I nod, but then I shake my head. I don’t know if I’m agreeing or disagreeing. “What do you mean by shallow end?”
His stare matches the tightness in my chest. He slides his tongue over his top lip like he’s thinking of how to elaborate on his thoughts without hurting my feelings. “I just mean…if this becomes a thing. A summer thing. That’s all I want it to be. I don’t want to leave here in August in a relationship.”
“I don’t want that, either. We’ll be on two different sides of the country.”
He slides the backs of his fingers down my arm. When he slides them back up again, he doesn’t stop at my shoulder. His fingers glide up my collarbone until he’s touching my cheek.
“People sometimes still drown in the shallow end,” he whispers.
That’s a dark thought. One I think he probably meant to keep to himself. But here I am, pulling back those layers whether he likes it or not.
So many layers.
I don’t know how kissing him felt like I bypassed every layer and burrowed right into his core, but it did. It’s like I see the real him, despite all the unknown that still surrounds him.
“Who was that guy at dinner?” I ask.
He swallows hard, glancing away, and it makes me want to run a soothing hand down his throat. “I don’t want to lie to you, Beyah. But I also can’t be honest with you.”
I have no idea what that means, but the thing about Samson is, he doesn’t seem to be the type to want attention or manufacture drama. So by saying something like this, it makes me think it’s even worse than how he’s presenting it.
“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” I ask him.
He brings his eyes back to mine with another predictable shake of his head.
“It’s that bad?”
“It’s bad.”
“Worse than what I did with Dakota?”
Samson presses his lips into a thin, irritated line, and then dips his head, looking at me with intensity. “There are two different kinds of wrong. The wrong that stems from weakness and the wrong that stems from strength. You made that choice because you were strong and needed to survive. You didn’t make that choice because you were weak.”
I grasp on to every word of that because I want to make it my truth.
“Will you just answer one question for me?” I ask. He doesn’t say yes but he doesn’t say no. He just waits for my question. “Was it an assault of any kind?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
I’m relieved by that. He can tell. He brushes my hair over my shoulders with both hands and then presses his mouth against my forehead. He kisses me there, then leans his head against mine. “I’ll tell you the day before you leave for college.”
“If you’re eventually going to tell me, why can’t you just tell me right now?”
“Because I want to spend the rest of the summer with you. And if I tell you, I don’t think you’ll want that.”
I’m not sure what he could possibly tell me that would make me not want to speak to him, but I know if I dwell on it, I’m just going to stress over it.
I’ll wait.
At the rate our conversations have been going, I’ll get it out of him before August.
But for now, I just nod because it’s nothing he wants to tell me tonight. And if there’s one thing I can do right now, it’s show him the same patience he showed me last night.
He kisses me again. It’s a quick kiss. A goodnight kiss.
I don’t say anything as I pull away from him and walk toward the door because all my words feel too big for my voice. It’s hard just walking out his door right now. I can’t imagine what August third will feel like.
P.J. is waiting outside the door when I close it. He follows me loyally down the stairs and to the house. When I reach the top of the stairs to the house, he walks to his dog bed and lies down.
Thankfully, no one is in the living room when I enter the house. I lock the door and sneak up the stairs. Before I open my door, I glance at Sara’s bedroom door.
I think I want to tell her we kissed. It’s a weird feeling, wanting to open up to another girl. I never even told Natalie about the thing between Dakota and me. I was too ashamed to tell her.
I knock softly on Sara’s door, not wanting to wake up anyone else in the house. Sara doesn’t say anything. She’s probably still at the beach.
I push her door open to check and see if she’s in her bed, but as soon as I peek my head inside, I pull the door shut.
Marcos was on top of her. He was clothed, but still. I wasn’t expecting that.
I walk to my room, but then remember what Sara said at the beach about just giving her a silent sign.
I walk back into her room. She and Marcos stop kissing and look at me. I reach the bed and hold up a hand to get a high five from her.
She laughs and high-fives me. “Hell yes!” she whispers as I leave her room.
SEVENTEEN
The last few days have been the least stressful days of my life. It’s like spending time with Samson releases some kind of hormone from my brain that’s been missing for nineteen years. I feel happier. I don’t feel like I’m on the verge of breaking all the time.
I’m sure it’s more than just Samson. It’s a combination of all the things I’ve never had before. Decent shelter that isn’t rotting from the inside by termites. Three meals a day. A constant friend who lives right across the hall. The ocean. The sunrise.
It’s almost too much good happening at once. I’m overdosing on good things, which only means I’ll eventually have to go through the withdrawal when summer ends. But like Sara said, summers are for focusing on today and today only. I’ll worry about the painful part of summer on August third.
Samson decided a ladder would be safer and easier to reach my balcony in the mornings than jumping proved to be. I’m sitting in my usual seat on my balcony eating grapes I just took from the refrigerator when I hear him raising the ladder. My favorite part of our morning routine is when he reaches the top of the ladder and smiles at me. Although last night might have been better than our mornings together. He talked me into getting back in the ocean and we kissed without that kiss being interrupted by a searing pain.
