Heart Bones

by Hoover, Colleen

  We’re both quiet as we pack up our things into the golf cart. The sun is beginning to set on the other side of the peninsula, casting a red and purple glow across the sky. The wind from the ocean has picked up and I look over at Samson for a moment. He’s facing the breeze, his eyes closed. There’s a calmness about him right now, and that calmness spreads to me.

  His moods are contagious. I’m glad he seems to only have one or two. I’ve never felt as stable as I have since I started spending all my hours with him.

  “Have you ever closed your eyes and just listened to the ocean?” he asks. He opens his eyes and turns to face me.

  “No.”

  He faces the water again and closes his eyes. “Try it.”

  I close my eyes and blow out a breath. Samson’s hand finds mine and we just stand there together, in silence, facing the water.

  I listen for what he’s hearing.

  Seagulls.

  Waves.

  Peace.

  Hope.

  I don’t know how long we stand here because I become consumed by the meditation. I don’t know that I’ve ever stood in one spot with my eyes closed and just let go of my thoughts.

  I let them go. All of them.

  Eventually, it’s like the world grows completely silent.

  I’m pulled out of that silence when I feel Samson kiss the back of my head. I open my eyes and inhale a deep breath.

  And that’s the end of that. Dinner, a make-out session, and a stress reliever. What a date.

  “Where’s your dog?” he asks as we start to climb into the golf cart.

  I look around, but don’t see Pepper Jack Cheese anywhere. I call for him, but he doesn’t come running. My heart picks up a little and that doesn’t go unnoticed.

  Samson calls for him.

  I start to get worried because we’re a long way from our houses, and if we don’t find him, he may not be able to make his way back.

  “Maybe he’s behind the dunes,” Samson suggests. We both make our way over to the high rows of sand. Samson grabs my hands and helps me up the dune. When we reach the top and look on the other side of it, I’m immediately relieved to see P.J.

  “Oh, thank God,” I say, scaling down the other side of the dune.

  “What’s he doing?” Samson asks, walking behind me. P.J. is about ten feet away, digging furiously in the ground.

  “Maybe he found some crabs.”

  When we reach him, I freeze. Whatever he found, it’s not a crab. It looks like... “Samson?” I whisper. “What is that?”

  Samson drops to his knees and starts wiping dust off what looks like bones in the shape of a hand.

  I pull P.J. away, but he fights to get out of my grip. Samson is now digging, moving sand away, revealing more and more of what is obviously a human arm.

  “Oh, my God,” I whisper. I cover my mouth with my hand. P.J. slips out of my grip and gets away from me. He rushes back to Samson’s side, but Samson pushes him away.

  “Sit,” he commands the dog.

  P.J. sits, but whimpers.

  I lower myself to my knees next to Samson and watch as he continues to uncover more of the bones.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t touch it,” I suggest.

  Samson says nothing. He just keeps digging until he reaches the shoulder joint of the skeleton. There’s still a shirt attached to it. It’s a red-checkered shirt, faded and torn. Samson touches a piece of it and it falls apart in his hands.

  “Do you think it’s an entire body?”

  Samson still doesn’t answer me. He just falls back onto his haunches and stares at the ground.

  “I’ll go get my phone and call the police.” I start to get up, but Samson grabs my wrist. I look at him and his eyes are pleading.

  “Don’t.”

  “What?” I shake my head. “We have to report this.”

  “Don’t, Beyah,” he says again. I’ve never seen his expression so unyielding. “This is the guy I was telling you about. Rake. I recognize his shirt.” He looks back down at what he’s just uncovered. “The police will just throw him in an unmarked grave.”

  “We still have to report this. It’s a body. A missing person.”

  He shakes his head again. “He wasn’t a missing person. Like I told you, no one even noticed he was gone.” I can already tell by Samson’s demeanor that I’m not changing his mind. “He would want to be in the ocean. It’s the only place he belongs.”

  We’re both quiet for a while as we think.

