cream away from me. “I do want to get on the pill. Not that Samson and I are…” I look up at the ceiling and blow out a breath. “You know what I mean. I’d like to be safe, just in case.” God, this is hard to talk about. Especially with a woman who is essentially a stranger to me.
Alana smiles. “I’ll set up an appointment tomorrow. No biggie.”
“Thank you.”
Alana turns around to wash my bowl. I use the moment to escape to privacy upstairs. I’m about to walk into my bedroom when I hear Sara say, “Hold up, Beyah. I need a detailed report.”
I pause and look into her bedroom. Her door is open, and she and Marcos are sitting on her bed. She looks at Marcos and waves him away. “You can go home now.”
He looks like he isn’t used to being dismissed. “Okay, then.” He stands up, but leans over and kisses Sara. “Love you, even though you’re kicking me out.”
She smiles. “Love you too, but I have a sister now, so you have to share me.” She pats the mattress where Marcos was sitting and looks at me. “Come here.”
Marcos salutes me as he’s walking out of Sara’s bedroom.
“Close the door,” Sara says to Marcos.
I walk to her bed and sit on it. She pauses the television and then repositions herself on the bed so that she’s facing me.
“How’d it go?”
I lean against the headboard. “Your mother trapped me in the kitchen with ice cream and then talked to me about my sex life.”
Sara rolls her eyes. “Never fall for the ice cream trick. She uses it on me all the time. But I’m not referring to that and you know it. I saw you walking over to Samson’s house earlier.”
I debate telling Sara that we kissed, but that seems like something I should keep private for now. At least until I figure out if I want it to happen again.
“Nothing happened.”
She deflates, falling onto her back. “Ugh. I wanted juicy details.”
“There are none. Sorry.”
“Did you even try to flirt with him?” she asks, sitting back up. “It doesn’t take much for Samson to put his mouth on a girl. If it has boobs and it’s breathing, it’s good enough for him.”
My stomach catapults to the floor with that comment. “Is that supposed to make me want him more? Because it doesn’t.”
“I’m exaggerating,” she says. “He’s hot and he’s rich, so girls just tend to throw themselves at him and sometimes he catches them. What guy wouldn’t?”
“I don’t throw myself at people. I avoid people.”
“But you went to his house.”
I raise an eyebrow, but say nothing.
Sara smiles, like that’s enough for her to work with. “Maybe we should go on a double date tomorrow night.”
I don’t want to encourage her, but I’m also not sure I’m opposed to that idea.
“I take your silence as a yes,” she says.
I laugh. Then I groan and cover my face with my hands. “Ugh. This is all so confusing.” I drop my arms and slide down until I’m staring up at her ceiling. “I feel like I’m giving it too much thought. I’m trying to think of all the reasons why it isn’t a good idea.”
“Name a few,” Sara suggests.
“I’m not good at relationships.”
“Neither is Samson.”
“I’m leaving in August.”
“So is Samson.”
“What if it hurts when we end things?”
“It probably will.”
“Then why would I want to subject myself to that?”
“Because most of the time, the fun you have that leads to the pain is worth the pain.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had fun.”
“Yeah, I can tell,” she says. “No offense.”
“None taken.”
I turn my head and look at Sara. She’s on her side, her head held up by her hand. “I’ve never had feelings for anyone before. If that happens, how bad is it going to hurt when summer is over?”
Sara shakes her head. “Stop it. You’re thinking too far ahead. Summers are for thinking about today and today only. Not tomorrow. Not yesterday. Today. So what do you want right now?”
“Right now?” I ask.
“Yes. What do you want right now?”
“Another bowl of ice cream.”
Sara sits up and grins. “Dammit, I love having a sister.”
And I love that Sara didn’t even flinch when I mentioned ice cream. Maybe I’m not as bad for her as I thought. I might not be as bubbly and as happy as she is, but knowing she’s starting to enjoy food and doesn’t seem as worried about her weight as she did when I arrived makes me think I might actually have something to offer in this friendship.
This is a new feeling—the idea that maybe I’m worth having around.
THIRTEEN
The alarm on my phone goes off before the sun is even up.
I should probably cancel the damn thing, but there’s something exciting about watching the sunrise and getting a possible glimpse of Samson while it happens.
I crawl out of bed wearing the T-shi
rt I slept in last night. I pull on a pair of shorts just in case Samson is awake and on his balcony outside.
I’ve been awake for ten seconds and I’ve already thought of him twice. Denying him last night doesn’t seem to be working out for me.
I unlock my balcony door and slide it open.
Then I scream.
“Shh,” Samson says, laughing. “It’s just me.”
He’s sitting on the wicker outdoor couch with his legs propped up in front of him on the railing. I press my hand to my chest and blow out a calming breath.
“What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you,” he says casually.
“How did you even get over here?”
“I jumped.” He holds up his arm, showing me his elbow. It’s smeared with blood. “It was farther than it looked from my railing, but I made it.”
“Are you insane?”
He shrugs. “I wouldn’t have fallen very far if I didn’t make it. I would have just landed on the balcony roof below us.”
That’s true. He wouldn’t have fallen to the ground because of the way this house sits, but still. There’s about three feet with nothing below him when he’s in the air between houses.
I sit down next to him. The seat is meant for two, but it’s still small, so our sides touch. I think that was his goal, though, or he would have chosen any of the single chairs on the balcony.
I lean my head against the back of the chair. I end up somehow leaning even more into him than I had intended, and my head is now resting against his upper arm, but it doesn’t feel unnatural.
We’re both staring out over the water at the small sliver of sun peeking up at the world.
We spend the next several minutes in silence, watching the sunrise together. I have to say, it feels better watching it with Samson on my balcony than when he’s on his own.
Samson rests his chin on top of my head. It’s a tiny move, but even that slight and silent display of affection feels like an explosion somehow. I don’t know how everything inside of me can feel so loud while this part of the world is still asleep.
The sun is three quarters of the way visible now. The bottom half still looks like it’s dipped in the sea.
“I need to leave; I’m helping a guy repair a dune crossing on the island. We want to get it done before it gets too hot. What are your plans?”
Heart Bones Page 12