Heart Bones

by Hoover, Colleen

  But despite the potential for the day, things could still end in severe disappointment. I have no idea.

  How will Samson react when he walks through those doors?

  Who will he be?

  Who has he become?

  There’s a saying from Maya Angelou that reminds me of our situation. When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.

  I’ve clung to that saying so tightly, it feels carved into my bones. I always go back to it when I start to have doubts because I want to believe the summer I spent with Samson was the real Samson. I want to believe that he’s hoping I’m waiting for him as much as I’m hoping he wants me here.

  But even if he isn’t, I think enough time has passed that my heart bone has healed. There’s still a crack in it. I sometimes feel it aching. Mostly when it’s late at night and I’m unable to sleep.

  It’s been well over four years since the last time I saw him, and my thoughts of him continue to separate further apart by stretches of thoughts that don’t involve Samson. But I don’t know if that’s because I’m trying to protect myself from what could potentially happen today or if it’s because Samson really was just one summer fling in a life filled with other seasons.

  That’s the worst outcome I can imagine—that all the moments we shared that left such a lasting impact on me, weren’t profound for him at all.

  I’ve thought about saving myself the potential embarrassment. He might see me out here waiting on him and barely remember me. Or worse—he could feel sorry for the girl who hung on after all this time.

  Either of those options are worth the risk, because the idea of him walking out those doors to no one sounds like the saddest outcome of all. I’d rather be here and him not want me here than not be here when he hopes I am.

  Kevin called last week and said Samson was approved for early release. I knew that’s what he was going to tell me before I even answered his phone call because Kevin never calls me. I’m the one who calls him to check if there are updates. I call him so much, I’m probably more annoying to him than a telemarketer.

  I’m sitting cross-legged on the hood, eating an apple I just pulled out of my bag. I’ve been here going on four hours now.

  There’s a man in the car next to me who is also waiting on someone to be released. He gets out to stretch his legs and then leans against his car. “Who are you here for?” he asks.

  I don’t know how to answer that, so I shrug. “An old friend who may not even want me here.”

  He kicks at a rock. “I’m here for my brother. Third time picking him up. Hopefully this will be his last go.”

  “Hopefully,” I say. But I doubt it. I’ve learned enough about the prison system during my time in college that I have very little faith in the system’s ability to properly rehabilitate offenders.

  It’s why I’m in law school now. I’m convinced Samson wouldn’t be in the position he’s in if he would have had better access to resources when he was released the first time. Even if I don’t end up with Samson by the end of this, I’ve ended up with a new passion because of it.

  “What time do they usually open the doors?” I ask the man.

  The guy looks at his watch. “I figured it would be before lunch. They’re running behind today.”

  I reach into my bag that’s sitting on the hood next to me. “You hungry? I have chips.”

  He holds up his hands, so I toss them at him. “Thanks,” he says, opening the bag. He pops one into his mouth. “Good luck with your friend.”

  I smile. “Good luck to your brother.”

  I take another bite of my apple and lean back onto my windshield. I lift my arm and run my fingers over my pinwheel tattoo.

  I hated this tattoo after Samson was arrested. It was supposed to bring me good luck, but instead it felt like my world became worse than before I moved to Texas. It took at least a year for me to fully appreciate this tattoo.

  Aside from everything that happened with Samson being arrested, every other aspect of my life improved after getting this tattoo. I became closer to my father and his new family. Sara is not only my sister now, but my absolute best friend in the world.

  I got accepted to law school. I never would have thought when I picked up a volleyball for the first time as a kid that it would lead to me becoming a lawyer. Me. The lonely girl who once had to do unthinkable things to feed herself is going to be a damn lawyer.

  I think maybe this tattoo really did turn my luck around in the end. Not in the way I expected it to in that moment, but now that I’m at this point in my life, I can see all the good things that came from that summer. Samson being one of those good things, no matter who he is today. I’m at a point in my life where the outcome of my future won’t be determined by the outcome of any potential relationship.

  Do I want him to be who I’ve always believed him to be? Absolutely.

  Will I crumble if he isn’t? Not at all.

  I am still made of steel. Come at me, world. You can’t damage the impermeable.

  “The door is opening,” the man in the car next to me says.

  I immediately sit up and drop my apple into my bag next to me.

  I press my palm against my chest and exhale as someone begins to exit the building. It isn’t Samson.

  I would slide off the car and stand up, but I’m scared my legs are too weak to hold me. I’m about twenty feet away from the entrance, but there’s a chance he won’t see me if he’s not expecting someone to be waiting for him.

  The man who just walked out looks to be in his fifties. He scans the parking lot until he finds the car next to mine. He nods his head and his brother doesn’t even get out of his car. The man walks over and climbs into the passenger seat and they take off like this is an airport and these trips are normal.

  I’m still sitting cross-legged on the hood when I finally see him.

  Samson emerges from the building and shields his eyes from the sunlight while he looks down the sidewalk toward the bus.

  My heart is beating so fast. Way faster than I thought it would. It’s like all the feelings I ever had as a nineteen-year-old girl are waking up all at the same time.