Kiss is putting it mildly.
We made out. As much as a person can make out in the ocean without putting hands inside bathing suits and swim trunks. But that’s the only physical time we’ve really gotten outside of mornings these last few days. I’m kind of uncomfortable with public displays of affection in front of other people, and we’re always with Sara and Marcos.
Samson reaches the top of the ladder and we both smile at each other. “Morning.”
“Hey.” I pop another grape into my mouth. After he climbs over the railing, he bends down and gives me a quick kiss, then sits next to me.
I take a grape out of the bag and bring it to his lips. He barely parts them with a grin, forcing me to shove my finger into his mouth as he takes the grape. He circles his lips around my finger for a second, then pulls away slowly. He starts to chew the grape. “Thank you.”
Now I want to feed him grapes all day.
He wraps an arm over the back of the chair and I lean against him, but not close enough that he would take it as a sign to pull me to him. We watch the sunrise in silence, and I think about the turn my life has taken since I arrived.
I thought I knew who I was, but I had no idea people can become different versions of themselves in different settings. In this setting, where everything feels good and perfect, I’m actually at peace with my life. I don’t fall asleep bitter every night. I don’t even actively hate my father like I used to. And I’m not so much a disbeliever in love anymore. I’m not a skeptic here because I’m able to look at life through a different lens.
It makes me wonder what version of myself I’ll be when I get to college. Will I be happy there? Will I miss Samson? Will I continue to thrive or will I wilt back into my old self?
I feel like a flower bei
ng taken out of the shadows and put into the sun. I’m blooming for the first time since I broke through the earth’s soil.
“What are today’s plans?” Samson asks.
I shrug. “I think it’s clear by now that I have absolutely no plans until August third.”
“Good. Want to rent a golf cart and take a tour of the beach this afternoon? I know a really secluded spot.”
“Sure. Sounds fun.” Especially since he said the word secluded. That sounds like an invite to finally be able to spend some alone time with him.
The sun is up now and this is usually when Samson leaves so I can go back to sleep, but instead of standing up, he slides me onto his lap so that I’m straddling him. He leans his head back against the chair, resting his hands on my hips. “We should start watching the sunrise in this position.”
“It would block your view,” I say.
He brings a hand up to my face, and his fingertips against my jaw feel like tiny little fires against my skin. “You’re prettier than the view, Beyah.” He slips his hand behind my head and brings me to his mouth.
Both of his arms wrap around me and he pulls me closer, but I shift a little so that he’ll be reminded not to do that. I don’t like it when both of his arms go around me while we kiss because it makes me think of being held, and being held is something more personal to me than kissing, or even sex.
I like kissing Samson. I like spending time with him. But I don’t like the idea of sharing something so intimate with someone who doesn’t want to share more than a few weeks of themselves with me.
His hands fall to my hips like I’ve trained them to do over the last few days. He kisses my jaw, then the side of my head. “I have to go,” he says. “I have a lot to do today.”
Every day he’s always doing something different. Helping someone repair a roof, rebuilding a dune. Most of it seems like busy work. I don’t know that he actually takes money for the work he does.
I slide off him and watch as he heads back toward the ladder.
He doesn’t make eye contact with me as he descends the ladder and disappears. I lean my head against the back of the chair and pop a grape into my mouth.
I’m sure he wants more than I’m giving him physically, but I can’t give him more if he insists on staying in the shallow end. Hugs and being held might seem like shallow-end stuff to him, but to me, those things are buried somewhere in the Mariana Trench.
I’d rather have casual sex with him than let him hug me.
That’s probably proof that I have some deep shit that needs unpacking by a therapist. But whatever.
Ocean therapy has worked wonders for me so far and it’s free.
Secluded was an understatement.
He brought us so far down the beach, the houses aren’t clustered in neighborhoods anymore. They’re sparse and scattered. There are no people. Just the dunes behind us and the ocean in front of us. If I were going to choose a place to build a house, this would be it.
“Why aren’t there very many houses here? Does the land flood too easily?”
“There used to be a lot of houses here. Hurricane Ike leveled everything.” Samson takes a drink of water. He brought sandwiches, water, and a blanket. He’s considering this our first official date since hanging out with Sara and Marcos doesn’t really count. He even pulled up to my stairs earlier in the golf cart to pick me up.
“Do you think it’ll ever be the same as before the hurricane?”
He shrugs. “Maybe not like it was before. The whole peninsula became gentrified in the rebuild, but it’s thriving more than I thought it would. It’s still a work in progress, though. It’ll take more than just a few years to even come close to what it was like before.” He points to a spot behind us. “That’s where I found Rake’s boat. There are probably still pieces of it buried behind the dune. They haven’t done much work in this area since the hurricane.”
I feed a piece of my bread to P.J. He rode in the back of the golf cart all the way here. “You think this dog belonged to one of the people whose houses were destroyed?”