  For whatever reason, I don’t feel like this is my decision. But I sure as hell don’t want to be here a second longer.

  Samson stands up and disappears back over the dune. I have no intention of being left alone with human remains, so I follow after him.

  Samson walks toward the water, and when he’s a few feet away from it, he just stops. He clasps his hands behind his head. I stop walking because it looks like he needs a minute to process this.

  He stares at the water for what seems like an eternity. I just pace behind him, torn between doing what I know is right or leaving this decision completely up to Samson. He’s the one who knew the guy. I didn’t.

  After a while, I finally break the silence. “Samson?”

  He doesn’t face me. His voice is resolute when he says, “I need you to take the golf cart back to the house.”

  “Without you?”

  He nods, still facing the other direction. “I’ll meet up with you later tonight.”

  “I’m not leaving you out here. It’s too far to walk in the dark.”

  He turns now, and when he does, he looks like a completely different person than he did ten minutes ago. His features are hardened, and there’s something newly broken inside of him.

  He walks toward me and takes my face in his hands. His eyes are red, like he’s on the verge of breaking down. “Please,” he says. “Go. I need to do this alone.”

  There’s an ache in his voice. A pain I’m unfamiliar with.

  An agony I expected to feel after finding my mother dead, but instead I was left empty and numb.

  I have no idea why he needs this, but I can see his need for me to leave this up to him is greater than my need to disagree with him. I just nod, and my voice releases in a whisper when I say, “Okay.”

  For the first time in my life, I actually feel an overwhelming need to hug someone, but I don’t. I don’t want our first hug to be attached to such an awkward moment. I climb into the golf cart.

  “Take P.J. with you,” he says. I wait while he walks back over the dune to get him. When he returns with P.J., he puts him in the passenger seat of the golf cart. Samson grips the top of the golf cart and his tone is flat when he says, “I’ll be okay, Beyah. I’ll see you later tonight.” He pushes away from the golf cart and walks back toward the dune.

  I drive home, leaving Samson with something I know he’ll never explain to me, and likely won’t speak of again.

  EIGHTEEN

  I’m worried about Samson, obviously. But the longer I sit here and wait for him, I wonder if that worry should be mixed in with anger.

  It wasn’t fair of him to ask me to leave that situation, but the look in his eye made it seem like throwing Rake’s remains into the ocean was way more important to him than reporting it was to me.

  I’ve seen some disturbing shit in my life. A few bones being moved from a dune and into the ocean is surprisingly not that jarring to me. I don’t know what that says about me. Or Samson, for that matter.

  Even though I’m not angry at him, I am concerned. My stomach is in knots. It’s been almost four hours since I got home. I tried to pass the time by showering, eating dinner and having mindless conversation with my father and Alana. But my mind is still back with Samson on the other side of that dune.

  I’m sitting out by the bonfire now, staring at Samson’s dark house. Waiting.

  “Where is Samson?” Sara asks.

  Great question. “Helping someone. He’ll be back soon.” I take a
drink of water, washing the lies out of my mouth. Part of me wants to tell Sara the truth, but I know better. How would I even come out and say, Hey, Sara, there are human remains down the beach and Samson is digging them up and throwing all the bones into the ocean.

  Yeah, she wouldn’t be able to handle something of that magnitude.

  “So? What was the kiss like?” Sara asks.

  I look at her and she’s staring at me with hope in her eyes.

  I get the feeling she’d probably prefer a stepsister who will gossip with her at night while they brush each other’s hair. I’m sad she didn’t get that. Instead, she got me. No-fun Beyah.

  “The kiss was actually kind of depressing.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I’m not saying it was bad. He’s a great kisser. He’s just…he’s so serious all the time. So am I. It’s difficult to share a fun, sexy kiss when there’s nothing fun about either of us.” I sigh and rest my head against the chair. “Sometimes I wish I could be more like you.”

  Sara laughs. “If you were more like me, Samson wouldn’t look at you the way he does.”

