Heart Bones

We spend the next several minutes in silence, watching the sunrise together. I have to say, it feels better watching it with Samson on my balcony than when he’s on his own.

Samson rests his chin on top of my head. It’s a tiny move, but even that slight and silent display of affection feels like an explosion somehow. I don’t know how everything inside of me can feel so loud while this part of the world is still asleep.

The sun is three quarters of the way visible now. The bottom half still looks like it’s dipped in the sea.

“I need to leave; I’m helping a guy repair a dune crossing on the island. We want to get it done before it gets too hot. What are your plans?”

“I’ll probably go back to bed and sleep until noon. I think Sara wants to go to the beach after that.”

He moves his arm from the back of the chair. My eyes crawl up his body as he stands. Before he leaves, he looks down at me and says, “Did you tell Sara we kissed?”

“No. Is it something we’re trying to hide from them?”

“No,” he says. “I was just curious if you told her. Didn’t know if Marcos was going to bring it up today. I wanted our stories to align.”

“I didn’t tell her.”

He nods and heads toward the railing, but then turns back again. “I don’t care if you tell her. That’s not why I asked.”

“Stop worrying about my feelings, Samson.”

He pushes the hair back from his forehead. “I can’t help it.” He walks backward, slowly.

“What are you doing? Are you about to jump again?”

“It’s not that far. I’ll make it.”

I roll my eyes. “Everyone is still asleep. Just go downstairs and use the front door before you break your arm.”

He looks at the blood covering his elbow. “Yeah, maybe I should.”

I stand up and walk into my bedroom with him. We’re heading for the door when he pauses and looks at the picture of Mother Teresa on my dresser.

“Are you Catholic?” he asks.

“No. Just oddly sentimental.”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for sentimental.”

“That’s why I prefaced it with oddly.”

He laughs and follows me out the door. When we make it to the bottom of the stairs, we both pause.

My father is standing in the kitchen in front of a coffee pot. He drags his eyes to the stairwell and sees me standing here with Samson. I suddenly feel like a child who has been caught in a lie. I’ve never really had to deal with parental punishment before. My mother didn’t pay enough attention to me to care, so I don’t know what’s about to happen. I’m a little nervous, considering my father does not look pleased. He looks past me, at Samson.

“Yeah, this isn’t okay,” my father says.

Samson steps in front of me and holds up his hands in defense. “I didn’t stay the night. Please don’t punch me again.”

My father looks at me for an explanation.

“He just got here fifteen minutes ago. We watched the sunrise on the balcony together.”

My father focuses his attention on Samson now. “I’ve been in this kitchen for a lot longer than fifteen minutes. If you just got here fifteen minutes ago, how did you get in?”

Samson scratches the back of his neck. “I uh…jumped?” He lifts his arm to show my father his bloody elbow. “Barely made it.”

My father stares at him for a moment, then he shakes his head. “You’re an idiot,” he mutters. He fills his coffee cup and then says, “Either of you want some coffee?”

Huh. He got over that fast.

“I’m good,” Samson says, easing his way toward the door. He looks at me. “See you later?”

I nod and Samson lifts a brow, sending me a look. I’m smiling and staring at the door for several seconds after he leaves. My father clears his throat and it sucks me back into the moment. I look at him, hoping that’s the end of this conversation. “I’ll take some coffee,” I say, trying to divert his attention to something else.

My father grabs a mug out of the cabinet and pours me a cup. “You take it black?”

“No. As much cream and sugar as you can fit in there.” I sit in one of the chairs at the kitchen bar while my father mixes my coffee.

He slides it toward me and says, “I don’t know how I feel about what just happened.”

I stare at my coffee as I sip from it, just so I don’t have to stare at my father. When I set the mug back on the counter, I cup my hands around it. “I’m not lying to you. He didn’t spend the night.”

“Yet,” my father says. “I was a teenager once. His bedroom balcony and yours are feet apart. Today might have just been a sunrise, but you’re here for an entire summer. Alana and I don’t allow Sara to have boys spend the night. It’s only fair if the same rules apply to you.”