There’s an abandoned sandcastle a few yards away from the group that’s half destroyed. P.J. runs over to it and starts sniffing around it. I sit down next to the sand castle and start rebuilding one of the walls.
Life is weird. One day you’re staring at your dead mother and a few days later you’re building a sandcastle on the beach by yourself in the dark with a dog named after a cheese.
“It’ll be washed away by the tide in an hour.”
I look up to see Samson standing beside me. I’m extremely relieved to see him here and that makes me feel strange. I’m starting to find an odd comfort in his presence.
“Then you better help me build a retaining wall.”
Samson walks around the sandcastle and sits on the other side of it. He looks at the dog. “He likes you.”
“I fed him. I’m sure if you gave him a burger, he’d follow you around, too.”
Samson leans forward and begins piling sand up on his side of the castle. The sight of it makes me grin. A hot shirtless guy playing in the sand.
I steal glances at him every now and then, impressed by his focus.
“His name is Pepper Jack Cheese,” I say, breaking a stretch of silence.
Samson smiles. “You met Marjorie?”
“How’d you know it was her idea?”
“She has two cats. Their names are Cheddar Cheese and Mozzarella.”
I laugh. “She’s interesting.”
“Yeah, she is.”
The tide pushes closer and some of the water spills into the area where we’re working. Samson stops patting the walls with his hands. “You been in the water yet?”
“No. I’m kind of leery of it.”
“Why?”
“Jellyfish. Sharks. All the things I can’t see beneath the surface.”
Samson laughs. “We hung out on top of a three-story house today. You’re safer in the ocean than you were on that roof.” He stands up and wipes sand from his shorts. “Come on.”
He’s walking into the water, not waiting on me. I look for Marcos and Sara, but they’re a good ways down.
The ocean is massive, so I don’t know why going into it with Samson seems intimate. I stand up and pull off my shorts, then toss them near Pepper Jack Cheese.
“Keep an eye on those,” I say.
I walk into the water. It’s warmer than I thought it would be. Samson is several feet ahead of me. I keep walking, surprised at how far out I have to go before the water even reaches my knees. Samson dives forward into a wave, disappearing under the water.
When the water is finally up to my chest, Samson reappears. He’s two feet in front of me when he pops up out of the water. He brushes his hair back and looks down at me.
“See? Nothing scary.”
He lowers himself until the water is up to his neck. Our knees accidentally touch, but he acts like he doesn’t notice. He makes no move to back away, but I move the slightest bit to make sure it doesn’t happen again. I don’t know him all that well, and I’m not sure I want to give him that idea. He did just have a different girl on his lap the other night. I have no plans to be another lap trophy.
“Did Marjorie give you pecans today?” he asks. I nod and it makes him laugh. “I have so many fucking pecans,” he says. “I just leave them on other people’s porches now.”
“Is that what she does all day? Crack pecans?”
“Pretty much.”
“Where does she get them? She doesn’t even have any trees.”
“I have no idea,” he says. “I don’t know her all that well. I only met her a few months ago. I was walking by her house and she stopped me and asked if I was going to the store anytime soon. I asked what she needed and she told me she needed batteries. I asked her what size and she said, ‘Surprise me.’”
I smile, but it’s not really because of what he said. It’s because I like the way he talks. There’s something about the way his bottom lip moves when he speaks that steals my focus.
Samson’s gaze returns to my face, but he’s not looking at my eyes. I notice him glance at my mouth and then look away again. He swims out a little farther.
The water is already up to my neck. I’m having to use my arms to keep myself in an area where I can touch.
“Sara said you’ve been sick the last few days,” he says.
“I haven’t been feeling well, but it’s more of an emotional illness than a physical one.”
“You homesick?”
I shake my head. “No. Definitely not homesick.” He’s in an uncharacteristically talkative mood, it seems. I take advantage of that. “Where do you go every day? What do you do besides help out old ladies for free?”
“I just try to be invisible,” he says.