TWENTY-FIVE
It’s seven in the morning when my father and I pull into the driveway. Pepper Jack Cheese is wagging his tail, waiting by the passenger door when I open it.
I just want to be with my dog right now.
I’m tired of answering questions, and P.J. will be the first living thing I’ve encountered in the last few hours that hasn’t thrown questions at me.
My father walks up the stairs and I choose to remain on the stilt level of the house. I sit at the picnic table and scratch P.J.’s head as I stare out at the water. I get maybe three minutes of peace before I hear quick footsteps descending the stairs.
Sara.
“Oh my God, Beyah.” She rushes to the picnic table and sits across from me. She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand, forcing a sad smile. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head. “I won’t be okay until I speak to Samson.”
“I’ve been so worried. Your father left in such a hurry, and then he texted my mother and said Samson got arrested. What happened?”
“It’s not his house.”
“He broke in?”
“Something like that.”
Sara runs a hand down her face. “I’m so sorry. I feel terrible. I’m the one who pushed you on him.” She leans forward and grips my wrist, looking at me with sincerity. “Not all guys are like him, Beyah. I promise.”
She’s got that right, but it’s a relief that Samson isn’t like other guys. He could be like Dakota. Or Gary Shelby. I’d much rather fall for a guy who has a shady past and treats me as well as Samson does than fall for a guy who treats me like shit while looking good to the rest of the world.
“I’m not mad at him, Sara.”
She laughs, but it’s a nervous laugh. Kind of how she used to do when we first met—when she couldn’t tell if I was kidding or not.
“I know it looks like Samson is this terrible person. But you don’t know him like I do. He wasn’t proud of his past. And he was planning to tell me everything eventually, he just didn’t want the truth to ruin the rest of our summer.”
Sara folds her arms over the picnic table and leans forward. “Beyah. I know you’re upset and you care about him. But he lied to you. He lied to all of us. Marcos and I have known him since March. Everything he’s ever told us is a lie.”
“Like what?”
She waves her hand to the house next door. “That he owns that house, for one.”
“But what else?”
Her lips fold into a thin line. She shifts in her seat while she thinks. “I don’t know. I can’t think of anything specific right now.”
“Exactly. He lied about where he lived and went along with the rich-boy narrative you guys labeled him with. But he did everything he could not to talk about himself so he wouldn’t be lying to you guys.”
She snaps her fingers. “That guy at dinner! The one who called him Shawn. He lied about going to boarding school in New York with him.”
“He lied because we forced an answer out of him.”
“I would respect him a lot more than I do now if he would have just told us the truth in that moment.”
“That’s not true. He’d have been judged back then, just like he’s being judged now.” Everything is so black and white with people like Sara. The real world doesn’t operate under a simple system of right and wrong. People who have never had to trade a piece of their souls just to have food or shelter can’t understand the scores of bad decisions desperate people are forced to make. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Sara.”
She sighs like she’s not finished trying to convince me to get over him.
It’s going to take a lot more than a shady past for me to get over a guy who didn’t bat an eye at my own shady past.
Sara is obviously in agreement with my father when it comes to Samson. I’m sure everyone is. “I’d really like to be alone right now.”
“Okay,” Sara says. “But I’m here if you want to talk.”
Sara leaves me to my thoughts and heads back up the stairs. When she’s back inside the house, I scratch behind P.J.’s ear. “I guess it’s just me and you on team Samson.”
P.J.’s ears perk up as soon as my phone begins to vibrate. I immediately jump up and pull it out of my pocket. My heart is stuck in my throat when it says the caller I.D. is unavailable. I answer it right away.
“Samson?”
“You’re receiving a call from an inmate in Galveston County Jail,” the recording says. “Please press one to accept or two to—” I press one and put my phone to my ear.
“Samson?” My voice is full of panic. I squeeze my forehead and sit back down.
“Beyah?”