“I think you’re the only person that dog has ever belonged to.”
I smile when he says that, even though I know I’m not the first person P.J. has ever loved. He knows commands, so someone spent time training him in the past.
I’ve always wanted a dog, but I never had enough food to feed one. I’d take in strays, but they eventually left me for other families who fed them more often.
“What are you going to do with him in August?” Samson asks, leaning across me to scratch P.J. on the head.
“I don’t know. I’m trying not to think about it.”
Samson’s eyes meet mine in that moment, and there’s a flash of contemplation that passes between us.
What will I do with the dog?
What will we do about us?
What’s goodbye going to feel like?
Samson stretches out in the sand. I’m sitting cross-legged, so he lays his head in my lap and stares up at me thoughtfully. I run a hand through his hair, trying not to think about anything beyond or before this moment.
“What do other people think of you?” Samson asks.
“That’s an odd question.”
Samson looks at me expectantly, like he doesn’t care that it’s an odd question. I laugh, looking out at the water while I think.
“I’m not meek, so sometimes my attitude can be misconstrued as being bitchy. But I was lumped in with my mother back home. When you’re judged based on the person who raised you, you can’t be neutral about who you are. You either let it consume you and you become who others think you are, or you fight it with everything in you.” I look down at him. “What do you think people think of you?”
“I don’t think people think of me at all.”
I shake my head in disagreement. “I do. And do you know what I think?”
“What do you think?”
“I think I want to get back in the ocean with you.”
Samson grins. “We’re pretty far from the vinegar.”
“Then make it worth it in case I get stung again.”
Samson hops to his feet and then pulls me up. I slip off my shorts as he removes his shirt. He holds my hand as we work our way through the waves and away from the shore. When the water is up to my chest, we stop walking and we face each other, lowering ourselves until the water is up to both of our necks.
We close the gap between us until we’re kissing.
Every time we kiss, it’s as if we leave more of ourselves inside the other. I wish I knew more about relationships and love and all the things I used to think I was too good for, or maybe not good enough for. I want to know how to make this feeling last. I want to know if a guy like Samson could ever fall in love with a girl like me.
A wave crashes over us, forcing us apart. The water completely soaks my hair. I’m wiping it out of my eyes, laughing, when Samson makes his way back to me. He wraps my legs around his waist but keeps his hands on my hips.
There’s a flicker of happiness in his eye.
It’s the first time I’ve seen it.
I’ve been here almost two weeks and this is the first time he’s looked completely at ease. It makes me feel good that he seems to find that with me, but I’m sad it’s not something he feels all the time.
“What kind of things make you happy, Samson?”
“Rich people are never content,” he says instantaneously. That’s sad he didn’t even have to think about it.
“So the saying is true? Money doesn’t buy happiness?”
“When you’re poor, you have things to reach for. Goals that excite you. Maybe it’s a dream house or a vacation or even a meal at a restaurant on a Friday night. But the more money you have, the harder it is to find things to be excited about. You already have your dream house. You can go anywhere in the world anytime you want to. You could hire a private chef to make you every food you ever crave. People who aren’t rich think all those things are fulfill
ing, but they aren’t. You can fill your life with nice things, but nice things don’t fill the holes in your soul.”
“What fills the holes in a soul?”
Samson’s eyes scroll over my face for a few seconds. “Pieces of someone else’s soul.”
He lifts me slightly so that less of my skin is beneath the water. He drags his mouth across my jaw, and when his lips find mine, I’m hungry for them. Starving.
I feel him harden, even though we’re in the water. Yet still, all we do is kiss. This kiss lasts for several minutes. It’s both not enough and more than enough.
“Beyah,” he whispers against my mouth. “I could stay here forever, but we should probably head back before it gets dark.”
I nod, but then I kiss him again because I don’t really care if it gets dark. Samson laughs, but he quickly shuts up and returns the kiss with even more urgency.
I wish there were more parts of him I could reach. I can’t stop running my hands over his chest and his shoulders and his back. They end up in his hair as his mouth makes its way down my chest. I feel his warm breath against my skin, right between my breasts. He lifts a hand to the back of my neck and I feel him touch the knot on my bathing suit top.
Then he looks me in the eye, silently asking for permission. I nod, and he slowly pulls at the string until it’s untied.
The straps to my bathing suit fall down, and Samson leans forward, kissing the top of my breast. He slowly begins to work his mouth down until he takes my nipple in his mouth.
I suck in a shaky breath. The sensation of his tongue against my skin sends chills down my body. I close my eyes and press my cheek against the top of his head, never wanting him to stop.
But he does, thanks to the sound of an engine in the distance.
He immediately pulls away when we both hear it. There’s a truck down the beach headed in this direction.
Samson lifts the straps of my bikini and reties them around my neck. I groan, and maybe even pout. We make our way back to the shore, even though the truck turned around and headed back in the other direction before it reached us.
Heart Bones Page 15
