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 being 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 fulfilling, 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.
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.