He sounds so far away, but I can finally feel him again. I sigh with relief. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” His voice isn’t filled with fear like mine is. He actually sounds calm, like he’s been expecting this moment. “I can’t talk long. I just...”
“How long can you talk?”
“Two minutes. But I was just told I can have visitors tomorrow at nine.”
“I know. I’ll be there. But what can I do today? Is there anyone I can call for you?”
There’s a pause on his end. I’m not sure he heard the question, but then he sighs and says, “No. There’s no one.”
God, I hate that. P.J. and I really are all he has right now. “I don’t think my father is going to bail you out. He’s pretty upset.”
“It’s not his responsibility,” Samson says. “Please don’t ask him to do that.”
“I’ll figure something out, though.”
“I’ll be here for a while, Beyah. I really fucked up.”
“Which is why I’m going to help find you a lawyer.”
“I’ll be entitled to a public defender,” he says. “I’ve been through this before.”
“Yeah, but they’re overworked as it is. It wouldn’t hurt to try and find a lawyer who has more time to prepare and fight for your case.”
“I can’t afford a lawyer. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m not actually rich.”
“Good. You know your money was my least favorite thing about you.”
Samson is quiet, even though it feels like he has so much to say.
“I’m going to spend the rest of today applying for jobs. I’ll start saving up to help you hire another lawyer. You aren’t alone in this, Samson.”
“My mistakes aren’t your responsibility, either. There’s nothing you can do. Besides, the court date won’t be for several weeks. You’ll be in Pennsylvania by then.”
“I’m not going to Pennsylvania.” He’s insane if he thinks I’m going to abandon him. Does he really think I’m going to leave him to sit in jail while I move across the country as if I didn’t grow a heart bone over the summer? “What about Marjorie’s son? What kind of lawyer is he?”
He doesn’t respond to my question.
“Samson?” I pull my phone back and the call has been dropped. “Shit.”
I press my phone to my forehead. He probably won’t get to call me back. I’ll have to wait and talk to him in person tomorrow. I have so many more questions I already need to add to the list.
But I also have work to do, so I walk across the street, straight to Marjorie’s house. I beat on her door until she opens it.
I forgot it’s still super early. She’s in her nightgown, tying her robe together when she opens the door. She looks at me from head to toe. “What in the world has got you so worked up?”
“It’s Samson. He’s in jail.”
A flash of worry floods her eyes, and then she steps aside to let me in. “What for?”
“The house he’s been staying in doesn’t belong to him. He was arrested this morning because the owners showed up in the middle of the night.”
“Samson? Are you sure?”
I nod. “I was there. He’s going to need a lawyer, Marjorie. One who can spend more time on his case than a public defender can.”
“Yes, that’s a good idea.”
“Your son. What kind of lawyer is he?”
“He’s a defense…no. No, I can’t ask Kevin to do that.”
“Why not? I’m getting a job. I can pay him.”
Marjorie looks torn. I can’t say that I blame her. She admitted to me the first time she met me that she barely knew Samson. I’ve got more at stake here than she does, but she can’t ignore all that he’s done for her. One of Marjorie’s cats climbs up onto the kitchen counter next to her. She picks it up and brings it to her chest.
“How much did Samson charge you for all the work he’s done here?”
It takes her a minute to catch up to my question. Her posture sinks a little. “Nothing. He wouldn’t take any money from me.”
“Exactly. He’s not a bad person and you know it, Marjorie.” I hand her my cell phone. “Please. Call your son. You owe Samson this favor.”
She sets the cat on the floor and then waves a flippant hand at my phone. “I don’t know how to use those things.” She walks to the kitchen and picks up a landline telephone, then begins dialing her son’s number.
Kevin agreed to get in touch with Samson, but only because he knows how much Samson has helped out Marjorie over the last few months. He didn’t agree to take him on pro bono, or take on his case at all, but I’m one step closer than I was before I walked into Marjorie’s house.