  That makes me smile. Maybe she’s right. Some people just fit together. I wouldn’t fit with Marcos and she wouldn’t fit with Samson.

  I just wish our fall and winter fit as well as our summer.

  Sara holds both hands up in the air when the song on the Bluetooth changes to a new song I’ve never heard. “I love this song!” She jumps up and starts dancing. Marcos gets up and dances with her. It’s not a slow song, so they’re stomping and spinning around like their lives weigh nothing.

  I watch them dance until the song is over and Sara falls back into her chair, out of breath. She reaches down for a bottle of liquor stuck in the sand. “Here,” she says, handing it to me. “Alcohol makes everyone fun.”

  I bring it to my mouth and pretend to take a drink. I’d rather be boring than become my mother, so I have no desire to actually swallow it. But I pretend to for Sara’s sake. I’ve already been enough of a downer tonight, I don’t want to deny the alcohol and make her feel guilty for drinking. I hand the bottle back to her, just as something behind her catches my eye.

  Finally. It’s been four hours.

  Samson will have to walk past us to get to his house. He’s covered in sand. He looks tired. He even looks a little bit guilty when we make eye contact. He looks away quickly, but then spins as he walks past us. He lifts his eyes again while he walks backward. He nudges his head toward his house and then spins around and disappears into the darkness.

  “You’re being summoned,” Sara says.

  I remain seated for a moment, not wanting to appear too eager to follow him. “I’m not a dog.”

  “Are you two fighting?”

  “No.”

  “Then go. I like it when Marcos summons me. It always means good things.” She looks at Marcos and says, “Hey, Marcos. Summon me.”

  Marcos nods his head once, and Sara jumps out of her chair and walks over to him, falling dramatically into his lap. The chair falls over and spills them out onto the sand. Marcos is still holding his beer up in the air. He didn’t even spill a single drop.

  I leave them alone and start walking toward Samson’s house. I can hear the outdoor shower running when I get close. I walk onto the concrete foundation of the stilt level of his house. I haven’t spent any time down here, but it’s nice. Aside from the shower, there’s a bar and a couple of tables. I don’t know why we never spend time here instead of at the beach every night. Samson has the kind of house that would be good for parties, but he doesn’t seem like the type who would want to host one.

  I don’t see Samson’s shorts as I approach the shower, which means he’s still dressed. There isn’t a door to the shower. The walls are made of wood and there’s an opening and a left turn I have to make before I see him.

  His back is to me. His palms are pressed against the wood and the shower spray is falling over the back of his neck. His head is hanging between his shoulders.

  “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. He turns and pushes the wet hair off his forehead.

  “For what?”

  “For putting you in this position. For expecting you to keep secrets when I don’t tell you any of mine.”

  “You never asked me not to tell anyone. You just asked me not to call the police.”

  He wipes his hand over his face and leans back into the stream of water. “Did you tell anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to?”

  “Not if you don’t want me to.”

  “I’d rather it stay between us,” he says.

  I silently agree. It’s not that hard for me to keep secrets. I’m a pro at it.

  I kind of like that Samson is a closed book. You can’t really dislike a book you haven’t read yet. But I think I’m able to be patient with him because he told me he’d eventually tell me all his truths. Otherwise, I might not find him worth the effort.

  “I feel like there’s more to the story with Rake,” I say. “Will you explain it with all the other answers you owe me on August second?”

  He nods. “Yeah. I’ll tell you then.”

  “I’m going to start keeping a list of all the questions I want answers to.”

  His lip twitches, like I amuse him. “And I’ll answer them all on August second.”

  I take a step toward him. “You promise?”

  “I swear.”

  I lift one of his hands. He’s got dirt beneath all his fingernails. “Did you dig up all of it?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re sure it was Rake?”

  “Positive.”