  He looks almost the same. More man than boy now, and his hair is a little darker, but other than that, he looks exactly like he looks in my memories. He pushes his hair away from his face and begins walking toward the bus lot without glancing into the parking lot.

  I don’t know if I should call his name or run up to him. He’s walking away from me, toward the bus lot. I press my palms against the hood, prepared to slide off of it, when he stops walking.

  He stands still for a moment with his back to me while I hold my breath in anticipation. It’s as if he wants to look, but he’s scared he won’t find anyone.

  Eventually, he begins to turn around, as if he can sense my presence. His eyes connect with mine, and he stares at me for so long. He’s just as unreadable now as he was back then, but I don’t have to know what he’s thinking to feel the emotions being released between us.

  He brings his hands up to the back of his neck and spins around like he can’t look at me for another second. I see the roll of his shoulders as he slowly exhales.

  He faces me again, this time with a very touching expression. “Did you go to college, Beyah?” He yells it across the parking lot, like it’s the most important question in the world. More important than any other thought that might be going through his head.

  As soon as he asks me that, a lone, fat tear rolls down my cheek. I nod.

  When I do, it’s like all the tension in his soul releases in that moment. I’m still sitting on the hood of my car, but even from here I can see the furrow of his brow. I want to walk over to him and smooth it out and tell him it’s finally okay.

  He stares at the concrete like he doesn’t know what to do. But then he figures it out, because he begins walking toward me with urgency. He runs the last ten feet, and I gasp when he meets the car because he doesn’t stop there. He cr
awls onto the hood and immediately onto me until I’m forced to lean back against my windshield. Then his mouth is on mine and he’s apologizing to me with a silent fierceness I feel to my core.

  I wrap my arms around his neck, and it’s as if a single second never even passed. We kiss on the hood of my car for several seconds, until Samson can’t seem to stand it anymore. He pulls away and hops off the car, then grabs my waist and pulls me to the edge, lowering my feet to the pavement. He wraps his arms around me and hugs me tighter than the first hug he ever gave me.

  The next few minutes are a combination of tears (mostly mine) and kissing each other and staring at each other in disbelief. I had so many questions coming into this, but now I can’t think of a single one.

  When we stop kissing long enough for him to speak, he says, “I probably should have asked if you were seeing someone before I did that.”

  I smile with a strong shake of my head. “I’m very single.”

  He kisses me again, slowly, and then stares at my mouth like it’s the thing he’s missed the most. “I’m sorry.”

  “I forgive you.”

  And it really is as simple as that.

  His eyebrows draw apart with relief. He pulls me tightly against him and releases a heavy sigh into my hair. “I can’t believe you’re really here.” He picks me up and spins me around once before setting me back down on my feet. He rests our foreheads together and smiles. “What now?”

  I laugh. “I have no idea. The rest of my day was contingent upon the outcome of this moment.”

  “So was mine.” He grabs my hands and pulls them up to his mouth, kissing my knuckles. Then he tucks my fists against his chest and says, “I need to see Darya.”

  His words remind me of a line in one of his father’s poems. I’ve read them so many times, I have them memorized, so I say it out loud. “Because when a man says I’m going home, he should be heading for the sea.”

  I start to pull away from him so I can open my car door, but Samson grips my hand and pulls me right back. “My father wrote that. You have my backpack?”

  It’s not until this moment I realize Samson probably assumed his backpack was gone forever. “Yeah. I took it the night they arrested you.”

  “You kept my father’s poems for me?”

  I nod. “Of course I did.”

  There’s a pained look in his eyes, as if he’s trying to hold back tears. Then he closes the distance between us and slides his fingers into my hair, cradling my head in his hands. “Thank you for believing in me, Beyah.”

  “You believed in me first, Samson. It’s the least I could do.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  When we finally got to the beach, he didn’t even pause to appreciate it. He got out of the car, took off his shirt and walked straight into her. I’ve been sitting in the sand watching him swim for a while. He’s the only one out in the water right now and I’m the only one on the beach. It’s empty because it’s October and Samson is insane for being in the water when it’s this cold.

  But I get it. He needs it. Years of therapy, rolled up into a swim.

  He eventually comes back to me, dropping to the sand next to me. He’s soaking wet and breathing hard, but he looks content. He said very little on the drive here, but I also haven’t asked very much. He’s been deprived of everything he loved for so long, I want to give him time to soak it all in before bombarding him with questions about the last few years.

  He glances behind us. “Does no one live in Marjorie’s house?”

  “No.”

  He asks because it’s obvious the house hasn’t been taken care of since it’s been empty. There are shingles missing from the roof. Grass grown up around the foundation.

  Marjorie passed away in March, so Kevin will probably put it up for sale soon. I hated that Samson wasn’t able to attend her funeral. I know she meant a lot to him. She even visited him a few times before she died.

  Samson repositions himself so that he’s lying in the sand, his head in my lap. He stares up at me with a look of peaceful content. I drag my fingers through his wet hair and smile down at him.

  “Where’s Pepper Jack Cheese?” he asks.