Now that I’m walking out, she’s stuck me with two pounds of pecans. “I’m getting almonds next week,” she says.
I smile. “Thank you, Marjorie.”
When I’m back inside our house, I drop the nuts on the table and grab both backpacks my father brought over this morning. I’m walking upstairs when he comes out to the hallway. “Beyah?”
I keep walking. “I’ll be in my room the rest of the day. I’d rather not be disturbed; I’m going to bed.”
“Beyah, wait,” I hear him say.
When I make it to the top of the stairs, I hear Alana say, “She asked to be alone, Brian. I think she means it.”
Alana is right. I do mean it. I don’t feel like lectures from my father about what a terrible human Samson is. I’m too sad for that. And too tired.
I maybe got two hours of sleep last night at the most, and even with the adrenaline that’s been pumping through my veins since I woke up, my eyes are beginning to grow heavier by the second.
I drop our backpacks by the bed and fall onto the mattress. I lie on it, staring out the glass balcony doors. It’s so bright out there. So warm. So happy.
I stand up and snatch the curtains shut, then crawl back into bed. I just want today to end already and it’s not even lunchtime yet.
I toss, turn, and stare at the ceiling for over an hour. I just can’t stop thinking about what’s going to happen. How long will he be in jail? Or does this mean he’ll actually be sentenced to time in prison? If he truly does have that many charges against him, what kind of time is he looking at? Six months? Ten years?
I’m not going to be able to fall asleep without some kind of assistance. My mind is racing too much. I open my door and wait until it sounds like the kitchen is clear. I walk back downstairs and go to the pantry. I know there’s a section in here where they keep their medicine. I thumb through the bottles, but find nothing that might help me sleep.
Maybe they keep it in their bathroom. My father and Alana should be on their way to work by now, so I go to their bathroom and open their medicine cabinet. There’s nothing in here but toothpaste and spare toothbrushes. Some sort of ointment. A container of cotton swabs.
I slam the door to the medicine cabinet shut, but startle when I see Alana standing behind me in the mirror’s reflection. “Sorry. I thought you were at work.”
“I took the day off,” she says. “What are you looking for?”
I turn and look at her desperately. “I just need NyQuil or something. I need to sleep. I haven’t slept yet and my mind is racing.” I wave my hands at my face, trying to push back the tears that have been miraculously kept at bay since last night.
“I can make you some tea.”
Tea? She wants to make me tea?
She’s a dentist, surely she has a prescription for some horse-strength tranquilizers somewhere in this house.
“I don’t want tea, Alana. I need something that works. I don’t want to be awake right now.” I bring my hands up and cover my face. “It hurts so much to think,” I whisper. “I don’t even want to dream about him. I just want to sleep and not dream or think or feel.”
It all starts to hit me in the center of my chest.
Everything Samson said on the phone slams into me so hard, I have to lean against the sink for support. His voice echoes in my head. “I’ll be here for a while, Beyah.”
How long do I have to go before I’m happy again?
I don’t want to go back to who I was before I met him. I had nothing inside of me then but bitterness and anger. No feeling, no joy, no comfort. “What if he’s gone for so long, he doesn’t want to be part of my life when he gets out?”
I didn’t mean to say that out loud. Or maybe I did.
My tears start falling and Alana immediately responds. She doesn’t say anything to make me feel bad for feeling sad. She just wraps her arms around me and tucks my head against her shoulder.
It’s a comfort that’s completely unfamiliar, but one I desperately need right now. The comfort of a mother. I sob against her for several minutes. It’s everything I didn’t know I needed in this moment. Just a small morsel of sympathy from someone.
“I wish you could have been my mother,” I say through my tears.
I feel her sigh. “Oh, sweetie,” she whispers sympathetically. She pulls back and looks at me gently. “I’ll give you one Ambien, but it’s the only one you’re ever getting from me.”
I nod. “I promise I’ll never ask again.”