  He looks and sounds exhausted. Maybe even sad. I really do think Rake was a bigger part of his life than he’s letting on. I glance at his necklace, then look back at his face. He’s staring down at me, the small streams of water sliding down his face.

  My clothes are starting to get wet from the spray, so I take off my shirt and toss it over the wall of the shower. I leave on my shorts and bikini top and help Samson clean his fingernails. He stands patiently as I get all the dirt out from beneath each nail and then wash his hands with soap.

  When I’m finished, Samson pulls on my hand and tugs me until I’m standing under the water with him. He kisses me, and I move with him as he backs himself against the wall, pulling me out of the stream of water.

  It’s a lazy kiss. His hands are resting on my hips while he leans against the wall of the shower and lets me direct the moment.

  I lean against him, pressing my breasts against his bare chest, wrapping my left hand around the back of his neck. I shouldn’t have told Sara it was a depressing kiss. That’s such a terrible description of what this is.

  Durable is a better word.

  All of our kisses feel important, like they’ll stay with me forever. They aren’t small displays of affection that happen in passing. There’s something bigger behind them than attraction. Right now that bigger thing is sadness, and I want to take that away from him, even if it’s just for a few minutes.

  I drag my right hand down his chest until my fingers meet the elastic band of his boxers. I dip my hand inside, and right when I do, Samson inhales sharply. We stop kissing while I touch him for the first time. His eyes are focused hard on mine, like he’s silently saying I don’t have to do this, but also begging me not to stop.

  I wrap my hand firmly around him and his head falls back with a sigh. “Beyah,” he whispers.

  I kiss his neck and slowly begin to move my hand up and down the length of him. There’s more to him than there was to Dakota. It doesn’t surprise me. There’s more to Samson in almost every aspect compared to anyone else I know.

  I use my left hand to lower his shorts enough so that he’s not confined inside them. We stand in this position for a couple of minutes, at least. Me touching him. Samson breathing heavier and deeper, gripping my hips tighter with every stroke. I watch his face the whole time, unable to look away. Sometimes he look
s at me and other times he squeezes his eyes shut like it’s all too much.

  When he begins to clench all the muscles in his body, he suddenly brings a hand up to my hair and pulls gently, tilting my head back so that his mouth can fit against mine. He takes two quick steps, pushing me against the opposite shower wall while he kisses me with more strength than every other kiss that came before this one.

  My hand is still gripping him, and it’s like he can’t even breathe and kiss me at the same time because he breaks apart and presses the side of his head to the side of mine. His mouth is over my ear when he breathes out a guttural, “Fuck.”

  Chills roll down my body as he begins to shudder beneath my touch. I continue to stroke him until I feel the sticky warmth of him on the palm of my hand, and he eventually sighs, burying his face against my neck.

  He takes a moment to catch his breath, and then he reaches for the showerhead. He pulls it between us, washing himself and my hand, and then he lets it fall to the floor before kissing me again.

  He’s breathing like he just ran a marathon. At this point, I might be breathing like that, too.

  When he finally pulls away and looks down at me, some of the weight has lifted from behind his eyes. That’s all I wanted. For him to feel better about whatever happened to him out there tonight.

  I kiss him tenderly on the corner of his mouth, preparing to say good night, but he runs his fingers through my wet hair and whispers, “When are you going to let me hold you?”

  His eyes are pleading, like he needs a hug more than he needed what I just gave him.

  I’d probably let him hug me right now if I wasn’t so afraid it would make me cry. It’s like he can see the war in my eyes, so he just nods and kisses the side of my head.

  “Good night,” I whisper.

  “Good night, Beyah.” He turns off the shower and I grab my shirt, pull it back on and walk away from his house.

  NINETEEN

  All five of Samson’s houses were rented for the July 4th weekend, so he’s staying with Marcos.

  It’s been a week since he found Rake. We haven’t talked about it. There’s less than a month left until August second, and I’ll get all my answers then. I’m not looking forward to it. August second to me just means the eve of the day we’ll be saying goodbye to each other.