  I nod my head at our house. “He’s an indoor dog now. He and Dad bonded.”

  “What about you and your dad?”

  I smile. “We bonded, too. He’s been great.”

  Samson brings my hand to his mouth and kisses it. Then he grips it with both hands and presses my palm against his chest, holding my hand there.

  Everything fell right back into place with him almost as soon as I laid eyes on him today. It’s like a single minute never even passed. I have no idea what tomorrow holds, but everything I need is tied up in this moment.

  “You look different,” he says. “Better. Happier.”

  “I am.” I can feel his heart pounding against my palm. “I’m not gonna lie, I was so mad at you in the beginning, but you were right. It was for the best. I never would have left otherwise.”

  “It was awful,” he says with a contradicting grin. “Complete torture. I can’t tell you how many times I almost caved and asked Kevin for your address.”

  I laugh. “Glad to know you thought of me.”

  “Every minute,” he says confidently. He reaches a hand up and touches my cheek. I lean into his palm. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  I nod.

  “Did you date other guys?”

  I blink twice. I was expecting him to ask me that, but maybe not this soon.

  He lifts up onto his arm until he’s face-to-face with me. He reaches around me and presses a comforting hand to the back of my neck. “I’m only asking because I’m hoping your answer is yes.”

  “You’re hoping I dated other people?”

  He shrugs. “Not saying I wouldn’t be jealous. I’m just hoping you actually had fun in college and didn’t treat your dorm room like a prison cell.”

  “I dated,” I say. “I even had a boyfriend for a while during junior year.”

  “Was he nice?”

  I nod. “He was. But he wasn’t you.” I lean forward and kiss him briefly. “I made friends. I went out. I made good grades. And I even loved my volleyball team. We were pretty damn good.”

  Samson grins and then resumes his position by laying his head on my thighs. “Good. I don’t regret my decision, then.”

  “Good.”

  “How’s Sara? Are she and Marcos still together?”

  “Yeah, they got married last year. She’s four months pregnant.”

  “Good for them. I was hoping that would work out. What about his clothing line? Did it ever take off?”

  I point at a house down the beach. Samson lifts up onto his elbows so he can see where I’m pointing. “That’s their house. They just finished construction on it six months ago.”

  “That yellow one?”

  “Yep.”

  “Damn.”

  “Yeah, the clothing line is doing well. He has a lot of followers on TikTok, so that gave his merch a huge boost.”

  Samson shakes his head. “TikTok?”

  I laugh. “I’ll show you later when you get a new phone.”

  “Oh, how the tables have turned,” Samson says. He moves until he’s sitting next to me again. He wipes sand from himself. “Can we go see them?”

  “Sara and Marcos? Right now?”

  “Not this second,” he says. “I want more time to catch up with you. I’d also like to see your father. I owe him an apology or ten.”

  “Yeah, that’s not gonna be easy.”

  “I know. But I’m persistent.” Samson wraps an arm around me and pulls me to him. He kisses the top of my head.

  “What am I supposed to call you? Shawn or Samson?”

  “Samson,” he says immediately. “I’ve never felt more myself than when I was with you that summer. That’s exactly who I want to be. Forever.”

  I wrap my arms around my knees and bury my mouth into my elbow to hide my smile.

 
“Where do you live now?” Samson asks me.

  I nod my head at my father’s beach house. “Staying with my father and Alana this week, but I have an apartment in Houston. I’m in law school.”

  “No way.”

  I laugh. “I am. Just started my first semester in August.”

  Samson shakes his head with a mixture of pride and disbelief on his face. “I didn’t know that’s what you wanted to do.”

  “I didn’t know either until you were arrested. Kevin has been really helpful. I’m actually about to start an internship at his office.”

  Samson smiles softly. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I took some college classes in prison,” he says. “I’m going to try to get into school somewhere, if anyone will take me.”

  His eyes drift away after he says that, like he’s worried for all the challenges he’s about to face.

  “What was prison like?”

  He sighs. “Real, real shitty. I give it a one out of ten. Do not recommend.”

  I laugh. “What’s the next step? Where are you going to stay?”

  Samson shrugs. “Kevin has all that info. Says he set something temporary up for me. I was supposed to call him as soon as I was released, actually.”

  My mouth drops open. “Samson! It’s been four hours. You haven’t called him?”

  “I don’t have a phone. I was going to ask if I could use yours, but I’ve been a little sidetracked.”

  I roll my eyes and take out my cell phone. “If you violate parole over something this stupid, I’m driving you to jail myself.”

  Samson brushes sand from his hands and takes the phone after I dial Kevin’s number. Kevin answers after the second ring.

  “I haven’t heard from him yet,” Kevin says, assuming it’s me calling. “I promised I would call you as soon as I did.”

  Samson smiles at me as he speaks into my phone. “It’s me, Kevin. I’m out.”

  There’s a pause on Kevin’s end before he says, “This is Beyah’s number. You’re with her?”

  “Yep.”

  “Where are you?”

  “We’re at the beach.”

  “Can Beyah hear me?” Kevin asks.